A sample prompt of what you can find in this page
Prompt by Pulsar212121

Infinite FLUX prompts

hundreds of results

8 months ago

Abstract Full-Body Portrait of a Prostitute – Salvador Dalí (Late-Life Style, Singular Focus & Pure Surrealism) (Surrealism:1.7, Salvador Dalí late-life style:2.0, Dreamlike distortion:1.6, Hyperreal textures:1.5, Chiaroscuro contrast:1.4, Oil-painting brushstrokes:1.5, Organic fluidity:1.6, Metaphysical realism:1.4) A full-body surrealist portrait of a prostitute, painted in the unmistakable late-life style of Salvador Dalí, where dream logic dictates form and reality bends into its own subconscious reflection. She stands alone in the void, a lone figure frozen in motion yet melting into time itself. Her body is elongated but coherent, her limbs refined into one singular, fluid, organic motion, as if she is a sculpture made of half-formed candle wax, melting at the edges but never fully dissolving. Her face remains untouched by distortion, hyperreal and melancholic, eyes darkened with kohl, staring directly outward, unblinking, as if confronting time, fate, and the fabric of reality itself. A single strand of jet-black hair escapes from her carefully pinned curls, swaying in an invisible breeze. Her lips—painted a deep, blood-red—drip slightly at the edges, as if smeared by unseen hands, caught between seduction and sorrow. Her dress, a relic of the past, is a contradiction of luxury and decay, the hem transforming into thin wisps of smoke, curling and dispersing into the canvas. The fabric is stretched unnaturally, its folds elongating like the melted forms of Dalí’s classic clocks, one shoulder slipping in an eternal descent, never quite falling. The setting is an infinite, surreal landscape—a lonely street with no visible end, where shadows stretch longer than their owners, and the cobblestones appear to melt into liquid mercury. In the background, a large, antique pocket watch, twisted and partially submerged in the air, hangs frozen at an uncertain hour, its hands warped into elongated spirals. A single red rose, impossibly large and impossibly alive, hovers just behind her, its petals peeling away like fragments of forgotten love letters. The air feels thick, painted with visible brushstrokes, where light and shadow do not obey the laws of physics—instead, they bleed into one another, wrapping around her body in soft, liquid chiaroscuro, mimicking the curvature of a dream. She is not merely a woman but a symbol—of desire, of loss, of something slipping through time like sand through Dalí’s own fingers.

ElectricL
8 350

9 months ago

Dark fantasy scene, a solitary, living woman stands in the center of an endless void, her presence both fragile and immense. Her body glows faintly, and radiant beams of golden light erupt powerfully from within her, piercing the infinite darkness. These beams stream upward and outward, pulsating with life, as if drawn from her very soul. She tilts her head upward toward the unseen heavens, her closed eyes glowing faintly with golden energy. Her expression is a mix of awe and quiet sorrow, alive with subtle emotion. Her delicate skin shimmers faintly in the light she emanates, glowing with warm undertones of gold and pale ivory. Her flowing robes ripple gently, as though stirred by an unseen wind in the still void, their intricate fabric textured with exquisite detail. The void itself is vast and all-consuming, but it feels alive, with faint gradients of dark blue and deep black, layered with subtle distortions that ripple outward from her form. The golden light reflects faintly on the dust-like motes suspended in the void, creating a faint halo of life around her, contrasting sharply with the oppressive emptiness. The composition is cinematic, her small, radiant figure juxtaposed against the overwhelming vastness of the void. Every detail—her glowing skin, the dynamic motion of the beams, and the subtle shifts in her garments—emphasizes her vitality and the stark isolation of her eternal imprisonment. The golden beams scatter faint, fractured light across the void, creating an interplay of brightness and shadow that enhances the emotional depth of the scene

