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frostycatblr-fandom-files · 8 months

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I See You : Crosshair x Fem!Reader

Warnings and Information: Going with a 13+ rating just on account of language in the form of Star Wars and real-world swearing, just to be cautious. Self-indulgent modern AU fic, but you can read it too. This is practice for Crosshair's character as well as something mildly therapeutic. I'm… fine, but not fabulous, y'know? Job hunting is not exactly fun, so I'm just writing out my frustrations. How many Clone cameos can I fit in here? We'll find out together. They're not dead, what are you talking about? Empire gets compared to any one of those multimillion-dollar companies that treat you like shit no matter how good of a worker you are with Palp as the soul-sucking CEO in modernized terms. Rare fic without minor instances of Mando'a, but plenty of my stylistic and narrative use of italics. Minor proofreading.

Word-count: 4,237

The phone rings. You put it up to your ear so fast you nearly drop your cell in your haste to answer, not even looking at the screen. You should've. It would have saved you time, the realization that these people were not reaching out to get back to you about your job application. You hang up halfway into the pitch about repairing damaged products you don't even own.

The lid slams to the washing machine."Oh, fuck me!" you yell, groaning loudly.

You're of two minds; be consumed with your frustrations and take it out on the washing machine, or just clean the paint stains out with your tears. You're sure that'll work just as well as the detergent in order to get out that large smear of phthalo blue. Except, it won't, and the sooner you get this load started, the less time the paint has to set and stain. The lid is lifted.

Footfall softer than falling snow, Crosshair makes his way in from some other part of the shared house, his expression passive as he observes you dunking fistfuls of dirty clothing into the wash-drum. "Is that an invitation or a request?" He at least waited to make his remark until he was certain you noticed him and gave him a trademark "what the kriff do you want?" sort of look.

Knuckles pale as you grip the lip of the machine with one hand. "I'm not in the mood for your-"

"No; I know you're not." Crosshair interrupts you. "But I came to see if you hurt yourself, mostly."

"I'm fine." you snarl, slam-dunking the last of the clothing from the hamper anchored against your hip. "I slammed the lid." A neat brow buckles just a fraction, all the response you get as you push your way past him, returning to the small office that served as your art studio in this house. You're really not in the mood. You were a whirlwind of emotion, most of it negative.

You can feel his eyes from the doorway, trained on the back of your neck as you work. Gosh you made such a mess, you shouldn't have used so much paint thinner. "Go away, Cross. I need to clean up my easel and see if I can't salvage this portrait of…" You stop, breath hitching when you hear Crosshair clear his throat softly. He's directly behind you now, his voice taking on a slightly serpentine quality in its softness.

"Your clean shirt's on backwards, doll."

You shake your head, stubbornly refusing to believe him. "Nice try. Not while my hands are dirty. Tell me again once I get this mess cleaned up."

Wordlessly, Crosshair plucks the runny canvas from its easel and makes sure not to take it beyond the edge of the tarp. Hunter would be disappointed to find a mess on the beautiful hardwood floors so soon after he's treated them. And you'd be disappointed with yourself to give a portrait to an important friend in its current state. What should have been beautiful, angular and geometric lines are little more than a royal mess.

"Just go ahead and trash it for me…"

The same brow arches. "Why?"

"Because I don't want to give Hardcase a painting that looks like that..." you reply, huffing in your disappointment and frustration that you'd gotten so sloppy with your oils. "I said his portrait would be perfect practice for crisp, angular forms with that beautiful pop of blue from his tattoo and this is… far from it."

Your housemate looks at you with mild surprise. As far as mild surprise goes for Crosshair, anyhow. He wouldn't look quite so aghast like Wrecker, or frown quite so deeply as Echo.

"Who are you and what have you done to the Bob Rossified [____] we know and admire? What happened to the happy accidents?" Ordinarily, the comparison to the famous art instructor and television host would have made your face burn brighter than your favorite brand of alizarin crimson paint.

Instead, you scoff at him. "Very funny..."

"I'm serious." Crosshair insists, setting the portrait back on the easel once you've wiped it down, "What's the matter?"

You shouldn't snap at him, but your mouth just runs away from you. "I thought I got a call back from the place I applied to. I was wrong! It was some damn spam call, and I don't know if I'm relieved or disappointed. Okay? Happy now?"

The palms of his hands flash in a surrendering fashion to you before he speaks. "I'd say you're more angry than disappointed." Sighing, you take your cleaning rag and do Crosshair a favor by removing the thinned, blue oil paint from his hands after he notices it himself. "Kriff. Sorry."

Gently, you assure him you'll take care of it. That it's no trouble. That he's right, after some thought, "I guess… I am angry. All these places that are supposedly so kriffing desperate for employees sure take their damn sweet time. Or they seem to be hiring everyone but you. It makes me feel… invisible. They should have called me by now! Right…?" Crosshair looks at the calendar tacked to the wall of your little studio, where it's written in your favorite color the day you applied to the art supply store. They definitely should have by this point, he agrees.

"Have they reached out by email?" he asks gently, watching as you take that same cleaning cloth and gingerly wipe down the bottom edge of the canvas. He's convinced you for the time being not to break it over your knee and pitch it into the curbside bin until you at least give yourself an hour away from your brushes to think it over.

You shake your head, "I've been checking every day. Nothing." You now wash your brushes before the paint gums up the bristles, at least. And then you promise you'll lay aside your brushes and go grab a bite to eat with him. "And most places these days, they're likely to actually trash your résumé if you call them to 'follow up' on your application process. That old piece of unsolicited advice needs to die out, pronto. Just because it worked for- for- Agatha and her generation, doesn't mean it works for mine!"

Crosshair snorts.

"What?"

"Agatha?"

"Shut up… I could have gone with Karen and been unoriginal." you grumble, gingerly fixing the arrangement of your fan brush.

Crosshair retorts sarcastically, giving you a playful smirk. "The 1930s called, they'd like to know why you're using such a dated name." Ordinarily, Crosshair stays out of your hair (and your studio) by never bothering you as you work, but it's clear that he's trying to cheer you up, even a little.

"Unless the 1930s is offering me a job," you start, plucking the thin script brush from his dexterous fingers just as he begins to twirl it, "it better not bother me by calling…"

"The art store will call you eventually, I'm sure…" he tells you, the grim frown matching your souring expression. "You love art. You're a creative person. What better person to work at a place like that than someone who could practically recite an episode of The Joy of Painting in her sleep?" You point out, playfully, that Tech could recite an episode of Painting in his sleep just as easily as you. But at least you crack a smile as you do so, so he lets it slide. "Okay, you and my brother." Cross concedes, thinking back to the time the household decided to try a "painting party" to break up the seasonal gloom last December. "Maybe Hardcase and Wrecker too, if the pocket squirrels make an appearance."

Here, you finally chuckle. "Forgetting Fives would be criminal. Or how concentrated Dogma gets."

Cross just nods agreeably, hoping to keep a good thing going. "I wouldn't dare. My point is, you'd be amazing at an art store. They'd be lucky to have a gal like you who gives a kriff about art working for them."

