John coming up with names for Covenant species that will be used as official military designations simply because he gets sick of his squadmates giving them nicknames like “roach things” and “hinge jaws” is strangely hilarious.
Kelly: those big spiky bastards with the huge fuck-off shields.
John: …
John: “Hunters”
Fred, when Blue Team finds out Unggoy breathe methane: fart-breathers
John, louder: Grunts
Blue team seeing stills of the San’Shyuum at a briefing.
John: So these Prophets-
Linda interrupting (deadpan): “Worm-necked walnuts.”
My pal @scarecrane made a cute sangheili named Khoza ‘Kadomai who by pure coincidence also has an injured/scarred eye like my ODST Roy Prince, so I decided to draw them together (with a new hairstyle for prince because he grew out his bangs huehue). the only difference is Khoza’s eye still has some vision while poor Roy has none in his eye so he covers it. Also, Khoza is leaning down in this picture because he’s actually insanely tall whoops
they’re destined to be really close (coughfallinlovecough) in our roleplay, but right now poor Khoza is NOT having a good time being a captive of 4 ODST’s, two of which want to kill him (one of them is prince) while the other two are clueless as hell lmaooo
I have this headcanon that John has absolutely despised feeling hungry ever since he had to go to bed without dinner on the first day of training, so he’s essentially turned into a human trash compactor and is the only one on Blue Team who will eat those ration bars that Fred so bluntly said in Glasslands look and taste like actual shit
anyway when he gets back to Infinity and reunites with Blue Team he heads immediately to the mess hall, where the Spartan-IVs’ first interaction with the legendary Master Chief is watching him shovel food into his mouth directly from the fridge with his bare hands
“That’s it, Chief, I’m cutting you off. I don’t need anyone, hero or otherwise, throwing up in my galley.”
John looked the mess sergeant up and down. He was short for a military man, but he held himself with the confidence of someone used to being lord of his domain, even in the face of the deadliest warriors humanity had ever produced.
“How much ration is a Spartan entitled to per day?” John asked.
“Five full meal portions, and you just finished your seventh.”
“And it’s been 1,687 days since i ate anything, which means the UNSC owes me another 8,428 plates. I would like one of them please.”
The mess sergeant quietly reloaded John’s tray as he tried to comprehend the numbers that had just been said.
“Thank you, Mess Sergeant,” said John, swiping two fingers past his face.
Time's Vengeance 