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v4r.justin#0

AI art by v4r.justin#0 on PixAI. Made with Tsubaki.3 Flash.

v4

v4r.justin#0

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character: emilia_(re:zero) 1girl, solo, emilia_(re:zero), long hair, white hair, purple eyes, braid, hair ornament, hair flower, black eyeliner, skinny, medium breasts, bruised, blood, bandage, bandaged hands, black and white satin sports bra, sponsor logos, black and white skin tight shorts, boxing ring, fists up, fighting stance, serious, nervous, dizzy, horny, cowboy shot, upper body, close-up, from in front, old pub, wooden walls, cheering crowd, realistic, looking at viewer, A front-facing cowboy shot cropped at the hips, the camera slightly below ring-floor level so the viewer looks up across the near ropes: at the centre of the frame she stands squared to the lens, one shoulder dropped, both bandaged fists raised between her chin and her collarbone in a tight guard, knuckles turned inward, the left fist a hand's width higher and a little forward of the right, elbows tucked against her ribs, thumbs locked over curled fingers. Her weight hangs on her back leg, the front knee slack and turned inward, so the whole torso lists a few degrees off vertical and the guard sits slightly low, the way a tired fighter's does. Her chin is up but her head is tilted a touch to her left, eyes half-lidded and unfocused, pupils aimed just past the lens rather than into it, both irises catching the overhead light with a wet glassy shine; a heavy black eyeliner wing has smeared at the outer corner of the right eye and dragged a faint dark streak toward her temple. Colour rides high on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, lips parted on a short breath, one lip corner pulled in and caught between her teeth in a small nervous bite, the wet edge of the lower lip shining. Her white hair is loose from its braid at the crown, the braid fallen forward over her right shoulder and hanging down the chest, the small flower at the side of her head knocked askew, several fine strands stuck to the sweat at her cheek and throat. Bruises map her visible skin: a purple-green shadow swelling under the left eye, a split at the inner brow with a dried dark line down the cheek from it, a bruised bloom across the right ribs just under the bra band, and a red graze on the point of the left shoulder. A thin trickle of blood runs from her right nostril over her upper lip to the corner of her mouth, drying darker where it thins. Her fists are wrapped in off-white cloth bandages, wound in overlapping diagonal turns around the knuckles and wrist, the fabric dirty and compressed, a coin-sized bloom of fresh red soaking through the wrap over the front knuckles of the right hand and a rustier brown ring on the left. The sports bra is black satin with white piping along the neckline and underband, sheened with a hard wet highlight across the bust, sponsor patches sewn along the underband and one on the left cup โ€” a rectangular black-and-white patch reading "IRON FIST GYM", a smaller round patch above it, and fine illegible print under them; the black-and-white shorts are cut high at the hip and grip the skin tight, their white waistband carrying a second sponsor band whose lettering stretches with the fabric where it pulls across her hip. Sweat beads stand on her collarbones and run in a short track down the sternum into the band's edge. The ring frames her: a near rope crosses the lower foreground in a soft blur just under her elbows, the middle and far ropes cut behind her shoulders, the corner post rising to the right of frame. Above and behind, her own cast shadow is thrown long and broken across the scuffed canvas because the light is coming from behind her head. An old pub wraps the ring โ€” dark plank walls of unpolished wood, a low ceiling lost in shadow, a bar counter glimpsed at the far left and hanging bulbs in tin shades. The crowd packs the space beyond the ropes as a dense mass of shoulders and raised fists, faces reduced to open shouting mouths and bright eyes, everyone blurred into a shallow depth of field so the shouting reads as noise rather than detail. A man in a flat cap leans over the top rope at frame right, mouth open wide in a cheer, one arm flung out; a woman with short dark hair beside him has both hands cupped around her mouth. Warm hanging bulbs and two hard overhead spots are the only sources: the spots hammer the top of her skull, the rise of her shoulders and the wet planes of her bra while her eye sockets and the underside of her chin sink into warm brown shadow. Palette is beer-amber, tobacco brown, black satin and the cold white of bandages and skin, with blood the single hot red accent. The near rope's shadow lies across her forearms in one unbroken bar; the canvas under her front foot dips and puckers where her weight has been planted a long time; the crowd's beer glasses throw small wobbling highlights up onto the lowest plank of the wall behind them. Dust turns slowly in the spotlight beams above her head. Nervous, punch-drunk and lit from within.
Show Parameters
Original Prompt
emilia (re:zero), medium breasts,, ,beautiful satin black and white sport bra black and white skin tight shorts close-up, with sponsors,underground fighting arena, horny,, , ,from infront, shes dizzy,, ,skinny,medium breasts,cowboy shot, , look nervous, , ,only upper body,, realistic, bruised,,bloody,,,r bandages around her fists looking serious with her fists up,realistic, old pub with wooden walls and a cheering crowd,crowd cheering,,boxing ring,black eyeliner,
Mode
flash
Size
944 x 1584
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Model & LoRA used

