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Prompt by b8fd5e3a917

floating in one corner prompts

very few results

8 months ago

Freddie Mercury, the iconic frontman of Queen, stands on stage, a towering figure of energy and charisma, commanding the attention of a vast, roaring crowd. The stadium is packed with tens of thousands of fans, all of them shouting, clapping, and singing in unison. The air is thick with anticipation as the lights dim, and suddenly, a single spotlight illuminates Freddie at the center of the stage. Dressed in his signature white tank top, tight denim jeans, and leather gloves, Freddie’s presence is electric. His perfectly styled mustache and short, slicked-back hair add to the aura of rock-star coolness. The glow of the stage lights bounces off his sweat-soaked skin as he moves with wild abandon, each gesture exuding confidence and passion. The spotlight catches the gleam of his jewelry—his bold, gold rings and the gleaming cross around his neck—a symbol of his unique, unmatchable style. As the music swells, Freddie grabs the microphone stand with one hand and raises it above his head, as if summoning the crowd to respond. His voice rings out, clear and powerful, effortlessly reaching every corner of the massive arena. The notes seem to float through the air, perfectly in tune with the energy around him, as his voice soars, cracking with emotion, then dipping into a smooth falsetto. He’s a master at connecting with the audience, drawing them into every note, every lyric. His eyes are wide, intense, and filled with fire. There’s an almost magnetic pull to him, making it feel as if he’s performing for each person in the crowd, despite the sea of faces stretching out before him. With every beat, Freddie’s body moves in sync with the music. He’s a dancer, a showman, his body language as expressive as his voice. He twirls and spins across the stage, one minute flinging himself toward the front edge, arms outstretched as if embracing the adoration, and the next, he’s crouching low, creating a moment of intimacy with the audience. His energy never falters—his performance is a whirlwind of movement and emotion. The band behind him—Brian May, Roger Taylor, and John Deacon—form the perfect backdrop, but it’s Freddie who is the undeniable focal point. His interactions with the audience are playful and commanding at the same time. He encourages them to sing along, making eye contact with fans in the front rows, pulling them into the performance with a smile, a wink, or a raised hand. As the song reaches its peak, Freddie stands center stage, his arms spread wide, reveling in the rush of sound and the collective power of the crowd’s voice. His expression is one of pure joy and liberation. Every second on stage feels like he’s giving everything he has—his voice, his body, his heart—and in return, the crowd erupts, a unified roar of pure love and admiration. It's a moment where time seems to slow, and Freddie, in all his theatrical glory, is not just performing a song, but offering a piece of himself to the world, leaving the crowd mesmerized, breathless, and forever in awe of his incredible talent. The stage lights pulse in time with the music, casting dramatic shadows and highlighting his every movement. Freddie’s face reflects the intensity of his performance—his brows furrowed in concentration one moment, then breaking into a wide grin as he basks in the crowd’s cheers. There’s a palpable sense of connection between him and the audience, an almost unspoken understanding that they are experiencing something special, something transcendent. As the song ends, the crowd erupts into deafening applause, chanting his name, but Freddie isn’t done. He takes a brief moment, breathing deeply, and then throws himself into the next song, ready to give them even more; 8k, intricate detail, photorealistic, realistic light, wide angle, kinkfolk photography, A+D architecture

6 months ago

A highly realistic tabletop photograph of a conceptual sushi arrangement inspired by the work of Kazimir Malevich. The dish honors Suprematism through the composition of geometric, real-world ingredients — minimalist squares, rectangles, circles, and voids, arranged with stark asymmetry and spatial tension. Each sushi piece is handmade and slightly irregular, referencing Malevich’s abstract forms while remaining firmly in the realm of culinary craft. A single red tuna square placed off-center on a rice block mimics his red square on white A blackened nori rectangle floats beside a small cube of white daikon — contrast and negative space become the design A circle of pickled radish intersects a tamago rectangle, breaking the grid A void space is left intentionally blank between elements on the plate — emphasizing absence as much as presence One piece may be a cube of charcoal-grilled eggplant on rice, evoking the black square — textured, dark, earthy Color Palette: Muted, natural tones with a limited palette: ivory white rice, deep matte black nori, dark red tuna, pale yellow tamago, and light grey or beige plate. No artificial dyes or vibrant garnishes. The composition is more about form and proportion than flavor or ornament. Plate & Table Setting: Served on a matte porcelain square plate with ample negative space. The arrangement follows Suprematist principles — asymmetry, visual imbalance, gravity-defying placement. One piece may be positioned at the extreme corner. The table beneath is dark wood or concrete, referencing Malevich’s material seriousness. Camera View: Overhead or slightly angled — shot like a museum documentation photo, clean and quiet. Slight tilt or perspective distortion is allowed to reflect human error and tension. Lighting: Flat, soft ambient light. No dramatic shadows. Even illumination across all surfaces, mimicking natural daylight in a gallery or quiet kitchen. Surfaces should look honest, not stylized. Material Texture: Fish grain visible, slightly moist Nori uneven at the edges Knife cuts evident in egg and daikon Rice slightly loose and irregular Plate surface has minor scratches or glaze imperfections Mood: Silent, abstract, and cerebral. The image is a culinary still life — not about indulgence, but about pure form, balance, and the tension between presence and void. It should feel like a Suprematist painting you could eat, made by hand, with reverence for structure.

