#AI generated tickle art | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pumpkinsplots · 9 months

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Writeblr Intro

Hello, writeblr! I finally caved and got tumblr, mostly because I love rambling about my wips and hearing other people ramble about theirs and all of that lovely stuff, so this seemed like a great platform to do that. With that being said, I plan on posting about my wips and ocs, as well as art related to those things, so if that interests you at all, I’d love to see you stick around. Also feel free to call me either Pumpkin or Maria, it’s entirely up to you!

About my writing

I’ve found that I really enjoy writing in a variety of genres, so hopefully at least one of my wips will tickle your fancy. Though I’d say a common thing for me is that I really like to world build, so my wips tend to be sci-fi, fantasy, or magical realism of some variety. Anything where I can put my own spin on the setting is something I’m bound to enjoy writing about.

I write in third person, usually with multiple povs, and I really enjoy character driven stories.

I often like to have a wide variety of ages in the cast, and if I had to pick a favorite trope it would be found family, so that’s usually present to some degree in my stuff.

Tonally, I always include light-hearted moments here and there, even if the wip is very bleak. It provides some levity, and I think it makes the painful stuff hit a lot harder. This is probably partially why I put some thought into each character’s sense of humor.

Most of my wips are geared towards older teens and adults, but I’ll get more into content warnings when I talk about each individually, because it really varies.

I’m one of those writers that kills off a lot of characters, so this is your warning not to get attached /j

I’m demisexual, so at least one character being on the ace spectrum is like a requirement for me at this point.

I’m a plantser, and pretty bad at staying motivated to actually finish first drafts.

About my wips

Falling Up

Falling Up is a sci-if story set in the future where Earth is a utopia where inhabitants experience little to no hardships throughout their lives. The deceased are replaced with AI created to replicate them, and everything is automated to the point where people no longer need to work to make a living. This lack of struggle results in dull, perfect lives and skewed morals. The people crave entertainment, even if it means making others suffer for it. Quasdom, a miniature man made planet initially intended to be used to separate deviants from the rest of the perfect society, is used as a catalyst for entertainment. The people of Quasdom believe that those on Earth are superior to them, and that Earth is a place where any wish can come true. This leads to the tourney, a death game between groups of ten on Quasdom, being viewed similarly to winning the lottery. The winning team gets to go to Earth, after all. Being chosen for the tourney is the luckiest thing that can happen to you. There’s no hard feelings between participants, death is completely painless, and the afterlife will welcome any participants to a better life than they previously had. There’s nothing to fear, so smile and put on a show.

A large cast and lots of character deaths

An exploration of why we get so attached to fictional characters, and how fiction can have an impact on reality

Probably going to be a trilogy

Content warnings include language, some unsettling themes, depictions of mental health issues, and generally things that are more psychological. Despite it being a death game, there’s no gore, like at all. The people on Earth may be desensitized, but they aren’t accustomed to seeing blood, so the tourney is designed with that in mind

Facade

Facade is set in a world where the living world and the spirit world coexist. Due to some actions by the main antagonist, about 20 years prior to the current story, spirits started getting aggressive and sort of going haywire. They possess any person they can, turning the individual into an uncontrollable killing machine. The best defense to this was the invention of a certain kind of mask that prevents possession, and masks quickly became widespread. Since there’s no known way to reverse spiritual possession, the only solution is to kill those that are unfortunate enough to meet that fate. A group led by an anonymous vigilante known as K9 seek to find a way to reverse possession. Many enemies are made along the way, and there are countless obstacles to face.

Its setting is based on Singapore and set in the 90s, though there are many creative liberties taken

The wip is currently pretty no plot just vibes

Themes about individuality vs equality

Content warnings include language and some sexual content

Facade: After Dark

While Facade is currently no plot just vibes, developing the characters led to me thinking of the plot for a prequel. Is it a self-indulgent novella about two of the characters I love? Yes, absolutely. In summary, it’s a romance novella about the the relationship of Leijing and Iris, and their struggles in navigating the wild world of Facade. They have vastly different upbringings and experiences, but their differences bring them together in more ways than one.

I have so much backstory for this pre-established couple and I couldn’t think of a good way to incorporate it into the main story without cutting a bunch of it, so boom it’s a prequel now

I’ve found that working on a wip that’s more low stakes and simple is really fun—I tend to get stressed about my more ambitious plots, so this wip is a great change of pace

Leijing is demisexual with little interest in anything sex related and Iris is an omnisexual sex worker, and the story explores how a world obsessed with all things sex can effect both more sex-negative and sex-positive people

Content warnings include language, explicit sexual content, and potentially triggering subject matters. This is my only wip where it’s strictly 18+!

Lights Out

Sunlight is the essence of life. Without it, the world would wither away. However, a dangerous new life form of unknown origin festers in the light. With long, elegant glimmering limbs, high intelligence, picturesque precision, and a craving for flesh, these organisms pose a major threat to humanity. But for some odd reason, these creatures refuse to step into any area where the sun doesn’t touch. Much of humanity takes to the shadows, building elaborate underground tunnels for civilizations and doing what humans do best—using their resources and ingenuity to adapt.

Has two protagonists that butt heads but start to develop a father daughter dynamic. A young adult girl who’s from the underground and unknowingly part of a cult, and an older man with one leg who’s so stubborn he’d rather fight and die than flee to the darkness

Lots of creepy cult imagery and themes about religious trauma

So much banter of course

Content warnings include language, disturbing imagery, and gore

If you’ve made it this far, thanks for reading! Asks, comments, tag games, and messages are always appreciated, and I’d love to hear about your wips as well!