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PixAI DiT.3

Tsubaki.3 Flash
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AI artwork
v4
character: emilia_(re:zero) 1girl, solo, emilia_(re:zero), long hair, white hair, purple eyes, braid, hair ornament, hair flower, black eyeliner, skinny, medium breasts, bruised, blood, bandage, bandaged hands, black and white satin sports bra, sponsor logos, black and white skin tight shorts, boxing ring, fists up, fighting stance, serious, nervous, dizzy, horny, cowboy shot, upper body, close-up, from in front, old pub, wooden walls, cheering crowd, realistic, looking at viewer, A front-facing cowboy shot cropped at the hips, the camera slightly below ring-floor level so the viewer looks up across the near ropes: at the centre of the frame she stands squared to the lens, one shoulder dropped, both bandaged fists raised between her chin and her collarbone in a tight guard, knuckles turned inward, the left fist a hand's width higher and a little forward of the right, elbows tucked against her ribs, thumbs locked over curled fingers. Her weight hangs on her back leg, the front knee slack and turned inward, so the whole torso lists a few degrees off vertical and the guard sits slightly low, the way a tired fighter's does. Her chin is up but her head is tilted a touch to her left, eyes half-lidded and unfocused, pupils aimed just past the lens rather than into it, both irises catching the overhead light with a wet glassy shine; a heavy black eyeliner wing has smeared at the outer corner of the right eye and dragged a faint dark streak toward her temple. Colour rides high on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, lips parted on a short breath, one lip corner pulled in and caught between her teeth in a small nervous bite, the wet edge of the lower lip shining. Her white hair is loose from its braid at the crown, the braid fallen forward over her right shoulder and hanging down the chest, the small flower at the side of her head knocked askew, several fine strands stuck to the sweat at her cheek and throat. Bruises map her visible skin: a purple-green shadow swelling under the left eye, a split at the inner brow with a dried dark line down the cheek from it, a bruised bloom across the right ribs just under the bra band, and a red graze on the point of the left shoulder. A thin trickle of blood runs from her right nostril over her upper lip to the corner of her mouth, drying darker where it thins. Her fists are wrapped in off-white cloth bandages, wound in overlapping diagonal turns around the knuckles and wrist, the fabric dirty and compressed, a coin-sized bloom of fresh red soaking through the wrap over the front knuckles of the right hand and a rustier brown ring on the left. The sports bra is black satin with white piping along the neckline and underband, sheened with a hard wet highlight across the bust, sponsor patches sewn along the underband and one on the left cup โ€” a rectangular black-and-white patch reading "IRON FIST GYM", a smaller round patch above it, and fine illegible print under them; the black-and-white shorts are cut high at the hip and grip the skin tight, their white waistband carrying a second sponsor band whose lettering stretches with the fabric where it pulls across her hip. Sweat beads stand on her collarbones and run in a short track down the sternum into the band's edge. The ring frames her: a near rope crosses the lower foreground in a soft blur just under her elbows, the middle and far ropes cut behind her shoulders, the corner post rising to the right of frame. Above and behind, her own cast shadow is thrown long and broken across the scuffed canvas because the light is coming from behind her head. An old pub wraps the ring โ€” dark plank walls of unpolished wood, a low ceiling lost in shadow, a bar counter glimpsed at the far left and hanging bulbs in tin shades. The crowd packs the space beyond the ropes as a dense mass of shoulders and raised fists, faces reduced to open shouting mouths and bright eyes, everyone blurred into a shallow depth of field so the shouting reads as noise rather than detail. A man in a flat cap leans over the top rope at frame right, mouth open wide in a cheer, one arm flung out; a woman with short dark hair beside him has both hands cupped around her mouth. Warm hanging bulbs and two hard overhead spots are the only sources: the spots hammer the top of her skull, the rise of her shoulders and the wet planes of her bra while her eye sockets and the underside of her chin sink into warm brown shadow. Palette is beer-amber, tobacco brown, black satin and the cold white of bandages and skin, with blood the single hot red accent. The near rope's shadow lies across her forearms in one unbroken bar; the canvas under her front foot dips and puckers where her weight has been planted a long time; the crowd's beer glasses throw small wobbling highlights up onto the lowest plank of the wall behind them. Dust turns slowly in the spotlight beams above her head. Nervous, punch-drunk and lit from within.
v4r.justin#0
AI artwork
v4
