#I AM SO EXCITED I NEED TO DRAW MORE CEPHALOPODS

[amaranth41]

In honor of splatoon raiders announcement have a bunch of splatoon art I’ve done, mostly of my OCs but also of a team future robot-ification of my own player character. Pink nautilus user is Jamz, blue dualies user is Ace, and red liter user is Celeste. The three of them are on a comp team together with other OCs belonging to my friend, they’re Void (shooters/wiper) and Star (bucket) I love them all so much and need to draw them more, they have such a fun team dynamic between the five of them

[anonthenullifier]

Of Cephalopods and Pistol Shrimp

Summary: Vision helps Wanda figure out a new way to harness her powers by using techniques from the ocean.

AO3 link

Based on a fic suggestion from @thissweetmoment about how Wanda goes from her looser powers in Age of Ultron to the tight, electric spheres in Civil War. Sorry this took me so damn long to actually write. I hope you enjoy!

I hope everyone else enjoys this as well!

Existence is a fascinating ordeal.  Technically the number of experiences and sensations are finite, yet each day Vision encounters something new. Sometimes it is a smell, such as Rhodes’ burnt toast or the antiseptic, lemony sting of the new cleaning solution the custodial staff recently switched to. Other days it is a sound, like the way pages whisper when Sam falls asleep on the couch, his magazine tumbling to the floor or the authoritative click of Natasha’s shoes. Tactile sensations are amongst his favorite, entire nights spent running the pads of his fingers over the bumps in the imperfect paint on his bedroom wall, dipping into the crevices of the grains in the kitchen table, analyzing the difference between the tiles of the backsplash and the grout, or relishing the effervescent embrace when he flies into the clouds. Taste is a curiosity but not enough to waste food.  Even when he experiences the same stimuli numerous times, it is somehow never the same and that is what makes it so enthralling. 

His eyes do not waver from the reinforced plexiglass in front of him, arms crossed over his chest in mimicry of Sam and Steve’s shared stance (apparently, this is a sign of contemplation), as they complete the latest test devised by Stark to map the abilities of the new Avengers. They all watch as Wanda sends furious and untamed tendrils out, the scarlet matter beginning as a cohesive unit before spasming into myriad uneven pathways. It’s reminiscent of a documentary he watched the other night on cephalopods, the red clouds surrounding Wanda shimmering and undulating much like the frenzied dance of the ink as the animal fled danger. The tactic is mesmerizing, always new, the patterns sporadic and unique, much like snowflakes, yet just as with snowflakes, it is only effective in large quantities, which tires Wanda out.   

“She’s terrifying.” 

Steve grunts noncommittally at Sam’s awed comment and Vision finds himself confused at the terminology. Terror is what horror movies are meant to evoke, the white knuckles of Wanda’s hand as she absentmindedly grips his bicep during a team movie night, or the wide-eyed, shaking stance of a small child they find in amongst the ruins on a mission. There is nothing about this display that elicits said reaction. Perhaps their adversaries would feel some terror from this, but teammates should not. “I think it is calming.”  

The two men turn and stare at him, the same furrowed brows and slight side-eye occurs now that happens any time Vision attempts to make an observation counter to what has been stated. “It’s something, for sure.” Steve remains neutral, unaffected by the training as he clicks the intercom switch, “I think we’re good for now, Wanda.”  

Wanda throws a tired thumbs up in their direction and exits out the side door, arriving in the communication center minutes later, her breath light and rapid, muscles shaking slightly as she huddles in close to watch the tape of her performance. It is impolite to stare, or so he has been informed, and yet Vision cannot stop himself from watching Wanda watch her own tape, curious to see if there are any signs of terror in her stance. “It seems a bit sloppy.” Her comment is factual but tinged with a negative emotion that is not terror, per se, perhaps more like the time Wanda stepped in the aftermath of a food fight that happened at the team’s fourth of July barbecue. Disgust, yes, that’s it, not terror.  

“It could be tightened up,” Steve agrees with her observation, though he does not seem upset, “we really need to find a way to channel it all into, I don’t know,” a wary hand rubs the back of Steve’s neck, his day longer than their own, having to watch and critique each teammate, “concentrate it somehow.”  

Wanda nods, forehead wrinkling at the comment while her lips purse in concentration, “Do you have any recommendations?”  

A sigh answers her, the same one Steve used when Vision asked him if there were any known exercises to help him with his phasing. “I need to think on it for a bit.”

“Okay.”  

“Sam,” the conversation moves on as Steve turns to the last of the team to go into the simulator, “you’re up.” 

Sam grins, snapping on his goggles with an, “Alright!”  

Her session done, Wanda leaves the room and Vision waits exactly five minutes before excusing himself for the evening. 

  It’s while he’s watching another ocean documentary that Vision realizes he may be able to help Wanda. Unfortunately, this occurs at 4:15am and for once, no one else in the compound seems to have insomnia. To pass the time, he sets himself up in the common room lounge and drafts plans for different exercises, tests some of them himself with the Mindstone, though he recognizes the confound in his attempts to extrapolate his own power set to hers. It’s at 5:30am when Steve and Sam come in with a friendly, “Morning, Vision.” 

“Good morning, Captain Rogers, Mr. Wilson.”  

Sam always gets this smirk when Vision addresses him, a small shake of his head and sometimes a roll of his eyes. “Dude, just Steve and Sam.”  

This has been told to him before, yet it seems very impersonal given their longer duration in heroics. “My apologies.” 

“We’re going out for a run, wanna join?”  

Usually Vision is not in the common room at this time, mainly for this reason. He is aware the offer is out of politeness when it comes from Sam (it is a command when it is from Steve), which means he can technically say no, though his stomach always seems to rotate uncomfortably when he turns them down. But he doesn’t want to get distracted and miss out on Wanda. He also, if he is being honest, is not particularly fond of running, flight a far more invigorating experience. “No thank you, I am attempting to draw up potential exercises for Miss M- for Wanda to better examine her powers.” 

Steve nods in approval, “Good, I think that’s a great idea, you two can probably learn a lot from each other.” 

“Yes,” Vision’s stomach evens out, no longer churning at dismissing their request, “I do believe that is true.”  

“Alright, well, have fun.” Sam winks at him, taking a bite of his granola bar as he and Steve leave the common space.  

It’s approximately forty-three minutes later that Wanda enters, her hair thrown up in a ponytail and still adorning her pajamas with a baggy sweatshirt. She shuffles towards the kitchen, her eyes leaving the ground once to make sure she is heading in the right direction.  “Good morning, Wanda.” He seems to surprise her, her hands clutching the sweatshirt tighter as her face swings in the direction of his voice.  

It takes several agonizing seconds for her to respond with an un-emotive, “Morning.”  

“Did you sleep well?” 

Wanda shrugs and it conveys more than enough information, her sleep patterns erratic and unhealthy, though they are getting better. This seems to end their conversation, her feet taking her closer to the kitchen. Vision stands, fingers twisted as he considers his next step, but now that he’s standing, it would be awkward to sit back down, he thinks, so he phases through the couch and follows her to the kitchen, coming to stand next to the stools at the island while she busies herself making her tea. “I had an idea last night,” Wanda turns towards him, face expectant, “I, um, well I believe I had an epiphany on how best to harness your powers,” her stare doesn’t change, despite the fact he feels like it should be blossoming with the excitement, just as his did when he had the revelation, “the way Captain Rogers suggested, by concentrating it.”  