You flash Crosshair a confused and crooked smile as you set down the last of your brushes and tighten the last twist-cap on your tube of oil-based paints. "You think so?" You're surprised how… sincere Crosshair sounds. You had to do a little metaphorical arm twisting just to get him to join you when the only spot left in the living room was a seat on the couch next to Rex.

Cross just nods decidedly. "C'mon. Let's grab a burger or something. My treat." A burger sounds great, you tell him, fixing your shirt so it's not on backwards before you stroll out the door.

Maker above, did he really mean his treat. Crosshair took you both down to the best burger joint in the city, where the two of you ate your respective orders and split a carton of fries with the house seasoning and plenty of salt.

"Oooh, kriff me…" you moaned blissfully, sucking your fingers clean of the granules of salt and seasoning, "these fries hit the spot every time." They're probably your favorite thing here, honestly. Perfect amount of crispness, balanced flavor, and hot; never ever tepid or cold. Cross snags a few more fries from the carton before nudging it your way, inviting you to polish off the rest. "You don't want any more?" you ask, curious. "There's still plenty in there to share."

He offers a lazy shrug, "I'll think about it." He slips his phone from his pocket when he hears a ping, and he hums thoughtfully after reading the message. "... Think I should let Wrecker find out on his own that he's home alone?" You can only shake your head disapprovingly of the wry smile, mouth too full of food to chastise him. While Wrecker and Crosshair weren't afraid of messing around with one another, you worried about it getting out of hand on occasion. "Fine. I'll let him know we're not home so the big guy doesn't worry, doll. In fact…"

Cross types down a message much longer than a simple courtesy "we're not home" text, and then cleans up the discarded burger wrappers and straw sleeves, snagging a few more fries once you say you can't possibly eat another bite. "Good. Not a lot of fun when you go shopping hungry."

"Didn't we just make a grocery run two days ago?" Crosshair shakes his head, then pitches everything into the large garbage receptacle as you grab your things. "Not that kind of shopping then." you determine. There were a lot of possible options, but you didn't have to slog through another massive grocery list, at least. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see." Crosshair replies simply, holding the door for you to follow after as he steps into the parking lot. "I had an idea." Now you really wonder where you're going, or what he has planned. Crosshair and spontaneity get along about as well as a Tooka and bathwater, sometimes.

You have to remind yourself that Crosshair wasn't a complete stick in the mud all the time, and when you first met him, he was still working for the same company that his other brothers had quit once they found out what kind of person the man who ran this multimillion company turned out to be.

First found himself working under some bloke named Edmon down the managerial line, before he was arrested for embezzlement. Then a real asswipe of a superior named Nolan took over, and after someone got hurt really badly on a "company retreat" and Nolan refused to call for an ambulance, Crosshair finally came to his senses about the place.

They don't give a shit about how loyal of a worker you are, just like Hunter, Wrecker, Tech and Echo warned him. They were right all along.

You thought you mattered to us? Please… Someone younger and desperate enough will come in and take your place if we feed them enough honeyed lies!

So Cross stole Nolan's car and drove himself and the injured coworker down to a hospital two hours away from the company retreat. Crosshair had known the guy for less than 24 hours (or something like that), but Mayday's injury helped Cross come to realize that the company was a sinking ship. So he got them both out. Now, Mayday and Cross spend every Sunday night checking in on each other. Cross works odd jobs from home, mostly, and Mayday… Well he was content with not being employed for a while.

The longer Crosshair has been living at home with his brothers again, the more he's starting to get (some of) his old sense of self back. He's no longer couch surfing because he didn't want to deal with his brothers fussing over his choice to remain with the company.

He was never, ever kicked out.

Cross had always been welcome to come back home, with a spare key tucked under the welcome mat if he ever needed it.

You'd been the one to find him letting himself into the house at three in the morning after Mayday talked Cross into going and seeing his brothers. You were "leasing" a room from the brothers at the time, and they had let you know the deal about Crosshair. "Please don't call the police if you ever find someone who's just… let himself into the house. That's our brother. We've been worried about him. He's made choices we don't agree with, but he's still our brother. We care about him."

Of course, Cross had no warning about you, but he eventually warmed up to you in time after you had practically broken Hunter's door off its hinges to let him know that Cross was here and he was tackled into the coffee table by the biggest of his brothers in Wrecker's excitement.

That spare key under the welcome mat now sits on your ring of keys, which you fiddle with in your hands the longer you and Crosshair drive through the city.

"Isn't this the way downtown?"

"Mhm."

"Still won't give me a hint, Cross?"

"No." he chuckles, pulling the steering wheel into a smooth left turn. "You'll see soon enough, doll."

He's taken you to the art store, to your surprise. The one you applied to. Not that specific location you applied to in town, thank the Maker, but the chain, rather. "I haven't been to one of these places in years…" Cross admits softly as he pulls himself out of the car. "Figured while we were out of the house, we'd stop by."

"How come?" you ask. You'd recently just bought a bunch of paint, so it's not like you needed anything in particular, really, maybe just wanted… There was one particularly pricey art supply you've had your eye on and lusting after for a while now, but given your current unemployment status, you're really trying to control your spending. "You got a project in mind, or somethin', Cross?"

Shoulders bounce. "Not really."

"So… what are we doing here?"

"Looking." he declares, steering you into the store by your shoulder. "Lookings always free. So is anything you can apply the five-finger disco-"

"Cross!"

"I'm kidding." he declares semi-defensively, laughing at the expression on your face. "C'mon, doll, you know I'm kidding. Hard to smuggle out a whole canvas or large pack of… whaddya call those markers? Cop-picks?"

Mild mortification turns into bubbly giggles over his decent effort to pronounce the brand name. "Copics. They're called Copic markers. And, they're kind of a scam." He just looks at you with an expression of confusion, so you figure you better explain. "Here, lemme show you." Taking his hand, you lead Cross down to the aisle dedicated to sketch pads, pencils and markers. On the shelves, there's dozens of specialty packs and bundles with quirky names.

Oceanic, "Beach Blast!", and skin tones are all prominently stocked for the summer. Singleton markers are what you're looking for though. You pluck a Copic Classic from one of the slots, and point to the price sticker.

A whopping 9.65 credits for a single kriffing marker. "Keep that in mind," you say, as you scoot down the aisle and show him the stock of Ohuhu brand markers, "and compare it to this." You select a similar color to the Classic in the Ohuhu brand, and tap the price sticker. A far more reasonable 2.49 credits.

He scratches the back of his head and neck. "What the kriff…? Is there a significant difference in the brand or something?" He's not exactly all that artistically inclined like you are, so to him, he's not sure if there's anything he's seeing that warrants such sticker-shock for a damn marker.

"Just the name, really. Copic markers aren't really the end-all-be-all of alcohol-based art markers anymore. Ohuhu branded markers are just as good as Copics, and you get more markers for say… fifty credits in Ohuhus than Copics." you explain, putting the markers back in their respective slots. "I won't bore you with more details that go into it, but that's the bare bones of it."

