null running in jungle

    A gritty, neon-drenched portrait of a cyberpunk bounty hunter set against the backdrop of a rain-soaked cityscape, where the boundaries between man and machine are blurred. The hunter's face is etched with lines and creases, their piercing eyes seeming to bore into your soul as they assess your worthiness. Their cybernetic enhancements - a glowing eye implant and sleek mechanical arm - testify to their unwavering dedication to their craft. Tactical clothing made from supple leather and cutting-edge materials hugs the hunter's physique, accentuating their toned muscles and strategically placed pockets, belts, and armor pieces that tell a story of battles fought and won. As their gaze meets yours, you feel a shiver run down your spine - it's as if they're sizing you up, weighing your worthiness to bear witness to their commitment. The weight of that responsibility is palpable, like a physical force pressing against your chest. Their long, dark coat billows behind them like a storm cloud as they move through the city streets, a high-tech weapon partially obscured within its folds, waiting for the moment when it will be unleashed with deadly precision. In this world, time itself seems fluid and malleable - hours blend into days, and years hang heavy in the air. The rain pounds against the pavement like a thousand tiny drums, each drop landing with a rhythmic beat that's both mesmerizing and unnerving. The cityscape is a kaleidoscope of neon lights and dark shadows, where skyscrapers pierce the sky like shards of broken glass. Flashes of bright light cut through the darkness, casting an otherworldly glow over everything. As you stand there, frozen in awe, the bounty hunter begins to move - their movements economical and precise, like a machine designed for maximum efficiency. They glide through the city streets with ease, leaving behind a trail of subtle ripples that distort the air around them. Their coat flows behind them like a dark cloak, billowing in the wind as they move with an unnerving silence - no footsteps, no rustling of fabric, just a smooth, fluid motion that belies their true nature: that of a high-tech predator stalking its prey through the urban jungle.
    The wild is fading, its last guardians standing against the encroaching tide of steel and smoke. A lion and a tigress remain, their presence both powerful and vulnerable in a world that no longer belongs to them. The lion, a sovereign of the untamed, carries the weight of his lineage in every movement. His golden mane, thick and radiant, catches the dying light, its strands rippling with a defiant glow. His amber eyes burn with something ancient—an unshaken spirit that refuses to bow, even as the thunderous roar of an approaching machine splits the air. The tigress, sleek and battle-worn, watches with sharp intensity. Her striped coat, once a perfect camouflage, now stands stark against the decaying remains of nature. Muscles coiled, ears attuned to the mechanical heartbeat of the world beyond, she senses what the lion already knows—there are fewer places left to run. Above, the rhythmic pulse of a helicopter shatters the silence, its relentless blades slicing through the poisoned sky. A spotlight glares through the thick haze, an unfeeling gaze scanning the last remnants of the wild. It does not see them as kings, as hunters, as legends. It sees only subjects to be recorded, data to be stored, an anomaly in a world now ruled by progress. Beyond, the land bears the scars of invasion. The river, once a pure and glistening artery of life, is now tainted with the sheen of industry. Its slow-moving waters carry the weight of chemical decay, reflecting not the stars, but the artificial glow of distant floodlights. The air, once filled with the whispers of trees and the scent of rain, now carries the acrid taste of smoke and iron. The jungle, shrinking with every passing day, stands in silent protest against a future it cannot stop. Yet the lion and the tigress remain. They do not flee. They do not yield. They are the last echoes of something greater—warriors of a kingdom erased by hands that will never understand what they have taken. And for this moment, they still exist. Not conquered. Not forgotten. Not yet. cinna flow, Simon Stalenhag Style
    Selfie, fisheye lens, photorealistic girl traveller screaming and running : in the background, angry lion, jungle
    A movie poster parody titled "Jurassic Pork," featuring a massive, menacing pig towering over a dense jungle landscape. The pig, with its tusks sharpened and snout flaring, is depicted in a dramatic stance, roaring with all the ferocity of a T-Rex. Its thick, pink hide is dotted with scars, and its beady eyes glow with a fierce determination, making it both hilarious and intimidating. In the foreground, a group of frightened, cartoonish farm animals—cows, chickens, and sheep—are running for their lives, their expressions exaggerated with terror. The title "Jurassic Pork" is boldly displayed at the top in the iconic Jurassic Park font, with the tagline below: "An Adventure 65 Million Meals in the Making." The background features a jungle with towering trees and thick vines, but with a twist—some of the foliage is made of oversized vegetables, like giant carrots and cabbages, adding to the absurdity. The sky is stormy, with flashes of lightning illuminating the pig's silhouette, creating a dramatic, action-packed vibe. At the bottom of the poster, the credits are listed in the traditional movie poster style, but with playful names like "Directed by Ham Spielberg" and "Produced by Bacon Studios." The overall design plays on the iconic imagery of "Jurassic Park," but with a humorous twist that turns the terrifying dinosaur adventure into a riotous farmyard escapade.
