#pygmalion and his statue

[mythologypaintings]

Pygmalion and his Statue

Artist: Louis-Jean-François Lagrenée (French, 1725–1805)

Date: 1777

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Sinebrychoff Art Museum, Helsinki, Finland

Description

Pygmalion, a sculptor from Amathus on Cyprus, was discouraged by the morals of women and chose to focus on his art. He carved a realistic statue of his ideal woman out of ivory and named her Galatea. Pygmalion prayed to Aphrodite, the goddess of love, beauty, and fertility, to make Galatea come to life. Aphrodite answered his prayers and brought the statue to life. Pygmalion and Galatea married and had a child named Paphos.

[mousemannation]

happy pride everyone 🏳️‍🌈

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Julian, the reluctant heir of Lettenhove, completes his duties well. His people are safe, fed, and educated. He and his counsel have also been working to rewrite the prejudiced laws regarding non-humans.

While Julian was satisfied with the results of his efforts, he wouldn’t say he enjoyed politics. No, he got his daily dose of enjoyment from indulging in hobbies: music, writing, and collecting art.

Most recently, he acquired an incredible marble statue. The subject was a humongous, long-haired man wielding a long sword. The detail was incredible, and the eyes were painted black with veins sprawling over the rest of the face.

It was titled: “The Witcher”

Julian was immediately captivated by the statue. He’d bought it and placed it in his atrium the same day. The statue reignited the whispers about Julian’s eccentricities, but he didn’t care. Hours were spent staring at the statue, writing poems about it, and talking to it. Yes, he knew the statue wasn’t technically a person; however, it helped Julian organize his thoughts to speak them aloud.

One night, an assassin slipped into Julian’s castle. They killed his personal guard and eventually cornered him in his atrium. When Julian closed his eyes, bracing himself for the killing blow, there was a noise like a landslide.

Upon opening his eyes, Julian stared at the back of a figure clothed in black armor with hair as white as marble.

YES YES YES YES YES!!! I actually just recently wrote something vaguely similar for promptapalooza, I LOVE the idea of things coming to life because of how much you love them! ESPECIALLY when it's Geralt being released unto the world as Jaskier's guardian You're beautiful, Anon!

[i-spilled-my-soup]

ai girlfriend . pygmalion and galatea.

[killerpancakeburger]

Ngl this makes me feel like a groomer/Pygmalion 💀

Like teaching him about what love is like Im his parent? Getting to chose between Love and Friendship to explain his feelings and thus being able to manipulate him into thinking he's in love with us? Im Very Uncomfortable 😃

[thedupshadove]

Opera plot: Local Noble realizes that his affections for Pretty Village Girl have a rival in the form of Honest Laborer. Having read enough romances to know that a girl asked to choose between a rich man and a poor man will always pick the poor man, whereas in a love triangle between two rich men it's anyone's game, he decides that his chief object must be to elevate his rival's wealth and status as quickly as possible. What the Compte de Genre-Savie over here forgot to account for, however, was the overwhelming power of the Pygmalion Effect, and now he has to deal with watching two people he's in love with develop ever-stronger feelings for each other. Eventually all of this resolves via...I don't know.

[nikkeora]

loving jason todd is like caring for an old marble statue.

he looks like something straight out of greek mythology, something pygmalion would have crafted with rough hands and bright eyes for nights on end. scars from battle like ares, or maybe he's closer to hephaestus considering his past.

but time hasn't treated him well, he's been broken and put back together more times than he can count. there are bad days where he can barely feel the parts of him that had once been taken away only to be stitched back on, where he feels like he's missing arms or ribs or even his head, and he feels as if he'd be right at home between nike of samothrace and venus of milo.

those days, he forces himself through the dark, grimy streets, body on autopilot as he watches limbs that aren't his own fight and bruise and bleed.

but then he comes home to you and slowly, slowly he feels whole again.

your fingers gently tap his before tugging at them, digits intertwined as you raise his hand up to your lips. you're just so warm and suddenly he feels his hand again, that fuzzy feeling gently running up his arm like spring water. he's thinking that the way your fingers are laced together reminds him of the crochet pattern he'd been trying to learn last night when before he realizes it, his other hand is moving on its own, finding purchase on your cheek.

it can't be a pleasant feeling, he thinks. he knows for a fact his hands are rough and calloused, years of abuse caked onto them in the form of scratchy white spots and ugly scars. but before he can take it away, you lean into it, nuzzling his palm as if it brings you comfort.

he brings you comfort, he realizes.

he stands there for a while, both hands now cupping your face, careful not to hold on too tight. his thumbs brush over the apples of your cheeks, feather light on each eyelid, one even traces the slope of your nose. you're so soft, flesh easily giving way under his touch and he can't help but feel like an elephant who's been given a kitten to hold.

then finally, he arrives at your lips.

he traces your bottom lip first, one slow, gentle swipe, before giving some love to the top. without much thought, he places both his thumbs over your lips like he's seen people do for stage directions, feeling the little squish when he puts just the slightest bit of pressure. your eyes open narrowly and he finally cracks a smile at the sight of you all smushed.

you open your eyes wider and his smile softens, his gaze locking onto yours. he feels like he could drown in them, drown in you, and he'd die happy this time.

he doesn't realize either of you are moving until his eyes physically can't look at yours anymore due to the sheer distance and the angle, instead slipping closed as his lips meld onto yours. he can feel the warmth in his cheeks and each kiss feels like pure bliss, the contact grounds him so that he feels like his head's on straight again. he's sure you can hear his heartbeat - after all, it's practically thundering against his eardrums - and the rhythm it knocks into his ribcage feels so real that the bones there can't possibly be missing.

jason feels every part of his body. in a good way. everything the world had ripped away from him now returned and fixed back in place by your warm, loving hands. yes, he may be a little weathered. yes, he may never feel brand new again. but really, does any of that matter when you look at him as if he's a masterpiece?

[nemesyaaa]

pygmalion au // rafe cameron x reader

summary ; “ you love someone you can shape, who has no will to escape. ” artist!rafe x muse!reader.

warnings ; unsafe feelings. slight of angst. smut. kind of fantasy/magic. art glorification. attachment issues. innocent!reader. fear of losing somebody. first time. rafe being a lost boy. dubcon. pygmalion' weird story. toxic!rafe. mentions of drugs. oral (m. receiving). p in v. insecurities. praising. artist hands appreciation. minors DNI.

author's note : 3,5 k words for this. one-shot. also a lot of tummy appreciation (tysm @shawtycoreee 🫶🏿). out of the smut, i tried to write it so poetic 😭🤟🏿

— “ wrap me up, enfold me. i am small and needy. warm me up and breathe me. ” breathe me by sia.

it was alone and late at night that rafe cameron began to create you, not really knowing at the time he started his art what work you would produce. he only cut the stone with his hands. before forming your body, he fantasized about it internally, not really knowing what a woman's anatomy actually looked like. you were like a crazy dream he was trying to sort out, a fantasy he was trying to make real. he sculpted with his straight calloused and tired hands, manipulating the fragile and sensitive material with precision.

he hated doing badly, but it was what he did best. as he worked, he sank into his own fascination. you were magnificent, no, you were divine, the glorious treasure from his hands. it was scary and breathtaking. he had never done anything so beautiful, never created anything so charming. you had this firm, seductive chest, completely bare and hard, the movement of the stone making your belly round and chubby. you were carved in marble, an inanimate statue that had found favor in the eyes of his creator.

when he had finished your face,

he had been amazed but above all frightened by what his fingers had achieved. he had given shape to your lips, your nose, your mouth and your eyes. and now that you had a look, it was like you were confronting him. because now that you had pupils, you could look at him too, you could judge him too. you could be as superior as him, but also equal to his worth.

