#pygmalion studios

[ottopilot-wrote-this-txt]

Coven, Part I

"Coven" is a work of erotic fiction, intended for adults 18+, written by Ottopilot. Original version containing AI-generated images. Content warnings: sexual content, mature language, mind control, corruption, occult, sadism

This is: Part I, Continued in: Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V

[Sarah Rodgers, a white woman in her early-20s, sits on a couch with her arms crossed and looking to her right. She is wearing a black hoodie and her auburn hair peeks out. She is in an apartment living room and there is a raging thunderstorm outside.]

"I didn't have anywhere else to go," Sarah murmured, her voice scratchy and quivering. She brought the mug of hot tea up to her lips, feeling the warmth spread down her chest.

Lilith Solomon studied the wearied figure on her living room couch, her fiery hair and sharp features obscured by a damp black hoodie. After two years, Sarah appeared unexpectedly tonight like a ghost, here to haunt Lily for past misdeeds. Lily observed Sarah intently while she frantically told her story, flinching at the thunder as her eyes anxiously darted towards the window, looking for unseen boogiemen. Finally, those big brown eyes settled on Lily, and behind the weary facade, she recognized the Sarah Rodgers she knew so well.

[Lily Solomon is a young multiracial Black woman in her early-20s. She is a sitting in a chair wearing a casual teal dress. She is in an apartment living room and there is a raging thunderstorm outside.]

Lily spoke, her voice calm and measured. "Sarah, I want you to know you'll be safe here." Strong and reassuring. Same old Lil, keeping up appearances, Sarah thought, taking a sip of tea while hiding a slight smile. She hasn't changed one bit. "Jamie set up a towel in the bathroom for you to get cleaned up, and I can lend you some clean clothes. I think it's best if you get some rest tonight."

Lily rose from her seat opposite Sarah. She towered over Sarah, her imposing presence a contradiction to her soft, friendly face. With her smooth mahogany skin and waves of raven black hair, she looked positively regal in the moonlight.

The words dried up in Sarah's throat, and she blushed as she realized she was staring. She wanted to tell her former lover she was a goddess. She wanted to ask her why she left. But all she could muster was a nod, and a thank you.

[Lily stands in her bedroom, which has large windows and a view overlooking the university town. You can see the storm and night sky. She is wearing a teal dress and looking over her shoulder at the viewer.]

Lily closed the bedroom door softly behind her. She sauntered over to the open window, closing her eyes and removing her jewelry. She took in the smells of the unexpected autumn storm as she tried to process Sarah's frenzied arrival. She had made every effort to appear composed and dispassionate, but she could not deny being rattled by her former love's reinsertion into her life.

Emerging from the en suite on the other side of the room, Lily's boyfriend Jamie misread her conflict for incredulity. "Do you believe her?"

"How much did you hear?" a weary Lily asked.

"Enough," Jamie Mendoza shrugged. He leaned against the entryway, a blue t-shirt and athletic shorts hung nicely on his slim, toned frame. He rubbed his index finger against his five o'clock shadow pensively. "I can believe quite a bit. Hell, I'm Filipino, we still have exorcisms. But witches? Human sacrifice?"

[Jamie Mendoza is a slim, well built Asian man. He stands in a bedroom leaning against the entryway. He is wearing a blue t-shirt and athletic shirts. There is a bed nearby. This is a wide shot of the room interior.]

"What concerns me is Sarah believes it," Lily said, frowning. "That woman is terrified. I hope it's okay if she crashes here for a couple of days while I check this out."

Jamie nodded. "Sure. I have classes, but I can swing by before lunch and check on her." He paused. "You're seriously going to look into this?"

Lily sighed and nodded. "It's not like Sarah to just make shit up. Anyway, I'll grab a coffee and do some digging at the stacks. They won't miss me at the paper tomorrow morning. Besides…"

"You just have to know," Jamie finished knowingly, with a chuckle. "The Blackthorn Ledger's intrepid bulldog reporter is a good friend to have."

"Yeah," Lily said, her voice trailing. She wondered what Jamie suspected about her past with Sarah.