Her response is slow, the two-syllable, “Okay,” lasting long enough that it feels like eight. 

“I was watching a very fascinating documentary last night about cavitation and pistol shrimp—” 

“Am I going to need some coffee for this?” 

Vision pauses, taken aback by the change in her preference and why she is inquiring of him, “I believe you should drink whatever sounds most appealing to you.” 

This garners a laugh, though he isn’t sure why, but it is a pleasant experience, his own mouth lifting in response to her apparent joy at his comment. “You’re going to have simplify this for me.”  

Which is fair. “Cavitation is a phenomenon in which cavities are formed due to rapid changes in pressure and this change in pressure, if it becomes too great, the cavity can collapse into a shockwave.” 

“More simple.” 

Vision follows her as she fills her cup with tea, drizzling honey in while she stirs and then tossing in a pinch of sugar for good measure. No one else on the team ever attempts to understand him this way, to demand he work on his communication, and so he is never offended when she asks him to rephrase or simplify. “When you use your powers now, they are free-flowing, like,” the simile of his revelation may be apt to use now, “a cephalopod…” Wanda glances up at him as she blows gently on the tea, and wordlessly she informs him to keep simplifying, “a squid or an octopus, when it is alarmed, it sends out ink into the water. This method is particularly useful for obfuscating,” another glance and he runs through a thesaurus online, “confusing people, a distraction–” 

A shimmering cloud engulfs her hand, wispy and tumultuous with the rotation of her wrist, “Are you forgetting how my squid powers took you down in training last week.” 

“I am not, it was an impressive display of power,” she glances down at her tea though it is not enough to fully mask the upward curve of her mouth, “but you would have been victorious even faster had you acted more like a pistol shrimp.” 

“Which would be?” 

“Oh, um,” this speech went smoother when he rehearsed it earlier in the morning, though his conversational skills are always more confident when he is alone and practicing than when her green eyes are locking onto him, flecked with an amusement that sends electric shocks down his spine, “to gather your powers into a bundle of unequal pressure and then let it loose.” If the quirk of her eyebrow is any indication, this is still not as illuminating as he hoped. “I can show you a video?”

Wanda waves her hand at the tablet on the counter and she takes the seat next to his as he searches for a good example. Together they watch a five minute clip of a pistol shrimp, first at actual speed which makes it look like the shrimp is punching the air, but then the scientists present a slowed down version and together they watch as a small air bubble forms in the middle of the open pincher. “This is pretty cool.” 

A warmth, similar to his first time winning one of the training challenges, circles his chest, “It is.”  

Suddenly the shrimp closes its pincher and the bubble collapses, sending a shockwave through the water, stirring the rocks at the bottom of the tank and immobilizing the smaller crustacean in the tank. When the video ends, Wanda lifts her hand, powers collapsing from their usual tempest into a centralizing orb. “So, you’re saying something like this could be more effective?” 

“Assuming your powers can be driven by cavitation, yes, with enough pressure you may be able to more efficiently remove threats.”  

She studies the orb undulating in her palm, head cocked to the side, allowing the red to reflect off her eyes, and Vision is briefly mesmerized by it, until she extinguishes the orb, jolting him back to the present. “Worth a shot. I assume you already have exercises planned?” 

Others on the team have said similar statements, theirs laced with exhaustion and aggravation, at times, Wanda’s is neither of those, the corners of her eyes pinching as the right side of her mouth tips up. “I do, yes. Shall we reconvene in the training gym in approximately fifteen minutes?” 

“Sounds good.” 

  When they meet again, he has restructured his molecules into his uniform, feeling like his new staple of slacks and a sweater do not belong in such a space. Wanda is not in her uniform, but is wearing the same outfit she dons when Steve forces her on the morning run three days a week. “Okay,” Wanda’s tightens her ponytail as she talks, “so how are we doing this?” 

“I believe we should start simple, so I have set up a number of targets ranging in weight and size,” he directs her towards a table containing several sizes of soup cans, dumbbells, and kettlebells. “I have downloaded a relatively novel program that will allow me to analyze both the broadband noise and subharmonics created before you unleash your powers.” 

Wanda’s lips tighten in time with her hesitant nod, “I’m guessing that’s how you tell the, um, power of the attack?” 

It is close to what he is doing, if she replaces power with pressure. “Precisely.” A broad, toothy smile parts her lips and he mimics it, always enjoying these small moments of glee she shares with him. “Would you like to try?” 

“Yep.” Wanda spreads her feet out so her stance is a touch wider than her shoulders, her right foot approximately an inch closer to the display than her left. Slowly her powers pool around her hand and even more slowly she draws them together into an orb. He expects her to release it, but she doesn’t, instead her fingers continue to wave, weaving her powers into a bigger orb that spins faster and faster. 

He checks the measurements streaming through his mind and frowns, the display reporting an error. It is only at the subtle dip of her hand that he figures out the problem, “Wanda wai—” she doesn’t hear him soon enough and she flicks her wrist, the orb soaring through the air and exploding upon contact with a can of tomato soup that never stood a chance. The shockwave of the hit throws the table across the gym, the viscous soup coating the floor looking more like blood than lunch and several new holes have been created in the wall from the weights. Vision rushes to Wanda’s side, “Are you okay?” 

Shock pulls her jaw down, eyes wide and hands clasped into fists at her thighs. “That was fucking awesome.” 

“I—” he follows her gaze to the destruction, not certain awesome is the best term, it was remarkable, for sure, but he’s going to have to explain how this happened to Natasha and Steve and Tony, a meeting he is not thrilled about. His worry is eradicated when she laughs because it’s the freest sound he’s ever heard from her, effervescent and untamed, her body shaking so much she leans against his shoulder for support. “It was amazing.” 

“There’s soup everywhere!” 

“Yes,” her reaction is infectious, his own lungs beginning to spasm as light huffs intersperse his response, “that was an oversight on my behalf.” 

“At least it you didn't grab something like corn.” 

The image of hundreds of kernels littering the ground is a much worse reality. “This is true.” 

Wanda straightens her spine, removing her touch from him, and turns with a smile that might almost be described as wicked. “Can we do it again?” 

A survey of the damage forces him to reassess his strategy. “Yes, though I believe we need to be more methodical.” 

Together they pick up the table, Vision arranging the weights on it while Wanda uses her powers and a mop to remove the soup from the ground. “So, what’s the plan?” 

“I believe we should experiment with how much pressure you build up to determine the amount needed to effectively deal with the target without destroying it.” 

For the next hour they do just that, Vision reading the indices and informing Wanda when to release her orb. They start small, and work until finding the most efficient amount per each weight. Once they’ve done this, he stops informing her of when to attack, instead allowing her to determine the feel of it in her hands, since he cannot constantly assess her during a mission. It’s after she’s successfully sent the heaviest weight flying an acceptable and not destructive distance that they move on to the punching bags, which are more analogous to the foes they face. With each target she grows more confident, the power coalescing faster and faster until she can attack within seconds.  

During their (well her) water break, Wanda suggests the next step, one he hadn’t yet conceptualized since he did not (foolishly, admittedly) anticipate her being so proficient after a half day. “You know, in the video we watched the prey was moving, so I don't think I'm one with the pistol shrimp yet since we've just used immobile targets....” 