    the poster shows a massive dog—an oversized golden retriever—running through a jungle, its head towering above the trees. In the background, smaller dinosaurs scatter in terror as the dog gleefully chases after a giant, flying frisbee. The iconic T-Rex logo from the original movie is swapped with a silhouette of a dog mid-jump, and the title "Jurassic Bark" is written in bold red letters at the top, with a paw print replacing the "R" in "Bark." The tagline underneath reads, "Unleash the paw-sibilities!"
    A movie poster parody titled "Jurassic Pork," featuring a massive, menacing pig towering over a dense jungle landscape. The pig, with its tusks sharpened and snout flaring, is depicted in a dramatic stance, roaring with all the ferocity of a T-Rex. Its thick, pink hide is dotted with scars, and its beady eyes glow with a fierce determination, making it both hilarious and intimidating. In the foreground, a group of frightened, cartoonish farm animals—cows, chickens, and sheep—are running for their lives, their expressions exaggerated with terror. The title "Jurassic Pork" is boldly displayed at the top in the iconic Jurassic Park font, with the tagline below: "An Adventure 65 Million Meals in the Making." The background features a jungle with towering trees and thick vines, but with a twist—some of the foliage is made of oversized vegetables, like giant carrots and cabbages, adding to the absurdity. The sky is stormy, with flashes of lightning illuminating the pig's silhouette, creating a dramatic, action-packed vibe. At the bottom of the poster, the credits are listed in the traditional movie poster style, but with playful names like "Directed by Ham Spielberg" and "Produced by Bacon Studios." The overall design plays on the iconic imagery of "Jurassic Park," but with a humorous twist that turns the terrifying dinosaur adventure into a riotous farmyard escapade.
    A bold movie poster for "Jurassic Pork" features a towering, menacing boar with sharp tusks, roaring, standing on two legs, resembling a prehistoric beast. The boar looms over a dark jungle landscape, with trees and broken fences in the background, suggesting an escape from a containment area. In the foreground, terrified characters run away from boar, glancing back at the monstrous pig. The title "Jurassic Pork" is displayed in large, cracked stone letters, with vines and mud covering parts of the text. Above, a stormy sky crackles with lightning, casting an eerie glow over the chaotic scene. in small letters text "Enough to feed or eat a nation", <lora:flux\aidmaTextImprover-FLUX-V0.2.safetensors:0.7000000000000001:0.7000000000000001>
    anime style, rambo, John Rambo, holds a Hello Kitty backpack, running in jungle,
    I think jungle with a large river running through, the river is made of galaxies, water is made of stars planets and galaxies, hyperrealistic, ultra-detailed
    I think jungle with a large river running through, the river is made of galaxies, water is made of stars planets and galaxies, hyperrealistic, ultra-detailed
    I think jungle with a large river running through, the river is made of galaxies, water is made of stars planets and galaxies, hyperrealistic, ultra-detailed
    Selfie, fisheye lens, photorealistic girl traveller screaming and running : in the background, angry lion, jungle
    A velociraptor running through the Jurassic jungle, it is a mottled green and brown and yellow feathered therapod, god rays of sunlight shine through the dense and lush jungle canopy, the raptor is a powerful predator with extremely strong rear legs that enable it to run at speeds of 40 km per hour, the raptor has a long curved front claw on each foot, and grasping short clawed arms, it turns out that velociraptors were also feathered and had yellow coloration on their underside, hawk-like brown and grey patterns on its upper feathers, the fierce therapod represents a cross between reptilian and avian features of evolution, the raptor was an excellent pack hunter during the Jurassic
