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

The cobblestone streets prompts

hundreds of results

8 months ago

The girl is in her early twenties, standing on a bustling European street on a chilly late autumn day. She has wavy, shoulder-length brown hair with a few golden strands catching the faint sunlight peeking through a cloudy sky. Her pale skin is tinged with a slight flush from the cold. She’s wearing a cozy beige scarf wrapped snugly around her neck, a slightly oversized dark green coat, and faded jeans tucked into scuffed brown leather boots. Her blue eyes are wide and darting between the windows of cafes and food carts lining the street. There's a faint pout on her lips, and her hands clutch her growling stomach through her coat. She lingers near a bakery, its warm, golden light spilling onto the cobblestones, her expression a mix of longing and indecision as the aroma of freshly baked bread wafts through the air. Her body language is restless—shifting her weight from foot to foot, crossing her arms against the chill, then uncrossing them to warm her fingers with her breath. She glances down at a small leather crossbody bag, perhaps mentally calculating her budget, before returning her gaze to a street vendor grilling sausages nearby. Despite her hunger, she seems to be hesitating, perhaps overwhelmed by the choices or unsure about the best deal. The scene captures her hunger and the liveliness of a European street, complete with cobblestones, wrought-iron streetlights, and the murmur of passersby chatting in various languages. The girl stands out, her visible craving for food making her a focal point amidst the busy background.

6 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.

8 months ago

a cinematic black-and-white noir depiction of a vintage cobblestone street at night, shrouded in thick, atmospheric fog. Old-fashioned lampposts line the street, their soft, glowing light diffusing through the mist and casting elongated shadows that ripple faintly on the wet cobblestones. The reflections glimmer, adding texture and depth to the scene. Under one of the glowing streetlamps, a man in a trench coat and fedora leans slightly toward a woman in a classic 1940s dress. Her elegant silhouette is illuminated by the soft light, creating a captivating focal point amidst the hazy surroundings. Their body language suggests a quiet but intense exchange, adding an air of mystery and intrigue. In the background, additional figures holding umbrellas move through the fog, their outlines blending seamlessly into the moody atmosphere. A vintage car is parked further down the street, its polished surface reflecting the lamplight and adding to the period authenticity. The faint outlines of nearby buildings and shopfronts emerge through the mist, enhancing the depth and realism of the setting. The scene is rendered in intricate detail, with a focus on the interplay of light and shadow, capturing the glistening textures of the cobblestones, the folds of the woman’s dress, and the subtle highlights on the man’s fedora. The overall composition exudes the essence of classic noir, immersing the viewer in a mysterious, cinematic moment filled with drama and elegance.

8 months ago

The girl is in her early twenties, standing on a bustling European street on a chilly late autumn day. She has wavy, shoulder-length brown hair with a few golden strands catching the faint sunlight peeking through a cloudy sky. Her pale skin is tinged with a slight flush from the cold. She’s wearing a cozy beige scarf wrapped snugly around her neck, a slightly oversized dark green coat, and faded jeans tucked into scuffed brown leather boots. Her blue eyes are wide and darting between the windows of cafes and food carts lining the street. There's a faint pout on her lips, and her hands clutch her growling stomach through her coat. She lingers near a bakery, its warm, golden light spilling onto the cobblestones, her expression a mix of longing and indecision as the aroma of freshly baked bread wafts through the air. Her body language is restless—shifting her weight from foot to foot, crossing her arms against the chill, then uncrossing them to warm her fingers with her breath. She glances down at a small leather crossbody bag, perhaps mentally calculating her budget, before returning her gaze to a street vendor grilling sausages nearby. Despite her hunger, she seems to be hesitating, perhaps overwhelmed by the choices or unsure about the best deal. The scene captures her hunger and the liveliness of a European street, complete with cobblestones, wrought-iron streetlights, and the murmur of passersby chatting in various languages. The girl stands out, her visible craving for food making her a focal point amidst the busy background.