you were his most beautiful work of art, literally his ethereal and angelic muse. and above all, you made him nervous. not only were you realistic, but you were a woman, you were like one of the goddesses from greek mythology, completely naked.

it was unexpected, but he had knelt before you, before your altar, on his legs and his hands. he was so white and desperate like a lost sinner having only his god to pray and glorify in order to survive.

you had seen his lips part in a prayer, his mouth tighten in a whisper. and you had ears, certainly made of stone, but you had heard it. you had heard his wish lost in the void. yet he had nothing of a believer, you could hardly imagine this man on the benches of a church, but you were also cruelly incapable of seeing and understanding who he really was.

when he stood up, you felt his hands on your skin, the coldness of his ring, but also the awkwardness of his touch. you could tell it was the first time he touched someone intimately, because he didn't really know where to put his hands but he also didn't know how to touch you without destroying you.

rafe cameron was not a god. he could break anything he touched. and maybe that was why he was so nervous and pathetic. you belonged to him now that he had created you so he refused to lose you without even knowing you.

he had hoped that god would make you a real woman, because you were perfect, too sublime to be just a piece of stone.

he didn't need to pull himself up to reach you, he was much taller, more intimidating in terms of size. he could lift you up and control you with just one hand.

you looked so alive so why, why did he only hear one heartbeat in the room? why was he alone breathing in this cold and empty room? why did you only have life in appearance?

you could feel in his look that he was questioning, that he was troubled, that all the beauty of his blue eyes was overwhelmed. but you had also felt his face so close to yours, his breath fanning across your molded lips. he had been hesitant, but his mouth had finally found yours.

and you surprised yourself by loving the taste of his pretty lips, but above all by being able to touch it.

and it was like that kiss had been real enough of how he felt about you that god had decided to give him a chance.

you had sensed all the ivory of your body, of your muscles, becoming sublimely gorgeous, all your stone beauty becoming human and alive. as if his devotion had allowed you to be free and to exist.

when he felt your mouth melt on his, he pulled back in fear. you weren’t supposed to be real even if he wanted you to be. since when did statues come to life?

"oh fuck, what's going on here?... i think i'm going crazy...all that fucking coke…”

“you created me.” you replied, slightly hurt by his reaction because he was supposed to be happy.

"no, you're not supposed to be alive. i mean, you're art, you can't be human."

“i’m human!” you contradicted, stepping forward from your marble base.

rafe wasn't sure if it was a nightmare or a dream. but his gaze was anchored on you, he couldn't take every inch of his eyes off your body. he was magnetized by your magnificence.

you came just close enough to take his hand and place it against your chest. “don’t be cold to me. don’t leave me. what would i do without you? you can't reject me. you need me. ”

maybe that was the game changer for rafe cameron. because he had just understood that since you were his, you belonged to him, you were entirely dependent on him. you couldn't escape, and above all, you had no desire to.

he could do what he wanted, you were like a doll created to respond to the slightest of his favors without ever complacent. you were not only perfect but unimaginable.

” be on your knees for me.”

and the next second, you were staring at him waiting for another order.

"mmh...i know your body by heart. i shape all of this. but you have never seen mine. no worry, i'm going to fix that, okay? you're going to please me tonight and not make me regret 'have given you life?”

you nodded in agreement and he smiled because you were too innocent, too sweet for someone like him. he had unzipped his pants, making them fall to his legs like his boxers.

and it was the first time you saw a naked man in front of you, but it was also fair for you because you had no clothes. “let me help you…” he offered with a smirk. his thumb had rolled over your lips, creating a slight slit between them. “ you need to open that pretty mouth wider...” he added, taking advantage of your vulnerability to use you.

"you know it will only hurt if you don't relax. so don't be tense. because even if it's big, you're gonna take it, doll. not gonna be easy on you because it's your first time. show me what you can do baby, let me feel how grateful you are for your creator. "

he had pushed his tip against your lips, forcing his way into your mouth, making you open bigger to accommodate his cock in your cavity. it was new to you, and you weren't even sure if you could satisfy him because it was the first time you had done something like that, and especially used your mouth in that way.

you thought this area was used to create intimacy between people, not to do dirty things.

“baby, i really appreciate how sweet you can be, but don’t let me do all the work…” he had scoffed. and your heart skipped a beat when he shoved himself further in your mouth, so much so that you felt him hit the back of your throat, all the speed of his harshly strokes leaving you breathless.

you choked on his movements, saliva pooling and dripping between the corners of your enlarged lips. “that’s what happens when you don’t do your part of the job properly…” his tone was falsely accusatory as you couldn’t catch your breath from his pace. he had no pity, you had turned on him too much. and to fix it, he blamed you by harassing your throat with his fat cock.

"but since you leave me no choice, let me show you how to be a good girl for me..." he had plugged your nose, pinching it hard, forcing you to take him entirely, without being able to breathe. his length swallowed in and out, your tongue barely able to support his weight which grew as he bullied your lips.

you belonged to him so he didn’t care if he ruined you a little. he told himself that he would repair you.

he released your nose when he felt you were about to pass, with a sadistic giggle. your eyes were wet with tears. “oh baby, don’t give me that look, you’re wasting your time, i don’t feel pity. ”

you continued to pump him until your jaw arched tighten and become more tense. he pulled out for a moment, spitting in your tongue, before using your throat again. his grunts were frantic and rapid, hot breaths in sync with the pornographic sounds that emanated from your sucking. his large palm was wrapped around the back of your neck, controlling your posture. “ give me that sweet eyes again, and i will make them cry.”

he took so much pleasure in watching you swallow him hard, grunting every time he entered your throat hoping to relax it but causing the opposite effect. "'ot finished. take those balls too." he had pulled back to lift his painfully throbbing dick and place it against his stomach, you had started to lick them, letting your tongue work the entire surface, coating them with saliva. "feel? how full they are. they're gonna stuff you real bad. " you sucked on them when he pushed them directly into your mouth, making him let out throaty sounds. your mouth felt so good, he wondered if your pussy would be just as her.

between your legs, it was completely soaked. your sloppy slit dripping onto the floor. it wasn’t like rafe was ignoring that mess. he was just purely mesmerized by your lips, by the way you cupped his balls so well, and how his cock reacted to each of your licks.

you were definitely his best work. it was more than art, it was heavenly. he was incapable of not using you after creating you. he had his urges, and you had to respond to them.

he had started fisting his length, leaving you lapping at his genitals dangling above your face. the cum had gushed through the air, landing on you. he had rubbed his trailing tip on your cheeks, giving a new color to your skin.

he wondered if you were human enough to feel all this degradation. in a short movement, he had placed you in front of the standing mirror of the workshop, and had driven his body against yours. he spat into his hand before jerking off a little, pressing the head of his cock against your sticky dirty folds.

he placed his arm across your stomach, one hand gripping one of your breast, pressing it more firmly once lodged inside you and grunted as he felt how tight you were, how hard your pussy stretched in his path. thanks to the mirror, he could see each of your reactions, but above all, see your part pumped each of his inches. all his size had disappeared between your flowing walls.

your twitching cunt clenched around his girth, your canal squeezing him. his thrusts were merciless, burrowing into your soiled folds. rafe rocked his hips roughly, as his dick bullied your puffy core. he wondered how a loser like him could have created a goddess like you. and he was desperate to know if he could make you stupid, if his cock that destroyed and filled you was good enough for someone like you.

you had created a mess and frustration in him.

he was in love with the bouncing flesh on your tummy against his arm, your tits swaying when you took him. it was a grace.

he reached out and hit your spot every time he buried himself inside you, his face sank in your left shoulder. you could feel the strands of his hair against your skin, his mouth against your collarbone. you were his, he was fucking you like this. you were only alive when he touched you. you could feel his obsession and adoration in every thrusts, no matter how brutal they were. it was his way of showing you that you couldn't escape him and that you could never.