Lily was still unsure about her future with Jamie. He was a kind and good-natured boyfriend - better than she deserved. She seemed drawn to the innocent ones like him. Even with her best intentions, she took too much pleasure in corrupting them, and they brought out her basest instincts.

No, she would break it off with Jamie before she got in too deep. That was the mistake she had made with Sarah. Even now, her need to help Sarah was less altruistic than driven by guilt that she failed in a domme's most important job: protecting their sub. Lily knew she wasn't as good and moral as the image she projected. That she was capable of darkness. And she hated that about herself.

"You see something you want?" Jamie said, playfully, a glint in his eye. Lily realized that, lost in her thoughts, she must have been staring.

It had been a long and strange night, but Lily was willing to take the bait. Besides, seeing Sarah again had stirred up a tempest in her mind and body, and she could use a release. "Bold of you to presume what I want," she snarled, her posture stiffening. Lily squared her body to face Jamie, hands on hips, her demeanor almost threatening. "Know your place, boy."

Silently, Jamie removed his shirt, then his shorts and briefs, revealing his smooth, hairless body. A flawless canvas, perfect for me to mark up, Lily thought, before dispelling that notion. He deliberately walked toward Lily, eyes cast downward, and kneeled directly in front of her. Finally, he looked up. "Yes, Mistress Lilith."

Lily playfully teased her fingers through Jamie's hair, then quickly grabbed it and pulled. Hard. Something between a gasp and a whimper escaped his mouth. "Make it up to me," she demanded. She guided his head under the hem of her dress, until she could feel his hot breath on her bare, glistening pussy.

Jamie panted, reveling in submission to his queen, his superior. Slowly, his hands traveled up her soft thighs, gripping her hips firmly but reverently. He inhaled deeply, her scent deepening his trancelike state, before his tongue dutifully lapped at her folds.

[A wide shot of the bedroom. Outside there are several lightning strikes, and trees and the town below. Jamie is squatting, nude, performing cunnilingus on Lily, who is standing and has her teal dress pulled to the side. Her eyes are closed in ecstacy.]

Holding his head still, Lily ground her pussy forcefully into his waiting mouth, as Jamie increased his fervor. "Such a good boy," she purred. And he was a good boy, so willing to obey. For a brief second, she let herself entertain the thought of how far she could push him. What would he let her do to him in the name of devotion? How wet would her pussy get to hear him squeal and see him grimace in pain? But Lily focused on the pleasure, and let the wave subside and recede from her mind. She always had - no, needed - to be in control.

[ren-054]

“My Galatea…♡”

Happy Birthday to this fuckin guy!!! Cole Blush Blush ‼️‼️💕💕

[transistoradio]

1. Jean-Léon Gérôme in his studio, c. 1884-94. Photo by Edmond Bénard.

2. Jean-Léon Gérôme, “Pygmalion and Galatea” (1890), oil on canvas, 68.6 x 88.9 cm.

[fizziedoodle]

Pretty Woman

directed by Garry Marshall

starring Julia Roberts, Richard Gere & Hector Elizondo

[the-daily-male]

SIDE 5B

Totoro

Colonel Hugh Pickering

[thejoyofviolentmovement]

New Video: Slowdive Shares Breathtakingly Gorgeous "kisses"

New Video: Slowdive Shares Breathtakingly Gorgeous "kisses" @slowdiveband @neilhalstead @RachelAGoswell @DeadOceans @pitchperfectpr

Deriving their name from a dream that that their co-founder Neil Halstead (vocals, guitar) had once had, and “Slowdive,” a single written and recorded by co-founder Rachel Goswell’s (vocals, guitars) favorite band, Siouxsie and the Banshees, the Reading, Berkshire, UK-based shoegazer band Slowdive, which is currently comprised of its co-founders Halstead and Goswell, along with Nick Chaplin…

[doubledeadstudio]

Hello! Welcome to the official Double Dead Studio Tumblr, the solodev behind Reanimated Heart, Another Rose in His Garden, and Pygmalion's Folly.

Reanimated Heart is a character-driven horror romance visual novel about finding love in a mysterious small town. There are three monstrous love interests with their own unique personalities and storylines.