"Oh, well, I can find some of the mechanized bullseyes from the supply closet."

This doesn't seem to be what she had in mind, the tips of her ponytail dancing as she clarifies, "Those never move like the actual people we face on missions."

A true statement and one dripping with suggestion that is driven home by her pointed stare at him. It takes Vision 1.5 seconds longer than it should to fully grasp the implication. “Are you asking me to be your soup can?” 

“Yes.” Her face grows serious other than the flicker of red in her eyes, “Vision, will you be my soup can?” 

He’s not sure why the question releases a torrent of heat in his cheeks, a reaction he will need to further parse out at a later time. “I suppose since you asked so nicely, I have no reason not acquiesce.” 

 “Don’t worry,” she pats his arm as he walks past, an action she’s never done before, “I’ll be gentle.” 

Vision has to suppress the way her actions and the glimmer in her eye make him feel unsteady, keep his voice calm and unaffected as he quips back, “I believe I am somewhat more formidable than Campbell’s.” 

“We’ll see.” 

He stands twenty feet from her, the optimal distance they decided on during the prior phase of her training. “I will maintain my normal density for this.” Wanda sends him a thumbs up and he activates the program, recording the accelerate spike in both the broadband noise and subharmonic index, sending her a wave when he believes it should have some effect. The orb crashes into his body, the shockwave of it bursting flutters his cape, but nothing else occurs. “Try again.” And she does, fifteen times and yet she can’t seem to send him farther than a centimeter back. “Perhaps try using both hands to form the orb?” He has no basis for the suggestion, but he hypothesizes that each of her hands serves as an independent source, using both might double the impact.  

Wanda’s feet spread a bit farther apart as her arms wave through the air, the orb oscillating between her palms reaching the highest threshold of his measurement system in a matter of seconds. The power is released before he tells her, not to any detriment, the burst of scarlet against his chest sending his sympathetic system into a frenzy, his body desperate to increase its density but he resists, instead allowing her to throw him back into the wall.  

“Oh shit!” Footfalls echo around the gym, the noise bouncing too fast for him to pinpoint her location until her hands wrap around his biceps, worry streaming from her fingers, “Vizh, you okay? How many fingers am I holding up?” 

Her right hand leaves his body and hovers in front of his face, fingers bending and straightening as his eyes adjust. “You are switching between two and three fingers.” 

“Can’t even trick you after that.” 

Vision smirks at the despondency in her response, sitting up slowly while running a quick system check. “Wanda,” she meets his eyes, “that was incredible.” The last stray wisp of concern leaves her face, replaced by a proud grin. “Shall we try it again, only I will fly this time?” 

“Only if you’re okay.” 

“I am fine.” 

Despite his assurance, Wanda still offers her his hand, helping him stand before returning to her position in the gym. It’s at this point that Natasha comes in, a wave towards them that states she’s merely here to watch. Wanda’s fingers flex at the added attention, still overcoming her self-consciousness of being scrutinized by the former spy during training.  Vision takes a moment to approach Wanda, standing far enough away to not encroach in her personal space, but close enough that she can hear his slightly lower voice. “Pay no mind to Natasha,” Wanda’s head tilts, in what may be annoyance or anger or some other emotion he has yet to determine in situations such as this, “I want you to go back to one handed throws. We want to train your accuracy first and then you can add more power.” 

“Okay.” 

“And Wanda.” 

“Yeah?” 

For some reason he is tempted to reach out to her, give her arm a comforting embrace, but he doesn’t, instead clenching his fingers into fists at his side. “Remember that no one else on the team can do what you can.” 

His comment seems to latch onto the corners of her mouth, tugging it up into a brief smile. “Don’t go easy on me, okay?” 

He reassures her with a heartfelt, “I will not.” 

Vision lifts into the air, eyes scanning the gym for all accessible routes and protection. For the first attempts, he determines to remain relatively low to the ground, allowing her to fine tune her aim at a more accessible level before moving higher and requiring greater calculation on her behalf. He waits for her to form an orb before moving. Like with any other foe, he positions himself so that she is always in his view, even if it is just his periphery, but primarily he utilizes his proprioception to determine how to angle is body or bend his limbs to avoid her attacks. Even with her rapid-fire method, the closest she gets to a hit is a singe to his cape, her movements too predictable to him given the hours they have spent training together. Vision lands softly in front of her, assessing the stoop of her shoulders and the way her fingernails are digging into her palms, a small action he has come to associate with her frustration. “I believe we may be approaching this incorrectly.” 

“How so?” The weightless ease of her voice is gone, replaced by the measured rhythm she uses during any other training, particularly after being beaten down a few rounds by Natasha.  

No single animal utilizes just one attack pattern, nor do any of the Avengers, and yet that’s what they’ve been trying to do. “We have only been focusing on this one aspect of your powers, but for the task at hand, you need to utilize more than that.” Wanda waits for him to continue, arms crossing as her eyes slide to where Natasha is sitting. “You need to obfuscate first...” 

Now her attention returns to him, “So squid power you?” 

“I- yes, correct, distract me and then—” 

Her frustrations flips into understanding, “Then I pistol shrimp you.” 

"Correct.”  

A shared nod cements the plan and he returns to the air, waiting, yet again, until scarlet oozes from her hands to begin flying. This time is very different, every direction he flies is teeming with scarlet clouds, each one obscuring his view and sending him into a new location, only to be met with another dense nebula. Vision decides to tempt fate by flying through one of the formations, having no other means of getting to the other side of the gym, it’s then that the cloud constricts around him, throwing off his senses long enough that he feels an impact on his side, hard enough that it stings yet soft enough that he remains steady in the air. Vision lands, hand rubbing out the branching tingle still spreading throughout his oblique. “That was much more effective.” 

“It was. Mind if we try ag—” 

Before she can finish, a new voice enters the gym, Steve’s authoritative, “Training starts in two minutes everyone,” setting an end to her suggestion, Wanda’s mouth closing and her shoulders shrugging, the look on her face one he thinks says Maybe later?

   A week later he stands again with Steve and Sam, arms crossed and head tilted to the right, his eyes never leaving the varying patterns of scarlet through the plexiglass. This time her powers seem to dance, a careful choreography of wild undulation followed by disciplined restriction. “Holy shit,” Sam steps closer to the glass, hand rubbing his chin at the destruction being wrought within, “she’s even more terrifying now.” 

Terror is still an odd descriptor, because what Vision sees before him is more beautiful than even the undisturbed dawn over the mountains, the memory of her powers erupting in tingles along his skin, a fascinating texture he now associates with power and marvel.  

“What exactly did you two work on?” Steve only watched some of their additional trainings, never interceding, something he tends to do when the more fantastical powers are at play.  

Vision doesn’t pull his gaze from Wanda as he answers, “Obfuscation and cavitation.” 

“Not really helpful, man.” Sam, like Wanda, will always tell him if he is being too dense, though never as nicely, but never rudely either.  

The other way Vision can think to explain it likely won’t help them either, but it is how Wanda describes it to him as she eats lunch after their trainings, hair dripping with sweat, hands shaking from her hard work, and her smile radiant, so he determines it cannot be worse, “She has become one with the squid and the shrimp.”  

“Okay then,” Sam’s two words last for four seconds, his confusion palpable, but Vision doesn’t amend the statement, deciding to let Wanda explain it to them later, allowing Vision to become engrossed in the fascinatingly breathtaking display in front of them.