Cross nods politely to indicate he's listening to you, lifting a pack of art markers off the display to give it a closer look. Once he has satisfied his curiosity, he puts it back and glances at the different sketch pads. "And these probably tell you what they're best suited for, somewhere." You confirm his thought with a simple nod, tapping one of the sketchbooks. Drawing pad, 64 pages best suited for graphite, marker and colored pencils.

"They'll often tell you either on the cover, or on an inside page, sometimes. Depends on the brand."

You're getting the feeling that maybe Cross is looking for something after all, but he won't admit it to you. He keeps asking you question after question as you go down each aisle of the store. If there's a section dedicated to a particular craft you're not very familiar with, the two of you just look at the items in silence for the most part. You're (pun not entirely intended) pouring over all the different resin supplies together when Crosshair asks you another question to break the silence.

"Do you ever show your art online? Some kind of… creative forum, or something? Or is it all just personal projects, like the portraits you've done for Rex and the one you're trying to do for Hardcase?"

You chew your bottom lip for a moment as you mull over what you'll say. "I… stopped. For a long time."

"Why?"

You huff softly, returning one of the unusual resin molds back to the shelf. Little space shuttles and UFOs and such. (Space travel… wouldn't that be something?) "I couldn't get out of the trap of comparing myself to others. I don't know if you could call it imposter syndrome, or anxiety, or what. But I just felt… small. Unnoticed. Invisible." Crosshair frowns, stepping closer to you to allow someone with a large cartful of yarn and children's paint sets squeeze past. She looked like a teacher, gentle and kind and so, so tired. But she gave the pair of you a kind smile as she moved down the aisle and pondered over the different bags of beads one could buy in bulk for crafts.

"That's the second time you've used that word, [____]."

You give him an inquisitive look, surprised by his statement. The rare use of your name. "Wh-what word?"

"Invisible." Crosshair answers, closing that gap between you further when his hand reaches out to cup your face for a moment to scrutinize you, study you. "Is that how you feel?"

"I guess?" you start, but you think a little more, and you find that, yes, sometimes you do feel invisible. "I feel like… people don't… notice me. Like I'm trying to do it all damn wrong. It's been fucking weeks and places won't call me back! Or I'll post things and it gets a handful of interactions when I put the effort into it, but the shit I don't, that's what fucking blows up and goes viral. I don't fucking get it and I… sometimes I just don't know why I bother trying to apply myself when I'm just… invisible and unseen. This shit sucks, Cross." you admit a little bitterly. You take a deep breath and apologize for swearing in the store, in case the other customers can hear you. You apologize again when the tears begin to prickle and well in the corners of your eyes for getting so worked up, but you're just kind of at a loss for what to do next. You've tried so many things… you just feel like you're talking to yourself because no one will answer your applications.

Crosshair doesn't say anything for a while, and you don't take it to heart. He's not the chattiest of your housemates, as you learned a long time ago. Sometimes, he did have things to say, but he wanted to take some care with his words if Cross sensed he needed to be a little more delicate.

And he could be surprisingly good at being delicate when the need arises.

Assuringly, tenderly, Crosshair brushes the tears from your eyes and motions for you to follow him. "I see how much this stuff matters to you. If a stuffy old art store can't see it, just know that I see it. You're not invisible to me, kid. I see you." He's brought you to the paint section, coming to a stop in front of the selection of oil paints in particular.

"I may not understand all of… this," he gestures broadly at the display of thick, silver-foil tubes of paint, and selects a beautiful cerulean blue off the rack, "but I see how much this means to you. You know your shit. You're getting better all the time. I see that. One day, I think people will see that you know your shit too, and you won't have to feel so invisible anymore. But I see you. Hunter, and Wrecker and Tech, and- your friends see you, doll. You've got such a passion for these things… but you're…"

You wait for him to continue for a moment, wondering what he wants to say. You decide to hazard a guess when all he can offer is a soft shrug when he finds himself at a loss for words. "Beating myself up, too much…?" You eye the tube of paint in his hands, and wonder for a moment why he's been taking so many things off the shelves only to look at them before putting them back in their proper place. Tech's told you Cross has sharp eyesight, perhaps more on the farsighted side if anything. (Was he more farsighted than you initially assumed?)

"Perhaps." Cross admits, softly juggling the tube in the palm of his hand. "If nothing else I said sticks with you… I just hope that the fact that I see and recognize your efforts does, doll. I know I'm only one person, but sometimes, just hearing it from one person is all we need."

You feel your cheeks pinch with a little smile hearing him say that. One of those things, one of those times where someone says exactly what you needed to hear when you didn't know you needed to hear it most. "That's… awfully nice of you to say, Crosshair. Thank you…"

"I should give some credit to Mayday," Crosshair admits with a soft laugh, now pulling a tube of cobalt and ultramarine blue off the shelves, "he's the one who's been encouraging me to… do what feels right, if he thinks I'm feeling a little lost between the odd job. And doing what feels right includes helping you restart that portrait of Hardcase if you really think you need to trash the first one."

"Is that why you keep grabbing all those different blues?" you giggle, watching him now idly shuffle three different tubes of blue oil paint in his hands.

Crosshair nodded, making you laugh as he grabbed a fourth tube with a wink. "Yeah. I noticed that you didn't have these blues back at home. And that you use phthalo blue a lot like a certain painter."

"Are you comparing me to Bob Ross again?" you tease, stifling a laugh as you make your way to the checkout together. You've been away from your brushes for more than an hour at this point, and you're itching to get back to the process of creating while you still have the time to do as much as you want; before you're hopefully contracted with a job offer and have less time to dedicate to such things.

"Maybe." he purrs mischievously, ringing up each of the paints before carefully wrapping them up in their own separate plastic bags for the trip home. "If I am, do I get to see you paint?"

You can only shake your head with a gentle laugh. "We'll see, Cross."

That's good enough for him, he says as you collect the receipt from the self checkout machine, just so long as you promised you'd give yourself a little more grace and faith that soon enough, you'd get the job offer you wanted.

Some days will be easier than others… but you'll do your best, you promise. You're pretty sure you can manage that.

[Masterlist] [Requests: OPEN]

Tagging: @the-hexfiles who wanted to see some soft!Crosshair <3

Note from Frost: Apparently Mayday got assigned some kind of "Work Dad who takes care of and looks out for the younger employees" vibes while I was writing this self-indulgent (and mildly therapeutic) quick-fic, lmao. And hopefully, this ends up being good practice for soft!Crosshair down the line, as it comes into play in the next long-form series I'm working on. Yeah maybe it's perhaps a tad too out-of-character, but kriff it.

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saikokirakira · 2 years

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Request for our moon bois

Their reaction to you always taking care of your apperance like long af nails, snatched makeup and killer outfits? 🤤🤤🤤

a/n: ooooh, first ask on the blog. i really appreciate it. 🥺🥺 ngl i'm on the ropes on this one. those reading, tell me you like it or i'll cry. 🥲🥲

i didn’t know if you meant Bakunawa!reader or just a general one, so i did the former. you can only notice the au references if you squint anyways, but feel free to shoot me another request. 😊😊

warnings: just fluff; mild sexual references (if you squint); steven being a cinnamon bun; marc being sassy and emotionally constipated; jake being a simp king

Steven Grant (would focus on the dress)

You were often invited to art galas and gallery unveilings due to your line of work.

