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AI art "Jackbox Tribute 16-Fakin' It" featuring #Black and white and #Shadow
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Jackbox Tribute 16-Fakin' It

One among a crowd is the Faker. Let's try to find him.

#Black and white#Shadow
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Brian Sheil

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8girls, 8boys, multiple girls, multiple boys, standing, full body, wide shot, from below, dutch angle, wooden floor, wood planks, light brown floorboards, shadows, cast shadow, trenchcoat, fedora, black text, english text, comic lettering, quote, white background, simple background, no outline, gradient background, high contrast, monochrome background, graphic design, poster A low, tilted wide shot looks up across a bare wooden floor: light-brown planks run in long parallel lines from the bottom edge of the frame toward a horizon line that never arrives, because beyond the floor there is nothing but an unbroken white field. Eight people stand on that flooring in a loose, uneven row across the middle of the frame, all of them on their feet, none of them posed alike, spread so that no two overlap. On the far left a tall person in a loose dark jacket stands with weight on the back foot and one hand shoved in a pocket, chin lifted, eyes cast off to the left. Beside them a shorter person in a pale oversized sweater rocks onto their toes, arms hanging, head tilted the other way. Third, a person in a plaid shirt with rolled sleeves stands square-shouldered, hands loose at their sides, looking straight out past the viewer. Fourth, a small figure in a hooded top stands with one knee slightly bent, hood down, face turned in profile toward the fifth. The fifth person, in a long pale coat, has turned half away from the camera, hands clasped behind the back, shoulders dropped. Sixth, a broad person in a dark knit top stands with both feet planted wide and arms crossed low over the stomach, gaze down at the floor. Seventh, a slight figure in a striped long-sleeve shirt has one hand lifted to scratch the back of the neck, hip cocked, looking up and to the right. Eighth, on the far right, a person in a short jacket stands with hands on hips, one brow up, staring flatly at the viewer. Their hair colours range from black through brown to a bleached pale blond, and each keep their own silhouette so the group reads as eight distinct bodies, not a chorus line. The light comes from high and behind the camera, low and raking: it strikes the tops of their shoulders and heads and lays a hard, clean shadow for each of them down across the planks toward the viewer, each shadow short and compact under the feet that cast it. One shadow does not match its owner. Between the fifth and sixth figures, thrown longer than the rest and reaching further down the boards than any other, lies the shadow of a man in a wide-shouldered trenchcoat with the brim of a fedora pulled low, its coat hem split and its brim casting a second dark bar across the shape of its face; no one in the row wears a coat or a hat, and the shadow falls at a slightly wrong angle to the others, as though cast by a body standing just out of frame behind the group. Along the plank seams the darkness pools in thin lines where the boards meet, sharpening each silhouette's edge. Above the heads of the eight, the white field is broken only by black lettering: the words "Fakin' It" set in a heavy, bouncy comic display face with thick irregular outlines and slight per-word tilt, laid flat across the top of the frame and sized to span the width of the group, the apostrophe drawn as a fat comic wedge. Below it the group holds still, the white background clean and absolute with no gradient, no scenery, no props. Palette: light-brown wood, near-black shadows and lettering, white, with the figures' clothes kept to muted greys, creams, darks and one bleached blond head. Stiff, funny, faintly uncanny.
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Original Prompt
Eight various people standing on a wooden floor, shadows cast from people, one shadow shaped like a man with a trenchcoat and fedora, comic font black text above people(Fakin' It), white background,
Mode
flash
Size
1104 x 1824
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Model & LoRA used