[gcvalas-blog]

hi babes! i’m syd (or squid, you with the face, you know, whatever, i’m not a picky cephalopod) and i’m hella excited to be here! i’m very new to the whole, structured group rp concept on tumblr thing, so this is all basically a series of new experiences that i’m pumped to have with you all! anywho, if you wanna plot, come slide into my dms, either just in general or to get my discord i’m a paranoid cephalopod so i don’t wanna like, just have that sitting out where just anyone can find it !! without further ado, i give you jack!

[ michael vlamis, cisgender male, he/him, 27 ] FREEDOM by DOROTHY? whenever i hear that song, it reminds me of JACKSON “JACK” GAVALAS. maybe because they’re FREE-SPIRITED but also RECKLESS. they’ve been living at mulberry apartments since OCTOBER of 2018 in APARTMENT 507 and have 1 ROOMMATE**. ( LANDSLIDE, COME OUT AND PLAY) [ syd, they/them, 18+, pst ]

BASICS:

Name: Jackson Bennett Gavalas Nickname(s): Jack, Gavalas Age: 27 Birthday: July 7, 1991

BACKGROUND:

he spent most of his early years an only child, growing up outside of baltimore

his mom was never really in the picture. he doesn't know too much about what went down between her and his dad, but she gave full custody of him to his dad and vanished when he was just a few years old

his dad remarried, and jack found himself with a brand new baby sister (@ftspcncer) he absolutely adores to this day

he wasn't a bad kid, though he could be a little hotheaded, and chasing the next adrenaline rush sometimes had him returning home sporting some new scrape or bruise

he was and is a total nerd, though. he was on the robotics team in high school, and if his family had had the money to send him straight to university, he'd have been a mechanical engineering major

as it stands, he did well enough in school that he got scholarships from the colleges he applied to—they just weren't enough to offset the cost, and he wasn't going to put their family into debt if he could help it

instead, at eighteen, fresh out of high school, he enlisted in the navy—at first a five-year commitment as an engineman, which he then re-upped for another three years—and remained until he felt it was time to do something else with his life, upon which point he moved to baltimore proper

if you asked him why he enlisted, he'd say it was a way to jump-start his life without having to worry so much about the cost of it all, which would be true, but he also did it seeking adventure

he went out of his way to keep in contact with his family, sending emails, letters, postcards, and the occasional trinket from his travels, as well as doing his best to fit in regular skype and phone calls. and if he had more than a few days leave, you bet your butt he was coming home to spend time with his family

he's had some hiccups in adjusting to civilian life, still less than a year out of the navy. he's up at odd hours, sometimes, and the loose structure of day-to-day life (even with him taking community college classes as a full-time student) without specific checklists of duties can get daunting. those especially are the days he'll disappear into the gym or spend all day just driving so he can get out of his own head for a bit

PERSONALITY:

he's a thrill-seeker (always has been) and a fan of just being outside. he was the kind of kid who climbed trees and just kind of laughed it off if he fell out, and shrugged off most injuries. he's also the kind of guy who got his motorcycle license very shortly after his regular driver's license, had worked his ass off saving up for his own bike, and very happily used it as his preferred mode of transportation

he likes having other people around, even if he's not talking to them. jack and quiet spaces don't mix well—he'd rather go to a crowded park or a bar to do work for class than sit in a library

don't get me wrong, though, he's the grumpiest mofo without his coffee, or if he doesn't get at least three or four hours of sleep (or a combination thereof). he's a morning person out of force of habit, not of his own volition, and it's glaringly apparent when his equilibrium is thrown off

he can also get irritable if he's having a particularly bad tinnitus day. he hates having to ask people to repeat themselves, but sometimes he has to, and it puts him in a bad mood

he tries very hard to be an optimist with a positive outlook on life, which is absolutely hilarious when coupled with his foul mouth. he does his best to keep it to a minimum (or, rather, he tries to keep it on the tamer end of things, at least) but sometimes an f-bomb slips out in the middle of a perfectly good sentence in what might be considered 'polite company'

he can be a goof. he loves life and wants to just have fun with it. he is absolutely your best bet if you're trying to find a friend to go on a 2 am trip through the city for ice cream, or if you want to drag someone along to hit up every thrift store in the city (but also like, never play pool against him. he will hustle you, and he might not give you your money back once you realize he's actually really good)

he also has a huge heart. he makes friends easily and tries to make time for anyone who needs him around

that being said though he's kind of a commitmophobe. he draws the line at anything beyond fwb, especially after opening his heart to a guy he thought he really had something with who never called him back (who is one of his connection songs ;3)

on a related note, he has a heavy preference for dating men, though he's equal opportunity when it comes to bedfellows

he's just a huge puppy you guys (a friendly german shepherd puppy who cannot be left unsupervised because he'll get himself into some kind of mischief) 

ADDITIONAL (random) FACTS:

for a smart guy, he can be kinda dumb when it comes to technology, especially social media. he only has facebook down because he joined not too long after he enlisted, because it was the best way of keeping in touch with people coming and going with their deployments and stationings (someone pls teach him what twitter and instagram are)

he's still not quite used to cooking for himself. tv dinners and other microwavable goodies all the way, with the occasional boil-able frozen food thrown in (he'll get there eventually, he just doesn't often remember he has to make food until he's too hungry to go through the work of preparing a meal from scratch)

he has both the best and worst fashion sense. he's perfectly at home in steel-toed boots, snug jeans and a leather jacket, but he's also regularly wearing truly gaudy, loud print button-ups. it's kind of a signature look, at this point

he’s a baseball fan. he played club most of the way through school, and still kept up with the world series while he was deployed

he has days where he desperately misses being at sea. he has a hammock hung by the window in his room for the days he really needs to feel something similar to the sway of a ship on the waves, but other times he has to be down in the harbor, feeling the wind on his face and listening to the sounds of a busy port

he’ll answer to gavalas about as fast as if not faster than he will jack, and will answer to either a hell of a lot faster than he’ll answer to jackson

he picked up an infrequent smoking habit while in the navy. if you ask him, he'll say he's “pretty much” kicked it, especially now that he's out, as he was mostly a social smoker, but if you searched his room, you'd probably manage to find either a few loose cigarettes or part of a pack, which he's usually gotten off of someone else

[commanderpacis]

Okay, look. I may or may not have spent like several hours yesterday piecing together some of the Forsaken lore that got put on Ishtar Collective recently, finding the closest approximate order that ten entries in particular were in, and formatted it in my notes to essentially create a short story.

Honestly though, I’m actually a little proud of how it came out and fairly confident I figured out the order. If I wasn’t already excited for Forsaken and beyond, I am now.

Spoilers beyond the break.

Also, hello Destiny fandom, welcome to my mess of a first post!

A Renegade's Observations of a Drifter

I. Uneasy Feeling

I've followed him for a short while now. Tracked his path since he turned up on mine.

He's not like them, but not far off—hard to trust, hard to know. He's seen more than most can imagine and done things most wouldn't dare. But he's always kept his distance —stayed far from the Light.

Why head City-side now? Why risk antagonizing those best equipped to cut his journey short? Can't quite say. I get the sense he's on the run, but from what? From who? There are Shadows in his past. Do they linger? Do they hunt?

Or is his desperation driven by other... concerns?