ElectricL
6 290

8 months ago

(Surrealism:1.7, Salvador Dalí late-life style:2.0, Dreamlike distortion:1.6, Hyperreal textures:1.5, Chiaroscuro contrast:1.4, Oil-painting brushstrokes:1.5, Organic fluidity:1.6, Metaphysical realism:1.4) A full-body surrealist portrait of a prostitute, painted in the unmistakable late-life style of Salvador Dalí, where dream logic dictates form and reality bends into its own subconscious reflection. She stands alone in the void, a lone figure frozen in motion yet melting into time itself. Her body is elongated but coherent, her limbs refined into one singular, fluid, organic motion, as if she is a sculpture made of half-formed candle wax, melting at the edges but never fully dissolving. Her face remains untouched by distortion, hyperreal and melancholic, eyes darkened with kohl, staring directly outward, unblinking, as if confronting time, fate, and the fabric of reality itself. A single strand of jet-black hair escapes from her carefully pinned curls, swaying in an invisible breeze. Her lips—painted a deep, blood-red—drip slightly at the edges, as if smeared by unseen hands, caught between seduction and sorrow. Her dress, a relic of the past, is a contradiction of luxury and decay, the hem transforming into thin wisps of smoke, curling and dispersing into the canvas. The fabric is stretched unnaturally, its folds elongating like the melted forms of Dalí’s classic clocks, one shoulder slipping in an eternal descent, never quite falling. The setting is an infinite, surreal landscape—a lonely street with no visible end, where shadows stretch longer than their owners, and the cobblestones appear to melt into liquid mercury. In the background, a large, antique pocket watch, twisted and partially submerged in the air, hangs frozen at an uncertain hour, its hands warped into elongated spirals. A single red rose, impossibly large and impossibly alive, hovers just behind her, its petals peeling away like fragments of forgotten love letters. The air feels thick, painted with visible brushstrokes, where light and shadow do not obey the laws of physics—instead, they bleed into one another, wrapping around her body in soft, liquid chiaroscuro, mimicking the curvature of a dream. She is not merely a woman but a symbol—of desire, of loss, of something slipping through time like sand through Dalí’s own fingers.

ElectricL
4 160

7 months ago

Create a hyper-realistic surreal portrait where reality fractures into beautiful impossibility: a modern japanese femme fatale whose amber eyes emit an otherworldly luminescence , her liquid-obsidian hair defying gravity in a high ponytail where strands transform into ethereal smoke, intertwining with floating black pearls particles that orbit her form like microscopic galaxies, while her hair accessory morphs between solid and liquid states, defying physics by dripping upward into the void, her choker manifesting impossible geometries that pulse with mechanical life as the designer pendant seems to sink into a dimension beneath her skin creating reality ripples, her sleek latex corset-style top with a plunging sweetheart neckline reflecting light in physically impossible ways - simultaneously absorbing all light while emitting otherworldly bioluminescence, its material state fluctuating between liquid, solid, and vapor in mesmerizing paradox, each seam and curve of the fitted bodice creating ripples in the fabric of reality itself, skin transitioning between porcelain smoothness and crystalline fragments where golden circuit-like veins peek through the epidermis that fractals into infinite patterns, iridescent lips shifting colors with every angle despite the static nature of the image, all while the background warps into a vortex of inverse watercolor physics where paint flows against gravity and abstract forms suggest familiar shapes that dissolve upon focused attention, multiple impossible light sources creating contradictory shadows and highlights that challenge spatial perception, with microscopic details revealing infinite recursions hidden within textures that become increasingly surreal upon closer inspection, the entire composition dancing on the knife-edge between photorealistic precision and impossible surrealism, manifesting as a beautiful hallucination captured in perfect clarity where every element seems to breathe and move in peripheral vision yet remains hauntingly still when directly observed, creating an image that feels like a dream made tangible through digital artistry.

CStamps
2 130

6 months ago

Grey alien, though small in stature, is anything but simple. It navigates the cosmos with grace, moving through the stars with an otherworldly elegance, a creature shaped by the infinite darkness that surrounds it. Let’s begin by describing the Grey alien’s daily existence, its interactions with the stars, and the somewhat intimate aspects of its biology. Life in Space The Grey alien is a solitary being, with no immediate sense of community. It floats alone through the expanse of space, a creature adapted to survive in the vacuum without any need for conventional sustenance or shelter. The void is both home and playground to it, and it is not bound by the limitations that govern organic life on planets. Its body is perfectly evolved for this environment. The alien breathes in the form of a faint, almost imperceptible exchange of gases that occurs at a molecular level, a form of respiration suited for the low-pressure environment of space. It has no need for food, relying instead on the energies of nearby cosmic phenomena: the radiation of distant stars, the magnetic fields of planets, and the energy flows of cosmic dust. It absorbs these into its body, where they sustain it without requiring ingestion in the traditional sense. Though its existence is quiet, there is a profound intelligence behind its stillness. This alien has a deep understanding of the universe’s rhythms, navigating by the pulses of starlight and the waves of gravity that ripple through the cosmos. It has witnessed the birth and death of stars, the collisions of comets and asteroids, and the slow, steady drift of forgotten worlds. Time, to the Grey alien, is less linear and more like a vast, ongoing cycle—endless, stretching from one horizon to the next.

c45dfe7f2a8
2 94