Another Rose in His Garden is an 18+ erotic Omegaverse BL visual novel. Abel Valencia is an Omega who's hidden his secondary sex his entire life. Life's alright, until he meets the wealthy tycoon, Mars Rosales, and the two get embroiled in a sexual affair that changes his life forever.

Pygmalion's Folly is a survival murdersim where you play as Roxham Police Department's star detective, hellbent on finding your sister's killer... until he finds you. 

Content Warning: All my games are 18+! They contains dark subject matter such as violence and sexual content. Player discretion is advised.

This blog is ran by Jack, the creator.

Itch | Link Tree | Patreon | Twitter

Guidelines

My policy for fanwork is that anything goes in fiction, but respect my authority and copyright outside it. This means normal fan activity like taking screencaps, posting playthroughs, and making fanart/fanfiction is completely allowed, but selling this game or its assets isn't allowed (selling fanwork of it is fine, though). You are also not allowed to feed any of my assets to AI bots, period, even if it's free.

Do not use my stuff for illegal or hateful content.

Also, I expect everyone to respect the Content Warnings on the page. I'm old and do not tolerate fandom wank.

F.A.Q.

Who are the main Love Interests in Reanimated Heart?

Read their character profiles here!!

Who's the team?

Jack (creator, writer, artist), mostly. I closely work with Exodus (main programmer) and Claira (music composer). My husband edits the drafts.

For Reanimated Heart, my friend Bonny makes art assets. I've also gotten help from outsiders like Sleepy (prologue music + vfx) and my friend Gumjamin (main menu heart animation).

For Reanimated Heart's VOs, Alex Ross voices Crux, Devin McLaughlin voices Vincenzo, Christian Cruz voices Black, Maganda Marie voices Grete, and Zoe D. Lee voices Missy.

Basically, it's mostly just me & outsourcing stuff to my friends and professionals.

How can I support Double Dead Studio productions?

You can pay for the game, or join our monthly Patreon! If you don't have any money, just giving it a nice rating and recommending it to a friend is already good enough. :)

Where do the funds go to?

Almost 100% gets poured back into the game. More voice acting, more music, more trailers, more art, etc. I also like to give my programmer a monthly tip for helping me.

This game is really my insane passion project, and I want to make it better with community support.

I live in the Philippines and the purchasing power of php is not high, especially since many of the people I outsource to prefer USD. (One time I spent P10k of my own money in one month just to get things.) I'll probably still do that, even if no money comes in, until I'm in danger of getting kicked out the street… but maybe even then? (jk)

What platforms will Reanimated Heart be released in?

Itch and then Steam when it's fully finished. Still looking into other options, as I hear both are getting bad.

Will Reanimated Heart be free?

Chapter 1 will be free. The rest will be updated on Patreon exclusively until full release.

Are you doing a mobile version?

Yeah. Just Android for now, but it's in the works.

Where can I listen to Reanimated Heart's OST?

It is currently up on YouTube, Spotify, and Bandcamp!

Why didn't you answer my ask?

A number of things! Two big ones that keep coming up are Spoilers (as in, you asked something that will be put in an update) or it's already been asked. If you're really dying to know, check the character tags or the meta commentary. You might find what you're looking for there. :)

Will there be a sequel to Pygmalion's Folly?

It's not my first concern right now, but I am planning on it.

Tag List for Navigation

Just click the tags to get to where you wanna go!

[cloudypariah]

Task Force 141/Los Vaqueros Artist AU

Welcome to Laswell’s Studio, your friendly one-stop shop for all of your artisan needs. Here at Laswell’s, we offer a variety of supplies suitable for almost any practising artist; from smocks to tools to canvasses - we’ve got it all! And if you feel like you’re missing that extra something special in your crafting life, just ask for Kate at the front counter.

Remember, a muse is a fickle thing so don’t wait, swing by Laswell’s Studio today! We’re here to help you bring your wonderful creations to life.

