#pygmalion au

[wiryuu]

pygmalion

[majorlb]

Did you know that I love Pygmalion AUs in all my otps to the point where I commissioned @treffy-ot for a kylux one ?

DID YOU KNOW THAT IT MAKES ME YEARN?!

[mossmx]

Pygmalion!AU Study | insp: Etienne Aubry - Portrait du sculpteur Louis-Claude Vassé

[materassassino]

Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Characters: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Nile Freeman, Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Andy | Andromache of Scythia, Steven Merrick (The Old Guard), Keane (The Old Guard) Additional Tags: Inspired by Pygmalion and Galatea (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Alternate Universe, 1960s, Frottage, Masturbation, Sculpture, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani is an Incurable Romantic, and also very horny, Dreams vs. Reality, Statue-Fucking, copious ponderings as is my wont, sculptor!Joe and statue!Nicky, Fairy Tale Elements Summary:

Renowned sculptor Joe al-Kaysani has been commissioned by Steven Merrick to carve a marble statue of him. The very same day the marble is delivered, Joe begins to be haunted by dreams of a handsome, mysterious man with no name. He must make a choice: be responsible, or follow his artistic, romantic heart?

---

Finally this is done! Please enjoy!

[an-au-blog]

Shuggy Greek myth au where Shank is basically Pygmalion but it's a little different because I'm not about to rip off an entire myth (because it's literally my favorite au for anything)

Shanks keeps painting and sculpting the same face. It's edged into his memory and he does whatever he can to recreate it. Every piece becoming better than the last one, more and more like the vision he has. And every piece makes him fall deeper and deeper in love with this person.

He called his muse "The emperor of the sea", because he just knew that whoever that was, he wouldn't be anything less than the best.

He isn't sure who the person is, but he's sure he was the love of his life. His best friend, his world, his source of happiness. So he kept on trying over and over again. That was until one day he decided he would make a sculpture. A life-sized marble sculpture.

He worked day and night. Until finally, he was done.

A traveler passing by, saw the admiration and love Shanks was putting into his statue and they asked him who it was. Shanks did his best to explain it and the traveler said that maybe he should wish him alive. Maybe on a shooting star or maybe someone with the power to do so can bring him alive. But that he should also be careful what he wish for.

That night Shanks saw a shooting star and wished upon it. He wished that the man in his visions would appear before him. He wanted all of him, his eyes on him, his long hair and thick eyelashes, his arms and legs around him... his loud personality. How he longed for his raspy voice and even his explosive temper. His jokes and laughter, his arrogance and his doubt. He wanted all of him.

He heard something so he quickly looked back to see that the statue he made is moving. More than that. He was in color, breathing, blinking, stretching.

Shanks could almost cry. He stumbled to reach his love, but his love took a step back from him.

It must be scary to see someone who you've never seen before try and fail to run towards you, he thought. So he tried to explain who he was and what happened, to introduce himself. But the emperor stopped him. He told him he knew who he was. He received the memory of the marble that he "molested" into life.

Shanks was so confused... he used that word, it was offensive. It could have been a misunderstanding. So Shanks tried again. This time he confessed to him. He poured his heart out, told him about how much he loved him and wanted to cherish him for the rest of their lives.

The creation smiled. It was a cold smile, one of pity. He responded with a rhetorical question: Why would an emperor of the sea settle for an insignificant and unambitious man like you.

[ghostofashina]

just learned about pygmalion!AU and i am now obsessed with it.

(feral ramblings ahead)

this is the only piece of art picturing godwyn (and you can't change my mind) and it's perfect for the myth

okay, messmer did not carve it himself, i doubt he'd carve anything else than a spear through an ass, which goes against the myth but, hear me out

messmer has a pillager/collector trait, if we consider the storehouse. he has an entire archive with all sorts of pieces, art or not, for various reasons........

we also have miquella as a strong bridge to bring the two things together.

what if, and bear with me in this, what if it's a homage miquella never finished because the only person alive who recalled godwyn honestly was messmer. and this is where the obsession starts?

adding to my own misery, i recalled this art i made a few months ago that suddenly fits so well to the idea

and now i can't stop thinking about it.

how it would be his flame, added to his plea to a god (O Mother) bringing the ivory godwyn to life. how it could or not be an accurate portray of his brother. how young it is. how different he seems. is it his brother. is it a mere replacement....