his rhythm was hard, as your pudgy tummy jiggled under his strong fingers who were digging into you. you were so giddy, fucked like a ragdoll not able to said if it was the butterflies that make your stomach spiraling, or that thick dick shoved inch by inch further into your messy slick. his other digits at your clit, massaging the small and eager bud. he was big enough to maneuver you and embraced your small frame with his muscular biceps.

you were too little, too fragile underneath him.

he was your creator, he gave you air but he could also take it away from you. you were completely dependent, not only you, but every crumb of your body. he was pounding into you with the inability to detach his cock from your fluffy pussy. he loved hearing your voice choked with tears and moans against his ear. it was a sweet melody, a symphony.

your body was perfect, straddling his, your skin slapping his. your lips gurgling around his fingers that you could no longer take without dropping them, because of his violent assaults. you drooled all over your mouth, struggling with the drool that splashed all over his hand.

you couldn't see anything anymore, it was blurry. you didn't even feel tired anymore, you felt like a stupid doll, unable to think and reflect, only able to take this cock nastily harassing you and stretching you violently.

with his muscular and heavy hand on your throat, he forced you to look at the mirror. there was something incredible and perfect in his hands, and you knew it from the moment he started sculpting you. they were so good and incredible, covered with veins that systematically bulged. they captured your belly fat well. “don’t hide this from me. it’s my property.”

he had harpooned your flesh between his fingers, making it move and hang down more as he fucked you senseless.

“if i shaped you like that, that meant i wanted you like that.” your tummy was caged in his grasp. “ i mean, look at that belly, it's all beauty, i swear.”

he had moved his hand to the lower part of your stomach, pressing that area of your skin, feeling his bulge farther in you. in this corner of the room, there was only you and him, only your whimpers against his fingers and the pleasure you felt. there was only this mirror that stared at you and reflected you in the darkness with the only light of the moon as a beacon.

you were divine, you had the perfect body of a goddess. and even having cum with you, even causing your third orgasm, he didn't want to pull out. it was as if he was afraid of the emptiness he expected after this. and maybe you too were dreading the emptiness inside you after he filled you up so well, your soaked pussy dripping with his cum, drooling all over the floor.

he had finally taken it out, his fingers entering you to collect his mixture and place it against your lips. “don’t let it go to waste.”

you had cleaned his fingers until they were pure again.

he had his eyes on you, like a human in front of art.

he still didn't realize. but he refused to let you escape. but it wasn't like you could. he had created a home here, all over this room and in you. he had established a domain in every inch of your skin. he only had to see you to know that you were his own creation.

you kissed him, slightly awkwardly but he made up for it with his mouth on yours. “you can’t abandon me.” he whispered. “i don’t want to abandon you.”

and it felt good to hear your words. you didn't know him well enough, or not really, to know how sick he was. but you felt grateful that he gave you life, because it was priceless. he had made you, and you were his.

“ what are you doing?” when you felt chains encircling your wrists, you weren’t sure if you liked it. "i really want to believe in you sweetheart but i also can't trust anyone. you have legs, you can run away from me but with this metal, you're stuck.”

“i don’t really like it…” you admitted and he replied “no one likes it but the difference is that you don’t really have a choice either. you're mine. your feelings, your body, your eyes, all of that is mine. even that pouty sweet face of yours. ”

you turned your head to let him know that you didn't appreciate it, and to give him the silent treatment. and he smiled. “it doesn't kill me, baby. you can pout. ”

you didn’t respond. "you really want to give me this treatment? maybe you really don't want me to be nice to you after all..."

he had smiled. “"okay...I'll give you what you want." he had disappeared for a few minutes before coming back with an object that you couldn't identify. " what is this ? "

"now, baby wants to talk...but it's a little too late, i'm making the rules here so...say hello to your new favorite toy. it's a gagball.”

you didn't feel it was useful until the ball went into your mouth and stopped you from speaking. you could only drool and grumble around the object.

"why that face, baby? that's not what you wanted? i swear you still look pretty. just quieter. i'm going to go to sleep. and tomorrow you'll show me how sorry you are for that attitude. you want to know if i would forgive you? maybe it would be too easy, you understand? you have all night to prepare excuses and they better please me because i can be even more creative than that to punish you. “

the next day he woke up in a good mood. and above all, you were always there.

he had picked up the bottle of water from his table, wondering if you were thirsty. but when he arrived in front of you, he changed his mind. he used it to wake you up.

"i'm so clumsy...sorry, baby." but there wasn't an ounce of regret in his voice so you knew he was joking. you learned to read his face.

“you know how sorry i am…” he added, facing your gaze.

“you’re not…”

"yes, right. such a clever baby. are you thirsty?”

" yes..."

“maybe if you show me how good and nice you are today, i can consider bringing you another bottle.”

"what do you want..."

“it’s not what i want, sweetheart. but what you will do to satisfy me. see the small difference ? ”

it had been several weeks, a month in fact, since the day of your creation. you had spent your time in this workshop, chained to this wall. you were only alone when rafe left, when he left you in the shadows.

in fact, he was clearly having fun with you. you were dependent on his affection, and he knew it. you reacted to the slightest attention he gave you, even the most mean and bad. but above all you were incapable of hating rafe cameron.

he had made you a magnificent creature, a living human, you would be even crueler than him if you hated him.

after all, you were his muse. he had the right to use you. that was also the thought he had drilled into your brain.

everything he did was for you. and you should be grateful.

but sometimes he wondered, if he killed you, would you come back to life? was there magic in you or was he just in a fucking wonderful dream? he did enough coke to get high for days but this time it lasted too long for it to be fake.

your relationship was strange because sometimes you felt loved, especially when he hugged you after being rough with you, his palm gently caressing your back. like any human, there was tenderness in him. he could be nice. he knew how to be one but that didn't mean he enjoyed being one. he just thought that if he was too mean, you would disappear.

and that was not something he could tolerate. during all this time spent with you, he had not learned, no, he had not succeeded, to live without you.

artists brought art to life, but art gave meaning to the artists' lives.

before you, he was alone.

he had prayed for you. he needed you. it was his final call.

rafe cameron fell in love with you before he created you, before he even imagined you.

and maybe that was why he was so mean to you, because he never knew love, so how can you blame him for not knowing if you loved him back or make fun of him?

he was pathetic, full of rage and violence. but you couldn't hate him, because you and him shared the same tears. the same pain.

he made you, and you made him. he was afraid and you were scared. you wanted someone to love you, and he wanted someone that could love him.

“ i swear, y/n. don't leave me alone. even when you looked away, you make me feel like a monster when i'm not. so please, do the same as me. ”

“ what ? ”

“ don't make me feel like somebody else exists. i'm the only world you can live in. ”

[uunoia]

Romantic Feelings? Ehh Cringe

Summery: Technoblade tries cheering you up with a greek myth

The cabin was quiet.

Not peaceful. Not comfortable. Just quiet.

You sat at the wooden table, hands wrapped around a half-finished cup of tea that had long since gone cold. You weren’t drinking it. You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting here, staring at the knots in the wood grain, listening to the wind howl outside. It had been hours, probably. Maybe less. Maybe more.

It didn’t matter.

Somewhere behind you, Techno sat in his chair by the fire, pretending to read. You could feel his eyes on you—subtle, watchful. He wasn’t obvious about it, but you knew him well enough by now. He had noticed the way you barely spoke today, how you moved slower, how the usual sharpness in your eyes had dulled into something distant and hollow.

You took a slow breath, trying to push past the weight in your chest. It didn't work.

Your fingers trembled. You clenched them into fists. Your thoughts were spiraling and you knew they were. The war, you almost dying, all the good people who got hurt.

