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

standing up with hands behind back prompts

very few 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.

8 months ago

Freddie Mercury, the iconic frontman of Queen, stands on stage, a towering figure of energy and charisma, commanding the attention of a vast, roaring crowd. The stadium is packed with tens of thousands of fans, all of them shouting, clapping, and singing in unison. The air is thick with anticipation as the lights dim, and suddenly, a single spotlight illuminates Freddie at the center of the stage. Dressed in his signature white tank top, tight denim jeans, and leather gloves, Freddie’s presence is electric. His perfectly styled mustache and short, slicked-back hair add to the aura of rock-star coolness. The glow of the stage lights bounces off his sweat-soaked skin as he moves with wild abandon, each gesture exuding confidence and passion. The spotlight catches the gleam of his jewelry—his bold, gold rings and the gleaming cross around his neck—a symbol of his unique, unmatchable style. As the music swells, Freddie grabs the microphone stand with one hand and raises it above his head, as if summoning the crowd to respond. His voice rings out, clear and powerful, effortlessly reaching every corner of the massive arena. The notes seem to float through the air, perfectly in tune with the energy around him, as his voice soars, cracking with emotion, then dipping into a smooth falsetto. He’s a master at connecting with the audience, drawing them into every note, every lyric. His eyes are wide, intense, and filled with fire. There’s an almost magnetic pull to him, making it feel as if he’s performing for each person in the crowd, despite the sea of faces stretching out before him. With every beat, Freddie’s body moves in sync with the music. He’s a dancer, a showman, his body language as expressive as his voice. He twirls and spins across the stage, one minute flinging himself toward the front edge, arms outstretched as if embracing the adoration, and the next, he’s crouching low, creating a moment of intimacy with the audience. His energy never falters—his performance is a whirlwind of movement and emotion. The band behind him—Brian May, Roger Taylor, and John Deacon—form the perfect backdrop, but it’s Freddie who is the undeniable focal point. His interactions with the audience are playful and commanding at the same time. He encourages them to sing along, making eye contact with fans in the front rows, pulling them into the performance with a smile, a wink, or a raised hand. As the song reaches its peak, Freddie stands center stage, his arms spread wide, reveling in the rush of sound and the collective power of the crowd’s voice. His expression is one of pure joy and liberation. Every second on stage feels like he’s giving everything he has—his voice, his body, his heart—and in return, the crowd erupts, a unified roar of pure love and admiration. It's a moment where time seems to slow, and Freddie, in all his theatrical glory, is not just performing a song, but offering a piece of himself to the world, leaving the crowd mesmerized, breathless, and forever in awe of his incredible talent. The stage lights pulse in time with the music, casting dramatic shadows and highlighting his every movement. Freddie’s face reflects the intensity of his performance—his brows furrowed in concentration one moment, then breaking into a wide grin as he basks in the crowd’s cheers. There’s a palpable sense of connection between him and the audience, an almost unspoken understanding that they are experiencing something special, something transcendent. As the song ends, the crowd erupts into deafening applause, chanting his name, but Freddie isn’t done. He takes a brief moment, breathing deeply, and then throws himself into the next song, ready to give them even more; 8k, intricate detail, photorealistic, realistic light, wide angle, kinkfolk photography, A+D architecture

7 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.

13 days ago

A dramatic, black and white high-fashion close-up portrait of a woman with her face covered in prominent freckles. She has dark, intense eyes framed by long eyelashes, perfectly shaped eyebrows, and dark lipstick. Her hair is pulled back tightly, revealing her strong facial structure. She is adorned with elaborate statement accessories  large, intricate earrings, multiple layered necklaces of varying textures, and ornate, detailed rings on her fingers. She rests her chin on her hand, gazing directly and intensely into the camera. The lighting is high-contrast, emphasizing every texture, highlight, and shadow, creating a powerful monochromatic effect. Amid the grayscale tones, a single vivid detail stands out  a thin, glowing red neon eyeliner tracing her eyes, adding a modern, electrifying contrast that disrupts the monochrome palette with a bold, futuristic edge. The image fuses timeless elegance and avant-garde rebellion, blending editorial fashion photography with cinematic drama and minimal color accent. Behind them, the world fades into gradients of ash and shadow, undefined walls merging into fog. The air seems heavy, each breath shaping the mist into momentary forms that vanish as soon as they appear. The only color is the faint reflection of pale light along the edge of the eyeliner  the suggestion of an emotion that never fully reveals itself. The composition is cinematic, sculptural, and hauntingly minimal, rendered in high-contrast black and white.

9 months ago

A devout paladin, clad in battered and blood-streaked armor, stands defiantly on a scorched battlefield engulfed in chaos. His armor, marked with deep scratches and dents from countless battles, gleams faintly in the dim light. The red cross emblazoned on his chest is bold and unwavering, a symbol of his faith and devotion to protecting the innocent in the name of Christ. The paladin grips a long, battle-worn sword tightly in both hands, its blade shining brightly as it cuts through the oppressive darkness. His stance is firm, his legs braced against the ground, as he prepares to face the overwhelming hordes of evil that surround him. His cloak flutters violently in the wind, its tattered edges trailing behind him, adding motion and drama to the scene. Around him, an endless sea of grotesque demons and monstrous creatures surges forward, their twisted forms clawing and snarling as they attempt to overwhelm him. Their glowing red eyes and jagged, deformed bodies create an atmosphere of pure terror. Some demons leap through the air, their claws reaching for the paladin, while others charge from the ground, their grotesque mouths wide with fury. The battlefield trembles with their combined strength. Despite the insurmountable odds, the paladin’s face is filled with intense determination, his furrowed brow and gritted teeth reflecting his unyielding resolve. He fights with the light of faith burning in his soul, the Holy power radiating faintly from his sword. The blade itself appears to glow with divine energy, each swing slicing through the darkness, pushing back the hordes of evil with righteous fury. The battlefield is a chaotic wasteland, littered with shattered bones, glowing embers, and the remnants of other fallen warriors. The air is thick with smoke and ash, and volumetric light breaks through the gloom, highlighting the clash between good and evil. The dark sky above churns with storm clouds, illuminated by flashes of distant lightning, adding a dramatic backdrop to the scene. The paladin stands as a lone figure of hope and faith against the overwhelming darkness, his armor catching the faint Holy light as he fights valiantly. The contrast between the paladin’s glowing sword and the writhing masses of demons creates a powerful, cinematic image of one man’s unshakable faith and courage in the face of immeasurable odds.