#this is a more abstract take of this prompt but i had no inspo for this otherwise :^)

[sealrock]

decembhyur, day 9: history

ouroboros. — ♫

[tunaababee]

Feysand drabbles/fics from the angst/fluff prompt list!

72. “You need sleep.” and/or

94. “I won’t lose you too.”

Please and thank you!💕

72. "You need sleep." thanks for this @asnowfern!! i just hope im doing these babies justice. im hoping i can get around to the second prompt sometime soon if the inspo strikes!!

if anyone wants to send others in, im more than happy to still take requests for it!!

There were always little constants in life that could be relied upon rain, hail or shine. Some a comfort - the way the stars constantly shined with the same fervour above Velaris, the beauty in the changing of seasons, the warmth from those she loved. Then there were the few that were nuisances.

Laundry. Taxes.

Or, in Feyre’s case, the debilitating bout of art block she couldn’t seem to shake.

She dragged her stool back from the canvas, the sound of wood scraping on wood feeling like it was rattling around in the depths of her skull as it echoed through the studio. Classes were on a small break, to give her and Ressina a breather and prepare for a particularly large batch of incoming students. It always warmed her heart with how quickly the people of the Rainbow had embraced their little studio and it brought her such quiet joy.

But right now, Feyre was just about ready to hurl a tube of paint at the canvas in the hopes that it’d shape up a bit better. This wasn’t feeling like the breather she had intended for at all.

She perched herself back onto the stool, arms resting upon her knees as she stared out the window behind her incomplete canvas. No matter how many walks she took or notes of inspiration she stowed away for later, nothing seemed to be sticking. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel like creating - if anything, that was half the problem. All she wanted to do was create but nothing her hands were making was sating the urge she felt in the pit of her stomach, gnawing at the back of her head.

Feyre stared at the canvas with a furrowed brow, deep in contemplation. Originally it had started out as a slightly more abstract portrait of Rhys, but when it wasn’t quite panning out she had started over and tried to angle for something more rooted in realism - a study of the cityscape from the view that the studio afforded her. But she wasn’t quite nailing the details, none of the satisfaction that typically surrounded the process. Back to the drawing board. Now, she didn’t even know what she was looking at. It was definitely abstract. But beyond that, she didn’t know. There was nothing speaking to her, no vision calling to her with even a rough idea of what it could turn out to be.

So she stepped across the room firmly, continuing to play with the colours in her palette and the brushstrokes on the canvas to see if she could salvage anything out of this little experiment.

The determination clouded her other senses, ignoring the waning moonlight and the small prickle on the back of her neck that would have told her that her beloved had quietly slipped into the room. Instead, she let out a small squeak as Rhysand’s arms slid around her waist, gently tugging her closer as he moved to rest his chin on her shoulder.

“Evening, darling.” Rhys quietly purred into her ear, a small smile breaking across Feyre’s face. She turned to press a kiss to his cheek, but he caught her lips with his before she could, gentle and soft.

“Evening to you too. What brings you to my humble little studio?” There was a quiet laugh in her words, her eyes turning back to the canvas even when she could feel his still firmly locked on her.

“Well, I had finally finished up all my dull paperwork for the night only to find our bed empty and my wonderful mate nowhere to be found. Obviously, I’m here to rectify the issue.”

Rhys’ hands moved to Feyre’s hips, his mouth trying to find purchase on her neck when she moved from his grip to put her palette and brush down near the canvas. Maybe if she could work in some of the same shade of purple Feyre could see in his eyes, this piece might start shaping up.

“You’re finished already? I’ve barely even made progress on this... thing. I don’t know what it is yet.” Feyre began to rifle through the paints they had to find the perfect shades to mix as she spoke. Rhysand barked a laugh, that signature smirk spreading across his perfect features. He slipped his hands into his pockets, merely watching his mate for a beat.

“Feyre darling, you’ve been here for quite a few hours now. It’s long past midnight.”

Feyre stopped in her tracks - she knew she had a tendency to get lost in her work, but had she really been stuck on this piece for that long? She immediately stopped what she was doing, hurriedly putting the paints back before crossing the room to the studio window. Leaning out of the window, she could definitely see the moon was past its peak in the sky. Before she could ruminate on it much further, Rhysand turned her around, sitting her on the windowsill before coming to stand between her legs. He rested his brow against hers, eyes boring into her with an intensity that she could never get enough of.

“I’m still stuck though, I need-”

“You need sleep.”

Feyre couldn’t help but huff slightly at him - he was right, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

“Maybe. But I do need to clean up first, at least.”

With a snap of his fingers, the canvas was leaned against the wall in an out of the way corner, stool tucked under a table, paints put away - everything righted without a second thought.

“And I need to have my mate with me in our bed, lest I go insane without her.” Rhys tugged her closer with a chuckle, chest pressed against hers. Any other day, an inexplicable heat that only he could ever elict would have bloomed in her chest and shot straight to her stomach. But tonight, they were simply exhausted and Feyre couldn’t help but melt into his arms, her own moving up to slide around his neck.

“Then take me home, Rhys.”

“Always my pleasure, darling.”

She kissed him again, firm and passionate, as he winnowed them back into the warmth of their home.

The next day, she had finished her piece - a painting of legs and arms tangled amongst each other, holding one another, tangled in inky black sheets.

