Ok Reverse The TROPE !!!!!! Sugar-mommy!f!reader X Retired!simon

Shout out to all the Black ppl that can no longer participate directly in the fandom they love because of the stresses of racism 👍🏾 you contain multitudes of value and I'm sorry that the color of your skin and the power of your voice makes people not want to acknowledge that.

‏I am mohammed Ayyad, I am 17 years old, high school student, I have 7 brothers, including 4 girls and 3 boys and my mother.

‏Since the beginning of the war, my family and I have been displaced 4 times, each time more severe than the other.

‏The first is from Gaza City to Khan Yunis, and the second is from Khan Yunis to the shores of Bahr Khan Yunis, then to the city of Rafah, and then to an area called Al Qarara .

‏My house was completely destroyed , everything is under the rubble my childhood, my memories, my books, and my ambition and Many relatives and friends were killed and life was completely destroyed.

‏ so l please you to help me and help my family collect donations to evacuation the war zone, get out of Gaza safely, and complete my school studies, via my donation link.

‏‎

gofundme.com

Donate to I want to buy water and medicine for my young children becau, organized by DUNIA E D HABIB

‏I am mohammed Ayyad, I am 17 years old, high sch… DUNIA E D HABIB needs your support for I want to buy water and medicine for m

Could we get a Viktor drabble where he’s doing that thing teenagers do when they written their name and your name in their journal to see how they sound with your last name?

And getting caught 👀

As you wish, anon. And if Viktor getting caught writing things about reader is your jam, might I suggest A Theory by @gaybybirth which is the fic that dragged me kicking and screaming back into writing on tumblr.

Round and around and around that long finger. How he could twirl chestnut strands so much and not have given himself a permanent little curl or even a tiny bald spot behind his ear was beyond you. As it was he had cowlick after wispy soft cowlick curling errantly in the mess of his hair. It was irritatingly endearing, terribly distracting. Had your own fingers itching every time he started up that bad habit to slap his hand gently aside and and rake your own fingers back down his scalp. Difficult not to think what it would feel like, the silk mess of that hair carded between fingers. To watch him tilt is head back, close those tired amber eyes slowly. Thick lashes dark against pale cheekbones. Let you kiss bruised, tired eyelids softly...

No.

No, thoughts ran away with you far too easily. Not even thoughts - silly fantasies. He was terribly busy, terribly important. Him and Mr. Talis. Busy building the future of Piltover and leashing the power of those terrifyingly unstable hex crystals to allow teleportation across continents, across worlds. And all you could think of was touching that babyfine soft hair that formed a v at the nape of his neck. About the way his voice was always so softly quiet, terribly gentle.

He'd let you hold one, once. A hex crystal. Dropped it into your palm and smiled at how you'd sucked breath in hard and fast as you cradled it like a live bomb. Closed your cupping palms around it with his own.

"Can you feel it?" He asked.

All you could do to swallow, throat sandpaper grit and eyes round saucers. You could feel his fingertips against the outside of your wrists, feel the brush of his thumbs against your own and the warm of his palms to your knuckles. And yes... the shallow pulsing electric vibration of the deadly dangerous crystal you held. Like licking a battery without the copper taste, and with the warning crackle through the whole of your forearms straight to spine.

Lightening in a stone, if not a bottle.

Blue luminescence reflected in gold eyes as he pulled the careful cup of your hands apart and took the stone back. Eyes only for one thing and it surely wasn't for the tech assistant in faded grey and tatty coveralls, constantly smeared in gear grease and always in the background; fixing all the little minor issues the new golden boys of Piltover managed to create with their unlimited intellect and vastly overestimated mechanical expertise.

Sure, they could both design the future, write complex mathematic and arcane problems as foreign to you as Noxian calculus... but ask either to find the actual source of a lack of power in a time train gear network they had designed? Forest for the trees, you supposed. It was fine, you were good with details, with the trees, if this metaphor held.

Details like that hair twirling. Like his shy smile. Like how you'd be under and deep in the guts of a piece of mech and fumbling blindly for a tool only to have him press it into your searching fingers. Never could figure out how he always knew exactly what you were looking for without even having been asked. Nine eighths spanner? In your fingers. Ten quarter allen wrench? Done. The finest pair of needle nose pliers? His fingertips soft against your grease stained palm as he pushed it there in silent passing. Reading your mind.

If only you could read his.

So nice then, that one night, when you’d dragged yourself out from under the guts of their latest prototype, to find him sat there alone, the only other living soul in the lab and shaking an empty pen between twirling the silk licks of his hair.