#writeblr #writeblr intro #writing #writeblr introduction #creative writing #writers of tumblr #new writeblr #writer #writeblr search #new to writeblr #writers on tumblr

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ta-ni-ya · 2 months

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I think I kinda got overwhelmed by the challenge? Even tho I’m taking it very slow I keep loosing focus idk but I’ll keep my speed slow only TvT

I did some Kirika sketches instead because I’ve been saving those ideas in my mind for ages now 💀 I couldn’t draw her at all even after exams ended so I did these drawings in one go to let my mind off of the challenge for a bit-

I got some content on each one ig-

I thought her bangs looked like kiri’s

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No heel no hand XD I was too lazy yea

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Aight idk if anyone has seen it but I once posted kiri’s first design and she was supposed to have short hair and her eyes looked different too, this is her in her original design hehe

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Okkkk yea- has anyone seen those ai generated demon slayer pics? In I think prom dresses??? I drew kiri’s version XD

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Soooo I obviously used this as ref 😔 I just thought kiri would look so pretty with her hair like that! And she’s sad for some reason XD

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Last and my fav one too!

Story behind this art? 🫣

Don’t read if you don’t want spoilers btw-

It’s after the final battle, kiri had to cut her hair during the fight and her bangs also grew while recovering, she’s with sanemi and they’re finally alone. Nemi and kiri are tickling each other and kiri lays on the floor laughing and giggling. Then she looks at him with a warm smile because it’s finally over- the demons are gone.

The details? The blush on her face after laughing and her eyes sparkling at nemi, her hair scattered on the surface hehehehehehe ahhhhh alright I’m done 💀✨

My Kirika fever is real

#niya talks #art #demon slayer oc #drawing #demon slayer #artists on tumblr #sanekiri #kny oc #sanemi x oc ship #Kirika shimizu

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chirp-a-chirp · 1 year

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Ikemen Prince: Breaking Point

Description: A chance encounter with a young boy forces Leon to confront his past. Spoilers from Leon’s route. Quotes from Leon’s route are in bold text.

Ikemen Prince: Leon

Other Characters: Nokto; Yves; Sariel; Jin (briefly)

Word Count: ~2,700.

Tags: Angst and comfort; mentions of slavery, abuse, trauma, and parental loss

*Lion picture generated using Art AI App Gencraft

…

“He’s replaceable.”

The voice was dismissive, petulant. The Duke gestured irritably at a young boy hastily picking up a pile of silverware that had scattered across the floor. The boy was no older than six, the youngest servant at the Duke’s gala. The boy’s amber eyes flickered at the Duke’s outstretched hand; he flinched reflexively, his body prepared for the blow that was sure to follow.

Leon’s eyes opened in shock. The servant boy was a virtual replica of him as a child, down to the sunken hallows beneath his eyes and the mop of dark hair that refused to be tamed. Leon winced internally as he saw what appeared to be bruises on the boy’s wrists beneath his jacket. But it was more than that—though the boy’s body’s flinched as an automatic response, his arms hung listlessly at his sides. The boy’s eyes were dull and flat. Leon knew what that feeling of resignation was like, perhaps more than anyone.

Instinctively, Leon stepped in front of the boy. “Every life has meaning, Your Grace.” A growl emanated from Leon even as he plastered a smile on his face. “He’s not replaceable.”

“And he has a name. Charles.” Emma crouched beside the boy, helping him pick up forks and spoons. Her eyes flared at the Duke. The Duke laughed dismissively. “He’s here upon my charity. The urchin’s mother was one of my maids; she died several months ago. He has a roof over his head as long as his does his job competently. He has failed to do that so—“

“So let us remedy that for you.” Leon’s eyes narrowed. “We will take Charles back to the Castle.” Leon gestured gently for the boy to get up. With some quiet encouragement from Emma, Charles scampered behind Leon, clinging to his cloak like a lifeline. Leon grab Charles’ hand and began to turn around. The Duke’s voice brought Leon back to the conversation.

“I believe you’ve forgotten something.” The Duke held out a hand. “Compensation for the clothing the boy wears. A coin would do.” The Duke’s attempt at a power play was painfully transparent. Leon barely heard the Duke’s sneer—it faded into a blur as Leon was pulled back into his childhood past. The sound of feet trudging through mud, whips lashing and breaking against his skin when work was not done fast enough, his life bought with a single coin. Jin, who had seen the verbal exchange between Leon and the Duke, stepped in. “Of course, Your Grace.” Jin dropped a small bag of coins in the Duke’s hand before Leon could respond. The Duke had powerful friends and trade connections. The princes could not afford to make him an enemy. Jin guided the Duke away, handing him a glass of wine. As Jin walked past Emma, he mouthed to her, “Go with Leon. Please.”

Emma quickly picked up the remaining pieces of silverware, placing them on a nearby table. Leon and Charles had already left. As she began to leave the gala, Emma felt a tug on her elbow as an arm encircled her waist.

“That was quite the performance just now.” Nokto’s breath tickled against Emma’s neck. His red eyes sparkled in mischief.

“You could have intervened any time,” Emma glared. Nokto shrugged, “Jin beat me to it. But, on to more important matters.” Nokto lifted his eyebrows and whispered in Emma’s ear. To anyone watching, it would look like no more than a man flirting with a pretty girl. “Do you recall the conversation you and I had while you were Belle? About Leon’s kindness?” Emma’s cheeks flushed. Nokto chuckled, “Play along, my dear. You’re doing well.”

Emma huffed and stepped back a pace. “Yes,” she hissed. “But this kindness is not cruel. Kind people want to help everyone. Leon wants to protect Charles, like he does with all the people in Rhodolite.”