Then—before you could stop it—the first tear fell, hitting the table with a barely audible pat.

Shit.

You inhaled sharply, willing yourself to stop, to push it down, to not do this right now. But your body didn’t listen. Your breath hitched. Your shoulders tensed as another tear slipped free, then another.

Behind you, the sound of a page turning stopped.

Techno had noticed.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing the heel of your palm against them. You hated this. Hated crying like this—weak, quiet, with no control over it. You had been fine for so long. You needed to be fine.

You heard the chair creak as Techno shifted. Then, his voice—low, uncertain.

“You uhh…You want me to leave?”

You flinched slightly, shaking your head, voice hoarse.

“No—” A pause. Then, quieter, “No. Just… don’t say anything.”

A beat of silence.

“…Alright.”

And he didn’t.

For a while, there was nothing but the crackling of the fire, the muffled howl of wind against the windows, and the occasional sound of Techno shifting in his seat. He wasn’t reading anymore. Just there. Not saying anything. Not leaving, either.

You sniffled, rubbing at your eyes.

Then, out of nowhere—

“... Pygmalion and Galatea. Ever heard of them?” 

Your brow furrowed. You blinked, wiping your sleeve over your red and puffy face as you turned slightly toward him. “…What?”

As if this were the most natural segue in the world. His tone was casual, unaffected. "Some sculptor guy from ancient Greece— I've forgotten where exactly. He was kinda a loner. Didn't wanna deal with real people, especially women— Guy spent ages on this one statue. Carving, supposedly, the perfect woman out of ivory. Like, obsessed over it. Chiseled every little detail, made her perfect in his eyes. And then, uh—he kinda just…fell in love with her." He paused, shifting slightly in his chair. 

You blinked at him.

“It was like his life’s work or whatever…” He suddenly found it hard to look in your general direction. “Dude looked at real women and was like, ‘Nahhh, y’all suck, I’ll just make my own instead.’ So, yeah. He starts treating this statue like a real person. Talks to it, gives it gifts, probably took it on dates—I dunno, weird guy behavior. And then, get this—he begs Aphrodite to make her real.” Techno paused, shifting in his chair, gaze flickering away for half a second before he cleared his throat.

“She, uh…actually does it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “She what?”

“Yeah.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Aphrodite, for some reason, sees all this and goes, ‘Wow, that’s so romantic,’ and just—bam—brings the statue to life. No questions asked. No ‘bro, you good?’ Just—instant dream girl. And then in some versions they have a kid or something, I’ve forgotten.” He suddenly found it hard to look into your general direction.

A beat of silence. Then, in a flat voice, you muttered, “He chose a statue over a real person?” You paused again, “That’s… the most depressing shit i've ever heard.”

Techno huffed a quiet chuckle. “I know right? Isn't it great?” His smile quirked upwards a little as his arms crossed, nudging you with his elbow.

Despite yourself, despite the exhaustion and the weight of everything pressing down on you, a small, tired laugh slipped from your lips. You shook your head, rubbing at your eyes again. “That’s your idea of cheering me up?”

“I mean, it’s a good story.” Techno shrugged, leaning back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “Figured I’d tell it ‘cause… it kinda reminded me of uhh…” He trailed off, his voice tapering into silence. His gaze flickered away, almost like he had lost his train of thought.  He suddenly found his book a whole lot more interesting.

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “Of…?”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear the color in his face deepened just a shade.

“...uhhh—” He cleared his throat, suddenly finding the fire very interesting. “I mean, y’know. It’s, uh… a classic tale! Dedication. Mastery in art. Real inspiring, all that.”

You stared at him. He was so full of shit.

“…Right.” You dragged out the word, tilting your head, a slow smirk creeping onto your lips. “That’s totally why you told it.” 

His ears twitched, his jaw tightening. “Hey, don't make fun of me.”

That only made you grin harder. You exhaled through your nose, something almost like amusement breaking through the sadness. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

Another pause. You took a breath, deeper this time. The lump in your throat was still there, but… lighter. A little easier to bear.

Then, to your surprise, Techno stood. You expected him to walk away, to give you space, but instead, he grabbed something from the back of his chair—his red cloak.

Before you could question it, he stepped over and draped it over your shoulders.

The fabric was warm, heavy, smelling like smoke and steel and something distinctly him. Even if it was just the cloak, it held the weight, smell and looked as if he were giving you a hug. Your fingers curled around the edges instinctively. You blinked up at him.

Techno just crossed his arms. “Try not to cry on it. It’s my only one.”

You scoffed lightly, a breathy, half-hearted sound. “No promises.”

He hummed, stepping back toward his chair. Before he sat, he hesitated—then, reaching out, he gave your shoulder a firm squeeze. Just once. Just enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.

Then he plopped back down, flipping open his book.

The fire crackled. The storm raged outside.

You tugged his cloak tighter around yourself, eyes dropping to your cold, untouched tea.

“…Thanks,” you murmured after a long pause.

Techno didn’t look up.

“Don’t mention it.”

[comfortless]

Pygmalion!König and Galatea!Reader………. 😖 What do you think?

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. pining, light angst. self harm, implied animal death (not done by König or reader), fluff, König is horrible and by that i mean yes— he fucks the statue, outercourse, unprotected piv, implied mutual loss of virginity.

notes: lovely Salome did something similar to this already! 💖 however. yes. i am thinking about it and well…. take this out of my hands.

König has never had anything that could properly be called his own.

He walks the city entirely alone, no wife at his side to paw at his chest and bless him with adoring glances. His only steadfast companions are the grit slipping into his sandals as he walks, head held high even as the shadow of a boy begging on his knees for any semblance of love eternally tethers itself to him.

A glance lingering too long at the appeal of a soft face, the brush of his calloused fingertips against a pornai’s bare stomach before deciding that no, he didn’t want something so simple.

He merely slips a few apologetic drachma into her waiting palm and sets her free of him.

A warm body would never be enough, it was the heart that he starved for. To bed some poor creature that would never properly love him would be worse than the greatest of tortures in his mind.

It wasn’t a simple affair to find a lady to marry, either. Foreign soldier that he was, he had no right to some politician’s pretty daughter, court her properly and sweep her away to a bed that’s only ever been a harbor for lonely, twisted bitterness and blood.

Most turned away the moment he passed by: frightened glances that rightfully accused him of immense violence, shushed whispers of “barbarian” passed from soft lips before the sand beneath their fretful feet shifted and their shapes had disappeared from view entirely.

The ceaseless loneliness carves a burning ache somewhere within the expanse of his chest, something he knew he would never truly be free of, not until it rotted it’s way out of him in full.

It only seemed to quiet in moments he shed blood for this foreign country; burying his sword in some poor man’s gut was the closest he could get to sheathing a part of himself inside another, to touching a heart, seeing lips part in a gasp as their world becomes entirely consumed by him.

Just as the many days prior to this one, he grips the hilt of his blade, letting the metal dig into his palm, his knuckles bone white, as he makes his way back to the empty shack deemed a home.

Streets quiet and crowds disperse with each of his silent footfalls— not one of these smaller men or fearful women dares to look him in the eye. The only thing that does, the only eyes that ever lock to his, are those peering out from the harbor.

The figurehead guarding her expertly crafted ship has always called to him.

Her beauty was remarkable, from the curl of her hair to the patient look in her eyes. Her hands clasped before her breasts in silent prayer as she looms over the darkened depths of the sea beyond the soil, calling him to board, to venture away from this place that his left him in such an acute state of misery.

He swears he hears it then, a mere whisper on the wind, urging him in featherlight comfort to lie down his sword and take up the chisel and hammer.

It’s only when he pauses to look the gentle face of the figurehead over once more that he finds himself resolute in what he must do.