All I've seen, all I've uncovered—of him, of his long, winding road—says he's made enemies at just about every turn. Over centuries, that list grew real long. He's been comfortable on the dodge out beyond the Reef—ever-moving, ever-exploring, never concerned with the dangers riding his wake.

So, again... Why now? Why here? What's his play? More important...

What's his game?

II. Justified Means

The Drifter wasn't always my target.

In fact, he only came to my attention when he started running with them I'd call prey.

Before that he'd existed only as rumor—the strange Lightbearer who journeyed beyond the system's edge, the lone wanderer who was only a “Guardian” by reductive modern definitions. He had a Ghost. He was touched by the Light. His motivations, though, were his own—some might say selfish, and I'd have to agree. In regard to the concepts of duty and devotion and using one's gifts for the betterment of humanity? Not his play. The City be damned. The Traveler be damned. The Light be damned.

Which makes his run to the Tower and his newfound benevolence all the more... curious.

I lost track of him when the Traveler fell silent. Could be that severed connection drew him back. If so, I doubt it's something he'd admit. Yet here he is—unwelcome, but with a gift for persuasion. I can't say it doesn't make me uneasy.

There was—so we're clear—a time I'd call him a threat. There was a time I'd look to end him as punishment for the paths he'd tread. But things aren't quite so simple these days. Ghaul taught us that. And while I still plan to punish those who have transgressed, I can also see the value in certain... risks.

This Gambit—the Drifter's strange little game—may just be one such.

It requires care and a keen eye to ensure the means don't consume the ends, but I got a feeling our new 'friend' might be a necessary catalyst. And, if not...

He sure makes for a fine cut of bait.

III. Step into the Shade

I want to be clear: I do not trust him.

You get the sense he's working to mend that, sure, but the end game will reveal the truth of his intentions.

This con is a long one, friend, but if any are built to see it done—and see it done right—the Drifter is our man. So, we see it play out—his Gambit and ours. It may not be ideal. In fact, I'd say far from. It's just that...

I don't see another way forward. The Light is fragile but quick. The Dark, dense and slow. If we want to control the balance, tip it in our favor... if we want to confront those shadows who would see it shift further toward the night... we must play in the gray in-between. We must draw them out.

Many have fallen to this path. It's not one I tread lightly, but I've found the only way to best a shadow is meet it in the shade.

The Vanguard won't allow it—they're noble, but they're flawed. Frightened. Most Guardians wouldn't dare it—too many legends of heroes lost to such unpleasant pursuits.

But things have changed...

The Oryx slayers and their like have danced within Ascendant Realms. The nightmare legends of bonewalkers and nether worlds have been cast into the Light. Old fears are now trampled beneath enduring triumph. Now, if ever, is the time to step proud into the unknown and bathe it in our Light.

And if doing so draws the attention of enemies old and new... if we tempt damnation... so be it. We will stand ever vigilant and burn them all away.

Or maybe the Drifter pulls a double-cross and our end is met. No way of knowing. No way to tell.

I say we let it ride. Trust ourselves. Trust our instincts—our Light.

IV. Artifacts and Old Friends

By chance, he and I crossed paths in a... neutral setting. Didn't give me his name, just called himself a drifter. Told him if that's how it was, he could call me “Pal.” He laughed at that, got comfortable. Got all kinds of open about where he'd been, what he was haulin'. Even dropped a tip on where an old friend of mine was hiding. I still wonder if he knows who I really am.

He told me he left the system as soon as he was risen. Not immediately, sure. Had to get his bearings, find a ship—get it fit, get it flying. But soon as, he was good as gone. “Drawn to the outer,” he says. I can appreciate.

He says he's seen the deep side of Jupiter. Been to the Core Mines of Saturn. Name drops old myths no one's heard—the Luvial Crux, the Shift Chasms Below Elios, the Fourth Tomb of Nezarec. Goes on about the Idols of Lower Sul, the Treasure of Exodus Prime, the Solar Engine of Dead Star-Six.

I think he's making most of it up, but he's got relics and etchings. He's got materials not of this system—odd metals, obsidian flames, thought engines, edible null cakes and a stuffed something that looks like a rabbit bio-fused with a cephalopod. He keeps all this stuff to himself—his “gets,” he calls 'em.

If they're for show, they put on a great one. But to what end? The clutter of oddities he's got ship-side ain't nothin' compared to what he's haulin'—that big, black mass of nothing you ain't ever seen before.

He calls it an “artifact,” but it's more than that. Just don't know what, exactly. He said he got far out as he's ever been. Said it was from a place cold enough to snuff out your Light. I ask him, was it Vex? Hive? Cagey as all, he said no, it was just “other,” and it was powerful... maybe.

That was his qualifier: “maybe.”

Why the hell bring it to the inner system then? “Maybes” are trouble. But he's got an answer for everything. He says...

“Brother... maybes are where the real treasure hides.”

He could tell I wasn't satisfied, but I knew he wasn't lying. The chunk was “other” for sure, and Ghost said its readings were off the charts, but abstract—unlike anything anyone had encountered.

Can't say that made me comfortable, but then the Drifter, with his easy manner and eager charm, asked if I'd ever met a man in black named Callum.

He was clearly changin' the subject, but he was lucky enough—or smart enough—to pick one I had interest in, and I could respect that.

V. Shadow on a Wall

I knew Callum by another name—a hated name.

The Drifter had run with Callum's crew for some time. I get the sense he would've been one and the same as them—lockstep down sorrow's road—if they'd met sooner.

Hell, maybe they WERE lockstep. Maybe his Gambit was theirs.

Maybe the bait set when the Drifter first came to the Tower was for me and mine. Maybe all we were playing at was our own end. But all that's not worth the effort to dwell on. A path's been set. Best to walk it. If the turn 'round that final bend leads to death, all we can do is return the favor.

Drifter told me Callum had a spot—a hold he used all his own. Said his crew been runnin' separate jobs to keep me off their trail. Said they knew one-to-one they'd have a hard time walking away, but rolling together only increased their footprint, made 'em easier to trail.

Made sense. With the six of 'em—Callum's crew, I mean—spread out, each runnin' their own search for whatever it is they're searching for, gave me crossed signals. I'd hear conflicting stories of their deeds from one end of the system to the next, and I had a hard time keepin' up.

But this info—Callum's safe space—it was a lead worth a look.

Two weeks into a living hell, I thought Drifter'd fed me a line, maybe tryin' to kill two birds, one stone. There were signs of a Shadow's presence, but they were cold—old. I waited anyway. Shot me some Taken to kill the time.

The wait paid off.

Callum entered. Could hear him before I saw him—he was arguin' with his Ghost. I waited on the hope they'd spill goods I could use to track the others. No such luck. Their words were heated. Callum had gone too far. His Ghost was angry. I don't blame her.

It caught me that she always used his proper name—Callum—and not his other. She still cared. Still hoped. Then she screamed.

I drew and stepped into the light.

Callum had his Ghost in his left hand. It was silent. With his right, he had stabbed her through the optics with a sickly dagger—a tool carved from the jagged spikes fired from a weapon I shall not name.

The Ghost was dead, and Callum just laughed. I think because he knew what came next.

He and I had words. Told me I'd never kill 'em all. Then he dropped the shell and went for his shooter.

I lit my fire and painted him on the wall without another word.

VI. Bright Side of a Bad Idea

At this point, the Drifter had me comfortable with the idea of him, but only just. Been a long time since trust came easy.