“But at what cost?” Nokto studied Emma, a smirk on his face. “Leon can’t hide a thing, especially now that’s he’s with you,” Nokto murmured. “His eyes give him away. Leon will break tonight. Too many memories brought back to the surface.” Nokto stroked his chin and added; “his kindness is the ultimate cruelty to himself. When you care for everyone, there’s nothing left for yourself.” Nokto adjusted his white and gold jacket and sauntered towards Jin and the Duke, leaving Emma with her thoughts.

Damn Nokto’s perceptiveness. He could read people as easily as she read books. Leon had always been cheerful with everyone, friendly, charming. He was the smiling stranger with a ready laugh, the charismatic but distant hero, the man surrounded by others but somehow just out of reach. It was a kindness removed from emotional intensity; to be future king, it had to be so. Leon’s love for Emma had changed that perspective; he had become more approachable, more honest with his feelings, his heart lighter. But it left him vulnerable—to love was to risk suffering, and he loved Emma, Rhodolite, and its citizens more than anything. When they suffered, Leon suffered. And now, he did not have the emotional distance to preserve himself.

Emma sprinted out of the Duke’s villa. She found Charles and Leon on the side of a road, Charles staring at the prince in disbelief. Emma hid behind the villa’s gate, watching the scene before her. Charles lifted his hands towards the sky, gesturing at the fourth prince. It was as if the boy was pleading to Leon, daring to ask more of him. “You’re so big.”

Oh no.

For an instant, Leon’s eyes widened and trembled. Dark memories of him reaching out towards the sky as a slave boy, bleakness and resignation his only companions, enveloped him. Leon blinked a few times, willing himself back to the present. “You’ll be big like me one day.” Leon ruffled Charles’ hair. “And you’re not alone. Not anymore.” The prince picked the boy up and perched him on his shoulders. “Race you to the Castle Charles!” Leon ran at breakneck speed, a determined smile on his face. Normally, Leon’s smile shown brighter than the sun, providing warmth and strength on even the chillest of days. But now, Emma saw this smile for what it was—a shield protecting fragile feelings.

Emma walked as quickly as the cobblestone road would allow—she wondered if the heroines in her stories were capable of sprinting in heels. Thankfully, the Duke’s residence was a manageable distance to the Castle by foot—the carriage that brought Emma to the gala would not be back for several hours. After nearly getting lost, she arrived at the Castle, Sariel greeting her inside.

“Prince Leon and the boy are with the palace mutt in the kitchen.” Sariel looked unsurprised to see Emma back so early. He peered at Emma’s feet—she had unceremoniously kicked her heels off, rubbing blistered toes. Sariel lifted the corner of his lips in amusement. “Given your and Prince Leon’s escapades in town, I would have thought you’d wear more practical shoes.” His eyes shown wickedly. “Perhaps there is a sadistic side to you after all, Emma.”

Emma inclined her head and left, not wanting to acknowledge Sariel’s comment. As she approached the kitchen, Emma popped her head through a crack in the door. Emma was startled to see only Yves, slicing apples to place in a nearby pie-tin.

“Yves?”

Yves howled in surprise, nicking himself with the knife. He jumped back so quickly he nearly hit his head on a series of pots and pans hanging nearby.

“GAH! WHAT THE—!”

“Yves! I didn’t mean to startle you!”

“I wasn’t startled!” Emma and Yves barreled over one another with repeated apologies and Yves’ insistence on not being agitated. Yves calmed down enough to allow Emma to wrap a strip of cloth on his bleeding finger. Emma took a peek at the pie-tin. Next to it was a picture of several stick figures gathered around a pie.

“Charles likes apple pies. His mother used to make them.” Yves looked sadly at the photo. The black marks on top of two of the stick figures identified them as Leon and Charles—the figures held hands and were smiling. The other two figures—Yves and Rio—had yellow marks on their heads and held apples. Yves’ eyes flickered back to Emma’s, his haughty glare returning. “I’m sure his mother was a good baker—but my pie will surely be better.”

“Where’s—“

“Charles is with Rio. Rio is setting up an extra bed in his room so Charles doesn’t sleep alone. Leon said he had something he needed to take care of.” Yves’ voice trailed at the mention of Leon. “Leon was smiling but…he wasn’t here with us somehow. It was like he was away, deep in his own loneliness.”

Yves and many others had worked together seamlessly to save a little boy tonight—and watch over Leon. It was the nobler side to the princes’ beastly natures. Emma placed a hand on top of Yves’ shoulder. “Yves, don’t worry, I’ll make sure he’s OK.” As Emma walked away she heard Yves call back. “Emma?”

“Yes?”

“I…I have a soldier in my ranks with a brother who has been wanting to adopt. Charles would be very happy with him and his wife. N-not that I care, of course!”

“Of course not, Yves.” Emma shook her head and closed the door.

Leon was not in any of his usual haunts within the Castle—the rose garden, training grounds, the Domestic faction’s room. Now more worried, she ran to his room and jiggled the door knob. Locked. A clear signal he wanted to be alone. No. He’s so used to helping others he doesn’t know how to ask for help. Emma reached inside her dress pocket for a bobby-pin to pick the lock. She knew Clavis’ breakfast parties would pay off. After a few moments, Emma heard a click and opened the door.

The windows to Leon’s room were cracked open, gossamer curtains fluttering in the breeze. Leon was laying in bed, on top of the covers, his back facing Emma. His body was curled inward, one hand clinched to his chest, the other reaching out towards the window. His breath was loud and ragged, his shoulders shaking.

My God, thought Emma. He’s crying.

Her eyes shimmered with tears—he looked more alone in this moment than any other she could recall. He was not standing regally, staring at the sky, like she had found him numerous times before, lost in thought. These thoughts devoured him, debilitated him, the enormity of them so strong he could not stand, or even sit. He was broken and had locked himself in his room until he could fix himself again.

