It's time to meet Chai, the Head of Marketing at Vandelay Technologies, and self-proclaimed "King of Rock". No one really knows how he got this job with how annoying and demanding he is, not even Peppermint... And yet, his overconfident, playful demeanor is charming enough for him to get Vandelay's products flying off the shelves. Buy 1 deadly robot and get 20% off on a ticket to his concert at the Project Armstrong Festival!
Finally finished drawing everyone's favorite white boy! For his swapped design, I just kinda mish-mashed a bunch of his costume accessories together, threw on a bunch of V symbols and slapped on a bunch of red, orange and yellow until it passed the vibe check.
Bonus doodles below the cut:
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My brain keeps going back to the hhau rambles and Grian asking Scar about taking his wings off and just...how incredibly short-sighted that "fix" would be. Because like, even if he lost one/both his wings and lived through it....he'd still have his instincts. He'd still chirp...he'd still wanna be high up in nests but he'd have to climb now. He'd never be able to wrap himself in wings again... depending on when that earring of Scar's might be the last of his feathers... and oh gosh post rescue? The hermits seeing him without wings and all the questions and looks of pity. Some well meaning hermit maybe brings him an elytra which he's never needed before and oh that could cause a spiral
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oh gosh. oh okay. i see you're bringing angst to my doorstep.
grian definitely wasn't thinking clearly in that moment. he simply reached a point where he can't see any other solution. so much of his anguish is tied to his wings. he's in pain and scared and he desperately wants it to stop.
he's learned to despise his wings. they cause him so much turmoil and everything that was ever good about them—everything he loved—has been meticulously erased. they're not pretty. they are dirty and grimy and itchy. heavy, unwieldy, muscles locked up, clumsy and aching from disuse. they no longer feel like a proper part of him. he's not using them, he's just constantly fighting to tuck them away. to make the world believe they're not there.
well then... wouldn't it be easier? if that was the reality?
to him, it sounds like a long-term solution to an otherwise never-ending problem.
his wings are a beacon, and wouldn't him and scar be so much safer without them? if he didn't have them, there'd be no reason for people to madly hunt him. maybe then they could stop running and catch their breath. maybe then scar wouldn't be in constant danger just from being near him. maybe then the fear lodged into grian's spine and the endless string of triggered panic attacks would finally go away.
yes, he'd still have his instincts. but he's already grounded. he's already not using his wings for any sort of comfort at this point, and flight is not an option. he's craving nests and high places, but that doesn't mean he can get them, wings or no wings, and— he was fine without that on hermitcraft! surely if the pain and fear stop, his instincts will calm down? surely, he can get at least a semblance of control back?
and you need to realise. there was no thought spared to the hermits. at this point, scar and grian have given up and no longer expect or even hope to ever be rescued. in their minds, there's no one coming to save them. there's no home to go back to. it's just this.
it will always be this.
and this is painful, and grian is clawing at ideas of making it better somehow—anyhow—no matter how drastic or gruesome that option might seem.
that all being said... man. that big what if. what if he really lost them? what if, one way or another, he managed to get rid of his wings? what if that happened and he survived?
your point about how scar's earring would be the last of grian's feathers is so heartrending. that'd be so tragic and sad.
and then post-rescue, the hermits would have even more proof of the damage. even more questions, too. even more helplessness as how to help, when the damage done is long since unfixable </3
grian, having to wrangle with having a safe environment to fly again, but having no wings to fly with... especially if that was his own choice. if it was preventable. ouch.
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concept: a character who's skin resists marking. It isn't even anything particularly dramatic - their scars heal over quickly and cleanly, fading so that you can barely tell they're there. They don't bruise easily and the purple marks rarely last long. Their hands resist building up callouses, they train hard with punches and pushups but their knuckles never harden and protrude like other warriors. Even as they get older, their face stays relatively free of both worry wrinkles and laugh lines. It's lucky, a boon of good health that they shouldn't take for granted. But even so, they wish that they had something to show for what they've experienced.
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[ SCAR ] : noticing a scar on the receiver’s skin, the sender tentatively stops them from covering it up, and rests a gentle, soft kiss over it. @pyratezlife / jack.
𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐎 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃 & 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍, to pool with the cold sweat still gathered at edward's brow. there wasn't exactly a sick bed on board, per se, and this was the best old hornigold's crew could muster. no sick bed, because pirates fucking stupid enough to be mortally wounded were LEFT TO DIE on this crew. captain's orders. but ... ed was special. the men had all seemed to agree upon it, unspoken ( unspoken, even as they sterilized and bandaged him. carried him down to tuck in ).
lashes fluttered at the first ghost of a touch, opening to glazed brown eyes, unfocused. JACK was the first thing to grace their vision ; it was a surprise, but perhaps it shouldn't have been. lips pressed to the wound just below their clavicle, and dangerously positioned above his heart. an inch lower and that would have been it.
❛ ... ja-ack ? ❜ soft and broken, from a raw throat in desperate need of water. the second thing they saw was crimson still blooming 'cross the dirtied bandages 'round his chest. the third was izzy, collapsed deep in sleep within a chair at edward's bedside. A SLOW, burgeoning smile graced their lips ere he tried to raise an arm, a hand to touch jack's face. couldn't quite manage it. brows knit their frustration. ❛ you lot didn't toss me overboard then, i take it? 'less this is hell ? stuck on hornigold's shit fuckin' barge forever. ❜ a tease, more than anything. a laugh that HURT.
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