That means you had to keep up with appearances, especially during black tie events.

Sometimes, if schedules between Marc and Jake allowed him, he would always be your plus one.

Yet you also had that small bit of joy dressing up outside of work just for its own sake.

Knowing his reaction to Layla’s armor during the Cairo incident, he would forget everything else and decide to fawn over you.

“Darling, you look absolutely beautiful. Your nails – they can poke an eye out – but they are a gorgeous accent to that clutch bag.”

Among the others, Steven had a better eye on style, and if he wasn’t so fidgety and often self-deprecating, he would fit in with the socialites without question.

“Isn’t it a little too much?”

You gave him a little twirl and posed for him, sticking out your leg to show off the high slit of your evening dress.

Steven shook his head, a little too aggressively that sent his curls flying.

“No! It’s perfect. A little too perfect,” he muttered that last part.

Oh? You smiled slyly and slowly made your way to him.

Steven’s cheeks warmed at your movements, so graceful that he thought you were gliding across the wooden floor of his flat in those heels and flowy dress.

Steven couldn’t gasp out the allurement you had on him when you pressed your palm to his cheek.

The tips of your long nails tickled the start of his hairline, and he inwardly groaned at the thought of you running your fingers through his curls and scratching at his scalp.

You were about to lean in when Steven painfully pulled away.

“Come on, darling. We’re gonna be late. Let me grab my jacket, and I’ll be good to go.”

A serpentine hiss escaped from your deep red lips, something Steven thankfully missed.

“I’ve been thinking of skipping. Let’s just have a night in.”

Steven looked at you with that wide-eyed lost puppy look.

“Don’t be silly, darling. I can’t wait for them to mistake you as the painting with how gorgeous you look.”

It was only until the elevator ride down did Marc and Jake yelled at him from the reflections over how he completely missed your invitation to stay in.

Marc Spector (would focus on the nails)

Would be very snarky about them at the beginning.

“How can you even hold a paintbrush with those? Much less your tenegre swords?”

In between missions, you may have to replace your nails, quite often, but with you kept them as long as you could…

… and sometimes even enough to inflict serious damage.

Bakunawa is a very proud deity, sometimes rivaling Khonshu if you would ignore the self-righteousness.

His prideful serpent-like behavior rubbed off on you by killer outfits and makeup that often resemble the scales that grew a place in your heart over the past months.

Maybe the outfits and makeup you saved on special occasions, but the nails were a constant.

Marc would never admit it, but he loves it when your nails change very often.

It reminds him how beautiful you are but can also be lethally dangerous.

The first time he found out about your frequent trips was when he went on a frenzy looking all over for you in London.

You mentioned you would be at the art studio that day, but the old man there said it was your day off.

Why would you lie?

Did Harrow’s crazy disciples find you again? What if it was someone from your village who managed to track you down?

But no.

You were chatting and giggling with a nail aesthetician who you were talking with in your native tongue at a high-end salon in downtown London.

You specifically turned to her because she was the Crawley to your Steven, and not many people in London would notice your incessant babbling over your three boyfriends… and your girlfriend who is always away on business trips.

Marc wanted to be mad, but he could settle being annoyed for now.

He knew why you lied. It was now his chance to be honest about it.

About how you actually looked hot with those nails.

How he was happy for you that you had some semblance of self-care after you go on missions with him and Khonshu.

Maybe he’ll tell you those words later.

Or maybe not.

“Was that your boyfriend just now?”

You smiled and continued to glance at him walking away and back down the street from the mirror.

“Yep. He’s just being a worry-tart. Always.”

“What design are we going for this week?”

“Something white and gold. Maybe a lunar design.”

Jake Lockley (would notice your makeup)

Jake is obsessed with your body, especially your face.

He could stare at your eyes for forever if he could.

One of his favorite moments are mornings after you stay the night.

He would just watch you from across the bed doing your makeup while holding a handheld mirror.

Jake offered once to hold the mirror for you.

You ended up being late for a meeting with your client because he became a little too distracting with all his eye-fucking staring.

He knows you love glitter and how you never skip on putting shimmers.

And he knows you know that he absolutely loves when you go out with the body glitters and chunky glitters.

Jake loves when your scales from Bakunawa’s iridescent armor emerge and shimmer into an array of colours under the lights.

Something about the power and confidence it holds.

It makes him want to worship you more than he already does.

So when you try to replicate that look during fancy galas, it would take all of his self-control to keep his hands on the wheel when he drives you both to the venue.

However, when the event is over, it’s all fair game.

You would be his own personal art show.

Because that is what you are to Jake.

Something to be revered, a feast for the eyes, art.

Often times, Jake wouldn’t even do anything but just hold you – skin-on-skin contact.

As the protector alter, Jake was often stern and always on alert.

But with you in his arms, all the tension in his body leaves by staring at something so beautiful as you.

#moon knight fanfiction #moon knight imagine #moon knight reaction #moon knight headcanon #moon knight x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #steven grant x you #marc spector x you #jake lockley x you #bakunawa au #bakunawa!reader

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dzamie-oc · 6 months

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Voretober 23 - Stranger

Length: 1800 words Vore type: M/F, F/M, F/?, wing vore, absorption, oral vore Fandom: None (Kahudra) Other info: multiple preds, multiple prey, willing prey, unwilling prey, bat/mouse, slime/tiger, and one more Summary: A vore show segment where they showcase the strange and, ah, "stranger" ways to devour another person! Featuring a twist ending, courtesy of Eris.

On stage, in front of a studio audience and behind a podium, stood a vixen in a purple pinstripe suit and a broad grin, holding a microphone by her mouth. At a cue, she waved to the camera. "Welcome back to the show! I'm Raine, and in just a moment, we have an interview with one of the nation's leading thaumic scientists on what's going on in the fascinating world of coming back from a stomach - or wherever else you wind up. But first is a segment we're calling, "Tooth is Stranger Than Fiction," where several contestants delve beyond the jaws to show off the weirder side of ingestion."

She strolled from her podium across the stage, and the camera followed, zooming out until it framed three pairs of individuals, each a guy and a girl: a mouse and a bat; an orange, lizard-shaped slime and a tiger; and a dog and some sort of furry, serpentine mishmash of species. "Okay, everyone, let's have a round of applause for our three guests," the host said as she stopped before each pair. "Over here on the left, we have Claire, a sleeper by day and teacher by night." The bat in question blushed and sheepishly waved a wing. "Next up, Victor, the wettest bookseller I've ever met." The lizard offered a polite nod. "And last but certainly not least, Eris, an incorrigibly chaotic spirit - so don't incorrige her." Eris leaned her neck over to Raine, leaving the rest of her body behind, and whispered something to her. Shocked, the vixen looked down to see that she was holding a large gummy worm instead of a microphone. The draconequus simply snapped a paw and grinned toothily at the camera, and the mic was back, albeit bright yellow.