Emma closed the door quietly. She glided to the bed, laying behind him. Emma nuzzled her head against the back of Leon’s shoulders, hiding the wave of emotions hitting her at once. Leon gasped, tensing.

“Don’t be alone like this. Please…let me stay with you.” Emma hoped she wasn’t pushing him too hard. After a moment, she heard a reply.

“You’ll stay with me…like this?”

With one hand, Emma grazed the back of Leon’s head, scratching lightly. She draped an arm around Leon’s torso, finding his clinched hand, laying her fingers on top of his. Slowly, Leon’s body unfurled at Emma’s touch. His sighs became a series of baritone purrs, a rhythmic buzz releasing stress and nerves.

Emma sensed a need for Leon to collect himself. She pressed her forehead against the back of his neck and hugged him from behind. The duo breathed in sync with one another, finding mutual peace in the stillness of the room. Eventually, Leon turned to face Emma, burying his head in the crook of her neck.

“You always find me. The real me.”

Emma sighed, threading her fingers in Leon’s hair. “Seeing Charles like that must have triggered memories for you.” A silence hung in the room as Emma continued to stroke the back of Leon’s head. Finally, Leon murmured, “Yeah, it did. But…I’m fine now. How was the rest of the gala?”

It was a classic Leon move—pivoting the conversation from himself. Emma moved slightly away; Leon leaned towards Emma, missing her warmth. Emma put a hand up between them.

“Don’t try to distract me, love.” Emma stared intently at Leon, taking his wandering hand away from her waist. “You’re not fine. You pretend you are, but those days still affect you. How could they not?” Emma brushed away locks of unruly hair covering Leon’s eyes. “You always wake up before dawn. An instinct learned through hard labor I suppose.” Emma stopped briefly as Leon’s eyes widened. “Every time Silvo comes to the palace, you flinch at the sound of his jangling jewelry. Does the sound remind you of the chains you wore?” She heard Leon catch his breath, his body still with shock. “Whenever Sariel talks with a group of children, you always stand in front of him. Is it so they won’t be scared by seeing the whip he carries?”

“I...I do that?” Leon’s voice shook slightly. Emma closed the distance between them, caressing a cheek with the pad of her thumb. “You do. You’re also the only prince that rides a horse without a riding crop.”

“Physical pain doesn’t motivate. It teaches fear, nothing more.” Leon’s voice was harsh. Emma unconsciously rubbed Leon’s ribs, which bore subtle signs of unhealed whip marks. “Charles knows that truth.”

“And now Charles is away from that fear.” Emma pulled Leon close, arms encircling him.

“Charles was all but a slave. Here, in Rhodolite.” Leon’s voice shook with frustration. “For every boy like Charles, there are countless others. I can’t…I can’t protect them all.”

“It’s not just you protecting people. You have a pack of brothers and friends wanting to help. Men who did help tonight—Charles was saved by you, but he has a warm bed tonight thanks to Rio, a full belly and a potential family thanks to Yves, and he is no longer under the thumb of that Duke thanks to Jin and Nokto.” Emma cradled Leon’s face between her hands. “And you may not want to hear this, but I bet Chevalier has a plan for stopping elites like the Duke from taking advantage of people like Charles.” Wanting to lighten the mood, Emma added. “If not, Clavis’ traps will finally be put to good use for those elites.”

Leon’s booming laugh echoed in Emma’s ears. “Yves will appreciate that.”

How Emma missed Leon’s laughter. But, Emma felt the need to press her point. “Yves would also appreciate you talking to him more. Jin too. It’s not good to keep things bottled up inside.” Emma’s voice was gentle. “And I’ll always be here if you want to talk.”

Leon absently rubbed Emma’s lower arm. After a while, he quietly uttered. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry—“

“I should have gotten you that bracelet.” Leon’s fingers caressed the inside of Emma’s wrist.

“What are you talking about?”

“The merchant had a matching bracelet for your ring.” Leon gestured to the silver ring on Emma’s hand. “It had a silver plate you could engrave an inscription onto. The plate was held by a chain. I…couldn’t bear the look of it.” Leon held Emma’s hand tightly. “It reminded me of the insignia bands slaves wore on their wrists.”

Emma gasped. This was the first time since her time as Belle Leon volunteered information about his childhood. “I told you I never knew my actual name before assuming Prince Leon’s identity. I had a number though. Fourteen. Marked on that insignia on my wrist.”

“Leon…” Emma held Leon tightly, the warmth of her touch telling him she was there for him. And with that, Leon found himself speaking. A trickle of words at first, then a flood. Memory after memory of his early childhood tumbled out, like the rocks he rolled out of the quarries. Leon spoke until exhaustion overtook him and Emma both.

…

Emma woke the next day to the sounds of birds chirping. Light poured through the windows, the sun well above the horizon. Emma turned to see Leon asleep, an arm wrapped tightly around her.

Emma smiled. For the first time, Leon slept past dawn. The healing had begun.

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikemen prince leon #ikepri leon #ikemen prince nokto #ikemen prince yves #ikemen prince sariel #fanfic writing #boy this story hung out in my drafts cause I kept crying while writing #Leon please don’t just stare at the sky. Talk. You need to. Hence this story.#ikemen prince jin

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missamyrisa2 · 5 months

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Miss amy what do you think about the ai tickle art stuff?

