A sample prompt of what you can find in this page
Prompt by Luv2Grill

lying on back prompts

hundreds of results

8 months ago

(Full-body shot, dramatic film-noir lighting, vintage 1960s aesthetics, ultra-detailed fabric and skin rendering, cinematic depth, alluring yet enigmatic presence) The femme fatale stands with her back to the camera, exuding an air of refined mystery. She is enveloped in a luxurious fur boa, its plush texture draping over her shoulders and cascading down her arms, concealing just enough to leave an aura of intrigue. She gazes toward an antique vanity mirror, her reflection revealing a captivating expression—lips slightly parted, eyes shadowed with a knowing intensity. The dim, amber glow of a mid-century bedside lamp casts long, seductive shadows, accentuating the contours of her poised figure. A sleek silk slip peeks through the embrace of the fur, tracing the lines of her form in soft highlights. Stockings shimmer subtly in the low light, held in place by delicate garters, adding a touch of elegance. In one hand, she holds a vintage cigarette holder, its unlit tip resting between her fingers as a thin wisp of smoke lingers in the air—a remnant of past indulgences. The room is an opulent mid-century dream, with a velvet chaise lounge partially visible behind her. An old rotary phone, its receiver off the hook, lies beside an untouched glass of whiskey on the vanity—silent witnesses to an untold story. The atmosphere is thick with timeless intrigue—she is a woman of untold secrets, a vision of vintage glamour and quiet power. With each carefully placed shadow, she remains an enigma—captivating, untouchable, and forever etched in the lingering haze of a noir dream.

ElectricL
7 200

7 months ago

"The Colossus Beneath the Desert" – (Primary Subject: Titanic Buried Giant Stirring Beneath Sand Dunes, 1.7 weight) — deep in an endless, wind-scoured desert, a vast ancient colossus lies half-submerged beneath dunes of golden sand, its face cracked and weathered, sculpted from stone and bone. One glowing eye now flickers to life for the first time in ten thousand years, casting a pillar of blue light through the dust-choked sky. It is waking. The scale is impossible—ridges of sand ripple for miles outward with each breath it takes. What appears to be mountains on the horizon are the curved tips of its buried fingers, slowly flexing. Its ribs form deep canyons, home to temples built by forgotten civilizations who once worshipped it as god, jailer, and weapon. Above it, a caravan of nomads has stopped. Their camels rear back in fear. The elders whisper old songs once thought metaphor. A solitary figure in ceremonial robes walks toward the eye, chanting in forgotten tongues, holding a staff that glows faintly in resonance. This is not a confrontation. It is a negotiation. The sky roils with duststorms, lit orange and violet by the setting sun. Shadows stretch long across the sand, wrapping the moment in mythic stillness. Massive stone anklets and rune-bound chains anchor the colossus deep below—their glyphs eroded, weakened. A sandstorm gathers behind it, as if the world resists its rising. Its skin is made of layered strata and fossilized memory, carved with glowing runes that flicker like fault lines. When it exhales, the wind shifts continents. Its breath is heavy with salt, iron, and ancient sound. The desert listens. Rendered in epic cinematic realism, with sweeping scale, warm atmospheric tones, and deep contrast between golden sand, cold stone, and glowing eyes. Shot through a dusty anamorphic lens, grain visible in the low sun, with volumetric light shafts and wide mythic framing. Think Dune x Dark Souls x ancient Mesopotamian apocalypse (monumental visual drama, 1.4 weight).

ElectricL
4 120

5 months ago

In the heart of a mystical desert, there lies a magical oasis where the sands of time swirl with enchantment. At the center of this captivating scene stands Jasmine, a powerful desert sorceress whose presence commands the very elements around her. Her long, flowing black hair cascades down her back, adorned with delicate braids that shimmer with golden threads, making her instantly recognizable amidst the dunes. Her eyes, a striking shade of emerald green, glow with an otherworldly light as she channels her arcane powers. Jasmine is dressed in elegant, flowing robes that dance with the desert winds, their fabric a rich tapestry of deep blues and purples, embroidered with intricate patterns that tell ancient tales of magic and mystery. Beneath her robes, she wears a form-fitting bodysuit, revealing glimpses of her journey through the sands, adorned with protective runes that pulse softly with her every movement. Her hands, adorned with ornate, golden bracelets, weave intricate patterns in the air as she casts her spells, summoning swirls of sand and gusts of wind that shape the very landscape around her. The oasis itself is a sight to behold, with crystalline waters that reflect the golden hues of the setting sun. Palm trees sway gently, their fronds rustling secrets of the desert, while vibrant flowers bloom in impossible colors, their petals infused with the magic that Jasmine wields. The sands around her form mesmerizing patterns, rising and falling like waves in an ocean of gold. In the distance, ancient ruins peek through the dunes, their stones etched with forgotten spells and symbols of a time long past. This is a place where magic and nature intertwine, and Jasmine, the desert sorceress, stands as its guardian and master.