4 months ago

. Spread out before her was a tableau like none she had ever seen. Warm, golden light and sapphire sky presided over a bustling scene on a scale that defied her imagination. They stood in a broad entryway of colored stone. Behind them, the double doors led into a surprisingly small building of green and white. Another statue of an overturned jug, pouring water into a basin, stood to their right, gleaming wetly in gold and hanging over turquoise water. A pathway led down a small hill to what Ariadne could only describe as a boulevard of dreams. A wide street paved in iridescent stone bustled with pedestrians and conveyances of strange and crazy types. They flew, floated, swam and rolled, walking and hopping along, on business of some sort. Buildings of every imaginable architecture lined the streets: squat and low, tall and sinuous, sprawling and ancient, gleaming and modern. The effect dizzied her. From their vantage point, Ariadne could see streets like this extending as far as her eyes could see, becoming indistinct and hazy in the distance. But that’s not what got her. What got her was the sky. The sky was full and empty at the same time. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see nothing but blue sky and emptiness. But when she looked up and focused a bit, suddenly, buildings and islands floated before her, hanging defiantly in the air, daring her to make something of their blithe disregard of gravity. When she looked away, the buildings would fade, and new ones would appear. As she scanned the sky, rows of buildings and islands and castles appeared and disappeared, giving the effect of a giant flip book turning across the sky. The structures appeared everywhere she looked if she squinted just right. If she let her gaze relax a bit, the buildings disappeared again. Where the buildings were visible, she swore she could see people walking in midair in front of them, strolling along as if unaware they hung hundreds of feet in the air. Gentle music tickled her ears, something orchestral, soft enough to be soothing, vague enough to avoid being cloying and annoying.

4 months ago

. Spread out before her was a tableau like none she had ever seen. Warm, golden light and sapphire sky presided over a bustling scene on a scale that defied her imagination. They stood in a broad entryway of colored stone. Behind them, the double doors led into a surprisingly small building of green and white. Another statue of an overturned jug, pouring water into a basin, stood to their right, gleaming wetly in gold and hanging over turquoise water. A pathway led down a small hill to what Ariadne could only describe as a boulevard of dreams. A wide street paved in iridescent stone bustled with pedestrians and conveyances of strange and crazy types. They flew, floated, swam and rolled, walking and hopping along, on business of some sort. Buildings of every imaginable architecture lined the streets: squat and low, tall and sinuous, sprawling and ancient, gleaming and modern. The effect dizzied her. From their vantage point, Ariadne could see streets like this extending as far as her eyes could see, becoming indistinct and hazy in the distance. But that’s not what got her. What got her was the sky. The sky was full and empty at the same time. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see nothing but blue sky and emptiness. But when she looked up and focused a bit, suddenly, buildings and islands floated before her, hanging defiantly in the air, daring her to make something of their blithe disregard of gravity. When she looked away, the buildings would fade, and new ones would appear. As she scanned the sky, rows of buildings and islands and castles appeared and disappeared, giving the effect of a giant flip book turning across the sky. The structures appeared everywhere she looked if she squinted just right. If she let her gaze relax a bit, the buildings disappeared again. Where the buildings were visible, she swore she could see people walking in midair in front of them, strolling along as if unaware they hung hundreds of feet in the air. Gentle music tickled her ears, something orchestral, soft enough to be soothing, vague enough to avoid being cloying and annoying.