the broken winged prompts

5 months ago

Gothic horror romantic fashion for young women, translucent white dress tinged with dust and earth, high lace collar and puffed sleeves, cinched with a faded corset belt, layered skirts torn at the hem, bare feet with ivy creeping over toes, delicate wings made of tattered gauze, soft curls wet with dew, eyes glossy with sorrow, abandoned overgrown greenhouse filled with dying roses and broken stained glass, hauntingly fragile and otherworldly

3 months ago

There is but one message for the earth, Young men with fallen chests and old men’s breath, dripping from their mouths. Ex-soldiers with horrors for a face, A pig’s snout for a nose, The lost in doubt, the nearly mad, the young who, undeserving, have suffered the earth’s wrong, The living dead left over from the war, Those filled with fear, caught in the cage, the broken winged, The flying loose, albino eyed, white, black, yellow and mulatto From Harlem, Bedlam, Babel, and the Ghetto, The Piccadilly men, the back street drunks, The whole, the crippled, the weak and strong. The Western man with one lung gone. Epic cinematic dramatic dystopian futuristic scene

2 months ago

A striking succubus with long, raven-black hair cascading in waves down her back and a slender, curvaceous figure dressed in a revealing black and red corset adorned with intricate lace and delicate straps. Feathered, bat-like wings arch from her shoulders as a lace mask partially hides her sharp, alluring features. She stands confidently in front of a decaying, haunted carnival, where flickering lanterns cast eerie shadows over broken rides and tattered tents. The air shimmers with a cinematic blend of horror and dark fantasy, the scene exuding a sultry, menacing energy that draws the eye to her every movement.

8 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.

7 months ago

A surreal, monochrome world suspended between light and void. A blindfolded figure in flowing white robes stands alone at the edge of a jagged obsidian cliff, facing an abyss of swirling darkness. Behind them, the crumbling silhouette of a warped, angular city stretches across the horizon, its skyline fragmented like shattered glass. A ghostly, oversized moon hangs impossibly close in the white sky, casting harsh, stark lighting—razor-sharp highlights and inky shadows. The figure’s serene, unreadable face is hidden behind a blindfold. Their outstretched hand releases a black origami bird mid-flight, its wings unfurling as if ready to pierce the silence. Below the cliff, an endless abyss swirls with broken reflections, abstract glyphs, and ink-like patterns. The atmosphere feels carved from frost and smoke. The entire image is rendered in pure black and white, relying on extreme contrast and dramatic negative space. Folded fabric gleams against black rock, mist coils like smoke in frozen air. Expression and emotion are defined by silhouette, texture, and space. Style: surrealism, emotional symbolism, monochrome dreamscape Palette: pure black and white, high contrast Lighting: stark backlighting from a lunar source, deep shadows Mood: introspective, mysterious, frozen tension Composition: rule of thirds, minimalism, dramatic silhouette and texture balance Elements: flowing robes, origami bird, cliffs, moon, blindfolded figure, void, abstract ruins Rendering style: cinematic grayscale photography, high-resolution surrealist ink illustration, Octane monochrome shader, Unreal Engine lighting

7 months ago

A surreal, monochrome world suspended between light and void. A blindfolded figure in flowing white robes stands alone at the edge of a jagged obsidian cliff, facing an abyss of swirling darkness. Behind them, the crumbling silhouette of a warped, angular city stretches across the horizon, its skyline fragmented like shattered glass. A ghostly, oversized moon hangs impossibly close in the white sky, casting harsh, stark lighting—razor-sharp highlights and inky shadows. The figure’s serene, unreadable face is hidden behind a blindfold. Their outstretched hand releases a black origami bird mid-flight, its wings unfurling as if ready to pierce the silence. Below the cliff, an endless abyss swirls with broken reflections, abstract glyphs, and ink-like patterns. The atmosphere feels carved from frost and smoke. The entire image is rendered in pure black and white, relying on extreme contrast and dramatic negative space. Folded fabric gleams against black rock, mist coils like smoke in frozen air. Expression and emotion are defined by silhouette, texture, and space. Style: surrealism, emotional symbolism, monochrome dreamscape Palette: pure black and white, high contrast Lighting: stark backlighting from a lunar source, deep shadows Mood: introspective, mysterious, frozen tension Composition: rule of thirds, minimalism, dramatic silhouette and texture balance Elements: flowing robes, origami bird, cliffs, moon, blindfolded figure, void, abstract ruins Rendering style: cinematic grayscale photography, high-resolution surrealist ink illustration, Octane monochrome shader, Unreal Engine lighting