— — —

When he took to crafting her it was born of this desperation; hazy moonbeams cutting through the shade of his shack for hours before he would reluctantly pull away from a beautifully carved hand or the soft but stiff curve of a neck to retire to the straw-stuffed mattress at the corner of the room.

She was beautiful, a representation of all of the sweet, effeminate softness he would marvel at from afar. The swell of plush breasts, curved hips and silken thighs, eternally parted by her stance, the sweet face that could make any man feel entirely weak…

His hands tremble when they rest upon her form, unsure of just how such splendor could have come from his own coarse palms.

Weeks of scarce sleep only seemed to further his devoted madness. Though the warring dulled the ache and sated his blade, the longing seemed to only grow far more prevalent.

He yearned when they were apart, dreamt of coming home to her less lifeless and only demure smiles and hurried kisses the moment he would return to her. He would always come back.

Upon her completion, he took to courting her proper. Though she could not in any way reciprocate or reject his advances, he believed wholeheartedly that the cushiony love that had blossomed within his aching, neglected heart must be mutual.

Gifts were strewn at her cold feet, some gilded and shimmery, some soft with an abundance of colorful petals: offerings for a silent goddess that kept a part of his soul hidden away deep inside the pristine marble that she was carved from.

When he wraps her neck in a necklace with a sparkling beryl amulet attached, his hand does drift to the swell of her breast beneath the woolen chiton.

It’s hard and cold, but his groping becomes as incessant as the kisses he presses to her jaw, to her cold lips, tongue leaving a warm path down to her neck before he finds himself committed to having her.

He’s careful when he disrobes her, slowly revealing the mounds and curves and softness of her imitation of human flesh.

Dropping to his knees, his tongue laps at the ivory depiction of smooth lower lips, spearing between each silken ridge until he imagines her eyes squeezing shut as she cries out for him, rolling her perfectly sculpted hips to coat his tongue in waves of vulgar honey.

He moans into her cunt, drools and sucks at the mimicry for as long as it takes to find her thighs drenched in his saliva and his cock aching horribly between his thighs.

He rises to slot himself between her legs, pushing forward with a keening whine that dissipates into a relieved gasp. The feel of her pressed against him; the smooth ridges of her makeshift flesh running over his stiff, leaking cock is akin to finding divinity.

His hands rove over her breasts, thumbs pressed against her eternally pebbled nipples as he kisses her, each sloppy and filled with years of need.

It is pure bliss, almost as though he is burying himself to his hilt inside of her pulsing cunt.

He would fuck her better than any man— not a single other could match the strength of his affections nor his hapless willingness to please.

If he could have carved a proper hole between her legs, not a drop of his seed would be wasted on thin sheets or spilled into his palm, she would be filled, womb brimming until some loving god or goddess blessed her with child.

His pace quickens to the point of frantic, feverish hands drifting to her hips as he mouths at her breasts instead, hissing out praises for how good she feels against him, how his heart bleeds to feel her nearer.

There is so much heat between her thighs now he could swear it burns like the cold mist of the Underworld itself; the fuzzy heat pools from his navel and further as his muscles begin to tense and leave his thoughts a haze and his lips parted in a silent, worshipping cry.

It’s only when he envisions her tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, back arching as she drags her nails over his shoulders and whines through her own damnation that his cock throbs in repetition as his eyes roll back. His heavy sack arrives at her mound as his seed spills from him, cascading down to paint the thighs of his silent lover, smeared pearly and glistening over her labia as he rubs his cockhead against her with an agonized groan.

His forehead finds her shoulder, warm breath replacing the coldness of her skin as he wraps his arms around her perpetually beckoning form, lovingly trailing kisses from her clavicle to her ear where he whispers a breathless, “I love you.”

It’s only after he’s finished wiping away the evidence of depravity from her that he feels the first wave of shame, sharp and feathering from his chest that leaves his jaw set and throat tight.

What lowly man envies the warmth others experience with far less gratitude? König has never seen himself as pathetic, no matter how commonly he’s been sent off and kicked like a stray.

She’s the only thing that’s brought him any sort solace in a world that’s left him starved, but also a cruel mirror casting a reflection of his own nature.

Pulling the thin blanket from his mattress, the statue is soon swallowed up in her entirety, all guilt and pity-drawing attestation neatly hidden away behind rippling sable fabric; her form silent and waiting as it would remain eternally.

None of this is enough.

———

König has never found himself fond of prayer, never felt the need to partake in the festivals and ceremonies. His luck in battle was only a mere measure of skill, of a body so brutal and immense that most trembled before him, not born of any benevolent gift. There was no need to kneel, to bestow offerings upon the altars. If the people turned away from him, then surely any god or goddess would be even more inclined to do so.

Only… his mindless wandering has led him here, to Aphrodite’s altar whilst the festival of Aphrodisia plays on everywhere around him. The people invoke and dance, abundant offerings brought forth as the scent of timber burning and bold floral incense floods his senses. Blood and flowers already riddle the stone, a stark vibrancy of color that lures him closer, commands him to kneel.

He doesn’t have a thing to offer to the goddess, not so much as a petal, but if the pull were not just the first signs of a withering mind…

The glimpse of hope he’s offered is not taken for granted.

Thick fingers curl over his sharpened blade, dragging his palm against the steel until it stings almost sweetly. If she could accept the blood of a goat then surely, his could be no more polluted. Beads of crimson revel and dance along his forearm before dropping down onto the stone.

And he does pray.

It is not a vulnerable prayer, one that bares him in full, but only a wish— a longing for warmth, to have her share his breath, to admonish his shame and live free with the one thing that has never given him anything but safe harbor.

He unveils her when he returns, knowing that this is the closest he will ever come to love.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes against her cheek, leaves a kiss there before dragging himself away to disrobe and pull himself back into bed.

When the weariness takes him, his sleep in dreamless and calm. If any blessing were bestowed upon him at all, the surely that would have been more than enough. A night without turning, without visions of a darkened grave devoid of anything to haunt him.

He only begins to stir when the mattress dips at his side, a soft palm pressed to his chest, stroking along the loose curls of auburn there.

“König..,” a voice calls out, more gentle than any he’s ever heard.

He wakes to find her, leaning over him with the sweetest glimmer in her eyes, wide and fascinated. Her touches only trail further up to his face as he tries to silence the rapid beating of his heart, the stinging born of adoration in his own pale blue eyes.

“I missed you,” she whispers, moving to curl at his side, her hands cradling either side of his jaw.

König is utterly stifled and so terribly smitten, the most he can manage is a quiet huff of breath as he rolls onto his side to take this sweet, unreal woman into his arms. Dreaming or waking, it mattered not, if he were given only the night or a lifetime with this beautiful little creature it’s still more than he has ever had.

His head dips to press a chaste kiss to her soft lips, only finding a warmth there that had never been the many times he had kissed her prior. His palm runs along her side, feeling ever perfect dip and curve, all heated and so very alive.

She only falls apart beneath his touch, already quivering and softly gasping even from such a gentle kiss. The thought that this little dove has been longing for him just as much makes his heart bleed. He whispers his apologies against her temple, for his frustrations, for his doubt in their love, for all of the temptations and hatred that plagued his mind before she came to be.

She only answers with eager touches, grasping at him as she murmurs her own perceived shortcomings. If only she knew that she could never do wrong, that she was what’s saved him and that nothing could shatter that.

When her tongue slips past his lips and his breath grows heavy, there’s little else he can concentrate on than the throbbing pillar between his legs, the scent of her around him, under him when he guides her onto her back.

Thanking the goddess could wait, he’s far too focused on the one that’s willingly climbed into his bed.

One hand splays at her side forcing him upright as the other trails over her breasts, a satisfied groan leaves him as he feels her softness, fighting back to urge to squeeze and pinch until she cries in pleasure, howling out like those at the altar he had encountered only earlier.

