Placeholder: the window of the summer house: Hellish Maggot the window of the summer house: Hellish Maggot

@generalpha

Prompt

the window of the summer house: Hellish Maggot

statue, doubles, twins, entangled fingers, Worst Quality, ugly, ugly face, watermarks, undetailed, unrealistic, double limbs, worst hands, worst body, Disfigured, double, twin, dialog, book, multiple fingers, deformed, deformity, ugliness, poorly drawn face, extra_limb, extra limbs, bad hands, wrong hands, poorly drawn hands, messy drawing, cropped head, bad anatomy, lowres, extra digit, fewer digit, worst quality, low quality, jpeg artifacts, watermark, missing fingers, cropped, poorly drawn

1 year ago

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Model

SSD-1B

Guidance Scale

7

Dimensions

1024 × 1024

Similar

the window of the summer house: Hellish Maggot
a demon knocks at the door [A scene viewed through a door peephole, circular fisheye lens distortion, soft dark vignette around edges, slightly warped perspective, as if looking through a small aperture]
[a mouse at the forefront] Outside the security of her hole, the mouse freezes, her tiny heart pounding with a mix of trepidation and determination. The cat, a formidable presence, looms before her, its eyes gleaming with predatory intent. The mouse longs to retreat to the familiar comfort of her sanctuary, but the cat's menacing gaze holds her captive.
Historical craniometric studies found that the Beaker people appeared to be of a different physical type than those earlier populations in the same geographic areas. They were described as tall, heavy boned and brachycephalic. The early studies on the Beakers which were based on the analysis of their skeletal remains, were craniometric. This apparent evidence of migration was in line with archaeological discoveries linking Beaker culture to new farming techniques, mortuary practices, copper-work
Ce jour-là près de la source, Dieu sait ce que tu m'as dit Mais l'été finit sa course, l'oiseau tomba de son nid Et voilà que sur le sable nos pas s'effacent déjà Et je suis seul à la table qui résonne sous mes doigts Comme un tambourin qui pleure sous les gouttes de la pluie Comme les chansons qui meurent aussitôt qu'on les oublie
driftwood planks Background
Give them one of those captivating styles... Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Solzhenitsyn... Yes... a psychological journey... channel Gogol with a touch of Orwell... blend in a little Cold War... sure... surreal events in a Soviet town... a man encounters a phantom trooper lurking in an abandoned factory... "Twilight Zone." Now... what do they look like? No! Not that! Did that before-- What? No, not that way! Damn deadlines. They're throwing me off completely. Too much pressure. Mixing up the scenes! Too
Rows of makeshift structures, constructed from salvaged materials, were scattered throughout the cavern. These served as living quarters, workshops, and communal areas for the bunker's residents. Rustic furnishings, handcrafted from repurposed materials, added a sense of comfort and homeliness to the otherwise stark environment. In one corner, a small hydroponic garden thrived, its verdant greenery providing a stark contrast to the rocky surroundings. The carefully tended plants offered a sourc
Introvency
Like a tunnel that you follow to a tunnel of its own Down a hollow to a cavern where the sun has never shone Like a door that keeps revolving in a half forgotten dream Or the ripples from a pebble someone tosses in a stream Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face And the world is like an apple whirling silently in space Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind!
a mouse at the forefront, outside, she wants to go back in her hole, a cat is blocking the way
you press on her entrance, her jungle, her mound, and she likes it

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