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

both hands clasped prompts

very few results

5 months ago

((gritty, hyperrealistic painting:1.5)), ((Hulk and Superman locked in a brutal power struggle:1.5)), both hands clasped, fingers interlocked in a violent test of strength, muscles straining, tendons stretched to the limit. Superman, bruised, grounded, is down on one knee, his body twisting with resistance, arms trembling as he holds back the massive force bearing down on him. His blue suit is torn, his face bloodied, hair matted with sweat and soot, but his gaze is clear and defiant—no glowing eyes, only human resolve. The Hulk towers over him, full height—3 meters tall, 500 kilograms of brute muscle, drenched in sweat, skin streaked with grime and ash. His monstrous body looms with dominance, feet planted wide, both arms pressing down, veins bulging, face twisted in a roar of exertion. His skin cracks around his fists from the sheer pressure, saliva flying from his mouth as he snarls through clenched teeth. The ground beneath Superman’s knee is shattered, pressed inward by the weight. Shockwaves ripple through the dust, small stones hover in midair. The scene is dense with smoke, ash, and heat distortion, the ambient firelight casting flickering shadows over their bodies. Style: painted like an epic oil tableau—Caravaggio-like lighting, Repin’s anatomical drama, Beksiński’s apocalyptic ambiance. Every detail captured: grit on skin, blood at the lip, wrinkles in fabric, cracked stone, drifting embers, clenched fingers locked in struggle. Lighting: heavy chiaroscuro—low directional light from fires around them, long shadows falling across Superman’s face, rim lighting highlighting Hulk’s upper body, emphasizing the scale difference without diminishing the tension. Camera angle: low and close, from Superman’s left side, showing his knee pressed into shattered ground, arms lifted to hold off Hulk’s crushing weight. Hulk fills the vertical space, Superman dominates the emotional weight—a visual of pressure and refusal to yield. Art direction for Flux: – Hulk is 3m tall, 500kg, physically overwhelming, rendered with full weight and scale – Superman is human-scale, on one knee, but braced and locked in—the underdog with unbreakable resolve – Style: dark painterly realism, anatomical accuracy, no stylization, no superpowers shown – Textures: bruised flesh, torn cloth, cracked stone, sweat, grit, tension in the hands and faces – Environment: scorched battlefield, ambient smoke, sparks, fractured terrain, faint firelight – Theme: mythic struggle, physical scale vs inner will—no victor yet, only raw contest

2 months ago

A dark, decayed factory steeped in dampness and neglect. Rows of broken, lifeless androids hang from chains and diagnostic cables, their battered forms suspended like relics of a forgotten era. Each android faces forward, their heads slumped and limbs dangling limply, as if gravity alone holds them in place. The androids are diverse—some humanoid with slender frames and fragmented synthetic skin, others industrial with exposed hydraulics, rusted plating, and shattered components. Many are missing limbs, their wires and cables hanging loosely, sparking faintly in the oppressive gloom. Among the rows, two androids stand out—their hands intertwined in a final act of connection before their power cells died. One is humanoid, its delicate features cracked and weathered, its synthetic skin peeling to reveal intricate, rusting frameworks. The other is industrial, bulkier, with heavier plating and exposed joints, its arm barely holding on by a tangle of wires. Their clasped hands emit a faint glow, flickering like dying embers, the last remnant of their shared existence. The factory is drenched in atmosphere. Thick haze and mist cling to every surface, illuminated by the weak, flickering glow of malfunctioning CRT screens and sparking cables. Dim red light spills from a cracked overhead lamp, casting diffuse shadows across the room. A faint, rhythmic drip echoes through the cavernous space, the sound amplified by the oppressive silence. A flickering sign above the rows reads: “ANDROID MULTI-PURPOSE FOUNDRY.” The foundry walls are lined with rusted, obsolete machinery and control panels. Pools of stagnant water collect on the floor, reflecting the faint, scattered light in jagged, broken patterns. Dust and smoke swirl in the air, cutting through the faint godrays that streak through shattered skylights, further obscured by the thick haze. The shadows of dangling chains and lifeless androids create eerie silhouettes on the mist-covered walls. The atmosphere is suffocatingly gritty, a testament to the decay of innovation. The androids stand as silent witnesses to a bygone era, their shattered forms a chilling reflection of the hubris and failure of their creators. The two holding hands, surrounded by rows of decaying machines, remain a quiet, haunting symbol of connection amidst the ruin.