After holding it up to scrutinize, Raine shrugged and walked back to Claire, explaining on the way, "And of course, our lovely professional prey, without whom our predators would have to plunder the audience - or each other!" A fourth wave of applause came and went before the fox turned to Claire. "So, Claire, what have you got for us today?"

The bat smiled. "Well, back in college, I experimented with some runic markings on myself - side note for those watching: don't do that. I got lucky, one of my friends didn't." Having turned to the camera for the brief responsibility PSA, Claire refocused on Raine. "Anyway, thanks to that, I can eat people with my wings, which I am here to demonstrate." She spread one wing out, displaying an impressive wingspan and shimmering, blue symbols all over the membrane from tip to shoulder to ankle.

Raine gave a low whistle. "A stunning display, and you haven't even started yet! So, ready?" She looked at the bat, then at the mouse beside her. Both nodded, so she stepped back to give the pair some room - and the camera a good shot.

Claire partially unfurled both wings, and beckoned her prey forward. Once he stood right against her fluffy, furry front, she drew her wings back in, wrapping the mouse in a leathery embrace. "Here goes," she said, "sorry you guys can't see much." A soft, blue glow shone out from under her chin, and over the course of ten seconds, the lumpy, somewhat recognizable bulges of the mouse against her wing membranes grew much less defined, and her hug shrunk inward. Finally, with a cheeky "ta-da!" the bat spread her wings again; the blue symbols shimmered brighter than before, but once the mouse's empty clothes fell to the floor, all that stood between them was her bare, brown fur, no rodent to be seen. She quickly wrapped them loosely around herself again, blushing, and quietly asked something of Raine. The fox muted her mic to respond, and after what looked like a brief incantation, an ethereal mouse rose out from between Claire's body and wings, before floating off to get back in his body.

"Well done," Raine said after turning her mic back on, "now, I'm sure you don't use this on your students, so what's your usual fare?"

Claire thought for a moment, then leaned into the mic. "Well, I have a few friends who are good for a mana recharge… but in the rare cases that I'm desperately low, it's not too hard to find someone willing to let a tired bat hug them, especially if they're not big into listening when I tell them what my wings actually do."

Raine pulled the mic back and started walking over to the next two. "I've said it before and I'll say it again: this segment proves that, if someone asks if they can eat you, it's a joke less often than you think. And now we come to Victor. I've gotta say, Victor, this is the first time we've had a slime on this little game, and the folks backstage have told me nothing about what to expect. So, hit me with it."

The orange lizard smirked. "Not literally, I hope?" he joked in a deep, fluid voice. "But actually, this is more of a… defense mechanism that got out of hand. Once that happens, it's easy for a slime to join with part of themself, whether it was severed or, well… I guess Miss Tabitha and I will show you."

"I guess you will!" The host took a step back once again, and the camera centered the orange pair.

Victor lifted a slimy hand up in front of the tigress, and to Raine's surprise, the cat took a hefty bite from him! Tabitha's eyes widened, but she smiled after she swallowed, the throat bulge this time belonging to the one who was supposed to be prey. Her remark, "you taste like pumpkin pie. I could go for another bite if it helps," and his reply, "ah, no need. Maybe later," were just barely audible.

After a moment of confusion from all but the lizard and tiger, Tabitha startled, shuddered, and lifted her shirt to peer at her own belly. Or rather, the transluscent orange slime where her furry, white belly was supposed to be! She pulled it up more, stopping just under her breasts to see a line of fur steadily retreating before the encroaching slime. "Oh, this does feel strange," she remarked; having caught on, Raine stepped in to hold the mic closer. "A little cold where he's touching me, but nothing where he already is." The tiger turned and looked behind her, where a thick, reptilian tail seized territory that her stripey feline one rapidly lost. Once her paws became like his, the mostly-slime creature pulled her shirt off through himself, to an exclamation of surprise from Tabitha's head, the only fuzzy bit left. She managed to get out "Victor, I'd love to-" before even her head was replaced by the lizard's. The body that used to be Tabitha finished her sentence in Victor's voice, "play around more later? Yeah, I'm down."

The two Victors looked at each other, smiled, and stepped together, though only gained about half a foot in height. "Well," Raine managed to get out, "definitely unique. Um, like I asked Claire, is this for rowdy customers, for fun…?"

"Sometimes for fun - Tabitha's reaction was certainly not unusual. But, since I do have to worry about getting too big with it," Victor replied, then stood straight for a second to show off his height, "it's mostly, as I said, an overactive defense mechanism. Some predator tries to eat a tasty slime, and I end up getting them back in the end."

Getting back into the swing of things, the fox gave him a sly grin. "No comment on the other part of my question?"

Victor laughed. "I don't eat paying customers." Before Raine could ask the followup he'd just set up, he grinned and nodded over off-camera. "Anyway, Eris looks bored. Her turn next, right?"

"Hey now, who's the host of this show?" the vixen jabbed back, but was already making her way over to… Eris, who was sitting backwards on what looked like a schooldesk chair with a back high enough for her noodly proportions, with her head resting on her mismatched lion's and eagle's arms. "And finally we have… Eris, what happened to Russel?"

This earned her a playful, snaggletoothed smile. "Oh, that amorous puppy wanted me to sit on his face. And who am I to turn down such a cute guy?" Eris lifted her paw and gestured to the chair. "So I turned him into this. Fine work, if I do say so myself."

Still shaken from the earlier surprise and now much more thrown off, Raine took a step back and glanced around. "O…kay… well, unless you're going to eat the chair in a strange way, can you turn him back?"

"Absolutely, but it might play havoc with your show's rating." Eris snapped the fluffy tuft of her dragon tail like a whip, and where a chair stood just moments before, laid the untransformed dog on his back; Eris held his ankles to her body and made a quiet grunt passionate enough to hint at where Russel's muzzle wound up. With slightly rosy cheeks, the draconequus continued, "but anyway, puppy boy here is completely safe from becoming part of my body - at least for now."

Raine visibly tensed. "What do you mean by that? You're not going to eat him?"

With a mischievous gleam in her eyes, Eris stared back at Raine. "Oh, no. See, I figured I'd mix things up a bit, and rather than eat someone expected in an unexpected way, I'd eat someone unexpected in an expected way."

The vixen took a few steps back from the third guest. "You don't mean me? I still have half the show left to host, an interview, viewer mail…"

At this, Eris giggled. "That wouldn't stop me, but no. No offense, but that sort of reversal is small-time. Here, follow me, camera, I'll just show you." Oddly, rather than get up from her seat on Russel, she just licked her lips and turned to face-

Wait, hold on. Stay back. You can't just- o-oh, that does feel nice… But no. Eris, there's a story to get back to! You were going to eat him with your- aah!