6 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.

8 months ago

The girl is in her early twenties, standing on a bustling European street on a chilly late autumn day. She has wavy, shoulder-length brown hair with a few golden strands catching the faint sunlight peeking through a cloudy sky. Her pale skin is tinged with a slight flush from the cold. She’s wearing a cozy beige scarf wrapped snugly around her neck, a slightly oversized dark green coat, and faded jeans tucked into scuffed brown leather boots. Her blue eyes are wide and darting between the windows of cafes and food carts lining the street. There's a faint pout on her lips, and her hands clutch her growling stomach through her coat. She lingers near a bakery, its warm, golden light spilling onto the cobblestones, her expression a mix of longing and indecision as the aroma of freshly baked bread wafts through the air. Her body language is restless—shifting her weight from foot to foot, crossing her arms against the chill, then uncrossing them to warm her fingers with her breath. She glances down at a small leather crossbody bag, perhaps mentally calculating her budget, before returning her gaze to a street vendor grilling sausages nearby. Despite her hunger, she seems to be hesitating, perhaps overwhelmed by the choices or unsure about the best deal. The scene captures her hunger and the liveliness of a European street, complete with cobblestones, wrought-iron streetlights, and the murmur of passersby chatting in various languages. The girl stands out, her visible craving for food making her a focal point amidst the busy background.

8 months ago

The girl is in her early twenties, standing on a bustling European street on a chilly late autumn day. She has wavy, shoulder-length brown hair with a few golden strands catching the faint sunlight peeking through a cloudy sky. Her pale skin is tinged with a slight flush from the cold. She’s wearing a cozy beige scarf wrapped snugly around her neck, a slightly oversized dark green coat, and faded jeans tucked into scuffed brown leather boots. Her blue eyes are wide and darting between the windows of cafes and food carts lining the street. There's a faint pout on her lips, and her hands clutch her growling stomach through her coat. She lingers near a bakery, its warm, golden light spilling onto the cobblestones, her expression a mix of longing and indecision as the aroma of freshly baked bread wafts through the air. Her body language is restless—shifting her weight from foot to foot, crossing her arms against the chill, then uncrossing them to warm her fingers with her breath. She glances down at a small leather crossbody bag, perhaps mentally calculating her budget, before returning her gaze to a street vendor grilling sausages nearby. Despite her hunger, she seems to be hesitating, perhaps overwhelmed by the choices or unsure about the best deal. The scene captures her hunger and the liveliness of a European street, complete with cobblestones, wrought-iron streetlights, and the murmur of passersby chatting in various languages. The girl stands out, her visible craving for food making her a focal point amidst the busy background.

3 months ago

The main subject is an African American woman with long, voluminous, wavy red-orange hair. Her skin appears smooth with a dark brown complexion. She has large, dark eyes with long eyelashes, a small nose, and full lips painted with a bright red lipstick. Her expression is confident and engaging. Her face is somewhat heart shaped. She is slender with a noticeable curve at the waist and hips. She is standing upright, holding a purse in her right hand, and her left hand placed on her left hip. She is wearing a fitted, short-sleeved purple dress that ends above the knee. Around her neck is a light green silk scarf secured with three decorative gold pins featuring peace symbols. She is carrying a small, quilted, light beige purse with a gold chain strap. Gold bracelets are visible on her left wrist. In the background, a man in a dark suit is walking away from the camera to the right. He appears to have short, light hair and a medium body build, walking with a casual but alert posture. The background depicts a winding cobblestone street between two buildings of a historic German village, casting a warm, golden light across its surface as the sun begins to set behind the buildings. Trees cast dark shadows against the light of the sky that frames the half-timbered houses. The buildings themselves are a showcase of medieval architecture, featuring dark wood beams and whitewashed or yellow walls, with potted plants and greenery adorning the front of one building. The cobblestone street is uneven and worn, adding to the rustic charm of the scene.