7 months ago

A towering avenging demon with deep purple skin, glowing red eyes, and an intense, wrathful expression. His face is framed by multiple jagged horns and long, raven-black hair flowing like shadow in the night. His body is covered in razor-sharp bone spikes, and massive bat-like wings stretch wide behind him, their veins glowing faintly like cursed embers. He stands tall on a jagged obsidian cliff overlooking a hellish battlefield of broken statues, scorched banners, and smoldering ruins. The sky above is a vast canvas of stars, dominated by a huge glowing full moon, casting cold, silver-blue light across his form. Dark clouds drift slowly behind him, partially obscuring celestial constellations. The atmosphere is rich with dark fantasy energy — ominous lighting, deep shadows, and flashes of ethereal mist swirling at his feet. The scene is ultra-detailed in 4K, with vivid contrasts between glowing elements and shadow, capturing the raw force of vengeance and supernatural might.

5 months ago

textured embossed oil impasto painting, unfinished. Full-length Abstract dream sequence,, once upon a time, long before the rain. I was a reckless tragic imperfection wandering down a celestial highway, wearing loose flowing grave shrouds. broken shattered bits of memories, fill my mind, tragic tear filled emotional storms, then being driven and tripping, hallucinogenic warped shards of my mind flared in the universal consciousness. Bright bold vibrant fluid motion, bold impasto and oil paint, freehand broad fluid strokes, contemporary modernistic style, Full on raging Elemental storm ice fire wind torrential rain seascape, crashing waves jagged rocks. A lone ancient jagged twisted tree, Dark angel on one knee black wings semi enfolding the figure bows before the raging storm, backlit by lightning and a fiery glow. Dark Ominous powerful oil, gesso, impasto layered painting full-length creative random, HD 3D, heavily detailed and textured, stong contrasting shadows and light, illusion of movement, bold vibrant color, can clearly see the brushstrokes and palette brushes

3 months ago

There is but one message for the earth, Young men with fallen chests and old men’s breath, dripping from their mouths. Ex-soldiers with horrors for a face, A pig’s snout for a nose, The lost in doubt, the nearly mad, the young who, undeserving, have suffered the earth’s wrong, The living dead left over from the war, Those filled with fear, caught in the cage, the broken winged, The flying loose, albino eyed, white, black, yellow and mulatto From Harlem, Bedlam, Babel, and the Ghetto, The Piccadilly men, the back street drunks, The grafters of cats’ heads on chickens’ trunks, The whole, the crippled, the weak and strong. The Western man with one lung gone. Epic cinematic dramatic dystopian futuristic scene

3 months ago

There is but one message for the earth, Young men with fallen chests and old men’s breath, dripping from their mouths. Ex-soldiers with horrors for a face, A pig’s snout for a nose, The lost in doubt, the nearly mad, the young who, undeserving, have suffered the earth’s wrong, The living dead left over from the war, Those filled with fear, caught in the cage, the broken winged, The flying loose, albino eyed, white, black, yellow and mulatto From Harlem, Bedlam, Babel, and the Ghetto, The Piccadilly men, the back street drunks, The grafters of cats’ heads on chickens’ trunks, The whole, the crippled, the weak and strong. The Western man with one lung gone. Epic cinematic dramatic dystopian futuristic scene

3 months ago

There is but one message for the earth, Young men with fallen chests and old men’s breath, dripping from their mouths. Ex-soldiers with horrors for a face, A pig’s snout for a nose, The lost in doubt, the nearly mad, the young who, undeserving, have suffered the earth’s wrong, The living dead left over from the war, Those filled with fear, caught in the cage, the broken winged, The flying loose, albino eyed, white, black, yellow and mulatto From Harlem, Bedlam, Babel, and the Ghetto, The Piccadilly men, the back street drunks, The grafters of cats’ heads on chickens’ trunks, The whole, the crippled, the weak and strong. The Western man with one lung gone. Epic cinematic dramatic dystopian futuristic scene

2 months ago

A lone guardian stands beside an ancient, moss-covered stone fountain at dusk. In the center of the fountain rises a weather-worn stone Pegasus, wings partially broken yet majestic, its form illuminated by the last silver rays of twilight filtering through the Nordic forest. The air is heavy with rainfall, drops cascading from the trees and splashing into the water’s dark surface. The character, soaked by the rain, keeps silent vigil near the fountain — armor glistening under the dim, cold light. Mist curls between the trees, and distant thunder rolls through the valley. Hyperrealistic cinematic lighting, Nordic atmosphere, 8K resolution, DSLR depth of field, National Geographic style, moody blue-gray palette, camera Canon 5D Mark IV, wide shot, soft rain motion blur, ambient realism, film grain.