𑁍 Inspired by the Roman myth of Pygmalion and Galatea 𑁍

Photographer Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

Woodcarver John “Bravo Six” Price x fem!reader

Tinkerer Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x fem!reader

Painter Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x fem!reader

Glassblower Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra x fem!reader: Backstory

Sculptor Alejandro Vargas x fem!reader

[inchidentally]

Pygmalion and Galatea charlos au where dashing sculptor Carlos is haughty and spurns other men and women - locks himself in his studio determined to sculpt the most perfect human form and ends up falling in love with it to the point where Aphrodite is like jeezus ok freako and makes Charles come to life when Carlos kisses and touches him

[ottopilot-wrote-this]

Coven, Part I

Coven is a work of erotic fiction, intended for adults 18+, written by Ottopilot. Images were AI-generated by Ottopilot using Stable Diffusion 1.5. Don't like AI? Text-only version here. Content warnings: sexual content, mature language, mind control, corruption, occult, sadism

This is: Part I, Continued in: Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V

"I didn't have anywhere else to go," Sarah murmured, her voice scratchy and quivering. She brought the mug of hot tea up to her lips, feeling the warmth spread down her chest.

Lilith Solomon studied the wearied figure on her living room couch, her fiery hair and sharp features obscured by a damp black hoodie. After two years, Sarah appeared unexpectedly tonight like a ghost, here to haunt Lily for past misdeeds. Lily observed Sarah intently while she frantically told her story, flinching at the thunder as her eyes anxiously darted towards the window, looking for unseen boogiemen. Finally, those big brown eyes settled on Lily, and behind the weary facade, she recognized the Sarah Rodgers she knew so well.

Lily spoke, her voice calm and measured. "Sarah, I want you to know you'll be safe here." Strong and reassuring. Same old Lil, keeping up appearances, Sarah thought, taking a sip of tea while hiding a slight smile. She hasn't changed one bit. "Jamie set up a towel in the bathroom for you to get cleaned up, and I can lend you some clean clothes. I think it's best if you get some rest tonight."

Lily rose from her seat opposite Sarah. She towered over Sarah, her imposing presence a contradiction to her soft, friendly face. With her smooth mahogany skin and waves of raven black hair, she looked positively regal in the moonlight.

The words dried up in Sarah's throat, and she blushed as she realized she was staring. She wanted to tell her former lover she was a goddess. She wanted to ask her why she left. But all she could muster was a nod, and a thank you.

Lily closed the bedroom door softly behind her. She sauntered over to the open window, closing her eyes and removing her jewelry. She took in the smells of the unexpected autumn storm as she tried to process Sarah's frenzied arrival. She had made every effort to appear composed and dispassionate, but she could not deny being rattled by her former love's reinsertion into her life.

Emerging from the en suite on the other side of the room, Lily's boyfriend Jamie misread her conflict for incredulity. "Do you believe her?"

"How much did you hear?" a weary Lily asked.

"Enough," Jamie Mendoza shrugged. He leaned against the entryway, a blue t-shirt and athletic shorts hung nicely on his slim, toned frame. He rubbed his index finger against his five o'clock shadow pensively. "I can believe quite a bit. Hell, I'm Filipino, we still have exorcisms. But witches? Human sacrifice?"

"What concerns me is Sarah believes it," Lily said, frowning. "That woman is terrified. I hope it's okay if she crashes here for a couple of days while I check this out."

Jamie nodded. "Sure. I have classes, but I can swing by before lunch and check on her." He paused. "You're seriously going to look into this?"

Lily sighed and nodded. "It's not like Sarah to just make shit up. Anyway, I'll grab a coffee and do some digging at the stacks. They won't miss me at the paper tomorrow morning. Besides…"

"You just have to know," Jamie finished knowingly, with a chuckle. "The Blackthorn Ledger's intrepid bulldog reporter is a good friend to have."

"Yeah," Lily said, her voice trailing. She wondered what Jamie suspected about her past with Sarah.

Lily was still unsure about her future with Jamie. He was a kind and good-natured boyfriend - better than she deserved. She seemed drawn to the innocent ones like him. Even with her best intentions, she took too much pleasure in corrupting them, and they brought out her basest instincts.