Stop it! Don't give that look, and don't swallow! What'll happen to the story if y

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fybarbarapalvin · 2 years

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BARBARA PALVIN the loop studio talking about her first acting role in serpentine

#barbara palvin #bpalvinedit #barbarapalvinedit #dailywomen #femaledaily #dailymodels #*

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hedgewitchgarden · 2 months

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Pamela Colman Smith. Image in the public domain.

She’s the world’s most famous occult artist but her name is almost unknown.

Such is the enigma of Pamela Colman Smith (1878–1951), an early 20th-century artist, writer, and mystic. Smith created dreamy, Symbolist-inspired watercolors that won her acclaim in her youth, including three successful exhibitions at Alfred Stieglitz’s famed New York gallery, 291, where she was the first non-photographic artist to have a show.

She was also an intimate friend of Dracula writer Bram Stoker, poet William Butler Yeats, and the actress and artistic muse Ellen Terry, for whom Smith designed illustrations and stage sets.

However, Smith’s most lasting artistic contribution was undoubtedly her designs for the Rider-Waite tarot deck. Made in collaboration with mystic and scholar A.E. Waite, Smith created the Art-Nouveau-inspired imagery of mythical archetypes set against luminous monochromatic backgrounds. Released in 1909, the deck is now regarded as the standard set, with more than 100 million copies in circulation. Smith’s imagery has become synonymous with tarot itself.

And yet, for more than a century, Smith went wholly uncredited for her contribution. Her claim to the deck was only cemented by her iconic serpentine signature, a monogram she created while studying Japanese design, and which she embedded into the decoration for every Tarot card.

“Tarot is a visual device—and yet the visual artist who composed them was eclipsed by Waite, the scholar, and Rider, the manufacturer,” said Micki Pellerano, a New York-based artist, astrologer, and scholar of occult history, “Academics, with all their inertia and corporatism, are somehow more palatable to the public and valuable to the market than artistry and vision… little has changed.”

But Smith has slowly been gaining recognition. The exhibition “At the Dawn of a New Age: Early Twentieth-Century American Modernism,” currently on view at the Whitney Museum of American Art, features an entire vintage set of the Rider-Waite tarot deck with attribution to Smith alongside The Wave, a luminous 1903 watercolor and ink drawing in the museum’s collection. The artist’s place in art history is still forming, however, and her contributions are more complex than a simple story of rediscovery.

Pamela Becomes Pixie

Born in London to upper-class American parents, Smith moved through a sophisticated and cultured circle, spending her childhood in New York and then Jamaica, where she would be profoundly shaped by that nation’s folkloric history. Smith returned to New York in 1893, enrolling in Pratt Institute, though she would leave after two years to pursue her own interests, then returning to London following the death of her mother.

She was deeply involved in the literary world and her early accomplishments include the illustrations for a volume of verses by William Butler Yeats (1898), as well as the publication of her own writing, Annancy Stories, a collection of Jamaican folktales, and Widdicombe Fair, an illustrated version of a popular English folk melody.

By 1901, she had established a weekly salon at her London studio and apartment, and she started her own journal, The Green Sheaf, which she edited as well as contributing her own poems and illustrations. She devoted herself to miniature theater as well, constructing dazzling and diminutive stage sets for toy performances.

The Annancy Stories particularly won Smith admirers and a bit of notoriety. Smith toyed with gender conventions, granting the women characters in these stories more agency, and sometimes making the gender of the characters ambiguous. She’d also written these stories in Jamaican patois, with which she was familiar from her childhood—an unconventional decision at the time.

Smith was familiarly known as Pixie, a nickname bestowed on her by Ellen Terry and which captured something of her undefinable, impish spirit. Smith was often known to wear flowing robes, and occasionally pants, and her self-styling welcomed all sorts of speculation. “She adopted native costumes and wore feathers in her hair and colorful ribbons. It was almost like a self-constructed persona that she adopted,” explained Barbara Haskell, curator of the Whitney exhibition, in a phone interview.

Her sexual orientation and her ethnic makeup also sparked curiosity. She lived for many years with Nora Lake, her companion and business partner, with whom she may have shared a romantic relationship. Others have speculated that Smith was of biracial descent, with an English American father and a mother of either Jamaican or East Asian ancestry—although not much evidence exists to lead to any decisive conclusions on the matter. What was certain is that Smith was regarded as “other” by those around her and which in turn inspired her approach to art-making.

Early Fame and Acclaim

In 1907, Smith had her first exhibition at 291, featuring 72 watercolor paintings. These works were partially inspired by Smith’s own synesthesia, in which she experienced visual sensations set off by auditory impulses (her first synesthetic experience occurred while listening to Bach). She organized her works for the show with overtly musical references, such as overtures, sonatas, and concertos.

“In the 19th century, there was an idea that art was an expression of the unconscious and that it would elicit unconscious non-rational ways of thinking about the world,” Haskell said. “Smith would paint while listening to music as a way to unleash her unconscious, which would have fit Stieglitz’s mission at that point.”

This first exhibition was a commercial hit and Smith would have two more shows at the gallery in the following few years. Eleven of her unsold paintings and drawings remained in the collection of Stieglitz and Georgia O’Keeffe. Eventually, however, Stieglitz would turn to a more masculine vision of Modernism, leaving Smith somewhat disheartened.

The Embrace of the Occult

From early in her life, Smith’s spiritual beliefs were oriented toward the esoteric and arcane. She had been raised a Swedenborgian, a mystical denomination of Christianity, and, as early as 1901, began to engage with the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, a secret society that explored occult, metaphysics, and paranormal activities, which certainly influenced her artistic output.

For Haskell, these influences were symptomatic of the time. “Smith represents a strain of artists in early American Modernism who were disaffected with materialism and rationalism, but who were also unsatisfied with organized religion and so turned toward more occult pursuits,” she explained. “Theosophy was so influential at the turn of the century and the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn was similar—a secret society that looked at ancient texts, the kabbalah, and tarot cards. This was predominant among women and I think of Agnes Pelton as a parallel.”

Smith was eventually approached by A.E. Waite, a scholar of the Hermetic Order, who had ambitions to create a new version of the 78-card tarot deck, and who commissioned Smith to create the illustrations.

Waite, a Grand Master of the Hermetic Order, offered direction for his vision for the order of the Major Arcana, which is characterized by allegorical characters such as the Fool and the Sun. The Minor Arcana, cards in four suits of wands, swords, cups, and pentacles, were left entirely to Smith’s discretion, and she transformed these cards, which had traditionally been simply symbols, into lush, image-laden scenes.

The deck is mythical in scope, ranging from moments of exalted regality to mischievous pleasure, and Smith’s compositional signature predominates the cards: a lone, mysterious, medieval hero appears against a nearly Byzantine monochromatic background.

For Pellarano, Smith’s familiarity with the significance of the tarot is evidenced by her detail. “She possessed a rare command over iconography, and a deep understanding of it,” he said. “Her designs are constantly revealing new layers of information. They encode so much meaning and evoke so much contemplation, but are gentle in their elegance and appeal.” Haskell notes commonalities to the work of Dante Gabriel Rossetti. “She was in England, and through the theater, she was exposed to a lot of Pre-Raphaelite art” Haskell noted.