I still needed to understand. Needed to grasp what he was after or what was after him—survival depends on knowing what's coming best you can.

This is before I came to you—but only just. This is me smoothing out the rough angles before risking a proposition I know carries baggage.

Anyway. He and I went out, found a spot we could be alone, and he showed me. He showed me proof that all of his relics, artifacts, treasures, and junk weren't just for show —our shady friend actually went out and lassoed himself a little piece of hell.

While Guardians have been waging war with the Taken, while the City's newest legends have been trespassing on Ascendant ground and kicking in Taken skulls, the Drifter's been playing Warlock—which he ain't, if it wasn't clear. Not by common understanding, anyway. In drawing strength from curiosity and using knowledge to bend understanding to his will, this wily bastard has long since shed any pretensions of class or the limitations therein.

While you lot have been having your fun, drunk on loot, dancin' on the corpses of your enemies—he's been watching, learning, stealing, and planning.

Now, I make no promises that what he's done was ever intended for the greater good. Point of fact, I actively doubt it. But here we are.

He's kit-bashed Vex tech with Fallen components, married it to Hive magic, and scavenged Golden Age science with a sprinkling of who knows what, and he's...

Hold up. I know this sounds bad. Sounds like just the kind of trouble we squash, but...

He's secured a pocket of the Ascendant plane. Not a throne world, nothing that grand, but a big enough chunk to matter—and he's gone and caged an army. A Taken army. Leftovers from Oryx's reign? Something new? Something old? Something... Hers? Can't say. Don't know. But he has 'em there. He says it's to hold 'em, study 'em—but the best bet says his intentions aren't so clean.

Purity of intent aside, this is what he wanted to show me. This is why he's here—his Gambit. He wants to help humanity—help us poor fools who call ourselves Guardians— learn how to control not only the Taken... but the powers that bind them.

Sounds like a bad idea, I agree.

Bigger picture? Sometimes bad ideas are the best option. Hell...

Sometimes they're the only.

VII. The Price of a Double-Sided Coin

Here's the play. Ours, I mean...

You have places. Cleared zones. Not necessarily the safest spots, but not wholly untamed. I say we... you... allow the Drifter to run his game. And let's you and me watch.

We watch the action. We watch him. We watch who plays and who doesn't. On top of that, we watch their aggression—who's diving too deep, too fast, who's less keen to grow their knowledge, their strength. And who's simply lookin' to unleash themselves.

The true promise of this Gambit is what you and I can learn. About our enemies. Maybe even about ourselves. That has to be first and foremost. After that, we assess Gambit's value and its risks. If the danger escalates, we shut it down. If any Guardians go too far, we shut it down—and them, if need be.

My gut says we won't have to. My gut says, against everything I was raised to believe, this is our next step forward.

And here's the rub: You know this, but only fair that I reiterate. As secret as this whole mess is, and as vigilant as we'll need to be... word must spread. It must. And when it does, I need you to corral Zavala and any others who won't understand.

'Cuz the other side of that jade coin is the trap being set—this long con—the final bend after a long haul. If Drifter plays his part—and I believe he will—then those who test the edges of the Light will hear tell and come a'callin'. The Shadows brought to Light.

But the ruse must be complete. Every Guardian must play their part. If you can buy in—if you can see the value in what's to come—then we roll. If not...

You can stop this here and now. I'll put a bullet in him, be done with it.

Just say the word.

VIII. Checking the Chamber

Your 'Jacks sure can clear a table. Combat area's clean. We're prepped and ready—set for the first run on Nessus.

The Drifter'll pick up your Guardians en route. Have your 'Jacks primed to engage if—when—it all goes wrong. Not saying I have doubts, but if it hasn't been clear... I have doubts.

I'll be nearby, as discussed. Anything goes off-rails, we'll close in and shut it down.

After, if it runs smooth—and we're not all dead—he says he'll set up shop in the Tower. Seems risky, yeah, but that's his lot to handle. Truth is I'd much rather have him Tower-side where he can be watched and “collected” if it comes to that. The alternative—him runnin' free-and-clear through the system—isn't an option. He's too much of a liability on his own. Luckily, he seems... open to havin' you nearby.

Still get the sense this whole shindig is something he's cookin' up to face down some big, bad news—some problem he's making ours. But that's his nature.

IX. A Matter of Trust

Well. That didn't go as planned, but your Guardians rallied and saw it through, and the Drifter did his best to fill them in on the sudden... change-state he dropped on 'em.

I was seconds from rushin' in and toasting him, but he handled the situation and set the teams up to finish the match. To be honest... I thought it would all go much worse. What concerns me is... he'd never mentioned the word “Primeval” before. Not once. And that's a problem for obvious reasons.

Tearing soldiers of the Deep from another realm is crossin' a bridge too far as is. But those beasts? Those weren't normal Taken possessed and set to rage. They were born of that shadow realm and they were... angry. Worse. They were hungry for the Light. You could feel it. Even a ways off. Their aura and their rage weighed on me—cast a shadow I could feel in my core.

That he kept them from us is unsettling.

He says it was a necessary deception. I put my gun to his head and asked if there were any others he'd mind sharin'. He just laughed, as he does, twiddlin' that coin of his, and smiled that winners' smile. Told me to take a load off. I almost shot him then and there.

He said we'd never have agreed to let him run his competition if we'd known the full extent of the danger. He's not wrong... probably. But it's hard to move forward knowing the thing we've known all along is true...

The Drifter can't be trusted.

Yet what choice do we have? Again, the risks are justified by the promise of the ends.

I leave it all in your capable hands. I'll be watching. My presence only muddies the waters, so I'll be watchin' from afar. If we're lucky... this Gambit will draw the interest of the rest of his old crew, and the Shadows will make themselves known. 'Til then, I'll return to the hunt, see if I can cut 'em off at the pass, wherever it may be.

Oh. Before I forget—and at the risk of repeatin' myself—keep my real name off your lips. He don't know my face, but he sure as hell knows my name. This all goes sideways otherwise.

X. The Long Con

Can you do it, Drifter? Can you make the Man with the Golden Gun the villain in the eyes of those who would tempt the Dark? It's the final piece. Can you make them fear him?

‘Cuz if you can...

Any Guardian who truly embraces the nature of your Gambit will find themselves a real connection to the mantle of that dead legend. They will take bear that vile title. They will wear his vile colors. They will challenge and even remake the infamy of his vile deeds.

Through these temptations, they will grow strong, but the hatred must be true—driven by the power they find in your wicked game, sealed in the fear you'll seed in the name of the Man with the Golden Gun. I wish there was another way, but your old brothers and sisters in shadow are too far gone. You've seen it. You know as well as me—better than me—the path they walk offers only ruin.

They must be stopped.

So, spread your unholy word, brother. Give new life to old myths. And when that hateful name Dredgen spreads throughout the system... his real disciples will have no choice but to confront their sins.

And you and me? We'll be the ones hearing their confessions.

Oh, one more thing. Let me know who has the gall to change their names. I might want to... give 'em a word or two.

—A Renegade's Final Words to a Drifter Before Resuming the Hunt

[dailystarplatinum]

We did it.. we made it to the big four digits. I never thought I’d get here, honestly. When I made this blog in May, I never thought I’d get to here. Maybe 2 or 300 followers, at the most?? Never this. 