No, she would break it off with Jamie before she got in too deep. That was the mistake she had made with Sarah. Even now, her need to help Sarah was less altruistic than driven by guilt that she failed in a domme's most important job: protecting their sub. Lily knew she wasn't as good and moral as the image she projected. That she was capable of darkness. And she hated that about herself.

"You see something you want?" Jamie said, playfully, a glint in his eye. Lily realized that, lost in her thoughts, she must have been staring.

It had been a long and strange night, but Lily was willing to take the bait. Besides, seeing Sarah again had stirred up a tempest in her mind and body, and she could use a release. "Bold of you to presume what I want," she snarled, her posture stiffening. Lily squared her body to face Jamie, hands on hips, her demeanor almost threatening. "Know your place, boy."

Silently, Jamie removed his shirt, then his shorts and briefs, revealing his smooth, hairless body. A flawless canvas, perfect for me to mark up, Lily thought, before dispelling that notion. He deliberately walked toward Lily, eyes cast downward, and kneeled directly in front of her. Finally, he looked up. "Yes, Mistress Lilith."

Lily playfully teased her fingers through Jamie's hair, then quickly grabbed it and pulled. Hard. Something between a gasp and a whimper escaped his mouth. "Make it up to me," she demanded. She guided his head under the hem of her dress, until she could feel his hot breath on her bare, glistening pussy.

Jamie panted, reveling in submission to his queen, his superior. Slowly, his hands traveled up her soft thighs, gripping her hips firmly but reverently. He inhaled deeply, her scent deepening his trancelike state, before his tongue dutifully lapped at her folds.

Holding his head still, Lily ground her pussy forcefully into his waiting mouth, as Jamie increased his fervor. "Such a good boy," she purred. And he was a good boy, so willing to obey. For a brief second, she let herself entertain the thought of how far she could push him. What would he let her do to him in the name of devotion? How wet would her pussy get to hear him squeal and see him grimace in pain? But Lily focused on the pleasure, and let the wave subside and recede from her mind. She always had - no, needed - to be in control.

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

Prompt-ober 2023 – Mythology and chaste kiss

From the moment Harry first sees the block of marble, he knows what it’s meant to be. He gets it at a discount due to some flaws – not enough dark green striations to look intentional, too many to create a piece using only the pure white marble, a slight crack formed during transport from the quarry. None of them matter to Harry. Once he has it in place in his spartan studio, Harry works like a man possessed to bring his creation to life. His friends, well aware of how Harry gets when he’s sculpting, pop by to bring him food and drink and make him take breaks to sleep. He’s not sure what he’d do without them. Probably die from overwork and malnutrition. He’ll have to do something really nice for them once he’s finished his sculpture. It takes three months of solid, near round-the-clock work to chip the precious but unnecessary stone away from the form he can envision within. The time flies by. He knows he’s never seen the face he’s shaping before, but it seems so familiar to him. If he were to really think about it, he might be able to determine who he’d used as a reference for the chin or the nose or the lips. But looking at the features as they take form, he can’t imagine them any other way. He takes his time with the final polishing, ensuring the sheen and smoothness of the stone appears as perfect as he can make it. The sculpture’s skin almost glows – he’s gotten the translucent lustre just right. Harry stands back and takes in his finished work, removing his apron, pockets heavy with chisels, rasps and sanding paper, and dusting off his worn, ripped jeans.  The figure is seated on an ornate throne, slouching the slightest bit and staring down its aquiline nose at some unseen supplicant. The face is beautiful, but there’s a cruelty to the arch of its brow and the twist of its full lips. Lush, wavy hair frames high cheekbones, leading down to a long neck and broad shoulders. The sculpture’s body is trim and firm, but the musculature isn’t overly defined. Seven dark green veins of varying sizes spiderweb across the figure’s torso and arms. Its feet are planted solidly on the plinth beneath it, arms loose but holding a sword across its lap – covered with carved, draping fabric for modesty, because Harry just couldn’t visualise the sculpture’s bits and, at a certain point, he'd felt decidedly perverted from his continued efforts to do so. He has always been told that his sculptures are full of vitality – that they look ready to step off their plinth and join the world of the living. But even he thinks he’s outdone himself this time. Harry decides to catch a few hours of sleep then give the sculpture one final go-over. Before he puts out the lights and leaves, he wanders over to stare at his creation, looking as an observer rather than the craftsman. He’d been so careful to touch the marble with his bare skin as little as possible, to prevent his skin oils from discolouring the stone. But, just this once, he allows himself to reach out and gently stroke the sculpture’s cheek with the backs of his fingers. Cold and smooth. When Hermione had last popped in to make sure he was eating enough, she’d looked at his sculpture, raised her eyebrows, then looked at Harry and asked if he’d finally carved himself a Galatea. Harry had huffed a laugh – people had been making those sorts of comments to him for years at this point – and asked Hermione about her work at the library. But now, as he rests his hand against the figure’s cheek, he wonders if she’d noticed something he hadn’t. He’ll miss this project more than any other, once it’s sent to the gallery that displays his work. He leans in closer and presses his lips, feather-light, against the figure’s lips, thinking maybe… But he’s no Pygmalion, and the sculpture remains marble beneath his touch. Laughing a little at his fanciful actions, Harry finishes closing up his studio for the day and goes to rest. ──⚝── Hours later, with dawn’s first light illuminating the airborne dust in the studio and no one around to see, a marble finger twitches.