[adrenaline-whump]

AI art, and a couple of thoughts

Awhile back, an artist/author I follow started playing around with digital art assistants.  They made it sound interesting enough that I tried Midjourney...and got a little hooked. (Examples below the cut.)

As a person who’s never had the patience or skill to Do Art, I find it overwhelmingly joyful to just...enter some words, and be given art in return?  It’s most likely not what I pictured, but that often makes it more fun.  I had fun in the beginning putting in abstract concepts, just to see what came back.  Two of my favorites were generated by simply putting in “evil hunger” and “icy rage”. 

Evil Hunger:

Icy Rage:

At that time, Midjourney was...not good at rendering humans. You see, it works by taking all the art it has access to online, attempting to match keywords to prompts, putting that subset of the art in its little AI blender, and spitting out the result. It doesn’t know, for example, that humans typically have two eyes that look in the same direction. Early experiments gave me a lot of figures facing away from the camera in silhouette, which was good because the clearer ones usually came straight from the Uncanny Valley. I got human figures with one leg, and horses with six.

That was Midjourney version 3.  They’ve since come out with a version 4, which is much better at getting the proper number of physical features sorted. It still has a hard time with hands...but that’s a problem for all artists, from what I understand.

As you can read in the Discourse, if you’re so inclined, AI art can be Problematic. Is it stealing? Maybe. It’s a little ludicrous for me to input “icy rage” into a text box and claim the result is “my art.” There are thousands of real artists, living and dead, whose skill the AI is borrowing. That said, can we defend it as creative derivation? Artists (and writers, and most creatives) borrow from each other all the time. We use each others’ work as inspiration and let it drive our own creation. Isn’t that what’s happening here?

The question is, how much of the result is transforming others’ works, and how much is straight up copying? Unfortunately, there’s no way to tell.

For myself, I’ve got two rules. One is, I don’t use artists’ names in my prompts. A lot of people do, but to me, that’s where it crosses the line into plagiarism.  The other is...well, I’ll illustrate with something it gave me awhile back:

I asked it for a “fire opal talisman” and it gave me this set of four. Look at the one in the lower right corner. It looks like the AI has picked up a signature from whatever art it was using as a reference. That makes me profoundly uncomfortable. So my second rule is, no matter how much I like a result, anything with a ghost signature/watermark is out.

Now, this is a whump blog, so of course I was curious about how it might do for that. The answer is...meh? Even though the current version is better at rendering people, it’s still not great. Many human figures end up looking cartoony. Also, Midjourney has a list of words that cannot be used as prompts, in order to prevent misuse. That’s definitely a good thing, but it means I can’t use “bruised” for example.

I did get a couple of interesting whumpy results, like when I asked it for a film-noir-ish wounded man in a trenchcoat:

That’s not bad. I could use that as story inspo or illustration. It’s just that ultimately, I find that the more specific the result I want, the more difficult it is to wring that image out of the AI.

And one more thing

Since I’m posting this on Tumblr in November 2022, I’m contractually obligated to add this masterpiece I generated five minutes ago:

(IYKYK and all that. The weirdness of the 3 and 4 are an AI artifact, but it amuses me to think that this might be the start of a dream sequence or hallucination where our MC imagines the clock’s numbers moving and changing.)

[princecharmingwinks]

concussed dragon here, gifting you another fail date as sterek inspo: we had gone to a art gallery as a second date and we decided to go through the secondary rooms first, instead of the main exhibition. literally the first room we got into was dedicated to abstract sculptures of male peens. we tried so hard not to laugh, but when we got to the main exhibition we couldnt stop giggling

Hey there my lovely anon! I'm going based on the number of these asks that I am hopefully doing these prompts justice :)

--

Ok so Stiles planned their first date and it was great, both boys falling more in love. But for the 2nd date Derek is adamant that he is planning it. He wants it to be fun and different and everything needs to be perfect.

There's a new exhibit that has opened up that Derek overheard Stiles chatting to Isaac about so Derek pounced on the opportunity to woo Stiles with tickets.

Everything is going to plan. Derek is feeling comfortable and flying on cloud nine as Stiles holds his hand. But Derek should have paid more attention to *all* of the featuring exhibitions...

There's a bit of a line up for the main room so the two decide to duck into the side exhibit first since it seems to be empty. Derek's busy looking at the information pamphlet so he doesn't see what Stiles is laughing about until he is firmly in the middle of the room surrounded by-

"Well, this is an unexpected choice from you." Stiles is laughing his head off. Derek turns beet red, hides his face in his hands. Why was this his life?

"Der, no no, don't hide. I love all the dicks." Stiles is still grinning as he gently peels Derek's hands away. "If you want to see mine, you have to buy me dinner first though."

"You're the worst." Derek complains but he's pulling Stiles in by the waist, encasing him in a hug.

"Don't try and change the subject. You so wanna tap this ass."

Derek rolls his eyes but doesn't disagree, he has many plans for that cute behind. Stiles moves in for a kiss but Derek pulls away at the last second earning him a pout from Stiles.

"None of that, I have to buy you dinner first." Derek grins and then he's taking off in a light jog around the exhibit.

"What? No way! Get your butt back here Derek Hale!" Stiles takes off after him and uses all his strength to jump onto his back.

They don't end up seeing the main exhibit since they are asked to leave after the art gallery's staff find them in a fit of laughter in the middle of the floor. Derek does buy Stiles dinner though ;)

--

Are these getting longer? 😂 Your dating adventures sound like very fun times, concussed dragon. Thanks for popping in!