1 month ago

A massive golden lion with powerful eagle wings emerging from its back, wings slightly raised as if preparing for flight. The lion stands on a windswept plain with broken ruins around it. Its wings begin to be plucked, and the beast is rising upright on its hind legs, receiving the heart of a man. The sky is dramatic and filled with glowing clouds, evoking divine judgment.

8 months ago

An ancient, 5-story pagoda with weathered tiers (hyper-detailed textures: peeling vermilion lacquer, cracked stone base, rusted bronze ornaments), off-center right, faint copper lantern (5% glow) hanging from eave. Luminous fog weaving between pillars, distant volcanic mountain under a veiled moon. 2:3 ratio, uncropped, monochrome charcoal gradients, 10% white space in sky, ultra-realistic, Ghost of Tsushima melancholy, depth of field. Single silhouetted sparrow (95% opacity, wings spread) dissolving into fog near mountain. Broken ceramic lantern at base mirroring tree's plates.

8 months ago

An ancient, 5-story pagoda with weathered tiers (hyper-detailed textures: peeling vermilion lacquer, cracked stone base, rusted bronze ornaments), off-center right, faint copper lantern (5% glow) hanging from eave. Luminous fog weaving between pillars, distant volcanic mountain under a veiled moon. 2:3 ratio, uncropped, monochrome charcoal gradients, 10% white space in sky, ultra-realistic, Ghost of Tsushima melancholy, depth of field. Single silhouetted sparrow (95% opacity, wings spread) dissolving into fog near mountain. Broken ceramic lantern at base mirroring tree's plates.

4 months ago

Tyrael from Diablo, ultra-realistic, standing in a cursed medieval cemetery at night, wearing a large hooded cloak, silver and gold armor detailed with ancient runes, face hidden in deep shadow, glowing golden angelic wings made of pure light, large and flowing. Rain is falling. Broken tombstones, cracked mausoleums and twisted dead trees surround him. Undead skeletons and decaying corpses are crawling out from open graves, reaching toward Tyrael. In the background, a destroyed gothic cathedral looms in the mist. The ground is muddy with puddles, mist rolls low across the scene. No bright lightning, only soft ambient torchlight and fog. Dark fantasy, cinematic, ultra-detailed, photorealistic, Diablo IV style.

7 months ago

A towering avenging demon with deep purple skin, glowing red eyes, and an intense, wrathful expression. His face is framed by multiple jagged horns and long, raven-black hair flowing like shadow in the night. His body is covered in razor-sharp bone spikes, and massive bat-like wings stretch wide behind him, their veins glowing faintly like cursed embers. He stands tall on a jagged obsidian cliff overlooking a hellish battlefield of broken statues, scorched banners, and smoldering ruins. The sky above is a vast canvas of stars, dominated by a huge glowing full moon, casting cold, silver-blue light across his form. Dark clouds drift slowly behind him, partially obscuring celestial constellations. The atmosphere is rich with dark fantasy energy — ominous lighting, deep shadows, and flashes of ethereal mist swirling at his feet. The scene is ultra-detailed in 4K, with vivid contrasts between glowing elements and shadow, capturing the raw force of vengeance and supernatural might.

7 months ago

A towering avenging demon with deep purple skin, glowing red eyes, and an intense, wrathful expression. His face is framed by multiple jagged horns and long, raven-black hair flowing like shadow in the night. His body is covered in razor-sharp bone spikes, and massive bat-like wings stretch wide behind him, their veins glowing faintly like cursed embers. He stands tall on a jagged obsidian cliff overlooking a hellish battlefield of broken statues, scorched banners, and smoldering ruins. The sky above is a vast canvas of stars, dominated by a huge glowing full moon, casting cold, silver-blue light across his form. Dark clouds drift slowly behind him, partially obscuring celestial constellations. The atmosphere is rich with dark fantasy energy — ominous lighting, deep shadows, and flashes of ethereal mist swirling at his feet. The scene is ultra-detailed in 4K, with vivid contrasts between glowing elements and shadow, capturing the raw force of vengeance and supernatural might.

3 months ago

Create a realistic cinematic image of a storm-lashed night. Heavy rain sweeps down in relentless sheets, driven by violent winds. At the edge of a remote cliff stands an old lighthouse, its whitewashed walls cracked, weathered, and peeling from decades of sea air. Perspective: from the base of the lighthouse, as if standing beside it, looking upward at a slight skew to the right. The great beacon spins slowly, casting sweeping arcs of light through the darkness. Composition is off-centre, with the lighthouse positioned to the left of the frame, aligned to the golden mean. At the pinnacle, an ancient dragon crouches on the crown of the tower, talons gripping the worn stone ledge. Wings unfurled, neck arched, the creature faces left, poised to launch into the storm. The beacon’s beam catches the underside of its wings and scales, highlighting texture and detail, while its upper body vanishes into the abyss of the night sky — half-concealed, ominous, and powerful. The night is almost absolute blackness, broken only when the rotating light slices through the storm. The mood is gothic and atmospheric: a haunting blend of menace and beauty, a clash of storm, stone, and myth.