Part two can be read here.

[materassassino]

Can we get the joenicky pygmalion au?

This one is the closest to being finished and I'm really enjoying it. It's out of my comfort zone, but I like the prose so far and writing about obsession is something I've never actually tried before.

(Ovid's Metamorphoses, not the play, btw)

“So,” she starts, and it sounds vaguely like she’s been practicing, pouring the coffee into the cups, “have you been up to anything else, lately?” Joe takes his coffee with a nod of thanks, and busies himself with the sugar, trying to buy himself time. What else has he been doing except the bare minimum of existence? His waking hours have all been devoted to carving, to freeing his muse from his marble prison. He hasn’t had time to read, or go outside, or do anything else. And his sleeping hours, well… The less said of those, the better. It has never been like this before. Even when working on a project he found stimulating, he could always put down his mallet and chisel, find a moment to be human again. There was life beyond the studio, beyond the stone. It had never consumed him before, not like this. The cold, slimy feeling of shame runs down his spine, pushes his head down in supplication. How could he have let this happen? “Not really,” he admits, not truly confessing, but not lying either, because he hates lying, and lying to Nile especially. She is a sweet girl, kind and no-nonsense, and there is a kinship between them as foreigners on these very white shores. She gives him a look that speaks of concern, but also admonishment, which makes the shame flare up even worse. He wants the ground to open up and swallow him, and put him out of his misery. “That’s not very healthy, Joe,” she says, with gentle disappointment, and it’s hard to remember he has seven years on her. He is very much not the adult in the room, right now. “I know,” he mumbles, peering down into the black depths of his half-finished coffee. He knows it is obsession, and that, of course, it isn’t good for him. It is dangerous and foolish. But then he falls back into dreams with a man that understands him so deeply he might feel ill with wanting, and he must. He must, compelled beyond measure or reason to continue his work. A warm hand settles on his arm, and he looks up. Nile’s eyes are gentle. “Promise me you’ll try to make it to card night this week?” she says. He wonders how he looks. Is he gaunt? Dishevelled? Does he look mad? He hasn’t been paying attention. “I’ll try,” he says, because promising feels too much like lying.

WIP Ask Game!

[tyba1t]

"The Doctor is here in his studio, with a look of deep thought etched on his face..."

"He sees in his mind an image of the perfect companion he has yet to create."

"One day, The Doctor completes his creation of the companion of his dreams. As a result, he falls hopelessly in love with it."

"In a moment of inspiration, he names the figurine Jamie. The meaning of the name is 'he who supplants.'"

"Countless are the nights and days he spends staring at him."

TwoJamie as Pygmalion and Galatea cuz I love angst

And, no, he's not an incel like Pygmalion

Just a very lonely old man who desperately needs friends-

Based Jamie off of Antinous

Used this for the story so uh

Check it out

[alifeasvivid]

83 and 84 ukus!