You rolled tired shoulders and unzipped coveralls to tie the arms round your waist over your sweated tank top.  Wandered over to pull the pen from his fingers and put a fresh one in hand.  So lost in thought he failed to notice.  Went right back to scribbling.  Curiosity had you glance over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of whatever incomprehensibly complex mathematics he was entrapped in.

And instead stared down at two open pages scrawled with your name.  And his.  And little rough sketches and doodles that had a heat rising under your skin with the searing intensity of a late summer sunburn.  Under your lean over his shoulder Viktor had swam to the surface, fresh pen stilling its most recent scrawl of your name before it dropped and he scooped one elegant hand under the jacket of his notebook to slam it shut and spin on you.  Luminous golden eyes wide.

Before you could stop yourself you’d reached past him fast as a striking snake and grabbed up the notebook.  Back pedaled a few steps as you flipped through it.  Your name, his name, doodles and drawings and.... oh.  You turned that page sideways and squinted.  OH.  

“Wait.  Please...”  His voice was broken, begging.  Mortified.  

“Viktor.  Do you...”  You were going to tease him, grinning, delighted.  Until you looked up and saw him wilt, the fine splay of one hand hiding half his face as he slumped back onto his lab stool.  Oh no. 

Still, you weren’t giving that book back.  Yet.  Tucked it behind the small of your back in the waistband of coveralls and closed in on him.  Very much emboldened by all the scribbles on those pages, lovely spidery litany of your name over and over again intertwined with his.  Had you slot yourself between the long spread of his lean thighs.  Permanently stained and calloused hand tugging away the one that hid his face by the wrist.  

He resisted, and for a strained second you felt sure he was going to rise, spindle legs carrying him backward off the stool and out of the lab.  But instead he gave, and let his hand drop, heat burning fever under pale skin beneath.  Hot as steam burnt steel under your fingers as you caught up the fine angles of his face.  Glad he didn’t seem to mind the scent of gear grease and petrol on your skin.  Or how rough your thumb was as you slid it over the little freckle under his eye. 

“Have you settled on one?”  You couldn’t help your teasing nature, had to ask.  So pleased he would be so obsessed as to fill pages with your names together.

“Please.”  Still pained, he tried to pull his face from the frame of your hands, tried to reach round you to grab the book back.  Instead you caught his arm behind you and pressed it higher as you leaned in.

Took a chance and pushed your forehead to his temple.  Watched him exhale a shiver and turn amber eyes up toward yours.  So close you could see the flecks of brown and green imbedded in the gold depths.  Unable to help yourself, you pressed him.

“What else have you written about us?”

viktor arcane icons

Life is way easier if you just use a character creator 😭❗️

This is my arcane oc, they’re unnamed and have no lore yet but I love them :) My art is getting better!!!

1k Prompts

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Bathroom Sex, Jealousy, Penetrative Sex

Summary: A little warm up before the game starts. 

Word Count: 695 (Not Edited)

You were always such a tease. 

He almost tripped over the ball as he watched you, a scowl distorting his face. Today, the boys and girls soccer team had a game. It wasn’t unnatural for the two teams to practice together, going through drills and pair training. But usually, you and Miguel would pair up together, going toe to toe. A way to help build up the competitive nature within the both of you before a game.

But here you are, giggling and smiling with one of his teammates. You have a wide smile on your face, eyes on the ball as the two of you fight over it. You keep bumping into Peter’s side as you try to steal from one another, a loud yelp escaping you when you almost trip over the ball. Eventually, you steal the ball, his teammate falling to the ground as you kick it into the empty net. You whoop out in victory, smiling and sticking your tongue out childishly at your opponent before helping him up. It makes Miguel’s blood boil as he watches. 

But it isn’t anything to worry about, not really. Not when he has you trapped between him and the wall, your legs wrapped around his hips to keep you up as he slides into you. You mewl, all that fight and competition leaving your body as you suck him in. You lean forward, whimpering into his neck as he bottoms out with a groan. The sound vibrates in the empty bathroom, and you press your face more into his neck to muffle the sounds. Miguel coos down at you mockingly, watching how your body instantly accommodates him and sags. 

“Where did all that energy go, hm?” He whispers into your ear. You whine again, quickly moaning out when he pulls out and thrusts sharply into you. “You had so much energy when you were fucking around with Peter.”

He gives you more rough thrusts when you don’t answer, and you throw your head back against the wall. Your mouth is wide open, moaning and whining as you close your eyes. It makes Miguel hum in satisfaction. He doesn’t stop his punishing thrusts, only going faster. Your hand drops to his chest, pushing him away weakly. 