Some of the tarot archetypes are believed to have been modeled by Smith’s friends—Ellen Terry’s daughter, Edith Craig, appears as the Queen of Wands and actor William Terriss as the Fool. Smith, who struggled financially throughout her life, would receive no copyright or credit for her contribution, and was paid only a nominal commission.

A Retreat to Obscurity

Following the publication of the deck, Smith grew increasingly interested in Irish mythology, and in 1911, she made illustrations for Bram Stoker’s final book, Lair of the White Worm. But soon enough, Smith withdrew from the art world. That same year, she converted to Catholicism and with a small inheritance purchased a home in Bude, England.

There she would devote herself more fully to causes like women’s suffrage and the Red Cross. She would die at age 73 in Bude, all but penniless. “It was her decision. She just exited the art world,” Haskell said.

Still, Haskell believes it is time for Smith to rejoin the story of Modernism. “Art, more than words, presents the mood of the time, and Pamela Colman Smith’s work does get to the essence of a feeling of that era,” she said. “On one hand, people were excited about industrialization and that was the dominant mode, but there were also those who were very concerned that it was stripping individuals of a sense of spirituality and connection to their inner core. That certainly hasn’t gone away and we’ve come fully back into such a moment.”

“Smith’s works feel even more resonant,” Haskell added, “showing art as a way to find a personalized, spiritual connection to divinity in isolating times.”

#pamela colman smith #tarot

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rockislandadultreads · 11 months

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Read-Alike Friday: The Poisoner’s Ring by Kelley Armstrong

A Murder in Time by Julie McElwain

Beautiful and brilliant, Kendra Donovan is a rising star at the FBI. Yet her path to professional success hits a speed bump during a disastrous raid where half her team is murdered, a mole in the FBI is uncovered and she herself is severely wounded. As soon as she recovers, she goes rogue and travels to England to assassinate the man responsible for the deaths of her teammates.

While fleeing from an unexpected assassin herself, Kendra escapes into a stairwell that promises sanctuary but when she stumbles out again, she is in the same place - Aldrich Castle - but in a different time: 1815, to be exact.

Mistaken for a lady's maid hired to help with weekend guests, Kendra is forced to quickly adapt to the time period until she can figure out how she got there; and, more importantly, how to get back home. However, after the body of a girl is found on the extensive grounds of the county estate, she starts to feel there's some purpose to her bizarre circumstances. Stripped of her twenty-first century tools, Kendra must use her wits alone in order to unmask a cunning madman.

This is the first volume in the “Kendra Donovan” series.

The Strings of Murder by Oscar de Muriel

1888: a violinist is brutally murdered in his Edinburgh home. Fearing a national panic over a copycat Jack the Ripper, Scotland Yard send Inspector Ian Frey. Frey reports to Detective "Nine-Nails" McGray, local legend and exact opposite of the foppish English Inspector. McGray’s tragic past has driven him to superstition, but even Frey must admit that this case seems beyond belief...

There was no way in or out of the locked music studio. And there are black magic symbols on the floor. The dead man’s maid swears there were three musicians playing before the murder. And the suspects all talk of a cursed violin once played by the Devil himself. Inspector Frey has always been a man of reason—but the longer this investigation goes on, the more his grasp on reason seems to be slipping...

This is the first volume in the “Frey & McGray” series.

The Map of Time by Félix J. Palma

This rollicking page-turner with a cast of real and imagined literary characters and cunning intertwined plots stars a skeptical H.G. Wells as a time-traveling investigator.

Characters real and imaginary come vividly to life in this whimsical triple play of intertwined plots, in which a skeptical H. G. Wells is called upon to investigate purported incidents of time travel and to save lives and literary classics, including Dracula and The Time Machine, from being wiped from existence.

What happens if we change history?

This is the first volume in the “Trilogía Victoriana” series.

The House on Vesper Sands by Paraic O’Donnell

London, 1893: high up in a house on a dark, snowy night, a lone seamstress stands by a window. So begins the swirling, serpentine world of Paraic O’Donnell’s Victorian-inspired mystery, the story of a city cloaked in shadow, but burning with questions: why does the seamstress jump from the window? Why is a cryptic message stitched into her skin? And how is she connected to a rash of missing girls, all of whom seem to have disappeared under similar circumstances?

On the case is Inspector Cutter, a detective as sharp and committed to his work as he is wryly hilarious. Gideon Bliss, a Cambridge dropout in love with one of the missing girls, stumbles into a role as Cutter’s sidekick. And clever young journalist Octavia Hillingdon sees the case as a chance to tell a story that matters—despite her employer’s preference that she stick to a women’s society column. As Inspector Cutter peels back the mystery layer by layer, he leads them all, at last, to the secrets that lie hidden at the house on Vesper Sands.

#mystery #historical fiction #fiction #Library Books #Book Recommendations #book recs #Reading Recs #reading recommendations #TBR pile #tbr #tbrpile #to read #Want To Read #Booklr #book tumblr #book blog #library blog

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shoppncarticles · 8 months

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BONUS: Pokestar Studios

When expanding the region of Unova for the Black and White sequel games, Game Freak decided to include some additional references to American cultural icons, with one being Pokestar Studios, Pokemon’s version of Hollywood in its prime. Only, since Unova is based on New York, I guess they moved out of California all the way over to the East coast.

Pokestar Studios is a pretty interesting side attraction to the main game shenanigans, since the player can participate as an actor in various movie sets, engaging in Pokemon battles more as preset puzzles than monster fighting. Using rental Pokemon, you’ve got to follow a script, and know when’s the right time to make certain moves, take falls, or wait around for your next cue, with dialogue choices in between, all with the goal of making the best crowd-pleasing box office success. While it is pretty straightforward, and the use of rental acting Pokemon makes most of the puzzles pretty simple, I did always enjoy this alternative to the regular gameplay loop, and how much depth it was given. What’s really special is that you can use your own Pokemon when reshooting a completed movie, and if you’re clever enough can even find secret hidden endings that will make your movie an infamous cult classic, and make your Pokemon a well-known movie star.

What makes Pokestar Studios noteworthy enough for a Bonus Article though, is that the opponents you fight in movies aren’t limited to just other human trainers and Pokemon. Even the fantastical world of Pokemon needs some fictional movie monsters in their theaters, and some of them get pretty out there compared to the usual Pikachu and Charizard. Since Game Freak isn’t likely to give them any attention anytime soon, I thought it was worthwhile to shed some light on these lesser known official Pokemon creations.

Black Door & White Door

Starting off strong with these two magical doors, opponents from a medieval fairy tale style movie. Specialized opponents like these are usually represented with just a green screen prop during the actual recording session, but once the movie is completed they’re replaced with what is presumably CGI. That’s kinda funny.

The Black and White Doors are Grass and Fire types respectively, strangely enough. I really enjoy how multilayered their designs are, how behind the central lock and chains you can see shadowy eyes and a thick-lipped smile and big yellow teeth on the main door. It definitely has the feeling of some grimdark fairy tale monster to it.