83. Intimate Artistry   84. Married to the Job  

ngl I am always still puzzled about what "intimate artistry" is because like.... that could literally mean almost anything. A long time ago, Iris sent me that one and that's how I got to the scene where the Thief of Spades ties Inspector Kirkland to a chair and paints on him XD

But this time around, I think I'd have Arthur as this phenomenal sculptor. His sculptures seem more real than people and the truth is they are that way because to him they are more real than people. More beautiful and more important. His clients' money is all that matters to him as far as other people are concered and he spends weeks upon months locked away in his studio.

As a boy, he wished for this skill--a deal with a faerie with a devlish bent--a wish for all of his skills, passion, talent, motivation, and joy to be directed only toward sculpting and that is what he was granted. He is a misanthrope of the highest order. He leaves the house only to visit the shrines of the fae, but all business is conducted via letter and photographs; food and supplies are delivered and completed projects are shipped away via service.

One day, having not ordered it and receiving no commission to work on it, a block of the purest white marble is delivered to Arthur's shop. He can surely recognize a gift when it one appears, but with no instructions, he is nearly driven mad by this beautiful specimen. What should he make out of such a thing? What could he possibly think beautiful enough to match its perfection?

He spends days simply staring at it, smoothing his hands over it, threatening it with a chisel. Stubborn thing. The faeries surely sent it to him for the express purpose of driving him mad. He suddenly wishes he had someone to complain about it to.

Out of spite, out of pure defiance, Arthur finally puts his chisel to the stone. Once he starts, he cannot stop. For one year, he hardly sleeps or eats. Work outward from that first impulse of longing simply for a sympathetic ear, Arthur reveals a stunning young man from the marble. A young man with strong limbs, good shoulders, fine, boyish features, and the smallest softness on his tummy, with a smile Arthur has never seen on anyone, anywhere. A silly grin that his hands recalled from dreams his mind tries to forget.

Yet now he is tortured again. The realness of his statue is not real enough. It doesn't stop Arthur from embracing his love, caressing every cold line of him, every smooth expanse of hard, unfeeling marble. Arthur kisses the statue's lips, wants to hear them say his name.

When the time of Imbolc arrives, Arthur forces himself out of the house to visit the shrines and make his offerings, trying to carry no hope with him.

And then I have two ideas for how this would go:

-Arthur pays his respects to the shines, returns home, just like in the myth (although it was the feast of Aphrodite), and there's Alfred all nice and alive and human and then Arthur spends about as much time fucking him as he did carving him

OR

-at one of the shrines, Arthur meets a faerie who looks just like his statue: Alfred, who saw the original bargain and didn't think it was fair and has loved Arthur all that time and this is how he could get Arthur to love him too and yes it's very manipulative but that's how faeries are and then Arthur spends about as much time fucking Alfred as he did carving the statue.

Anyway. some people who have possibly been following me since before I was alifeasvivid will know that I am fucking obsessed with the myth of Pygmalion so >.>

[kreature-ofthenight]

Art Idea: Galatea standing in front of a mirror in Pygmalion´s empty work studio putting a chisel to her body to recreate it in her own image

[syntia13treeman]

Case files 10.01

what I think happened in:

Case 10.01, the case of "Cursed Pygmalion" or "How I stopped worrying and started fearing for my life instead"

In 1994 Channel Six hired Niger Dickerson to host night variety show, nicknamed "Nigel’s SOS," (short for "Nigel Dickerson presents Saturdays on Six,"), where Nigel was 'held prisoner' by mysterious off-screen "Mr. Six", and played pranks on his guests. The prank always concluded with the guests being informed that they "got berried" and receiving a raspberry trophy.

In 1996, as part of the prank, a character of Mr. Bonzo was created (Nigel designed the look, nobody can really remember who came up with that name*)

The first guest confronted with Mr. Bonzo, chef Gordon Ramsey Gotard Rimbaeu was so freaked out, he broke the actors arm with a frying pan (allegedly**).

After that the actors (allegedly**) wearing Bonzo's suit would change frequently. Playing the role has become sort of rite of passage for the newbies on set.

