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

reflective street prompts

hundreds of results

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.

7 months ago

Ultra-detailed half body portrait of a 24 year woman, bearing a prominent facial scar that cuts across her left cheek - a mark of survival in countless street fights, cold calculating eyes that hold both cunning and cruelty, angular features hardened by years of combat, short black hair styled practically with an undercut to prevent opponents from gaining advantage, wearing an expensive business jacket, open showing a heavily cropped business shirt, which barely covers her breasts, showing her flat toned belly with defined sixpack abs, standing in a luxurious penthouse office overlooking a brutalist cityscape of imposing concrete and steel structures, the window behind her showcasing the stark wealth divide - opulent high-rises crowned with neon-lit fighting arenas adjacent to crumbling tenements where the weak struggle to survive, private security forces visible patrolling elevated walkways, smoke rising from illegal fighting pits in the lower levels, multiple layers of corrupt authority visible through the glass - private military contractors guarding corporate territories, street gangs marking their domains with holographic tags, expensive hover-vehicles carrying crime lords between their territories, harsh artificial lighting from corporate logos casting blood-red shadows across her face, reflective surfaces showing both luxury and defensive capabilities - bulletproof windows and concealed weapon systems, photorealistic rendering in ultra-high detail capturing both the sleek modern technology and the underlying violence of society, 8k resolution with emphasis on material contrasts between expensive synthetics and crude street-level modifications, detailed attention to status symbols of power - augmented strength visible in subtle cybernetic enhancement scars at her wrists, trophy rings from defeated opponents adorning her fingers, a championship fighter's medallion worn as a subtle threat display, environmental storytelling showing the mechanics of power - security checkpoints, combat betting stations, and medical repair facilities for the wealthy fighters who can afford them

7 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.

6 months ago

(Cyberpunk, futuristic, dystopian underworld, high detail, cinematic lighting, dark and moody atmosphere) A wiry and gaunt man with sunken, exhausted eyes that have a manic glint, framed by dark circles from years of working in dimly lit back-alley clinics. His pale skin looks sickly under the flickering neon light, and his thin face is lined with tension, his lips slightly parted as if muttering to himself. His hair is unkempt, streaked with oil and grime, further emphasizing his haggard, overworked look. He wears a dingy off-white lab coat, once pristine but now stained with grease, blood, and years of unwashed grime. The fabric is frayed at the edges, hanging loosely over his thin frame. His cybernetic enhancements are crude and patched-together, a collection of exposed wiring and rusted plating barely held together. His left shoulder has a mechanical plating rig, jagged and uneven, with loose bolts and sparking neon-blue wiring protruding in places. His chipped tooth shows when he speaks, adding to his rough, jittery appearance. The background is a dark, cluttered ripperdoc lab, filled with outdated cybernetic parts, flickering monitors, and half-functioning medical equipment. The air is thick with smoke from a nearby vent, and a dull, flickering green med-lab light casts eerie shadows across the scene. A neon-red light from the alley outside spills through a cracked window, contrasting with the cold surgical glow of malfunctioning overhead lamps. The atmosphere is gritty, chaotic, and oppressive, embodying the tension of a street-level surgeon who exists between life and death, law and crime. Rendered in ultra-detailed, cinematic composition, sharp focus, 8K resolution, ray tracing, cyberpunk noir aesthetics, high contrast lighting, depth of field, volumetric lighting, intricate detailing, realistic skin texture, futuristic urban decay, science fiction concept art, hyper-realistic digital painting, dramatic chiaroscuro lighting, neon reflections, moody atmosphere, cybernetic enhancements, grunge aesthetic. Negative Prompt: (bad composition, low detail, low resolution, deformed anatomy, distorted features, asymmetrical face, extra limbs, missing fingers, unrealistic eyes, unnatural skin texture, overly stylized, washed-out colors, blurry, poorly rendered cybernetics, uncanny valley, cartoonish, low-quality render, watermark, text, overexposed lighting, excessive glow, lack of contrast, amateurish design, low effort, duplicate elements, broken limbs, unbalanced composition, generic design, bad perspective, flat shading, soft focus, dull colors, clean or polished cybernetics, generic futuristic doctor, overly heroic pose, pristine environment)

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.