    A gritty, neon-drenched portrait of a cyberpunk bounty hunter set against the backdrop of a rain-soaked cityscape, where the boundaries between man and machine are blurred. The hunter's face is etched with lines and creases, their piercing eyes seeming to bore into your soul as they assess your worthiness. Their cybernetic enhancements - a glowing eye implant and sleek mechanical arm - testify to their unwavering dedication to their craft. Tactical clothing made from supple leather and cutting-edge materials hugs the hunter's physique, accentuating their toned muscles and strategically placed pockets, belts, and armor pieces that tell a story of battles fought and won. As their gaze meets yours, you feel a shiver run down your spine - it's as if they're sizing you up, weighing your worthiness to bear witness to their commitment. The weight of that responsibility is palpable, like a physical force pressing against your chest. Their long, dark coat billows behind them like a storm cloud as they move through the city streets, a high-tech weapon partially obscured within its folds, waiting for the moment when it will be unleashed with deadly precision. In this world, time itself seems fluid and malleable - hours blend into days, and years hang heavy in the air. The rain pounds against the pavement like a thousand tiny drums, each drop landing with a rhythmic beat that's both mesmerizing and unnerving. The cityscape is a kaleidoscope of neon lights and dark shadows, where skyscrapers pierce the sky like shards of broken glass. Flashes of bright light cut through the darkness, casting an otherworldly glow over everything. As you stand there, frozen in awe, the bounty hunter begins to move - their movements economical and precise, like a machine designed for maximum efficiency. They glide through the city streets with ease, leaving behind a trail of subtle ripples that distort the air around them. Their coat flows behind them like a dark cloak, billowing in the wind as they move with an unnerving silence - no footsteps, no rustling of fabric, just a smooth, fluid motion that belies their true nature: that of a high-tech predator stalking its prey through the urban jungle.
    I think jungle with a large river running through, the river is made of galaxies, water is made of stars planets and galaxies, hyperrealistic, ultra-detailed
    The image captures a high-stakes moment as Indiana Jones and a young woman run side by side, their faces filled with desperation. They are being pursued by a colossal, realistic cobra with a dramatically oversized head. The cobra's massive hood flares out like large "ears," a defining feature of real cobras, making the creature appear even more intimidating. Its eyes burn with a fierce intensity, and its mouth is wide open, revealing sharp fangs as it rapidly slithers closer. Indiana Jones, dressed in his iconic hat, leather jacket, and boots, runs with sweat pouring down his face. The woman, ruggedly dressed in adventure gear, has her hair flying wildly, her expression equally panicked. Both sprint forward, eyes fixed ahead, their faces etched with fear, fully aware of the danger behind them. The cobra's immense head dominates the background, its size overwhelming in comparison to the two fleeing figures. The jungle setting is dense with foliage, towering trees, and ancient ruins, providing the perfect backdrop for this life-or-death chase. The ground quakes as the cobra’s enormous body cuts through the undergrowth, disrupting the jungle floor with its rapid movement. Dramatic lighting highlights the cobra's enlarged head and hood, casting shadows that amplify the tension. Indiana Jones and the woman, illuminated by patches of light, stand out against the darker, moody jungle, enhancing the urgency and scale of the scene.