[needcake]

Day 4: Greek Mythology (Pygmalion AU)

@engportevents / Engport Week 2024

“We’re worried about you, Arthur,” was the first thing his brother Dylan said as he stepped into his workshop, eying his workbench and his chisels with a crease between his eyebrows. “You haven’t sold a piece in months, you barely go out. Alasdair told me you missed your own exhibition at the gallery. That’s not like you. You can’t keep holed up in here with your statues.” “They’re better company than most,” Arthur stubbornly retorted, his eyes chasing the marble statue he had hid under a sheet near the far wall, hoping his brother wouldn’t notice it. “And I’m not lonely.” Dylan looked back at him over his shoulder with worry in his eyes, but Arthur dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “I’m fine,” he lied. “I’ve just been focusing on a special project.” “What project?” Dylan insisted. His eyes searched the room and found the thing Arthur had hoped he would not find. “That?” he asked, and before Arthur could stop him he stepped around his bench, gaining ground faster than Arthur could scramble to stop him. When he pulled back the sheet revealing the marble statue of a man, Dylan gasped quietly. “It’s not finished,” Arthur weakly tried, anxiously standing behind him, following his brother’s gaze to the man carved out of stone. The perfect curve of his muscles, the casual pose as he sat on his marble pedestal, lips raised in a slight pout, the petulant pout of beautiful men, and curls of stone-carved hair framing his handsome face. “I’m still—” he stuttered. “He keeps me company, I’m not—” Arthur licked his lips, trying to think of a reasonable, sane thing to say that wouldn’t make his brother send him straight to an asylum. “He’s beautiful, Artie,” Dylan breathed out in awe, but concern was still lingering in his eyes when he turned to look at him. “But he’s not real.” Arthur twisted his hands together, feeling his own callouses, his own roughened fingertips. He knew that. But when he looked up at the statue's face, he wished, as he had wished many times alone in his workshop, working late into the night to free him from this stone prison, that he was.

[belovedeerii]

The 200cm tall Red King statue Martyn had been working on for nearly 3 whole years had come to life and he likes pancakes with blueberry syrup and butter on top.

Ship: Treebark | Ren/Martyn Chapter: 3/6 Words: 3841 A Pygmalion-inspired AU where Martyn is a lonely artist restoring an old statue titled The Red King's Statue.

[staringamassivemistakeintheface]

More brainrot for Treebark AUs! This is kinda for @belovedeerii’s Pygmalion AU (lonely artist Martyn restores a statue of the Red King, only for Ren to come to life), except I made it angsty and took some liberties.

He can’t remember how he got the crown, or anything at all for that matter…

[almamadrigalfanclub]

I’m Super Shy

Y’all will never guess the context behind this

Hint, it’s not a mer AU of any kind👽

[majorlb]

So uhhhhh

Pygmalion!Charles and Galatea!Edwin

Because Charles tinker and creates things. He sculpts a boy so beautiful he falls in love with him, wishes he was real, and smart and sassy and he desires to not be lonely, to be loved and seen and cherished so hard that Desire of The Endless grants him his wish. Edwin lives.

OR

Pygmalion!Edwin and Galatea!Charles.

Edwin, who has no one, is lonely and shunned and wishes he was loved and understood unconditionally. He sculpts a boy so beautiful he first can't look at his own work, and when he does, he yearns for a friend, a companion, a love so great it'll go to hell and back just for him. Charles breathes.

Desire hears his prayer

[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. ”

[araneapeixes]

in the bathroom at the gay clubbbb

[ink-stainedsheets]

hoping that if i post this it’ll hold me accountable and i’ll actually finish the accompanying fic i’ve been “writing” since november.. (i have not touched it in weeks <3)

[alienmiilk]

au where shadow can't deal with sonic's death and tries to recreate him using notes from proj shadow, but no matter what he does none of the sonics seem to capture what made sonic, sonic

[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.