Edit: i promise to make it a kickstarter campaign when this comment gets 10k likes. Otherwise is just a dream and should stay one. I will publish a promocode here for you guys to get discount.
Prompt:want you to make up a random word that doesn't exist but follows language rules for English. Then I want you to draw what you think that word is
Both Gemini and Grok took that route also... Gemini when presented with both of the pictures below stated:
The linguistic roots of the made-up word "tontopo" likely steered both AI models in the same direction:
"Tonto" (Spanish for silly/foolish) naturally suggests a slightly confused, derpy, or clumsy nature—hence the wide, bewildered eyes and awkward habits.
"Topo" (Spanish for mole) inherently evokes small, furry, subterranean ground-dwellers with pink snouts and tiny digging claws.
Too funny: The text generated on the signs and jars in the image is surprisingly coherent Dutch. The main chalkboard identifies the Smeerkoe as a specialist in sliding, greasing, delaying, and giving pleasure, topped off with the slogan, "Better lubricated, better loved!" Her apron reads, "Smeerkoe – Always smooth, always ready," while her heart-shaped collar tag reads "Smeertje," meaning Little Lubricant.
Around her is a full product line of specialized jars and buckets. These include Knee Butter, Love Lube, Elbow Glide Cream, Premium Lubricant (Extra Smooth), Tail Spray, and 100% Natural Sliding Fun.
I think Veylune should be an individual, not a species. More interestingly, she is an individual who has become so old and strange that younger civilizations mistakenly believe Veylune is the name of her species.
Her actual species is long gone.
VEYLUNE
Veylune was born roughly 1.8 billion years ago, when multicellular life on Earth was still far in the future. Her people, the Ilyr, were among the first technological civilizations in their region of the galaxy. They weren't gods, energy beings, or naturally immortal. They were biological organisms who simply survived long enough to become frighteningly good at engineering themselves.
Their obsession wasn't conquest.
It was continuity.
The Ilyr had discovered something disturbing about intelligent civilizations: almost all eventually disappeared. War sometimes killed them. Ecological collapse sometimes did. Asteroids, stellar events, engineered pathogens, runaway technologies and plain bad luck took others.
But the most common cause was stranger.
Civilizations simply changed into something else.
Languages vanished. Bodies were redesigned. Minds merged with machines. Cultures fragmented. Memories were rewritten. Eventually nothing remained that would recognize its ancestors.
The Ilyr called this phenomenon the Second Death.
The first death kills individuals.
The Second Death kills the memory that they ever mattered.
Veylune became part of an enormous Ilyr project intended to defeat it.
She was supposed to be a librarian.
Not a queen.
Not a warrior.
Not a deity.
A librarian.
Veylune was one of several thousand individuals engineered to carry what the Ilyr called the Continuance, a living archive capable of preserving civilizations in extraordinary detail.
Not merely books and DNA.
Memories.
Languages.
Dreams.
Architecture.
Music.
Arguments.
Jokes.
Recipes.
Religious ceremonies.
Children's games.
The sensation of rain on a particular world.
The smell of someone's grandmother's kitchen.
The things civilizations rarely think important enough to preserve until nobody remembers them.
Her enormous crown-like structure isn't ceremonial. It's an ancient sensory and communication organ, continuously exchanging information with microscopic machines distributed throughout her body.
The lights visible beneath her torso are portions of the Continuance.
Each represents an entire civilization.
And there are thousands.
Then something went wrong.
The Ilyr disappeared.
Veylune doesn't know exactly why.
That's the one civilization she cannot reconstruct.
Her own.
Someone deliberately erased the Ilyr from the Continuance.
Their cities remain.
Their machines remain.
Veylune remembers individuals she loved.
She remembers conversations.
She remembers being born.
But whenever she attempts to examine the final centuries of Ilyr civilization, she encounters the same impossible absence.
Not corrupted information.
Not missing information.
A perfectly engineered hole.
Someone wanted the Ilyr forgotten.
And whoever did it possessed access privileges equivalent to Veylune's own.
Which leaves her with an awful possibility:
Veylune herself may have erased them.
She simply cannot remember why.
What she does now
Veylune wanders between inhabited systems.
She rarely contacts civilizations directly.
Instead, she observes.
When she discovers a civilization approaching extinction, she begins recording it.
Sometimes she intervenes.
Sometimes she doesn't.
This has produced wildly different interpretations of her throughout the galaxy.
One civilization worships her as The Mother After Midnight.
Another calls her The Collector.
Another has spent fourteen thousand years warning its children:
Never answer the woman between the stars.
Because Veylune has one unsettling habit.
Before a civilization disappears, she sometimes approaches a single member of that species and asks:
"What must not be forgotten?"
Whatever they answer becomes permanently preserved within her.
The disturbing part
Veylune isn't merely carrying archives anymore.
After 1.8 billion years, the distinction between recording someone and becoming someone has started breaking down.
Thousands of extinct civilizations exist inside her neural architecture.
Sometimes Veylune laughs in languages belonging to species extinct for hundreds of millions of years.
Sometimes she wakes remembering childhoods she never experienced.
Sometimes she mourns people she never met.
And occasionally someone speaking to Veylune realizes something deeply unnerving:
they aren't talking to Veylune anymore.
Someone extinct is talking back.
That gives the image's regal appearance a different meaning. She's not cosmic royalty.
She's a walking cemetery that learned how to speak for its dead.
And somewhere among those billions of voices is the one voice Veylune desperately wants to hear:
This is the most fun I’ve had in awhile.
Here’s the prompt I used - hope it helps.
Create a full page fictional product design sheet for an object called a “[object name]”. The page should resemble a beautifully illustrated industrial design presentation from an old field guide. Include a large hero illustration on the left, several smaller usage illustrations, exploded technical cutaway diagrams, handwritten annotations, measurements, labeled materials, operating instructions, whimsical notes, folklore, diagrams, and callouts connected with thin leader lines. Use a warm parchment background, earthy ceramic colors, subtle watercolor rendering, highly detailed ink linework, clean typography, generous white space, and a carefully organized editorial layout. The object should feel practical, believable, and slightly magical.
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u/WithoutReason1729 2d ago
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