“M-Miguel! Not so rough! I still have to p-play!” You struggle to say, interrupting yourself with gasps. 

Miguel only rolls his eyes, but he still listens and softens his thrusts slightly. But he doesn’t slow down his pace. If the two of you want to get off in time to clean up and get to the field before the game starts, he needs to get the two of you to come fast. His hand trails down to your clit, rubbing it in fast circles that have your back arching. You clutch onto his arm desperately, body tensing as you feel your release building to its peak. Your legs around his hips have him in a vice grip as you moan out his name, walls clenching as you finish. 

Miguel is quick to follow, the feeling of your tight walls fluttering doing him in. He buries his face into your neck as he groans, pumping his release into you with slow thrusts until he stills. The two of you stay still, catching your breath for a few seconds. Miguel slides out slowly, setting you down to the floor. He grabs a few paper towels from the dispenser, handing you some as the two of you wipe off. When the two of you finish, you readjust your clothing and walk over to the mirror. 

From behind you Miguel smirks, “I think you can walk just fine. Don’t know what you were fussing about.”

You scowl at him from the mirror, undoing your fucked-up ponytail and fixing it. “Shut up, you jealous fuck.”

Miguel scowls at you, ruffling his hair and deeming himself presentable. Ugh, men. He grumbles something under his breath about you making shit up, flicking the back of your head. He walks towards the bathroom door, sticking a finger back at you. “Twist an ankle!”

“Take a ball to the nuts!” You shout back.

God, you hate him.

🧃🧃🧃

i started using nomad sculpt less than 24 hours ago, so i’m not very good at it lol

but i made this little devil guy, and i think that’s ok :)

Generative AI Is Bad For Your Creative Brain

In the wake of early announcing that their blog will no longer be posting fanfiction, I wanted to offer a different perspective than the ones I’ve been seeing in the argument against the use of AI in fandom spaces. Often, I’m seeing the arguments that the use of generative AI or Large Language Models (LLMs) make creative expression more accessible. Certainly, putting a prompt into a chat box and refining the output as desired is faster than writing a 5000 word fanfiction or learning to draw digitally or traditionally. But I would argue that the use of chat bots and generative AI actually limits - and ultimately reduces - one’s ability to enjoy creativity.

Creativity, defined by the Cambridge Advanced Learner’s Dictionary & Thesaurus, is the ability to produce or use original and unusual ideas. By definition, the use of generative AI discourages the brain from engaging with thoughts creatively. ChatGPT, character bots, and other generative AI products have to be trained on already existing text. In order to produce something “usable,” LLMs analyzes patterns within text to organize information into what the computer has been trained to identify as “desirable” outputs. These outputs are not always accurate due to the fact that computers don’t “think” the way that human brains do. They don’t create. They take the most common and refined data points and combine them according to predetermined templates to assemble a product. In the case of chat bots that are fed writing samples from authors, the product is not original - it’s a mishmash of the writings that were fed into the system.

Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (DBT) is a therapy modality developed by Marsha M. Linehan based on the understanding that growth comes when we accept that we are doing our best and we can work to better ourselves further. Within this modality, a few core concepts are explored, but for this argument I want to focus on Mindfulness and Emotion Regulation. Mindfulness, put simply, is awareness of the information our senses are telling us about the present moment. Emotion regulation is our ability to identify, understand, validate, and control our reaction to the emotions that result from changes in our environment. One of the skills taught within emotion regulation is Building Mastery - putting forth effort into an activity or skill in order to experience the pleasure that comes with seeing the fruits of your labor. These are by no means the only mechanisms of growth or skill development, however, I believe that mindfulness, emotion regulation, and building mastery are a large part of the core of creativity. When someone uses generative AI to imitate fanfiction, roleplay, fanart, etc., the core experience of creative expression is undermined.

Creating engages the body. As a writer who uses pen and paper as well as word processors while drafting, I had to learn how my body best engages with my process. The ideal pen and paper, the fact that I need glasses to work on my computer, the height of the table all factor into how I create. I don’t use audio recordings or transcriptions because that’s not a skill I’ve cultivated, but other authors use those tools as a way to assist their creative process. I can’t speak with any authority to the experience of visual artists, but my understanding is that the feedback and feel of their physical tools, the programs they use, and many other factors are not just part of how they learned their craft, they are essential to their art.

Generative AI invites users to bypass mindfully engaging with the physical act of creating. Part of becoming a person who creates from the vision in one’s head is the physical act of practicing. How did I learn to write? By sitting down and making myself write, over and over, word after word. I had to learn the rhythms of my body, and to listen when pain tells me to stop. I do not consider myself a visual artist - I have not put in the hours to learn to consistently combine line and color and form to show the world the idea in my head.