The weird snakes coiling around the pillars and gripping the chains are pretty charming too, I love their toothy overbites and protruding eyes. Strangely enough, they share a strong resemblance to Applin, a Pokemon from all the way forward in Generation Eight. They share the same eyes and serpentine bodies, so I wonder if the connection was even considered by the devs or if this is just a happy coincidence. Either way, both the snakes and doors are pretty fun.

The ‘trainer’ that uses both doors is also a gatekeeper represented by a giant Substitute doll. Now that’s a real bummer, people are already begging for the Substitute doll to be the inspiration for a real Pokemon, and here’s a lovely giant plush toy sprite and everything. Just look at that excess stitching and exposed fluff. It would’ve been a great Normal/Ghost type.

MT & MT2

Of course, since Tyranitar is Pokemon’s version of Godzilla, Pokemon’s Hollywood has to go an make a series of movies with a Mechagodzilla too. MT, obviously short for Mecha Tyranitar, is a well designed robot counterpart to the Rock/Dark type we all know. I appreciate with how intricately it’s detailed, without appearing too complex. All the metallic seams and rivets are great, and I like how all the joints on its limbs and tails are defined and visible. Vents appearing to reside in Tyranitar’s weird chest cavities are a good touch too.

MT2 has a sick coloration too. I wish that was reflective of Shiny Tyranitar’s palette. If they were to ever change it one day, I’d like for it to be black and red like this one.

F-00

Awww, now this one really stinks. There aren’t enough fully mechanical Pokemon as there should be, and this adorable little toy robot would be an EXCELLENT addition to the roster. It’s so obviously designed to be cutesy, but in just the right ways. I really enjoy its LED screen face, and the little heartbeat monitor on its chest. The superfluous screw on top of its head is a classic touch too.

But THEN, it also has a big, broken, malfunctioning form that makes everything ten times better. If this wasn’t a robot, it’d be one of the most gory designs out there. Just look at it, all its limbs are stretched apart with exposed, torn wires, and its whole facial screen is hanging out of the head. I really enjoy how broken and malformed this thing is, and to make matters better it’s only an alternate form to the cute robot. So, if it were an available Pokemon, both would be equally available to players rather one being locked to a stronger evolution.

What GIVES. Why reserve such a nice design to a one-game minigame feature, one where you can’t even use it, huh??? Some super fan of F-00’s movies out there really needs to get to creating it in real life for future Pokemon trainers to catch and use on their journeys. Just look at that great curved posture in that malfunctioning portrait. What a TEASE.

Invaders

There’s an Alien Invasion movie series as well, and features a bunch of beehive hairdo-wearing feminine aliens invading a major city in giant Cascoon-like UFOs. It’s interesting to try and read into the interpretation that the creatives in the Pokemon universe would try to base an extraterrestrial ship off an insect cocoon of all things, even if I don’t know exactly what to glean from it. The sprite is really excellently drawn though, like wow. Look at all those futuristic lines and glowing screens. The sheen across the top of the shell is really well done too. Great job, guys.

The metallic womanly alien is nice too, and feels right out of a classic alien monster b-movie. I’m not an expert of anything but I feel like there was a trend for a while to make aliens seem metallic or robotic in nature, rather than slimy space freaks. Maybe it has to do with the fancy futuristic feel of chrome. Everything’s chrome in the future.

Old Statue

These next two monsters come from a movie series called Ghost Eraser, where your character is tasked with finding people who have been possessed by spirits and cleansing them and capturing the lingering ghosts. Most people assume this to be a reference to Ghostbusters, and I could definitely see that considering the final antagonist of the movies. However, the director of all of them is credited as John Pokenter (ha), so who’s to say exactly.

Anyways, the first fully original monster is actually another weird ‘trainer,’ you never fight it directly since it instead commands a Golurk, but this Old Statue is another quite intricate and interestingly detailed design. I guess because the designers knew they never had to worry about accommodating for it becoming a Pokemon that would be drawn several times over by various artists, they didn’t hold back on how detailed their designs were. The weird, lopsided painted face is cool, as are the strange, ribbed anatomy it seems to have and goofy face. Of course special mention goes to the plasma ball it holds too. This would be an excellent, welcome addition to Pokemon’s set of ancient relics alongside Claydol and Golurk.

Majin

Majin takes the role as Ghost Eraser’s final boss, making it Pokemon’s Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. I like what it goes for, being a big, green smog demon covered in building debris and rebar. Remember from Garbodor’s review how appealing I find rebar anatomy, for some reason? Yeah. Maijin has various pipes covering its body too, which each expel puffs of smoke at various intervals, including with its nose. That’s goofy. I really like its jagged jack-o-lantern smile too. Definitely would be welcome among Pokemon’s roster.

It’s also a Dark/Ghost type ancient evil that used to be sealed in a relic, that being the previous Old Statue. I wonder if Maijin is some fictionalized version of Pokemon’s own Spiritomb considering their similarities. That’d be a neat little detail.

Humanoid & Monster

Finally are these two monsters, from a horror movie series also by John Pokenter. Manifesting from an otherworldly fog gives us these two strange creatures, the lesser Humanoid and the Monster that commands them. The splotchy red and purple texture gives me the impression of these things having a claylike texture, molded together from various substances. The Humanoid even remains rooted to the ground, as if sprouting up from the muck. I like the stomach eye and how in its idle animation is sways around lazily, as if unable to stay upright or trying to poorly imitate a human posture. Definitely feels like an uncanny person lookalike that are popular in horror spheres nowadays.

Then here’s the big bad Monster, a weird fleshy nodule with several branching tentacles, seemingly connected to it like various roots stemming from its source. I’m quite a big fan of weird, meaty monsters acting like overgrown plant life as horror concepts, so this Monster does appeal to me well. It retains the weird purple splotches of the Humanoid, but with more clear swirls and patterns, which makes sense since this is likely the more well-defined ‘true’ form. That big, wide eye is great too. A real sick design, and I’d love to be able to use something so alien and unusual alongside the rest of Pokemon’s roster, but alas…

I’ll wrap things up there, and while Pokestar Studios does have a couple other unique opponents to battle, these were the ones I felt most noteworthy of discussion. Once again, it’s a great shame that all of these interesting and unorthodox designs ended up being thrown to the wayside, forgotten and tucked away in a side activity unlikely to ever be referenced in the series again. The way that they break from Pokemon norms is what makes them so enticing, but also would explain why they’ve never returned. As I said earlier, they were likely designed with that in mind. Knowing that these designs would never get used again, the artists went all out and didn’t hold back by usual restrictions. I guess my main point is that it’s sad seeing what they’re capable of but usually can’t achieve. I love a lot of preexisting Pokemon of course, but seeing the more out-there official designs still does raise my curiosity on what more Could Be. If that makes sense. Ah well, that’s enough time spent in Hollywood for one article.

[Gen 5 Archive]

#pokemon #pokemon review #pokestar studios #pokemon bw #pokemon bw2

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