    A velociraptor running through the Jurassic jungle, it is a mottled green and brown and yellow feathered therapod, god rays of sunlight shine through the dense and lush jungle canopy, the raptor is a powerful predator with extremely strong rear legs that enable it to run at speeds of 40 km per hour, the raptor has a long curved front claw on each foot, and grasping short clawed arms, it turns out that velociraptors were also feathered and had yellow coloration on their underside, hawk-like brown and grey patterns on its upper feathers, the fierce therapod represents a cross between reptilian and avian features of evolution, the raptor was an excellent pack hunter during the Jurassic
    Beneath the golden light of a dying sun, three tigers stand as silent sentinels of a world slipping away. Their den, once a sanctuary deep in the jungle, now lies in the shadow of a relentless industrial invasion. Smoke rises in thick, curling plumes from the factory in the distance, its skeletal towers clawing at the sky, tearing into the land that once belonged to them. The river, which once mirrored the heavens in its crystalline depths, now runs thick with chemical waste, its surface shimmering with a sickly iridescence. Overhead, an unfeeling drone hovers, its cold mechanical eye locked onto them, reducing the last great beasts of the wild to mere data. At the forefront stands the male tiger, a magnificent creature of sheer power and untamed beauty. His broad shoulders ripple with muscle, and his thick, flowing mane—a rarity among his kind—catches the last golden light, each strand a testament to the strength of his lineage. His amber eyes burn with defiance as he lifts his gaze toward the drone, the artificial intruder dissecting his very existence with a lifeless stare. His breath is slow, steady—he does not run. He does not cower. He simply watches, daring the machine to look upon him and understand what it has come to destroy. To his left, a tigress crouches low against the withering jungle undergrowth. Her sleek, battle-hardened body is coiled with tension, her muscles taut beneath her striking orange and black pelt. Her ears flick at the distant roar of machines, her sharp eyes flickering between the drone above and the poisoned river below. A soft growl rumbles in her throat, a sound both protective and mournful. She remembers when the air was filled with the scent of fresh rain and earth, not the acrid tang of steel and smoke. Partially concealed within the den’s darkened entrance, the eldest tigress lingers like a specter of the past. Her once-flawless coat bears the marks of countless battles—not just against prey, but against time, hunger, and the encroachment of man. Scars lace her form, silent records of a world that no longer belongs to them. Her gaze drifts past the factory, beyond the fading jungle, to where the land once stretched unbroken and free. She does not need to see the future to know what is coming—she has already felt it in the quiet disappearance of the herds, in the strange hum of machines replacing the songs of the forest. The composition of this piece is breathtaking, an emotional contrast of power and vulnerability. The warm, golden hues of the tigers' fur stand against the lifeless grays and metallic tones of the factory. Smoke and sunlight intertwine in the sky, a battle of nature versus progress. The river, both beautiful and tragic in its shimmering toxicity, winds like a dying vein through the heart of this fractured world. The drone, a symbol of human detachment, looms overhead—watching, recording, but never truly seeing. This is more than a depiction of endangered creatures. This is a moment in time, a visual elegy for all that is being lost. The tigers stand together, not just as individuals, but as a fading lineage—an echo of a wildness that once roamed without boundaries. In this frozen moment, they remain majestic, untamed, unbroken. But for how much longer? Simon Stalenhag Style, v3lkat0k
    Beneath the golden light of a dying sun, three tigers stand as silent sentinels of a world slipping away. Their den, once a sanctuary deep in the jungle, now lies in the shadow of a relentless industrial invasion. Smoke rises in thick, curling plumes from the factory in the distance, its skeletal towers clawing at the sky, tearing into the land that once belonged to them. The river, which once mirrored the heavens in its crystalline depths, now runs thick with chemical waste, its surface shimmering with a sickly iridescence. Overhead, an unfeeling drone hovers, its cold mechanical eye locked onto them, reducing the last great beasts of the wild to mere data. At the forefront stands the male tiger, a magnificent creature of sheer power and untamed beauty. His broad shoulders ripple with muscle, and his thick, flowing mane—a rarity among his kind—catches the last golden light, each strand a testament to the strength of his lineage. His amber eyes burn with defiance as he lifts his gaze toward the drone, the artificial