Placeholder: boots , the yoga rat man, big black iris eyes with yellow glints, ou’re looking at someone who doesn’t just walk into shadows—they belong to them. The black robes cling like a second skin, the belt tied tight with gold thread that catches the light only when he moves. His face is wrapped, but not hidden—his eyes glow like embers, red and steady, as if he’s already seen what waits inside the cave. The tail curls behind him, not in fear, but in readiness. He doesn’t need a torch, by Rembrandt boots , the yoga rat man, big black iris eyes with yellow glints, ou’re looking at someone who doesn’t just walk into shadows—they belong to them. The black robes cling like a second skin, the belt tied tight with gold thread that catches the light only when he moves. His face is wrapped, but not hidden—his eyes glow like embers, red and steady, as if he’s already seen what waits inside the cave. The tail curls behind him, not in fear, but in readiness. He doesn’t need a torch, by Rembrandt

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@Haraberget

Prompt

boots , the yoga rat man, big black iris eyes with yellow glints, ou’re looking at someone who doesn’t just walk into shadows—they belong to them. The black robes cling like a second skin, the belt tied tight with gold thread that catches the light only when he moves. His face is wrapped, but not hidden—his eyes glow like embers, red and steady, as if he’s already seen what waits inside the cave. The tail curls behind him, not in fear, but in readiness. He doesn’t need a torch, by Rembrandt

7 days ago

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Model

FLUX.1

Guidance Scale

12

Dimensions

832 × 1248

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boots , the yoga rat man, big black iris eyes with yellow glints, ou’re looking at someone who doesn’t just walk into shadows—they belong to them. The black robes cling like a second skin, the belt tied tight with gold thread that catches the light only when he moves. His face is wrapped, but not hidden—his eyes glow like embers, red and steady, as if he’s already seen what waits inside the cave. The tail curls behind him, not in fear, but in readiness. He doesn’t need a torch, by Rembrandt
the rat man, ou’re looking at someone who doesn’t just walk into shadows—they belong to them. The black robes cling like a second skin, the belt tied tight with gold thread that catches the light only when he moves. His face is wrapped, but not hidden—his eyes glow like embers, red and steady, as if he’s already seen what waits inside the cave. The tail curls behind him, not in fear, but in readiness. He doesn’t need a torch, because the darkness answers him.
the yoga rat man, big black iris eyes with yellow glints, ou’re looking at someone who doesn’t just walk into shadows—they belong to them. The black robes cling like a second skin, the belt tied tight with gold thread that catches the light only when he moves. His face is wrapped, but not hidden—his eyes glow like embers, red and steady, as if he’s already seen what waits inside the cave. The tail curls behind him, not in fear, but in readiness. He doesn’t need a torch, by Rembrandt
boots , the yoga rat man guard, black iris eyes with yellow glints, ou’re looking at someone who doesn’t just walk into shadows—they belong to them. The black robes cling like a second skin, the belt tied tight with gold thread that catches the light only when he moves. His face is wrapped, but not hidden—his eyes glow like embers, red and steady, as if he’s already seen what waits inside the cave. The tail curls behind him, not in fear, but in readiness. He doesn’t need a torch, by Rembrandt
the yoga rat man, big black iris eyes with yellow glints, ou’re looking at someone who doesn’t just walk into shadows—they belong to them. The black robes cling like a second skin, the belt tied tight with gold thread that catches the light only when he moves. His face is wrapped, but not hidden—his eyes glow like embers, red and steady, as if he’s already seen what waits inside the cave. The tail curls behind him, not in fear, but in readiness. He doesn’t need a torch, by Rembrandt
boots , the yoga rat man guard, black iris eyes with yellow glints, ou’re looking at someone who doesn’t just walk into shadows—they belong to them. The black robes cling like a second skin, the belt tied tight with gold thread that catches the light only when he moves. His face is wrapped, but not hidden—his eyes glow like embers, red and steady, as if he’s already seen what waits inside the cave. The tail curls behind him, not in fear, but in readiness. He doesn’t need a torch, by Rembrandt
the yoga rat man, big black iris eyes with yellow glints, ou’re looking at someone who doesn’t just walk into shadows—they belong to them. The black robes cling like a second skin, the belt tied tight with gold thread that catches the light only when he moves. His face is wrapped, but not hidden—his eyes glow like embers, red and steady, as if he’s already seen what waits inside the cave. The tail curls behind him, not in fear, but in readiness. He doesn’t need a torch, by Rembrandt
the rat man, ou’re looking at someone who doesn’t just walk into shadows—they belong to them. The black robes cling like a second skin, the belt tied tight with gold thread that catches the light only when he moves. His face is wrapped, but not hidden—his eyes glow like embers, red and steady, as if he’s already seen what waits inside the cave. The tail curls behind him, not in fear, but in readiness. He doesn’t need a torch, because the darkness answers him.
full figure, the yoga rat man, big black iris eyes with yellow glints, ou’re looking at someone who doesn’t just walk into shadows—they belong to them. The black robes cling like a second skin, the belt tied tight with gold thread that catches the light only when he moves. His face is wrapped, but not hidden—his eyes glow like embers, red and steady, as if he’s already seen what waits inside the cave. The tail curls behind him, not in fear, but in readiness. He doesn’t need a torch, by Rembrandt
the yoga rat man, big black iris eyes with yellow glints, ou’re looking at someone who doesn’t just walk into shadows—they belong to them. The black robes cling like a second skin, the belt tied tight with gold thread that catches the light only when he moves. His face is wrapped, but not hidden—his eyes glow like embers, red and steady, as if he’s already seen what waits inside the cave. The tail curls behind him, not in fear, but in readiness. He doesn’t need a torch, because the darkness
the rat man, ou’re looking at someone who doesn’t just walk into shadows—they belong to them. The black robes cling like a second skin, the belt tied tight with gold thread that catches the light only when he moves. His face is wrapped, but not hidden—his eyes glow like embers, red and steady, as if he’s already seen what waits inside the cave. The tail curls behind him, not in fear, but in readiness. He doesn’t need a torch, because the darkness answers him.
the yoga rat man, big black iris eyes with yellow glints, ou’re looking at someone who doesn’t just walk into shadows—they belong to them. The black robes cling like a second skin, the belt tied tight with gold thread that catches the light only when he moves. His face is wrapped, but not hidden—his eyes glow like embers, red and steady, as if he’s already seen what waits inside the cave. The tail curls behind him, not in fear, but in readiness. He doesn’t need a torch, because the darkness
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