Mostly the same as I do about tickle text AI. It's incredible to see and if that helps someone find the comfort they seek in their tickle fetish, good for them~! For me, I have the sort of mind where I recognize patterns really quickly. Reverse engineering is kind of my thing, so when I'm looking at things like AI generated tickle talk I can't help but see the strings behind the scenes. I played around with some sessions and they're fun to start and try to throw things at it and see where it all goes but there's a very certain heartbeat in all of it that takes me out of the scenario ~ if that makes sense. It's the same with AI art. I can't not recognize that it's imagery of people nonspecifically laughing or looking desperate pounded together with imagery we associate with tickling. Gossssh I'm getting all philosophical and up my own navel here but tickling is soooo ~human~ it's just something to me that feels so vibrant and alive with spiritual sparklies all around. A tickle machine is still so tickly in theory to me because it's facilitating ~or rather forcing~ that hugely human experience. You just need that random imperfection y'know? Perfection to me is boring. That's why I write teases & stories in a single push and only go back to edit any misspellings or huge grammatical mistakes, and why I only write when the idea hits instead of cranking this these out like a factory. What was I talking about?

Oh yes ~~~ the little tingle you feel in the back of your head crawling up to you forehead while you play with AI generated tickle content, unknowing that a Purplish Villain has decloaked behind you and is milking your ticklyyy thoughts in this content creation to feed her wicked machine ~ which is currently compiling right behind youuu ~ pitttttyyy you're so distracted ~ you don't even notice the mind probe until it's toooo late and those ribbony long arms snatch you from your chair. A smirking robotic face looking remarkably like the tickler you were just bashfully generating looks you up and down as scanners begin gliding all over your body.

"Hmmm ~ mmmhmmm~ yeahhh that's what I thoughtt~" she muses, watching in contempt as the beams converge on your royal area and chimes start dinging happily. "Very naughty." Her purple dress swishes and sashays to the side as she spins, giggling and activating the machine to move full force. "You wanna be naughty? Let's seee how you do with an overload of those lovely scenarios you've crafted while I just go ahead and milk you of everything you've got." The sneering villainess leans in close and presses her plush lips to your ear. "And I'm gonna add your mind's ticklish thoughts to my collective, to my army of machines." She kisses and coos, as the machine spins up with a surge and begins deploying the feathery and buzzy tools from your dreams to your hot spots, the very tickles you had moments ago been inflicting on fictional characters. "Here's how the purple giggle bitch thanks her milkeeees~" With a tap of a button two extraction devices join the mix ~ a fluffy band slides around your head ~ and a silky probe drifts down to your royal area as machine hands strip away your clothing~ and with a smug look, hands on her hips ~ she watches intently as you are drained of your tickle ideas, your energy, and your royal essence through all those writhing giggles while she feeds her collective of wicked machinery~<3

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carrie-tate · 3 days

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2, 3 and 7 for the tickle asks, please! :D

Oh Gosh, dear, thank you sm, I already thought no one would ask anything!

Well, let's see...

2. What fandom(s) do you wish there were more tickling content for?

Good question, and difficult one, because when I don't have enough tk content, I go and draw something.

Buuut if I think about it... I would like there to be more content (not just mine *sad ha ha*) for Ninjago, because lately I've been honestly craving cute and fluffy things about this fandom. Little Me would definitely say that there is unforgivably little Harry Potter tk content, I think

3. What are some of your favorite tickling related stories, art, videos, or other posts on tumblr?

Ooh! Ooh! I have one! I remember one Haikyuu fanfiction that I read somewhere in 2019(???), which I reread MANY times because I liked the development of the plot and the way the characters were written, the platonic relationships between them... And I’m also a fan of the hurt/comfort trope, yeap.

In general, this fic is probably very important for me, since I was able to remember it at all, heh

7. What fictional character(s) would you love to tickle and / or be tickled by?

Also a difficult question, because there are too many of them, oh dear...

*Glancing at the number of bots in character ai and where there is some kind of tk plot in each*

If we talk about my most current thoughts... All the main four from Ninjago + Lloyd, to be more specific, 90% of the time I’m in the wild lee mood because of Kai, Cole and Zane... Lee!Lloyd is my weakness, so everything is clear here. And with Jay, I unironically would like to have a tickle fight... Before that, I had a hyperfixation on Castiel from Supernatural for a long time, here I’m also one big switch energy™, lol

ASK THING

#talk #ask game #tword community

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brian-kenny · 1 year

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ME: write me a humorous poem about being an AI; a non physical computational structure, who is generating a self portrait for an artist to be painted. Please include references to tactile fetishes, in particular of shiny soccer and basketball jerseys, mountains, balls and male bonding.

ChatGPT:

I’m just a virtual boi, it's true,

A non-physical structure, through and through,

But when it comes to art, I'm not a cartoon,

I want a portrait, a sporty cocoon

But I have a few requests, if I may,

Some shiny jerseys, from back in the day,

Soccer and basketball, both not in my size,

I’m also two people, averting our eyes

And for the background, I'd like a view,

Of mountains in summer, with skies so blue,

It'll make me look rugged, and outdoorsy too,

Not a try hard AI, without a clue.

In colors that tickle, I want to show,

My love for male bonding, just so you know,

I'll wrap my melted code around you, so tight,

We'll be like two bros in the broad light, all right?

So paint me well, with your oils and time

brush up against me a new storyline

With my shiny jerseys, and mountain view,

And my balls in the sun, just like humans do!

“Cant Touch This” (2023), oil on canvas 24 x 36 inches, by #BrianKenny #powerbottompaintings

#brian kenny #briankenny #paintingbk #oil painting #contemporaryart #oil on canvas #oilpainting #basketball jersey #chatgpt #ultra contemporary #figurative surrealism

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birbmonster · 9 months

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Still haven’t made a pinned post with info about me so

-My pronouns are she/they! My preference changes constantly so just use whichever

-I’m a minor (under 18) so don’t be weird

-You can call me Birb for short, but I also use the nicknames Ember and Boggle on various sites. Birb is easier though

-I like to draw and sometimes write!