intruder dissecting his very existence with a lifeless stare. His breath is slow, steady—he does not run. He does not cower. He simply watches, daring the machine to look upon him and understand what it has come to destroy. To his left, a tigress crouches low against the withering jungle undergrowth. Her sleek, battle-hardened body is coiled with tension, her muscles taut beneath her striking orange and black pelt. Her ears flick at the distant roar of machines, her sharp eyes flickering between the drone above and the poisoned river below. A soft growl rumbles in her throat, a sound both protective and mournful. She remembers when the air was filled with the scent of fresh rain and earth, not the acrid tang of steel and smoke. Partially concealed within the den’s darkened entrance, the eldest tigress lingers like a specter of the past. Her once-flawless coat bears the marks of countless battles—not just against prey, but against time, hunger, and the encroachment of man. Scars lace her form, silent records of a world that no longer belongs to them. Her gaze drifts past the factory, beyond the fading jungle, to where the land once stretched unbroken and free. She does not need to see the future to know what is coming—she has already felt it in the quiet disappearance of the herds, in the strange hum of machines replacing the songs of the forest. The composition of this piece is breathtaking, an emotional contrast of power and vulnerability. The warm, golden hues of the tigers' fur stand against the lifeless grays and metallic tones of the factory. Smoke and sunlight intertwine in the sky, a battle of nature versus progress. The river, both beautiful and tragic in its shimmering toxicity, winds like a dying vein through the heart of this fractured world. The drone, a symbol of human detachment, looms overhead—watching, recording, but never truly seeing. This is more than a depiction of endangered creatures. This is a moment in time, a visual elegy for all that is being lost. The tigers stand together, not just as individuals, but as a fading lineage—an echo of a wildness that once roamed without boundaries. In this frozen moment, they remain majestic, untamed, unbroken. But for how much longer? Simon Stalenhag Style, v3lkat0k
    Beneath the golden light of a dying sun, three tigers stand as silent sentinels of a world slipping away. Their den, once a sanctuary deep in the jungle, now lies in the shadow of a relentless industrial invasion. Smoke rises in thick, curling plumes from the factory in the distance, its skeletal towers clawing at the sky, tearing into the land that once belonged to them. The river, which once mirrored the heavens in its crystalline depths, now runs thick with chemical waste, its surface shimmering with a sickly iridescence. Overhead, an unfeeling drone hovers, its cold mechanical eye locked onto them, reducing the last great beasts of the wild to mere data. At the forefront stands the male tiger, a magnificent creature of sheer power and untamed beauty. His broad shoulders ripple with muscle, and his thick, flowing mane—a rarity among his kind—catches the last golden light, each strand a testament to the strength of his lineage. His amber eyes burn with defiance as he lifts his gaze toward the drone, the artificial intruder dissecting his very existence with a lifeless stare. His breath is slow, steady—he does not run. He does not cower. He simply watches, daring the machine to look upon him and understand what it has come to destroy. To his left, a tigress crouches low against the withering jungle undergrowth. Her sleek, battle-hardened body is coiled with tension, her muscles taut beneath her striking orange and black pelt. Her ears flick at the distant roar of machines, her sharp eyes flickering between the drone above and the poisoned river below. A soft growl rumbles in her throat, a sound both protective and mournful. She remembers when the air was filled with the scent of fresh rain and earth, not the acrid tang of steel and smoke. Partially concealed within the den’s darkened entrance, the eldest tigress lingers like a specter of the past. Her once-flawless coat bears the marks of countless battles—not just against prey, but against time, hunger, and the encroachment of man. Scars lace her form, silent records of a world that no longer belongs to them. Her gaze drifts past the factory, beyond the fading jungle, to where the land once stretched unbroken and free. She does not need to see the future to know what is coming—she has already felt it in the quiet disappearance of the herds, in the strange hum of machines replacing the songs of the forest. The composition of this piece is breathtaking, an emotional contrast of power and vulnerability. The warm, golden hues of the tigers' fur stand against the lifeless grays and metallic tones of the factory. Smoke and sunlight intertwine in the sky, a battle of nature versus progress. The river, both beautiful and tragic in its shimmering toxicity, winds like a dying vein through the heart of this fractured world. The drone, a symbol of human detachment, looms overhead—watching, recording, but never truly seeing. This is more than a depiction of endangered creatures. This is a moment in time, a visual elegy for all that is being lost. The tigers stand together, not just as individuals, but as a fading lineage—an echo of a wildness that once roamed without boundaries. In this frozen moment, they remain majestic, untamed, unbroken. But for how much longer? cinna flow, Simon Stalenhag Style