But I could.

Learning a new skill is possible. But one must be able to regulate one’s unpleasant emotions to be able to get there. The emotion that gets in the way of most people starting their creative journey is anxiety. Instead of a focus on “fear,” I like to define this emotion as “unpleasant anticipation.” In Atlas of the Heart, Brene Brown identifies anxiety as both a trait (a long term characteristic) and a state (a temporary condition). That is, we can be naturally predisposed to be impacted by anxiety, and experience unpleasant anticipation in response to an event. And the action drive associated with anxiety is to avoid the unpleasant stimulus.

Starting a new project, developing a new skill, and leaning into a creative endevor can inspire and cause people to react to anxiety. There is an unpleasant anticipation of things not turning out exactly correctly, of being judged negatively, of being unnoticed or even ignored. There is a lot less anxiety to be had in submitting a prompt to a machine than to look at a blank page and possibly make what could be a mistake. Unfortunately, the more something is avoided, the more anxiety is generated when it comes up again. Using generative AI doesn’t encourage starting a new project and learning a new skill - in fact, it makes the prospect more distressing to the mind, and encourages further avoidance of developing a personal creative process.

One of the best ways to reduce anxiety about a task, according to DBT, is for a person to do that task. Opposite action is a method of reducing the intensity of an emotion by going against its action urge. The action urge of anxiety is to avoid, and so opposite action encourages someone to approach the thing they are anxious about. This doesn’t mean that everyone who has anxiety about creating should make themselves write a 50k word fanfiction as their first project. But in order to reduce anxiety about dealing with a blank page, one must face and engage with a blank page. Even a single sentence fragment, two lines intersecting, an unintentional drop of ink means the page is no longer blank. If those are still difficult to approach a prompt, tutorial, or guided exercise can be used to reinforce the understanding that a blank page can be changed, slowly but surely by your own hand.

(As an aside, I would discourage the use of AI prompt generators - these often use prompts that were already created by a real person without credit. Prompt blogs and posts exist right here on tumblr, as well as imagines and headcannons that people often label “free to a good home.” These prompts can also often be specific to fandom, style, mood, etc., if you’re looking for something specific.)

In the current social media and content consumption culture, it’s easy to feel like the first attempt should be a perfect final product. But creating isn’t just about the final product. It’s about the process. Bo Burnam’s Inside is phenomenal, but I think the outtakes are just as important. We didn’t get That Funny Feeling and How the World Works and All Eyes on Me because Bo Burnham woke up and decided to write songs in the same day. We got them because he’s been been developing and honing his craft, as well as learning about himself as a person and artist, since he was a teenager. Building mastery in any skill takes time, and it’s often slow.

Slow is an important word, when it comes to creating. The fact that skill takes time to develop and a final piece of art takes time regardless of skill is it’s own source of anxiety. Compared to @sentientcave, who writes about 2k words per day, I’m very slow. And for all the time it takes me, my writing isn’t perfect - I find typos after posting and sometimes my phrasing is awkward. But my writing is better than it was, and my confidence is much higher. I can sit and write for longer and longer periods, my projects are more diverse, I’m sharing them with people, even before the final edits are done. And I only learned how to do this because I took the time to push through the discomfort of not being as fast or as skilled as I want to be in order to learn what works for me and what doesn’t.

Building mastery - getting better at a skill over time so that you can see your own progress - isn’t just about getting better. It’s about feeling better about your abilities. Confidence, excitement, and pride are important emotions to associate with our own actions. It teaches us that we are capable of making ourselves feel better by engaging with our creativity, a confidence that can be generalized to other activities.

Generative AI doesn’t encourage its users to try new things, to make mistakes, and to see what works. It doesn’t reward new accomplishments to encourage the building of new skills by connecting to old ones. The reward centers of the brain have nothing to respond to to associate with the action of the user. There is a short term input-reward pathway, but it’s only associated with using the AI prompter. It’s designed to encourage the user to come back over and over again, not develop the skill to think and create for themselves.

I don’t know that anyone will change their minds after reading this. It’s imperfect, and I’ve summarized concepts that can take months or years to learn. But I can say that I learned something from the process of writing it. I see some of the flaws, and I can see how my essay writing has changed over the years. This might have been faster to plug into AI as a prompt, but I can see how much more confidence I have in my own voice and opinions. And that’s not something chatGPT can ever replicate.

The Machine Herald!