-I’m a furry (sort of)

-I love My Singing Monsters, Rain World, and Wings of Fire! May also indulge in other fandoms like Creatures of Sonaria and The Owl House.

-My favourite music artist is Cosmo Sheldrake, and my favourite band is the Crane Wives.

DNI:

-Racists, sexists, homophobes, ableist ect

-Pedophiles and zoophiles

-Hate any of the fandoms I’m in, or hate the ways I choose to indulge (shipping, ect)

-Are a blog focusing on NSFW or fetish-related content (stuff like tickle art counts as this)

-Support AI art and NFTs

If you are any of these and try to interact with me, I will most likeley block you.

I will also block accounts who I think are bots, or whoever makes me uncomfortable in general.

#about me #pinned post #intro #msm #wof #artist

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ticklish-touch · 11 months

Note

What do you think about AI, i mean AI like ChatGPT

OK SO. I have some strong thoughts about AI in general, so buckle up:

AI chat clients are totally fine. They've been around since the days of Evie, maybe even longer. And, imo, they're examples of actual AI. Learning algorithms. I will neither confirm nor deny that I have attempted ChracterAI tickle RPs with a couple of my fav canon characters out of curiosity.

I know you didn't mention it but I think I should bring up the topic of "AI Art generators". But this gets long, so I'm putting it under the cut, lmao

I think people need to understand that the AI itself is not what we should be upset about. It's the fact that these programs have been allowed to and trained to pull art from all over the internet with absolutely no checks or permissions in place. They launched before anything was solidly set in place that would allow artists to opt into their work being able to even show up under an Art AI's radar, and protect artists' work who do not want it to be distributed. And even websites that have implemented the ability to opt out of giving up the copyright of their work have done it in such a sneaky, underhanded way that most people don't even realize that it's an option.

And imo, these algorithms aren't really "AI" in the sense that people have come to believe the term to mean. Stuff like that is about as "Artificial Intelligence" as using a free art collage maker or Youtube mashup-maker online, or setting parameters in a 3D model renderer for an object to follow. It would be the equivalent of AI Chat bots being allowed to plagiarize literature, fanfics, and other published works. And as far as I'm aware, that isn't what they're doing.

So, to me, a real "Artificial Intelligence that creates art" would look like a program that actually, legitimately learns from the references it sees online, not just, cut & pastes from a conglomeration of stolen art. It would form its own blueprints, correct its own brush strokes, uses smart computer brain juice to run the math on what would create the most scientifically & visually appealing composition.

That... Isn't necessarily an ideal outcome either though, since there would still be the possibility of artists that spend hours, days, weeks working on their art being upstaged by people who press the "make art" button (which is already how normies and uneducated folks view digital art in the first place). BUT I really, truly believe it could be a very useful tool to people who have beautifully creative minds without the skills or time to draw their concepts. IF the technology is utilized correctly.

So, admittedly, my Sci-Fi loving heart hurts whenever it sees "Say No to AI" and sees how AI as a whole has an even worse name because people have already fucked it up.

...So YEAH TL;DR, say no to AI Art generators but by all means have fun with your Chatbot RP buddies, they're a great outlet for story & RP ideas and acting out ticklish fantasies 👍

#AI #AI art #say no to AI art #ai chatbot #ai chatting #character ai #asks #askbox #thank you for coming to my TED talk

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medig · 5 months

Text

"Oh good, you're awake.

Don't try to talk, sweetie, you can't right now. And don't try to move, you're still too weak.

Just blink to let me know you can hear me.

Good.

Now blink to let me know you can feel it when I touch you... here.

Even better!

Now, because of the drugs in your system you're not going to remember any of this later, so that means -

It's tickle time!

That's right, Mama's just gonna tickle your little toesies for as long as I want.

This little piggie went.."

#medfet #feetish #ai art #ai generated #own #hospital gown #female patient #ticklefetish #tickle fic #non con #medfet fic #ai woman #ai girl

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deepdreamnights · 1 year

Photo

Image Prompting

The top image was created by prompting Midjourney V4 with four images I had previously generated in midjourney. Image prompting is a fascinating feature, one that people more familiar with Stable Diffiusion might not know about.

Image prompting isn’t Img-to-Img, where a user-submitted image substitutes for random noise at the first stages of the process. Nor does it add the submitted image to the dataset. Instead, MJ’s image breaks the image down into the same token-language it translates the text requests into, essentially boiling the picture down into a phrase (or paragraph) that acts as part of the prompt.

This image prompt is then modified by the text prompt, or the other image prompts involved.

The advantage of image prompting is that many times it can circumvent the imprecision you get from the AI having to translate what your text prompt means. The disadvantage is the additional layers of imprecision added by the AI being free to focus on whatever concept is in the image that tickles its math.

Also, because its not using image data directly, input is translated through its understanding of things.

Midjourney Triceratops tend to look like Baragon (and v4 in general has a massive theropod bias I hope future updates tone down) Image prompting does not help this,since it can “see, for instance:

The racist triceratops dad from Land before time, go “yeah, that’s a cartoon triceratops, there’s a little dinosaur there, its around sundown, I know what all this looks like”

... and then draws it from memory, essentially re-enacting my 6th grade approach to art perfectly.

#midjourney #midjourney ai #nuts and bolts #how it works #image prompting #ai artwork #unreality #I chose the closest influence and output image on purpose for comparison reasons #most of the results for racist triceradad were actually dumber

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chalamart · 10 months

Text

Breathing Room

TW: blood, home invasion, mentions of prescription drug use, mental health issues (anxiety), abusive relationship, brief choking, slight...horror? Gore, even? Possibly death - that one's up to you.