4 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. 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.

25 days ago

lazypos, <lora:lazypos:1>, masterpiece, best quality, full body portrait, surreal fantastical monster girl, fusion of moth, crocodile, and cosmic ballerina automaton, massive layered moth wings glowing with constellations and arcane diagrams, elongated reptilian limbs with celestial scales and jointed doll hinges, crocodilian tail with embedded gemstones and golden inlays, porcelain faceplate with hollow starlight eyes and no mouth, crown of broken astrolabes and fractured timepieces orbiting her head, asymmetrical baroque corset carved from ivory and crystal, limbs wrapped in torn velvet ribbons inscribed with glowing runes, four arms posed mid-spin, two grasping long silk banners that dissolve into cosmic dust, floating mid-dance with spine twisted unnaturally, one leg outstretched, toes barely touching a floating marble fragment, extreme dutch angle, ultra low-angle POV, intense foreshortening, telephoto portrait lens compression, divine rim lighting in violet starlight and burning silver, background of an infinite void ballroom with shattered planetary rings and drifting cathedral ruins, glowing symbols rotating in the distance, ambient celestial fog and drifting embers, palette of iridescent obsidian, deep sapphire, holy gold, and spectral orchid, cel-shaded with glowing painterly highlights, hyper-detailed ink linework, cosmic horror-ballet aesthetic, divine relic-dancer of a dead star, hauntingly beautiful, tragic motion frozen in divine time

7 months ago

Deliverance Shadows given wings by sinful moonlight will haunt you until nothing remain the same. Thinking love would remember what hate could never forget assured your victory. Still alone is how you dream of forgiveness while unholy messiahs deliverance bends love until broken and raped, it bleeds.

18 days ago

TRIBUTE: THE SCAR AND THE MOST DANGEROUS BULL Murciélago Early Sunrise, golden hour morning, large sunrise, brilliant colours. A raw still frame. Not a photograph. An artifact of intent. It is a scar on the open landscape. The Murciélago LP 670-4 SV. Apex predator. Its orange hide is not a paint, but a warning, the colour of a no games. Its scissor doors are not open; they are splayed. A predator's broken jaw frozen mid-snarl. This is its war cry. Not a sound, but a pressure wave of pure intent. Every line is a fracture. Every vent a gill, breathing violence. The carbon fiber is not a finish; it is exposed muscle and bone. The massive rear wing is a blade, sharpened for a fight that has not yet been ordained. It is not parked. It is interrupted. A single, brutal noun in the sentence of the road. And rising behind this mechanical spectre is the legendary Black fighting bull known as Murciélago, the bull of 1879 who endured 24 swords and earned his immortality. His spirit is not charging; it is standing and preparing to charge. An immovable force meeting an unstoppable object—his own reincarnation = Murciélago. Two legends, separated by centuries, fused in a single moment of defiance. The last light does not gleam; it bleeds on their sharp edges. This is the moment after the roar and before the lunge. The silent, seismic war cry that shatters the air. This is the tribute. To the bull. To the machine. To the day the landscape was scarred by a legend, twice over. — JDHampton

18 days ago

TRIBUTE: THE SCAR AND THE MOST DANGEROUS BULL Murciélago Early Sunrise A raw still frame. Not a photograph. An artifact of intent. It is a scar on the open landscape. The Murciélago LP 670-4 SV. Apex predator. Its orange hide is not a paint, but a warning, the colour of a no games. Its scissor doors are not open; they are splayed. A predator's broken jaw frozen mid-snarl. This is its war cry. Not a sound, but a pressure wave of pure intent. Every line is a fracture. Every vent a gill, breathing violence. The carbon fiber is not a finish; it is exposed muscle and bone. The massive rear wing is a blade, sharpened for a fight that has not yet been ordained. It is not parked. It is interrupted. A single, brutal noun in the sentence of the road. And rising behind this mechanical spectre is the legendary Black fighting bull known as Murciélago, the bull of 1879 who endured 24 swords and earned his immortality. His spirit is not charging; it is standing and preparing to charge. An immovable force meeting an unstoppable object—his own reincarnation = Murciélago. Two legends, separated by centuries, fused in a single moment of defiance. The last light does not gleam; it bleeds on their sharp edges. This is the moment after the roar and before the lunge. The silent, seismic war cry that shatters the air. This is the tribute. To the bull. To the machine. To the day the landscape was scarred by a legend, twice over. — JDHampton