 Here’s some sappy words to some people, I’ll cut this off because it’s going to be very long. 

 @daily-jojoanimals (I’m putting you at the top in case everything gets too sappy for you) I love your art a lot! The bright colors, the lines... I can’t draw animals for my life, but you? You’re amazing at it! Your blog is great and I hope that it gets more attention because you work really hard on all those drawings!

@dailydiadop nOON WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN… I love you and you’re probably my best friend. I have absolutely no idea where I’d be without you. Probably very very lost and very very confused. I’d also still be trying to figure out who is the best person at making hamburgers (it’s you). Honestly, if it wasn’t for you, I would’ve never gotten into jojo, or at least I would’ve taken longer to find out about it. 

 @dailynonbinaryukako eli I remember when we first started talking and it was kinda awkward but then I was like ‘oh hey I made a blog’ and you were like 'oh hey I should make one too’ and now look at us. You’re a huge nerd and I love talking to you about ocs and memes and my 1000+ year old hawk son and I think our muses need to interact more but you’re probably another big reason for why I’ve stayed in this community so long... I mean heck you’re the reason I joined Daily Discord Hell!

 @dailyhierophantgreen S C R E A M S ILY RAY I can’t believe you looked up to me once… I mean first of all I’m like 5 foot 4 there isn’t much to look up to and second I can’t believe my art is of the quality and skill for someone as amazing as you to look up to it…. anyways you’re an amazing person and I love all of your hierophant doodles and I hope that we can draw more stargreen ship stuff and memes this year! 

 @daily-caesar Adam, you’re hilarious and really nice, and I love all of your Caesar and Torq and Capt doodles (how do you even doodle them so fast??? Ho w)! You always enjoy my Fresh Memes ™, and you always manage to put a smile on my face. 

 @dailysmolnareff  I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but you were one of my favorite daily blogs that I was scared and/or unsure of how to interact with. If only my oblivious past self could see us now. You are number one, Cami. Never forget that.

:mon:

 @dailystoneplatinum you’re definitely another huge reason why I’ve been inspired to try so hard with art on this blog and art in general. You’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, a huge inspiration, and I also always enjoy talking with you (ah yes one in the morning talks about Jolyne’s stand and how it’s unfair that Pucci got Made in Heaven and Jolyne got silly string with sunglasses). I’m really happy we get to talk, and I hope to see more of your beautiful art!

 @daily-giogio L E A D E R O F M U T E C R E W ok that’s obviously not enough, let me write more I love your Gio art so much it’s just so pretty?? side note Reset Gio’s design is also gorgeous and you just manage to kill me every time I see your art??? You’re also just a really funny person and I love talking with you! Or just listening to the void with you too that’s great as well

 @dailyrobertspeedwagon peri, you’re super sweet and you’ve got great ideas and OCs, and I love all of them! To be honest, you’re much much better at art than I was when I was your age *visibly shudders thinking about old art*… keep up the great work! 

 @weeklyheavendio laVA WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN you deserve a medal for the amount you’ve helped my art style change like I draw something for the reset au and you manage to one up me with amazing art so I draw something else then you make a beautiful giF SO I HAVE TO MAKE AN EVEN BETTER GIF AND IT TOOK SEVERAL HOURS BUT IT WAS WORTH IT AND I LOVE ALL YOUR ART AND YOURE JUST A GREAT PERSON AAAAAA 11/10 would rewrite existence out of possibly canon game history again 

 @dailyshadowdio Cake I can’t believe I was once scared of you with your beautiful art.. I was scared to talk to you and the big wry man himself… Now I know. I know that I must believe in gravy. Always believe in gravy. Gremlin Dio and pretty much all your art gives me life. I don’t know what it is about how you draw Dio, but he just looks??? So good?????? Long story short you’re great cake 

@dailyhamonpires we didn’t talk too much before the space au, but now that we’ve talked more, i’ve really enjoyed seeing you and your art! SOLU is a very sweet goop boy and deserves only the best. Keep up the amazing work!

 @dailyavdol you’re one of the sweetest people I know! Your art style is also super unique and beautiful, and I love seeing different characters in it! Also seeing you and Cami talk is really sweet too :> 

 @marinebiologistjotaro whERE DO I EVEN START You are an absolute blessing. Do you even know how much I love marine life. Like I really love cephalopods the most but all marine life is just really cool and if I wasn’t sure I wanted to do something with animation in the future I’d want to do something with marine biology and so when I found your blog some couple of months ago I died of happiness I’ve also enjoyed all the little inside jokes we’ve made over the past few months. I still miss Barbara… 

@badlydrawnmekandmoney !!!!!!!!!!!!!! GOOD OCS! GREAT PERSON! It’s always a lot of fun to talk to ya! You put up with all my shitty memes and actually genuinely seem to like them, too!

 @dailyyoungmrskujo *insert good shit meme but in french* I love Jolyne’s mom/Jotaro’s wife, so when I found that someone had taken her character and turned her into a fully capable headstrong young woman, I was so excited! You’re really sweet, and I wish you luck with your new job and I hope we sometime get time to talk (despite timezones >_<). 

 @badlydrawnjotarocean we don’t talk much but I kind of admire you from a distance because you’re pretty cool and I’m also madly in love with Joji from the reset au I mean sweet ocs you got there friend I mean um how much water do you need to quench your thirst

@badlydrawn-p4nareff a quality baguette… a handsome baguette… a good baguette… have I ever said how much I love pol and how good your pol art is I mean sometimes he’s just a piece of string cheese but you still manage to make him look beautiful???? What are your secrets I'm also sorry I'm a huge nerd you probably are wondering why I tagged you right I mean uh I should stop aaaa

@dailypisscop You’re an amazing artist and I’m so happy you like my art! It was a lot of fun seeing your progress on the johnny and gyro print and seeing other things you’ve drawn :>

@notsodailystarplatinum aaaaaAAAAA you’re so cool! I love all of your star doodles and it’s always fun to interact with you and the other star blogs! Also I still can’t believe you drew me

it me bubbles 

@dailyghiaccio we've talked a couple of times, but I absolutely love your art! Keep it up!

@weeklyesidisi (i’m not tagging all 1837472 of your blogs) vince you’re very funny and great and, I’ve really enjoyed talking to you about the space au and other things!

@dailyjosukeandokuyasu !!!!!!!!!!!!! Dude you are great I really love your art and designs a lot, also you definitely put up with all my terrible memes. The only complaint I have is no shiny

@daily-goldexperiencerequiem KICK ME INTO SPACE PLEASE I mean you're super fun tot talk to, and I love your GER art ^_^

@otamer kinda different than a lot of the other blogs here since you aren't a daily/bd blog that does much (yet) but you're super nice and fun to talk to and I know you can make that blog and join us in the deep dark realms of daily discord hell ;D

@badlydrawnkirby !!! 10/10 youRE SUPER GREAT AND YOUVE ALSO CHEERED NOON UP A LOT THANK YOU! 

@dailyyoung-jonathan YOU ARE GREAT OK?? Anyways thank you for taking celeste to the ball and also just for being really nice on kirb’s server. 

@regularlyscheduledjolynemom We talk occasionally, but it’s always fun to talk to you! Thank you for the history jokes :>

@kindofdailyoingo GOOD BLOG BOOD GLOG 10/10 I love your oingos also thank you for always listening to me talk about my hawk son you’re just really fun to talk to and be around and I hope you remember that! 