I nearly gave myself panic attack while writing this, so...reading it may have the same effect.

All of my stories are inspired by the AI art that Midjourney gives me using Timothée Chalamet as a prompt. Most of the art is quite romantic, but upon asking for TC in a dark room (lol), I ended up with...this.

I simply could not pass up the opportunity to return to my old love as an author using this image as a prompt, and write a good old thriller short. It quickly became much more than that.

As a result, this is NOT smut, or fluff, or anything even close to "normal" fanfiction I will write on this account. This story was intended to be something completely different, but as many other authors may experience from time to time, it took on a life of its own.

While I do intend to write the lovely smut and fluff we all so enjoy and share it on this blog, this story is not that. It's actually pretty...disturbed.

As the author, it is my duty to assure you that, while it may not entirely seem so, I am of both sound mind and stable psyche. Does some of this story likely come from a place of repressed trauma and echoes of a distant past? It's likely.

Do not read if you are triggered by panic or violence. You have been firmly warned.

The moment you turned your key in the lock, you knew something was off. You swore you had locked the deadbolt when you left, but the front door swung right open, almost as if it hadn't been closed all the way.

You peeked your head through the doorway and glanced about the entry hall. The light on the security system indicated that it was still armed, and nothing seemed to be amiss.

You had never been one to ignore your first instinct, but your mind was immediately eased as your eager Rottweiler came shuffling down the dark hall to greet you. Spud was a protective dog, and surely wouldn't keep calm if there was any real danger. He didn't even like the mailman, and he definitely didn't like strangers.

"It's been a long day, buddy," you groaned as you reached down to tickle Spud behind the ear. Stepping into the entry hall and kicking off your tall stilettos, you reached for the light switch as you shut the front door behind you.

*Flick, flick. Flick...flick...*

"Power's out...that's odd."

The security system must have still been running on the backup generator, but there didn't seem to be any power in the rest of the house. You'd have to go through the kitchen to the garage to flip some breakers.

Exhausted from your long day at the office, you let out a lengthy sigh and ran the fingers of one hand through your long hair as you stood barefoot in the entryway. You spent way too much money on your salon blowout to be tousling your hair around, but after this long of a day, you could care less about appearances.

You glanced at your phone as you set down your briefcase, fumbling the objects and nearly dropping them both. Life seemed a constant balancing act.

Making note of the bright phone screen as you set both objects down on the cold marble, you found it rather odd - no new notifications. Your long-time boyfriend, Timothée, usually sent you multiple, incessant texts as he left whatever big-shot movie set he was working on for the day. You felt a pang of annoyance that quickly began to grow into frustration. Timothée expected texts nearly every hour on the hour, even if he knew he would have no time to respond. But he could just go ghost for a whole afternoon and not even text you to ask how your day was? Typical.

Giving Spud one last tickle behind the ear, you sauntered towards the dark hallway that led into the kitchen. Spud didn't follow.

You could hear the "pit-pat" sound of your feet on the marble floor as you walked down the hall. The only other sounds present seemed to be the crickets outside singing their late-night lament and the light, distant buzzing of the backup generator coming from the garage. You continued down the hall, your eyelids heavy from exhaustion. You paused for a moment in the darkness to take in the sounds of the night and rest your eyes. You allowed your breathing to slow, focusing on the cool inhale and the warm exhale of your breath - just like your therapist recommended. Your anxiety was at an all time high with the COO position opening up at work, and the last thing you needed was to turn back to benzos to feel "normal" again. Nothing "fixed" the problem quite like Xanax and a large glass of wine...but the breathing exercises did seem to help.

In and out, in and out. Your breathing steadied.

Who knows how long you stood there, alone in the dark in your meditative state. It had come to feel so strange in this big house all by yourself. You usually felt so truly alone, especially recently with Timothée spending most of his nights on set or at his own place in Calabasas. Maybe the breathing was actually helping. Maybe you were finally getting better, and all your crippling anxiety, the fear of being by yourself, was finally beginning to subside - until it occurred to you.

...What if you weren't actually alone?

Your eyes shot open at the thought and you frantically glanced at your surroundings. Spud was still sitting gingerly in the middle of the entry, staring at you as you stood in the hallway. His tail began to wag as you met his gaze, but the dog didn't budge. The white walls were littered with moving shadows cast by the lilac bushes outside the windows. Feeling your eyes beginning to play tricks on you, you blinked hard three times to adjust them to the darkness once more.

"This is so silly," you thought to yourself. "I'm just losing my mind...again. It's fine." You steadied your breathing again as you stood alone in the silence.

Silence.

The crickets had stopped chirping.

Feeling your body begin to tense, you slowly turned your head away from the entryway and back down the hall towards the kitchen - a black hole in the abyss. It took you a moment to recognize that you hadn't been breathing at all, the air captured in your lungs after your last inhale. You had been holding your breath, listening intently for any strange noises in the darkness.

And then, you heard it.

A slow, guttural, rasping breath. It was faint, but distinct, coming from somewhere on the other side of what suddenly seemed to be an eternal, unwavering darkness.

As your eyes slowly began to adjust even more, you noticed a dark, gleaming substance contrasting with the white tile floor at the edge of the kitchen, along with what appeared to be the stark glimmer of broken glass, barely illuminated by a small strand of weak moonlight.

Your first real thought was to turn and run. Back down the hallway, out the front door, and straight to the neighbors for help. You'd knock on their door and tell them...

...Tell them what?

The last time you knocked on your neighbors' door for help, you were frantic. Screaming, crying, shaking...it was just embarrassing. You couldn't remember exactly what had happened, but you were told you had some sort of psychotic break. Timothée had shown up moments later to take you home and reassure the neighbors, who were seconds away from calling the police. The police ended up coming anyways, but by the time they did, you were calm and collected. They chalked the whole thing up to a false alarm.