A nipple is snared between his thumb and index, twisted gently beneath each pad, her back arches…The wetness of the dew slicked flower between her legs brushes against him and he whines like a starved dog finally presented with the aroma of a meal.

His hand falls from her breast to her hip, encouraging her to buck the source of her own need against him— take anything she needed. If she were to pull a blade and carve a hole in his own chest he would only let her, the taste of this heated bliss and the look that she gives him, enchanted and curious, is more than he has ever deserved.

Only does he pause when he parts her thighs, and her stare becomes more curious, searching him for any reason as to why he would even stop.

“We have done this before. Are you afraid now?”

No, he wants to tell her, that before was not the full extent of it. Instead he only laughs, peeling away just enough to fit his head between her legs, mouth only a small measure from her weeping cunt.

“I want to taste you.”

With a whispered plea from her lips, he raises her hips, mouthing and suckling at her until she shivers and sings against the cushions. He groans against her when she does come, her hips stuttering in his grasp as she drives further against him.

He hisses in his mother tongue when he pushes the backs of her thighs up, grinds his leaking tip against her until he swears he really will fall into madness if he doesn’t fuck into her immediately.

The ache in his chest that his been so prevalent for so long is finally smothered out the very moment she tugs him down by his shoulders and pulls him into a frenzied kiss. She encourages him in each lapse, murmurs how long that she’s waited, how starved she’s been for him while hidden away.

He nearly sobs when his tip snags against her entrance, so divinely wet, pulsing and begging just as he is. When he penetrates her, the breath is punched from his lungs, his hands and mouth exploring every inch of her within reach as she wraps around his shaft as though her cunt was made for him.

His little dove only covers him in kisses in turn as he mumbles obscenities into her flesh, revelling in her tightness, in the way her body fits so perfectly against his, mutually carved by the gods to fulfill one another. His professions of love come in abundance as she fits her legs over his narrow hips, crying out from his sudden depth as his cock jumps against a spot that leaves her writhing.

Though it’s almost painful to keep himself restrained, he tries his best not to rut into her like a mindless animal, even when he feels her constrict around him as another orgasm leaves her cunt drooling and pulsing. He doesn’t give her time to recover, however… forced to lie in wait for so long, it’s nearly taken out on her as he spears into her as she moans and babbles her praises against his chest.

He’s lost to the empyrean as his muscles finally pull taut, crying as he buries his head into her shoulder and pumps his come into her, shaking as he wraps her up in his arms and clutches her close as he melts against her.

Spent and sated, König holds her tightly against him as they pant and share sweet words, secrets and giggles from her that make every moment of dolor before this night seem insignificant.

She slots her fingers between his own, compliments his damaged face and the worships his body with brushes of her lips and tongue just as he does her. He does not leave her empty, warms her heart with words he’s kept trapped in his throat for months, guides her gently as she perches over him to descend back onto his cock, his thumb stroking her stomach as he tells her over and again just how much he loves her, compared his feelings to that of Orpheus, how he would suffer anything all for her.

A pleading “Stay” is uttered as she falls limp against him, stroking along her back as they come down for the second time that night.

The last thing that leaves her lips before sleep takes her is the most saccharine she’s said that night, a simple, “I love you.”

It’s the only thing that he’s ever truly longed for.

———

They marry after the voyage back to his homeland, his head clouded during the entire trip of seeing her swell with his child in time, a home built with her in mind for the two of them, of lying flowers at her feet just as he had before.

His blade lies neglected in the little glade they had chosen, taking up only a hammer and his own hands as he works tirelessly to provide for his wife, the dove that looks at him as though he were not a dog but a king.

When their home is built after many weeks of tedious work during day and bedding her beneath the stars each night, König only then thinks to pray his thanks to the foreign goddess who gifted his salvation to him with little more than a scrape from his palm. All the while his true goddess leans over him to tickle his cheek with flowers he had plucked for her only moments prior, covering him in a fragrance so sweet it only seemed befitting of herself.

She giggles and sighs when he pulls her down into the grass to roll over her, blanket her in kisses and gentle bites to her throat.

The beryl amulet around her neck catches the glimmer of the sun above as she sifts her fingers through his hair and tells him that the gods already knew he was grateful, that his worship of her was already telling enough.

[pyndr0p]

Pygmalion and his Galatea. Oh Antinous, you are so stupid, falling in love with your own statue

[nyctoseraph]

OH, GALATEA!

Yandere Sculptor/Artist! Rafayel x Muse/Childhood Friend! Reader

WARNINGS: mentions of blood, depictions of manipulation, obsessive behaviors. YANDERE/DARK CONTENT AHEAD, PROCEED WITH CAUTION. 491 words

Like a god, he crafted the world around you. The very buildings you look up to are a notion of his hand and the statues that look down to you are willed by his desire. Even the necklace that ever so subtly wraps around your neck is a product, a gift, of his own genius.

So like a devout follower, you'll walk along the grandeur he carved out for you, for everywhere you go there is only him. The voices around you all sing hymns and praise for him, and all the gigantic posters paint him to be this deity to be worshipped for all his brilliance. Every step you take in his world — of course there would be Rafayel.

You once remember the vibrant flame lilies in your childhood home. The one you shared with a blurry figure you couldn't pull out of the recesses of your memory. But he's there, caressing the flowers and tying them in between the strands of your hair.

Ever since the dawn of your relationship, he had his eyes on you, but you always looked at the flowers more than him. So he had decided that he'll shine brighter, be more vibrant than that of those red flora he'll soon grow to despise.

Red is what he is, like the flame lilies, like the crimson blood he felt like shedding when you decide to just leave the castle walls — the fences of your childhood suburbs. You ran away from your prince without sparing a glance and all he could see, all he could feel, was red.

You hadn't even seen him bloom, like those flowers you loved. All he could do was bleed red and hope you like the color. You walked away, so he'll run after you. You never saw him again since the day you looked back from the car and saw his small figure crying.

Since that day he's followed you, through giant billboards, through the humming of the radio, through the light of the television featuring his features once again. He follows you through memories and the I-wonder-how-he-is-now’s.

And soon you'll cross paths again, because to hell with star-crossed lovers if he can just rearrange the galaxies, he's an artist after all. He'll smile brightly, and you'll finally pull out the blurry face from the depths of your mind.

He crafted every single thing, your very own artist. Staging your meetings like a playwright and painting beautiful memories that he intends to burn into your mind so you'll never ever forget them again. He's a sculptor and he's shaping his own fairytale back to how it should be.

Pygmalion poured his heart and soul into creating the love of his life, so as a nod to a fellow artist he promises to perfect the world he created for the two of you. You might not be made of marble, but you are his very own masterpiece. 

His very own Galatea.

[seraph's notes]: might actually write something longer about this... after i find the motivation to do so ig-

want more? check out the [database.] for other content!