    anime style, rambo, John Rambo, holds a Hello Kitty backpack, running in jungle,
    Create a photorealistic image of 1young woman is bathing happily with cute 1 baby elephant in a lake surrounded by a breathtaking paradise jungle, water Runs happily out of the baby elephants trunk, colorful flowers, from a distance, wide angled, a light veil lies over the picture, a rich and complex image of nature, a vibrant web of digitally captured tones and textures, best quality, double exposure, realistic, captivating, fantastical, splash art, intricately detailed, hyper detailed, maximalist style, photorealistic, concept art, sharp focus, harmony, serenity, calm, mysterious glow, dynamic lighting, masterpiece, superb composition, finest details, highest aesthetic, ((front view)), mystical glow, best quality, sharp focus, high contrast, stylized, clear, colorful, ultra quality, 8k, best quality, masterpiece, award winning, a breathtaking masterpiece, award winning, DB4RZ, DB4RZ style painting, NeoPigma, in the style of cksc, anime, cyberpunk, no other human is visible, only the woman and the elephant, only Upper Body of woman is visible
    Beneath the golden light of a dying sun, three tigers stand as silent sentinels of a world slipping away. Their den, once a sanctuary deep in the jungle, now lies in the shadow of a relentless industrial invasion. Smoke rises in thick, curling plumes from the factory in the distance, its skeletal towers clawing at the sky, tearing into the land that once belonged to them. The river, which once mirrored the heavens in its crystalline depths, now runs thick with chemical waste, its surface shimmering with a sickly iridescence. Overhead, an unfeeling drone hovers, its cold mechanical eye locked onto them, reducing the last great beasts of the wild to mere data. At the forefront stands the male tiger, a magnificent creature of sheer power and untamed beauty. His broad shoulders ripple with muscle, and his thick, flowing mane—a rarity among his kind—catches the last golden light, each strand a testament to the strength of his lineage. His amber eyes burn with defiance as he lifts his gaze toward the drone, the artificial intruder dissecting his very existence with a lifeless stare. His breath is slow, steady—he does not run. He does not cower. He simply watches, daring the machine to look upon him and understand what it has come to destroy. To his left, a tigress crouches low against the withering jungle undergrowth. Her sleek, battle-hardened body is coiled with tension, her muscles taut beneath her striking orange and black pelt. Her ears flick at the distant roar of machines, her sharp eyes flickering between the drone above and the poisoned river below. A soft growl rumbles in her throat, a sound both protective and mournful. She remembers when the air was filled with the scent of fresh rain and earth, not the acrid tang of steel and smoke. Partially concealed within the den’s darkened entrance, the eldest tigress lingers like a specter of the past. Her once-flawless coat bears the marks of countless battles—not just against prey, but against time, hunger, and the encroachment of man. Scars lace her form, silent records of a world that no longer belongs to them. Her gaze drifts past the factory, beyond the fading jungle, to where the land once stretched unbroken and free. She does not need to see the future to know what is coming—she has already felt it in the quiet disappearance of the herds, in the strange hum of machines replacing the songs of the forest. The composition of this piece is breathtaking, an emotional contrast of power and vulnerability. The warm, golden hues of the tigers' fur stand against the lifeless grays and metallic tones of the factory. Smoke and sunlight intertwine in the sky, a battle of nature versus progress. The river, both beautiful and tragic in its shimmering toxicity, winds like a dying vein through the heart of this fractured world. The drone, a symbol of human detachment, looms overhead—watching, recording, but never truly seeing. This is more than a depiction of endangered creatures. This is a moment in time, a visual elegy for all that is being lost. The tigers stand together, not just as individuals, but as a fading lineage—an echo of a wildness that once roamed without boundaries. In this frozen moment, they remain majestic, untamed, unbroken. But for how much longer? Simon Stalenhag Style, v3lkat0k

      FLUX

    • Dev - flux_dev.safetensors