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

peeling prompts

hundreds of results

8 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.

ElectricL
12 310

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.

ElectricL
8 270

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.

ElectricL
4 120

8 months ago

A dark, decayed factory filled with the broken remains of androids, their lifeless forms piled haphazardly on the damp, corroded floor. The heap stretches across the room, a chaotic mass of torn synthetic skin, shattered faces, and rusted mechanical limbs. Exposed cables and wires snake through the pile, some sparking faintly, adding to the eerie atmosphere. The androids vary in design—humanoid models with delicate, human-like features, and industrial machines with heavy plating and exposed hydraulics—all discarded and forgotten. Amidst the heap, two androids stand out. They lie side by side, their bodies lifeless but their hands intertwined, a poignant gesture of connection in a world that abandoned them. One is humanoid, its cracked synthetic skin peeling away to reveal intricate metallic frameworks, its head tilted slightly toward the other. The second is industrial, bulkier and more rugged, its exposed wiring glowing faintly, with one arm barely attached, yet its hand still holds on tightly. Their clasped hands emit a faint, flickering glow—the last remnants of their power, a quiet testament to their bond. The atmosphere is suffocating and damp. Thick haze and mist hang in the air, illuminated by faint, flickering red lights from a malfunctioning sign overhead, reading: “ANDROID MULTI-PURPOSE FOUNDRY.” The sign’s glow casts uneven shadows across the room, reflecting dimly off pools of stagnant water that have collected on the rusted floor. The factory is filled with the remnants of a once-thriving technological hub—rusted machinery, flickering CRT screens, and analog consoles, all coated in a fine layer of grime. The faint sound of dripping water echoes through the cavernous space, amplifying the silence. Dust swirls in faint godrays streaming through shattered skylights, cutting through the thick haze and adding depth to the scene. The pile of androids stretches endlessly, their forms twisted and broken, a graveyard of forgotten innovation. The two holding hands stand out amidst the chaos, their small act of connection hauntingly beautiful in the midst of ruin.

ElectricL
3 120

4 months ago

A highly detailed, photorealistic image featuring three spray paint cans standing upright on a worn concrete floor, illuminated by warm, golden light that accentuates their metallic sheen. Each can is cleverly wrapped in iconic soda can branding: Coca-Cola, Pepsi, and Mountain Dew. Their labels are realistically worn and peeling in places, adding a touch of authenticity to the scene. The Coca-Cola spray can features the classic red label with bold white script, with deep brown paint dripping down its sides, mimicking the color of the soda. Its nozzle is a striking fire-engine red, and the plastic cap lies on the floor nearby, reflecting the ambient light. The Pepsi spray can showcases the signature blue and red branding, with rich brown paint dripping down in a way that evokes a freshly poured cola. Its cap, matching the brand's deep blue hue, is positioned close to the base of the can. The Mountain Dew spray can is wrapped in the dynamic green label with angular typography, while neon green paint drips down, resembling the soda’s vibrant color. Its matching green cap sits to the side, catching subtle reflections from the environment. The background is softly blurred, depicting an urban setting with hints of graffiti-covered walls and industrial elements, creating an atmosphere of street art culture. The lighting is soft and diffused, casting gentle highlights that enhance the realism of the metallic surfaces. The composition is balanced, with a close-up perspective and a shallow depth of field focusing on the cans while softly blurring the environment. The overall mood is energetic, creative, and gritty, reflecting both urban art and playful branding, with textures and details that emphasize scratches, imperfections, and drips for added realism.

kukulkan
2 57

21 days 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.

ElectricL
1 27