@poorlydrawnjosephjoestar I always secretly admired your art and your bad spaghetti jokes from afar, but since the space au, it’s been a ton of fun talking to you and the others onboard the Hayloft! (blease don’t kill off jovani)

@dailykakyoin I know you get this a lot but you're one of the reasons (I think you and dailypol maybe?) I started this (haha if you want go find the first ask I sent it was from my main blog it's terrible) and you're such an amazing member of this community! I mean, you answer tons of asks, draw really cute kaks, and you’re just really nice :>

 Here's a big ol pile of people that I'd love to talk to/interact more with and/or am too scared to interact with:

@dailyjonajba | @askdailymiraschon | @dailygwess | @miumiusdailybizarrehell (the unholy trinity is here) (i love you guys) | @daily-jojovillians | @dailyabba | @dailyteenshizuka | @daily-holhorse-and-maybe-boingo | @dailymoodyblues | @badlydrawn-lisalisa | @badlydrawnheartpompadour | @badlydrawn-vinegardoppio | @dailyjoshu | @daily-jouta | @badlydrawnventopolnareff | @poorlydrawnjosukeh | @dailychibimikitaka | @poorly-drawn-fem-koichi | @badlydrawnyuyafungami | @dailybrandio

Once again, thank you!

[ironninjacreator-blog]

Blog #4 - Interdisciplinary Work

During my studies of a Bachelor of Animation, I was told to do some work for another group of students, outside our Trimester level. We all set up what we were working on across two classes and were asked to check out what everyone else was doing and pick whatever looked cool to you. What no one informed me of was that the team we worked with had to be from another artistic discipline (web design, game design, audio engineering, or film… not animation) halfway through the trimester as I was happily working with another animation team, I was suddenly told to split from the team, and check out a game development team. Since the secondary animation team was horribly understaffed I felt bad about it and tried to work with three teams for about a week, while thinking up what to do with the game dev team, eventually I broke off from the animation team.

Long story short, the game dev team quickly realised that character designer/ animator me wasn’t going to draw good spaceships, so they told me: Draw some aliens. So I did.

Here is a quick stock of alien sketches I did for the game dev team.

So before I was asked to draw aliens, I took a crack at drawing a spaceship, I promised it would in fact just be a metal chicken, and I’m sure I did indeed deliver a metal chicken. I recall a lecturer from my Tafe days showing me the works of Feng Zhu, who taught art students, and drew vehicles inspired by the animal kingdom, mostly fish. So… I drew a chicken, because I like chickens.

Understandably, I couldn’t go far with my brazenly absurd and above all…well, bad spaceships.

So, when I got the note that I should shift to character design instead I breathed a sigh of relief, then sighed again for disappointment, as this was still very much a science fiction game, and drawing monsters tends to be rather different from drawing monsters… and my strengths are in drawing humans, animals, furries and monsters. Aliens would be difficult step, but hey, at least I’m drawing something organic, can’t complain.

So back in Tafe, I was running with a group making a cartoony sci fi platformer, and I’d drawn astronauts, T-Rexes and common Greymen. So I thought I might as well throw in a grey to start off with.

As I’d been spending months writing essays and blogs and building things in 3DsMax, it had been an unreasonably long time since I’d actually drawn something, seeing as Greys are rather neutral humanoids, they are a good alien to experiment with how you are going to play with proportions for a given set of characters. These guys were scrapped pretty quickly, but I have no problem with that.

So after I’d drawn the greys, I thought “bugs are sci fi, right?” and totally was not thinking of the movie I saw that weekend and drew two entirely random bugs. I was trying to determine if the bugs in the game would be centaurian (hexapeds with two arms and four legs) or four-armed bipeds.  I like my bugs nice and chunky, so I drew the limbs a little thicker. My wasp I feel doesn’t look particularly exciting. So I moved on to other bugs.

Recalling that some people are terrified of moths and butterflies, I thought I try drawing a vicious moth-man. Had I bothered to look up moth-man legends I might have actually drawn something scary, but instead I came up with this hilariously bad joke of a moth alien.

So I came to the conclusion that if I was going to draw a decent bug-alien, I would have to make it something big and strong and tough. So I thought of beetles, they’re tough, and pretty huge. I drew out the form being mostly triangular, with a greatly exaggerated upper body; and found out I prefer four-armed Biped aliens to centaurian bugs. Since I am not an entomologist, I just threw in all the insect mouth-parts I could think of on a human-skull-shaped head and gave it horn-like antennae. In order to further exaggerate the ludicrously tiny legs, I just left him with actual beetle legs, which don’t really look like they have feet. I made the abdomen rather small, and mostly for balancing purposes, and just threw a bunch of spikes on him where I felt they were needed. Strangely the whole dev team liked all of my bugs, but the War Beetle was definitely the best loved.

Reptilians are a given, after greys and bugs, and apparently before Lion-Men, according to my alien conspiracy friends. This one is a standard grunt, mostly modelled off Ratchet and Clank robots and a certain Ratchet Deadlocked skin called W3rm. What isn’t from the game wasn’t playing last weekend is that he is in fact bearded dragon, holding a crappy gun, because I just can’t draw guns at the moment. Swords? No problem. Guns… problem. I tried to draw him in an IDGAF bad-boy pose… I don’t think it worked; however the dev team liked it.

The dev team was strangely insistent on my drawing an eldritch monstrosity inspired by a cephalopod. I frankly, do not understand this wave of interest in the works of H.P Lovecraft, I consider the man a racist jerk with serious mother issues. Plus I’ve never read anything of his as I just don’t have an interest in his stuff. So yeah, I drew some cephalopods with bat wings on their heads. That’s probably as close to drawing Cthulhu, Shubniggurath, shoggoths or any other abominations of R’yleh I don’t care to learn the names of. Understandably, the dev team didn’t pick either, because… well, look at them.

 When I informed the dev team that I’m not particularly great with aliens, I let them know that without a doubt I was going to draw a cyborg dragon. My only real concerns with this picture are that the not enough of him is robotic, particularly is right arm, jaw and wings. Also the silhouette isn’t very good, I doesn’t clearly show off his six limbs. However the dev team was quite entranced with him, likening him to Charizard of Pokémon fame.

Now for the final coloured versions of the top 3 characters the developers chose.

To be honest, I have no idea what I’m doing with colours, and I began with red for all of these guys, and used the Photoshop Hue and Saturation tool to change layer colours until I went through the rainbow, saving out .pngs, and picked out my favourite colours from there.

Red Army Ant

I redrew the arms, and shoved a gun in his hands, it shoots plasma. I’m not amazing with guns, but whatever, I gave it a shot (hehehehe…) I picked red colour, because ants are usually red or black in colour.

Dread Scarab War Beetle 

I call this colouration ‘dread scarab’ because red and black are scary. I wanted the viewer to feel as if the spikes are either poisonous, or covered in blood.

This guy I decided to redraw the cyber-dragon with a more dynamic pose, in order to show off the 6 robotic wings and make the arms easier to read. I felt that the war beetle was already super beefy, so I toned down the shoulder length. Then I made the tricked out gun and connected up a wire to a small machine by his heart. I completely forgot my initial ‘harlequin’ bionic setup, and put the other leg on the same size as the wholly robotic arm, but I still think it works. I also drew some crappy fire.

I hope you have enjoyed my concept art blog :)