Bonzo's role also changed overtime. From a jumpscare he went to become the show's mascot, to eventually replace Mr. Six as Nigel's 'jailer'. He was a hit with target audience, the merch was selling, they even started building a themepark… and then everything changed, when Terrance Menki attacked got caught.

Who is Terrance Menki? Apparently a serial killer, whose gimmick was killing in cosplay, presumably different one each time, as he had a whole wardrobe of costumes. Just bad luck that when he got caught with his 11th victim, he was wearing a knock-off Bonzo suit. (It wasn't even a good knock-off, all the colours were backwards!)

Alas, the press immediately dubbed him the "Bonzo Butcher", the public ate it up, and Mr. Bonzo's public image was ruined. Shortly afterwards, on 3rd March 2000 the Bonzoland was closed (ARG exclusive information), "Nigel's SOS" was cancelled, and Nigel was left to deal with hate-mail and death threats, despite having nothing to do with the whole mess (allegedly).

That would be the end of the story, except… between 2016 and 2021 there were at least 3 murders where Mr. Bonzo was (allegedly) seen at the scene.

When asked about in an interview conducted by Geraldine in August 2021, Nigel Dickerson categoricity denied it refused to comment on any potential Bonzo involvement in any crime.

Considering that he'd been living in Mr. Bonzo's house for the past [number unknown] years, his claims of ignorance and innocence fall rather flat.

The most recent Bonzo sighting was not reported on Saturday night, 09th of March 2024, when Gwendolym Bouchard, acting on behalf of OIAR, handed over an envelope containing (reportedly***) a name and address. Mr. Bonzo graciously accepted and chewed said envelope in his NOT SOFT teeth and lumbered into the night.

More news next Thursday at 5pm. For now let's speculate a bit:

*If Nigel didn't come up with Bonzo's name, and his producer Rich didn't come up with the name… then who did? I won't say it's impossible that it was just some random intern that Nigel couldn't be bothered to remember, but… Names are important. Names have power. Maybe something was trying to manifest itself, and started with giving itself a name?

**Where there ever actually any actors inside Bonzo suit? There are a few possibilities: a) it's been all Bonzo all along – it would go well with Bonzo naming himself, but otherwise I think it's unlikely. It's possible that: b) there only ever was one, very unlucky actor. When the Britain's snootiest chef attacked him with a pan, he did more than just break the poor man's arm. The actor died in the costume, and stayed in the costume, and just… kept going in the costume. This is macabre enough origin story to be plausible, but I'm gonna say nah. I think that: c) SOS really had their little ritual, where a stream of very tired, minimal wage studio workers had to run around in the suit until the next loser was hired. This is too easily verifiable for Nigel to lie about. I bet there were little 'behind the scenes' documentaries during the show's golden era, where Jack the stagehand and Joe the janitor bitched in polite British about how much of a pain in the neck it was.

So at what point did the actors become unnecessary? When and how was current day Mr. Bonzo born? I think it was a process that started with the name, but ended shortly after his show was cancelled. Over the years of popularity, as more and more people thought of Bonzo as a character (or a person) more than a funny suit, Bonzo was becoming less and less of just a funny suit. When the costume no longer had actors to animate it, it decided to animate itself. And because at that time the Bonzo-mania turned to Bonzo-hate, instead of chaotic but largely harmless creature he could have been, he became… well. Something that a shady government organization apparently uses as a hitman.

And here I need to ask an important question: What the fuck was up with that? Joking. (Though I wish to know how do you even discover you can do that). (***and did the envelope really contain name and address? Did Gwen check? Does she remember the name?)

The question is: who is the unlucky person, about to receive a lethal blast of the 90s nostalgia? Will we ever even know? (Will we know tomorrow, 11.04.2024, when Celia clicks on the newest case and hears an emergency call from someone fleeing for their life from a 'guy in a weird costume?')

Other question: how long has Nigel been held hostage in his own house (sorry – Bonzo's house) and just how sorry should I feel for him? He seemed pretty unconcerned about the actor with broken arm, and about Bonzo running off into the night to do murder, but I imagine that living in constant shadow of Mr Bonzo is pretty stressful and doesn't leave much room for empathy, so… I don't know. I'm gonna wait and see.