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Word List: Psychology

more psychological concepts (this time, related to love) as writing reference

Casanova complex - a man’s desire to have a large number of lovers, leading to very active pursuit of women and attempts to seduce or entice women into having sexual intercourse without any emotional relationship or commitment; named for Giovanni Jacopo Casanova (1725–1798), an Italian memorist and adventurer noted for his sexual conquests

Erotic delusion - (also called erotomania or erotomanic delusion) the false perception or belief that one is loved by or has had a sexual affair with a public figure or other individual

Erotographomania - an obsession with erotic writing that is accompanied by a pathological compulsion to write about sexual matters or draw sexual images, typically expressed through anonymous love letters or graffiti

Love need - (also called social need) in Maslow’s motivational hierarchy, the third level of the hierarchy of needs, characterized by the striving for affiliation and acceptance

Love withdrawal - a form of discipline in which parents threaten to withdraw their love and affection from children if they misbehave

Lovemap - a person’s mental image of the ideal lover, the ideal love relationship, and ideal sexual activity with the partner, expressed in fantasy and in actual sexual behavior; it incorporates issues of sexual orientation and also of desire for deviant behaviors; proposed by John Money

Phantom-lover syndrome - a type of erotic delusion elaborated around a person who in fact does not exist; defined in 1978 by Canadian psychiatrist Mary V. Seeman

Puppy love - a type of romantic love that flourishes during adolescence but is often unstable and transient; it is regarded as marking a step toward emotional maturation

Pygmalionism - the act of falling in love with one’s own creation; the term is derived from Greek mythology, in which Pygmalion fell in love with a statue of Aphrodite that he had sculpted

Tough love - the fostering of individuals’ well-being by requiring them to act responsibly and to seek professional assistance for problem behaviors; often, strict oversight and restrictions of personal freedom and privileges must be willingly accepted by the target individual; it is typically a stance taken by the families of adolescents or young adults with a prolonged history of substance abuse

Source ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[ludolka]

Pygmalion and Galatea - A Project Xelqua au fic

Word count: 2158

Description: Pygmalion in Greek mythology was a sculptor who fell in love with a statue he has created, named Galatea. Null wants to kiss Joel, his main creator, who has to decide between acting based on his morals or his attraction

Written in third person, from Joel’s POV, who is kind of an unreliable narrator

Author’s note at the end

-

Joel let out a heavy sigh and eyed the cold cup of coffee on his desk. Was it his 5th or 6th coffee of the day? He wasn’t sure, he stopped counting his daily caffeine intake years ago. It wasn’t even that late yet, only around 5 pm, but he has been sitting at this computer since 8 am and he was nowhere near finished with what he planned on completing today

The computers and scattered around technology sang their electronic songs to him and he could swear his typing made the melody of some classical song he heard years ago. Or maybe he was going insane. But he found comfort in the noise, he has grown to get so used to it over the years and the countless hours he’s spent on this project in this laboratory that sometimes he couldn’t fall asleep at night due to the silence. This was his home now, he spent far more time in this building than at his actual home. He just went there to sleep

Right now he was working on trying to calculate and improve Null’s balance. Even after all these years of working on Null, his balance was still a bit off, leading him to trip or wobble whenever he had to be on his feet for an extended period of time. And for the life of him, Joel couldn’t figure out where the error was. His college and by now pseudo family member, Mumbo has also been trying to find the root cause of the wobbling in Null’s code, but has come to the conclusion that his code was working as intended and it was a mechanical issue rather than a programming one

He has been recalculating and overlooking everything for so long that he has forgotten Null was sitting not that far from him. That was until Null spoke up, breaking the lull of the orchestra of electronics

“You aren’t in a relationship, correct?”

Joel blinked a few times as he processed the question, his mind needing a few seconds to break away from only thinking in binary and machinery. He didn’t look up from his computer, but he was a bit grateful for the distraction and the break from his current thought process that seemed to be going nowhere

“Yep, I’m as single as one can be. I barely have time to sleep, let alone to date”

Null stayed quiet for a bit, Joel wasn’t sure if he went back to doing whatever he was doing before or if he was processing the answer and coming up with a response. He took a sip from his cold coffee and briefly thought about taking a smoke break, to move around a bit and get some fresh air, break the monotony

“But you have been in one before, correct?”

Joel raised an eyebrow, but still didn’t face Null even though he could feel those big eyes burning holes into him. Null always had interesting eyes, no matter how they modified them, he still had this intense stare that seemed to look straight into people’s souls. Some investors even found him creepy for his staring and refused to back up the project. They claimed he looked like he knew too much and that was uncanny for them. Joel has gotten used to it over the years

“Yes, I have. Why?”

Null was always curious, always asking millions of questions, ones that often made no sense to anyone but him. He has gotten into the habit of asking the team personal questions over the last few months and that was always a tricky area with how they were supposed to answer without overly influencing Null. Null was supposed to be this blank slate with no opinions on topics that could be classified as controversial, to make him as widely marketable as possible. This however didn’t stop him from asking the team’s personal ideologies and views. And Joel blamed Jimmy the most for slipping up, he spent the most time actually talking to Null and he seemed to sometimes forget Null wasn’t another person

“What does kissing feel like?”

Joel felt himself frown and he actually turned to look at Null at this question, deciding this conversation was more interesting than his calculations and was therefore worthy of his full attention. He found Null already staring at him like he expected. He also decided this must have been the fault of Lizzie or Mumbo, the two hopeless romantics of the team. Lizzie liked showing Null videos, movies and poems about love, claiming this was helping him understand humanity better

“Uh, I might not be the best person to ask that. I can’t give you some poetic description. Kiss the ball of your thumb or the inner part of your wrist, that comes pretty close to the feeling”

Joel was already well versed in answering questions and explaining mundane everyday things that he never would have thought he’d be asked about. Null learnt like this after all, no matter how silly his questions sounded. Null broke his intense stare from Joel and looked down at his slightly raised hand, the led circles in his eyes spinning before dropping it and turning his full attention back to Joel once again

“Why do people kiss each other?”

“Usually because they are attracted to each other or love each other. It’s also a form of affection”

Joel wasn’t sure why Null was asking him this, something he could easily look up online and get long well-written articles on the importance and history of kissing and the evolutionary reasoning for it, all of which he didn’t know. He has learnt that when Null asked simple questions, it was usually a lead up to a point he wanted to make or get to. Joel just had no idea what his end goal with this conversation was

“I want to kiss you. I want to know how it feels”

Joel swallowed and just stared at Null for a bit, who looked as nonchalant and casual as always. Like he was just talking about the weather or something mundane like that. He forced himself to say something when he felt his face heat up and saw Null’s leds start to spin, probably studying his reaction

“I uh- me? Why do you want to kiss me out of everyone?”

Joel has learnt that sometimes it was better to just let Null talk and explain himself, often leading to him being satisfied with the conclusions he himself came to. And also to better understand his thought process, which seemed impossible to follow sometimes

“Because I’m attracted to you. That’s why people kiss each other, no?”

Joel felt his face heat up more and his brain felt like it short circuited. Out of all possible answers, he never expected this. This was also new, Null hadn't expressed attraction of any kind towards anything or anyone before, Joel thought he was unable to feel that. Then something clicked in his mind and he relaxed back against his chair, looking a lot less shocked than before. Null was an ai who parroted what he heard. This couldn’t have been a genuine confession, no matter how that left a bitter aftertaste in Joel’s mouth

“Which of those fuckers talked about finding me attractive? Maybe they didn’t even realize you could hear them and here you are telling on them”

Joel’s tone and attitude changed to a more amused one and a slight smirk tugged on the corners of his lips, he would have found this whole conversation hilarious if it wasn’t for that dull ache in his chest. Null tilted his head to the side, like he was the confused one now, which Joel just found more amusing

“None of them. Mumbo was talking to Lizzie about how he found Scar attractive. You weren’t brought up”

Joel’s mind short circuited again, like he couldn’t understand what Null was telling him, no matter how simple his answer was. He felt himself tense up again and he closely studied Null’s expression, to see if he was making a joke or something like he sometimes did to fuck with Joel’s head. Lately he has been very much enjoying getting under Joel’s skin and flustering him for some reason

“Then why are you saying this?”