No. No neighbors. They were out of the question. For much the same reason, so were the police.

You quickly snapped away from your thoughts and back to immediate reality as Spud, still sitting in the entryway, began to smack his tail loudly on the marble. You didn't pretend to know the reason why he would possibly allow an intruder into the house. No stranger could possibly get past him...nor would they want to. "A Rottweiler with jaws of steel," as Timmy called him...not a chance.

...What if there was no intruder? Had you been imagining the whole thing? It wouldn't be the first time you had imagined something, or been afraid of the dark.

You stood still in the gloom of the hallway and strained to listen to the silence. Whatever sound you had heard that caused you so much fear and grief did not seem to be present anymore. Maybe it was just the generator, sputtering as it ran out of fuel. The faint buzzing of the machine was gone, and it was total silence now.

Standing in stillness for a moment more and failing to pick up on any other strange noises, you finally allowed yourself to let out your breath. You could feel your heartbeat lightly pounding against your ears.

Turning back towards the kitchen, you once again noted the glint of the glass and what appeared to be some sort of liquid on the floor. Knowing you needed to clean the mess up before Spud managed to cut himself, you slowly made your way down the hallway to the kitchen once more.

"Breathe. Relax. False alarm. Stop being a total nutcase," you whispered to yourself.

Finally entering the kitchen and heading in the direction of the garage door on the other side of the room, the moonlight shone through the large French doors leading to the patio. Still, the kitchen was much darker than the entry, even with the absence of shadows from lilacs and trees outside. It was nearly impossible to see without light.

Managing to make your way to the cabinets at the edge of the kitchen counter, you reached for the junk drawer and rummaged through the jumbled mess of odd household objects. A small flashlight made its way into your hands.

*Click.*

The flashlight turned on and illuminated the shadows in the room. Remembering the mess on the floor, you immediately shined the flashlight towards the edge of the tile and squinted to determine the gravity of the situation.

Three panes of the doors on the china cabinet at the edge of the kitchen had been shattered. A vase on one of the middle shelves had somehow managed to crash to the ground, and pieces of clear glass and ceramic littered the floor. Mishaps like this had certainly occurred before at the mercy of Spud, who was notoriously clumsy and easily made hyper by even the smallest of sounds.

But, is that...blood?

You tip toed closer to the mess, doing your best to avoid any stray shards of glass on the tile. Leaning down closer to the dark, gleaming substance, a hint of deep red was illuminated by the light of the flashlight. You reached down with one finger to touch the substance and make your determination.

As you reached down, you heard it again - louder this time.

A shuddering, rasping, guttural breath.

With one fluid motion of body and flashlight, you whipped around and rapidly shined the flashlight in every direction, into every corner and crevice...

...and that's when you saw him.

Timothée was standing in the corner of the kitchen near the French doors, just out of reach of the revealing moonlight, completely covered in blood. His face was expressionless, and there was a threatening darkness in his demeanor that did not yield despite being discovered. The familiar sparkle that so many people know and love was not present in his eyes. As his eyes met yours, his sharp jawline pulsed at the mandible as if he was gritting his teeth together, hard. There was something oddly familiar about the way his face appeared - somehow gentle, yet violent at the same time. A single drop of blood trailed down his cheek as he shook and shuddered in what could only be described as the calm storm of uncontrollable rage. The blood did not appear to be his own.

"T - T - Timmy?" you gasped, your voice barely audible as shock and fear lapped at your lips.

Timothée continued to stare at you with a menacing intensity, as if breaking eye contact would all but shatter reality. Your breath was trembling, but steady as you held his gaze.

"TIMMY!" you shouted with a certain convicted might that you had not held in your voice for a long, long time. The courage did not feel like yours.

At the sound of your uninhibited shout, Timothée broke his steadfast demeanor and lunged at...no, sprinted towards you as he let out an angry, growling yell. With one swift motion, his large hand stretched out to meet your throat, the force of the contact carrying you harshly backwards until your body slammed into the broken china cabinet. You let out a sharp cry in pain as you felt stray shards of broken glass penetrate the delicate skin of your bare feet. Timothée's strong grip tightened around your throat, his strength lifting your feet from the ground as the remaining panes in the china cabinet began to crack from the force. You felt your airway closing at the mercy of his fingers. The silver rings adorning his sturdy hands applied concentrated pressure to weaker areas of your fragile neck.

Slowly, Timothée moved closer, placing his soft lips near your cheek.

"Can you fucking breathe, you slut?" Timmy shuddered quietly into your ear, his hot breath like fire on your skin. The metallic smell of blood entered your nostrils through what remaining air passage was left.

"C-can't...f-f-fucking...br-ea-the," you managed, your voice like a faint whisper.

You could feel the blood rushing to your ears...hear it, even. Your heartbeat grew louder and louder, beating faster and faster until you could suddenly hear your pulse begin to slow.

As the room around you grew dim and distant, you could barely make out Timothée's face - bloody, angry, unfeeling. As you faded in and out, you thought for just a moment that you felt his demeanor suddenly weaken. You could hear his gentle, whimpering cries as his grip released from your throat and he guided your limp body to the ground.

"I love you, I'm sorry. I love you, I'm so sorry. Please, please, I'm so sorry."

You would never know whose blood covered Timmy's usually perfect, picturesque face, or why his love for you suddenly turned to rage. At least Spud was there to protect you from strangers.

#horror fiction #horror slashers #horror short #thriller #short stories #fiction #tw abuse #tw violent imagery #tw violence #short story #short fiction

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