Genie79
2 50

6 months ago

n a crumbling sanctuary built at the end of time, open to the sky and flooded with wild overgrowth, a solitary figure stands on a plinth of fractured obsidian—a synthetic angel, both artifact and oracle, mid-transmission. Her body is constructed from a dual-layered material: an outer shell of liquid mirror-glass, always in motion, bending light in surreal ripples—beneath it, a lattice of golden memory circuits, softly pulsing, like script woven from heat and purpose. She is not human. She is not machine. She is the last interface between meaning and forgetting. Her posture is both exalted and worn. One hand raised in silent benediction, the other buried in the tangle of flowering vines wrapping around her legs—life clinging to light, as though nature itself refuses to let go of what she remembers. Etched across her glass-like surface are thin veins of glowing amber: pathways of forgotten prayers, tracing up her legs, over her spine, across her collarbones like fading constellations. Her face is concealed behind a split golden visor, semi-open like the petals of a mechanical flower—revealing only light. From her back, two vast wings made of layered crystalline blades curve upward like collapsed architecture—part cathedral, part ruin. They shimmer not with fire, but with reflected memory, like a sky that forgot how to storm. Around her, broken statuary and shattered machines lie half-swallowed by roots and blossoms. In the distance, a forest made of circuitry burns without smoke—slowly, beautifully. Above, stars pulse in unnatural constellations, forming sigils from before language. Hovering just above her head spins a halo unlike any known form—a fractured ring of refracted glass, filled with flowing text that no longer aligns with any living tongue. It does not glow—it remembers. Rendered in the style of an impressionist-Renaissance hybrid painting, layered with visible brush textures, fog-softened edges, and gold-split chiaroscuro. Warm dusk tones dominate the palette: blood-orange, dusk-lavender, rusted copper, soft pollen white. She is the Benediction Engine—not worshipped, not feared, not obeyed. She simply remains, bearing witness to everything we were, and everything we failed to become.

ElectricL
2 120

6 months ago

A powerful fully topless with, her breasts painted with blood, (witch:1.5) with (jet-black hair:1.4), her hair whipping violently in the chaotic winds, stands at the center of a (vertical spiraling vortex of fire:1.5), rising from the ground like a colossal (upright Twister ice cream:1.4). The unholy flames are (blue:1.3) and (purple:1.3), twisting and crackling as they encircle her in dense, spiraling coils, their glow casting intense, flickering shadows across her form and the scorched ground beneath her feet. Her eyes glow faintly white, rolled subtly back in her head, adding a terrifying and otherworldly aura to her appearance. The glow is faint, almost as if the light emanates from deep within her, intensifying her connection to the destructive forces she wields. Her expression is one of intense focus, her furrowed brows and parted lips showing the strain of channeling such immense power. She wears a (sheer black dress:1.6) with (oversized, flowing sleeves:1.5) that billow dramatically in the vortex’s winds. One side of her dress has come undone, sliding down her shoulder in the frenzy, revealing a subtle hint of one breast, as though the raw energy of her power has caused her appearance to become as chaotic as the firestorm she commands. The fabric clings lightly to her body in places, accentuating her curves while maintaining a sense of mystery and elegance. The dress flows dynamically in the swirling wind, twisting and fluttering as if alive, amplifying the sense of motion and intensity. She grips a (wand carved from a human femur:1.6), the handle adorned with (skeleton fingers:1.4) gripping the bone tightly, as though channeling her unholy power. Around her waist, a (rope belt:1.4) hangs loosely, adorned with (shrunken heads:1.7), their leathery faces twisted in agony, their grotesque forms reminiscent of the ceremonial work of Jivaroan tribes. The heads sway slightly in the vortex, their eerie stillness contrasting with the wild motion of the flames. The ground beneath her feet is scorched and cracked, glowing faintly with embers. Scattered (withered skulls and incomplete bones:1.3) lie among the charred earth, blending seamlessly into the apocalyptic scene. The (vertical vortex of fire:1.5) rises around her, twisting upward in a dense, hypnotic spiral. The flames pulse with chaotic energy, their intertwined hues of purple and blue casting (volumetric light:1.4) through the smoky, ash-filled air. The atmosphere is alive with glowing embers, drifting ash, and the faint echoes of crackling flames, creating a scene of raw, unrelenting power and destruction.

ElectricL
2 190