Tsubaki.3 Flash - AI Model cover image

PixAI DiT.3

Tsubaki.3 Flash
2.05k

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иs
bullying, classroom, 8 students, one victim surrounded by seven classmates, victim boy, red curly hair, round glasses, unzipped red and blue track jacket, black sweater, three girls, thirteen years old, chestnut hair, girl in jeans and blouse, girl in trousers and shirt, girl in black jeans and hoodie, disgusted expression, pitying contemptuous sneer, four boys, blond boy, two boys with chestnut hair, boy with black hair, green sweater, jeans, business suit, jeans and sweater, unbuttoned shirt over printed t-shirt, boy wanting to stop bullying, displeased frown, boy openly mocking, smug teasing grin, one smiling, victim angry, crying, tears, furrowed brows, open mouth shouting, standing, leaning on desk with both hands, both palms flat on desktop, arms braced, group encircling, from above, high angle, looking up, dutch angle, close-up on victim, depth of field, classroom desks and chairs, window light, tension, cruel amusement, half-closed eyes, smirk Shot from above and slightly to the side, the camera looks down through the ring of students at the victim, so the circle of bodies frames him and the classroom floor tiles fan out beneath the group. The victim boy stands at the center, both palms flat on a wooden desk, arms braced and elbows locked, shoulders hunched up around his ears; his red curly hair is a loose springy mop, and his round glasses sit crooked on his nose with one lens catching the window light. His face is a knot of fury and grief: dark brows drawn hard down, mouth open mid-shout, jaw thrust forward, and two bright tear tracks running from under the rims of his glasses to his chin, his eyes glossy and red-rimmed. The red and blue track jacket hangs unzipped and open over the black sweater, its collar pushed up at the back of his neck from the hunch of his shoulders, and the jacket's hem rides up where he leans. He is turned a quarter away from the lens, arguing with someone just off the near edge of frame, chin lifted, glaring up and sideways at the boy in the business suit. The desk he braces on sits squarely in the middle of the shot; its legs are visible below his spread fingers, and his knuckles whiten against the wood. Around him the seven classmates form a loose, uneven ring. Nearest the camera, seen over the victim's shoulder, the girl with chestnut hair in jeans and a blouse stands hipshot with one arm crossed over her stomach, her other hand lifted to her collarbone as if shielding herself, her lip curled and her nose wrinkled in disgust, eyes sliding down at him. Opposite her, the girl in trousers and shirt stands with her weight on one leg, head tipped back and to one side, eyes half-lidded in haughty, pitying contempt, a small cold smile at one corner of her mouth. The third girl, in black jeans and a hoodie, stands at the far edge of the circle with both hands pushed into her hoodie pocket, staring at the floor near the victim's shoes rather than at his face, her brow pinched. Of the boys, the blond in the green sweater stands closest on the victim's left, leaning in with a wide mocking grin, one finger jabbing toward the victim's glasses, his head cocked and eyes bright with delight. The boy in the business suit stands at the victim's right with his chin lifted and his hands behind his back, an impeccably composed smirk, watching the victim lose his temper with lazy satisfaction. Behind them the two chestnut-haired boys stand shoulder to shoulder, and the one in the jeans and sweater is turned half away, mouth pulled down, one hand raised palm-out toward the others in a small abortive gesture to stop, his eyes narrowed with distaste and fixed on the blond's pointing finger. Beside him the boy with black hair in jeans and the open shirt over a printed t-shirt is openly laughing, shoulders shaking, one hand on his own chest and the shirt hanging loose over the graphic tee. Every gaze but the third girl's lands on the victim or on the point where the blond's finger aims, and the victim's glare moves between them, settling longest on the suited boy. Cold daylight comes in from a tall window off-frame at the left, so the light strikes the left side of the victim's face and glasses and leaves the right side of the circle in soft shade; a long pale rectangle of window light lies on the floor tiles beneath the desks and is broken by the shadows of the students' legs, and the victim's shadow falls across the desktop under his hands. The palette stays narrow and cool: cream walls, gray-blue floor tiles, the red-blue of the track jacket and the green of the blond's sweater as the only strong colors. Textbook clutter on the desks, chalk dust in the air, the scuffed linoleum and the pressed wood of the desktop all rendered cleanly. Mature anime style with glossy, high-finish rendering and soft lighting, skin blended with subtle gradients and warm highlights for a polished, almost airbrushed look, controlled color harmony, smooth minimally visible brushwork. Tight, airless, cruel.
Ильич Sу.

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