Joel’s voice was quieter and he just watched as Null got up from his seat near the window and walked closer to him. Joel wasn’t sure if he was frozen in his chair or if he didn’t want to move. Null stopped a foot away from him and leant down a bit, so they were at eye level

“Because I’m attracted to you and I want to kiss you”

Joel felt like his head was spinning and he was so close to throwing all logic and rationale out the window to act on impulse. He looked down at Null’s lips before he seemingly got a bit of sense back and instinctively looked over at the camera at corner of the room

“I shouldn’t”

He barely whispered, but he knew Null could hear him. Then there was a hand on his cheek, making him turn back to face Null, who hasn’t moved closer. Joel thought about the contrast between their expressions for a second, Null looked so calm and sure of himself, like this wasn’t affecting him in the slightest while he was a flustered stuttering mess

“I can turn the cameras off. No one would know. I know you want to kiss me too, I’ve seen how you look at me. You’re attracted to me”

Now Joel felt his face heat up with shame. He was well aware of his attraction, but he kept it so under control, never letting anyone, not even his closest friends know about it. And now here was the subject of his attraction, who he wanted to know about this the least, telling it to him so casually. He felt like a child being caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Like he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to do and he immediately felt like he had to repent for a sin he didn’t even commit. He never meant to act on an attraction that felt so incredibly wrong, he felt like just by having it he was betraying himself. And he had to remind himself that Null wasn’t a person who would be able to consent or reciprocate feelings, no matter how human he acted or how indistinguishable he was from a person at times in his mannerisms and behavior. Null was an ai powered machine, he was technology under the pretty face and pale skin, not flesh

He also had to remind himself that Null was an incredibly expensive piece of machinery and that he could easily be fired and sued if he somehow damaged or contaminated Null, even with just a kiss. He had no idea what even a simple kiss could do to Null, what kind of consequences that could have on his programming and how he viewed the world. Null was a blank canvas and he felt like he’d draw a line on it with a permanent sharpie if he gave in to his desires

“Null, no”

He knew he didn’t sound convincing in the slightest, knew that he’d give in if Null kept pushing and he prayed that Null took the hint and listened to his words rather than his tone or body language, absolving and saving him from falling into a hole he wasn’t sure he could get out of. He wasn’t sure he could go back once that line was crossed, no matter how much he felt pulled towards it, no matter how it was verbally already crossed

Null stayed still for a bit, studying Joel as his leds spun around. It felt like hours for Joel, but in the end Null simply nodded and drew his hand back before walking back to his seat, not glancing back at Joel, rather focusing his attention on the city skyline. He has been fixated on just watching the city from above through windows lately, sometimes not even paying attention to people talking to him, he seemed so lost in whatever he was watching

Joel let out a shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding. He stared at Null for a bit longer, unable to tear his eyes away from him and he could have sworn he saw Null’s expression slightly shift. Was he disappointed? Hurt? Was he even capable of feeling those things? Were the others right about Null becoming sentient? Joel’s head spun and despite barely being awake just a few minutes ago, he was now fully awake like someone poured ice cold water over him

He grabbed his pack of cigarettes off of the desk near him and forced himself to leave the room for a much needed smoke break, hoping it’d clear his mind

-

Author’s note: I love unreliable narrators so much, who see the world through their own biases and don’t know everything needed to fully understand the situation they are in, often misunderstanding it and drawing the wrong conclusion. Null’s more sentient than machine while Joel sees him the other way around. Null’s fully capable of feeling attraction and making decisions for himself, while Joel thinks he’s just copying something he saw or heard without truly understanding what he’s doing or saying

[crispy-art-on-fire]

YOU KNOW I HAVE THE BRAINROT WHEN I AM BRINGING MULTIPLE AUS TO LIFE- ANYWAY PYGMALION AND GALATEA AU. Blitzwing sculpts his ideal man and falls in love with the statue and Optimus comes to life with an allspark fragment as his heart.

Detailed rambling under cut.

So basically to cope with the boredom and chaos of Megatron being dead and Lugnut being a pain Blitzwing decides to indulge in making a statue, his masterpiece. Working on it instead of blowing a fuse and trying to kill Lugnut. Eventually he begins to talk to it, complaining about his day and arguing with himself. They know it's purely just sounding their ideas out and an outlet for the things they cannot say to anyone else.

But then it stops being just that and Blitzwing begins to seeing Optimus as a person, someone listening to him. He anthropomorphizes Optimus and begins to seek comfort from him, he falls in love with something that cannot love him back. Beginning to fantasize about what if Optimus was real.

Then plot happens and the allspark is fractured. One of the shards burrowing deep into Optimus and so bringing life to him. Optimus remembers everything Blitzwing told him and so decides to try to help him: To attack the Autobots.

(In this au the leader of the repair team is Sentinel Prime after he got demoted for breaking the rules and causing Elita-1 to be lost.)

This misadventure ends pretty well after they get over the scare of being attacked by an Optimus who doesn't know how to emote and basically has to consciously remember "oh I can talk now." In that Optimus also doesn't really have any ideas of his own and can be easily convinced to not fight them once given 1 reason not to. The deepest core of his being is that he wants to do good in its purest form.

So meanwhile Optimus is off learning that being alive is beautiful and fun Blitzwing is freaking out. Their coping statue is gone and while they first suspect Lugnut of finally destroying it the idea of Optimus having walked off himself pops into their mind and oh they simply must investigate. Turns out yes! Their imaginary boyfriend is alive now and that might be the most exciting scariest thing ever.

Blitzwing brings Optimus back to the Decepticon base and he is officially on the team but not really. This is where the two actually get to know each other because Blitzwing knows nothing about Optimus except that they love him more than anything and Optimus knows everything about Blitzwing but doesn't know his own feelings. It's awkward, it's cute, Blitzwing is the most overprotective guy ever which might be the only reason why it takes so long for the Decepticons to realize that Optimus is very bad at being bad.

The breaking point being Optimus not being able to handle it anymore tries to break Professor Sumdac out and getting caught. Blitzwing as his creator gets the responsibility to execute him but once bringing Optimus to an isolated area cannot bring himself to do it. Faking taking the shot and telling Optimus to leave and never come back. Optimus does, thanking Blitzwing before he goes.

Optimus officially joins the Autobots. And he might trying to do right but having been around only Decepticons for most his existence makes it so easy to do things that make everyone look at him like he's a monster. It takes a while for either to get used to each other.

Blitzwing is doing Great he is doing So Fine in that he doesn't have a breakdown immediately. He created something to pour his feelings into and then it came alive and rejected him. Issues! But they still love Optimus and it feels like a curse they way they need to know him and what has become of him.

In moments of weakness they meet, for Optimus to talk and Blitzwing to listen. With no one else to rely on or share his newfound thoughts Optimus shares it with Blitzwing knowing that they want all of him and he cannot want them back.

ITS ABOUT THE YEARNING. THEY NEED TO SUFFER.

[margaretkart]

What are the most funny, unhinged or craziest myths in Greek mythology?

All here's a few i can recall:

Hermes killed a tortoise and invented the lyre before he could walk.

Apollo won a flute contest and skinned the satyr Marsyas alive as punishment because he provoked him.

Bellerophon tried to ride Pegasus to Olympus and Zeus said "nope" and yeeted him off.

Athena turned a woman into a crow just because she wouldn’t stop gossiping.

Pan challenged Apollo to a music duel and only King Midas liked Pan’s performance, so Apollo gave him donkey ears.

The Minyans disrespected Dionysus, so he turned them mad and Hermes turned them into bats (kinda merciful)

A man named Erysichthon chopped down a sacred tree and Demeter cursed him with endless hunger until he ate himself.

Pygmalion disliked women so much he sculpted his ideal woman… then married the statue. (At least has a happy ending)

How Athena and Dionysus are born in general from Zeus

Actaeon accidentally saw Artemis bathing, so she turned him into a stag and had his own dogs eat him.

Heracles killed his music teacher with a lyre just because he got annoyed.

Pasiphae cursed Minos to well....he would ejaculate scorpions and snakes whenever he engaged in sexual intercourse with other women.