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テストケース　琉朱菜と三十木谷薫6

テストケース琉朱菜と三十木谷薫6 AI art by 創龍鳳エイジ on PixAI. Made with Tsubaki.3 Flash.

Published on Nov 12, 2026

創龍鳳エイジ

character: misogiya_kaoru, tendou_rushuna, copyright: code_geass 2girls, tendou_rushuna, misogiya_kaoru, from below, extreme low angle, looking up, dutch angle, wide shot, tall female, 11-heads-tall proportions, slim toned muscles, very slim waist, extremely large breasts, blonde hair, long hair, hair parted on the left-eye side, two ahoge, bare head, no hat, very large pupils, very long outer-corner eyelashes, yellow eyes, CLAMP-style face, vermilion innerwear, undone vermilion obi slipping loose, open light blue haori fallen off shoulders, holster on hip, gan glove, metal-reinforced vermilion boots, revolver in one hand, falling over, mid-fall, arms flailing, wide-eyed shock, bouncing breasts, breasts swaying innerwear, motion lines, tiny girl, very small child, blonde hair, braid, braided sidelock, blue eyes, hugging, clinging to leg, steam, rocky ground, torii gate, small shrine, old main hall, distant, just after sunset, dark night sky, faint moonlight, no text. The camera sits almost on the wet stone floor and looks steeply up: the whole frame is tilted a few degrees off level, so the great vermilion torii gate's two pillars cut diagonally across a sky that has just gone dark, its crossbeam leaving the top edge of the picture. Directly above the lens, filling the upper two-thirds, the tall woman is caught at the exact instant of falling backward — her long body stretched on one long diagonal, spine arched, hips thrown forward and knees giving way, one vermilion metal-reinforced boot skidding on the wet rock and the other lifting clear of the ground with the toe pointed. Her proportion is that of a fashion-plate figure, eleven heads tall, and under the skin the muscles are narrow, dry and defined: a fine line down the forearm, a taut tendon at the neck, a flat plane from ribcage to hip so that the waist pinches in severely before flaring into enormous, heavy breasts. The vermilion innerwear strains across them; they are already in motion, sagging then rebounding a beat behind her body, pulling the cloth with their own follow-through, the fabric's folds stretched into long taut creases over the swell and bunched loose beneath. The light blue haori has slipped off both shoulders and falls open down her arms, its sleeves billowing backward behind her in the gap of air her fall has opened. The vermilion obi is untied — the knot come apart, one end uncoiling away from her waist and the other trailing across her hip. A holster rides her hip; in her right hand, thrown out to the side and slightly forward of her chest, the revolver is gripped in a black gan glove, the gloved fingers long and precise around the checkered grip, the barrel angled upward and catching a thin edge of light. Her blonde hair is loose and lifted away from her head in the drop, streaming upward, and at the crown two ahoge stand out — her head is completely bare, no hat of any kind, the crown clear so both strands read sharply against the sky. Her face is drawn with fine, elegant, spidery CLAMP-style lines: a small pointed chin, a thin nose, and eyes thrown wide open in shock — the pupils vast and black within them, the eyelashes at the outer corners drawn out into extremely long fine spikes that sweep upward. Her gaze points steeply downward, straight past her own falling body toward the little girl at the bottom of the frame, and her mouth is slightly open on a caught breath. Down at the very bottom edge, tiny in the wide low angle, the small girl clings to the woman's near leg: both thin arms wrapped around the boot and the shin above it, cheek pressed flat against the reinforced metal, her own blonde hair with its braided sidelock swinging forward over her shoulder, blue eyes screwed shut, feet planted wide on the rock to brace the weight of a body far bigger than hers. Her size is set by the boot beside her — no taller than the woman's knee. The ground is wet, dark volcanic rock, its ledges glossy and reflecting the sky, and from the cracks between the stones a fine steam rises in soft vertical ribbons, thickening visibly as it crosses the moonlight, drifting up around the torii's pillars and dissolving before it reaches the crossbeam. Beyond and below, framed inside the gate, a small shrine sits with its old main hall farther off, its roof a low dim silhouette against the horizon where the last pale orange band of afterglow still glows faintly behind it. Above, the sky is a deep blue-black, and the moon — a thin, faint crescent — is the only light: cool silver on the woman's upturned throat, on the rim of the revolver's cylinder, on the outer edge of her forearms and the tops of the steam curls, and everything turned away from it sinks into blue-black shadow; the torchless shrine and the underside of the gate stay dark, and the whole scene is one single cold source with no second light anywhere. Palette: vermilion and light blue, blonde gold, black gunmetal, wet stone grey, and the moon's cold blue-white, nothing else. The steam is the revealer — it makes the still, cold air of the moment after sunset visible while the falling body tears through it. Cinematic, faintly ominous.

テストケース 琉朱菜と三十木谷薫6

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テストケース　琉朱菜と三十木谷薫6