character: emilia_(re:zero) 1girl, solo, emilia_(re:zero), long hair, white hair, purple eyes, braid, hair ornament, hair flower, black eyeliner, skinny, medium breasts, bruised, blood, bandage, bandaged hands, black and white satin sports bra, sponsor logos, black and white skin tight shorts, boxing ring, fists up, fighting stance, serious, nervous, dizzy, horny, cowboy shot, upper body, close-up, from in front, old pub, wooden walls, cheering crowd, realistic, looking at viewer, A front-facing cowboy shot cropped at the hips, the camera slightly below ring-floor level so the viewer looks up across the near ropes: at the centre of the frame she stands squared to the lens, one shoulder dropped, both bandaged fists raised between her chin and her collarbone in a tight guard, knuckles turned inward, the left fist a hand's width higher and a little forward of the right, elbows tucked against her ribs, thumbs locked over curled fingers. Her weight hangs on her back leg, the front knee slack and turned inward, so the whole torso lists a few degrees off vertical and the guard sits slightly low, the way a tired fighter's does. Her chin is up but her head is tilted a touch to her left, eyes half-lidded and unfocused, pupils aimed just past the lens rather than into it, both irises catching the overhead light with a wet glassy shine; a heavy black eyeliner wing has smeared at the outer corner of the right eye and dragged a faint dark streak toward her temple. Colour rides high on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, lips parted on a short breath, one lip corner pulled in and caught between her teeth in a small nervous bite, the wet edge of the lower lip shining. Her white hair is loose from its braid at the crown, the braid fallen forward over her right shoulder and hanging down the chest, the small flower at the side of her head knocked askew, several fine strands stuck to the sweat at her cheek and throat. Bruises map her visible skin: a purple-green shadow swelling under the left eye, a split at the inner brow with a dried dark line down the cheek from it, a bruised bloom across the right ribs just under the bra band, and a red graze on the point of the left shoulder. A thin trickle of blood runs from her right nostril over her upper lip to the corner of her mouth, drying darker where it thins. Her fists are wrapped in off-white cloth bandages, wound in overlapping diagonal turns around the knuckles and wrist, the fabric dirty and compressed, a coin-sized bloom of fresh red soaking through the wrap over the front knuckles of the right hand and a rustier brown ring on the left. The sports bra is black satin with white piping along the neckline and underband, sheened with a hard wet highlight across the bust, sponsor patches sewn along the underband and one on the left cup โ€” a rectangular black-and-white patch reading "IRON FIST GYM", a smaller round patch above it, and fine illegible print under them; the black-and-white shorts are cut high at the hip and grip the skin tight, their white waistband carrying a second sponsor band whose lettering stretches with the fabric where it pulls across her hip. Sweat beads stand on her collarbones and run in a short track down the sternum into the band's edge. The ring frames her: a near rope crosses the lower foreground in a soft blur just under her elbows, the middle and far ropes cut behind her shoulders, the corner post rising to the right of frame. Above and behind, her own cast shadow is thrown long and broken across the scuffed canvas because the light is coming from behind her head. An old pub wraps the ring โ€” dark plank walls of unpolished wood, a low ceiling lost in shadow, a bar counter glimpsed at the far left and hanging bulbs in tin shades. The crowd packs the space beyond the ropes as a dense mass of shoulders and raised fists, faces reduced to open shouting mouths and bright eyes, everyone blurred into a shallow depth of field so the shouting reads as noise rather than detail. A man in a flat cap leans over the top rope at frame right, mouth open wide in a cheer, one arm flung out; a woman with short dark hair beside him has both hands cupped around her mouth. Warm hanging bulbs and two hard overhead spots are the only sources: the spots hammer the top of her skull, the rise of her shoulders and the wet planes of her bra while her eye sockets and the underside of her chin sink into warm brown shadow. Palette is beer-amber, tobacco brown, black satin and the cold white of bandages and skin, with blood the single hot red accent. The near rope's shadow lies across her forearms in one unbroken bar; the canvas under her front foot dips and puckers where her weight has been planted a long time; the crowd's beer glasses throw small wobbling highlights up onto the lowest plank of the wall behind them. Dust turns slowly in the spotlight beams above her head. Nervous, punch-drunk and lit from within.
v4r.justin#0
AI artwork
v4
character: emilia_(re:zero) 1girl, solo, emilia_(re:zero), long hair, white hair, purple eyes, braid, hair ornament, hair flower, black eyeliner, skinny, medium breasts, bruised, blood, bandage, bandaged hands, black and white satin sports bra, sponsor logos, black and white skin tight shorts, boxing ring, fists up, fighting stance, serious, nervous, dizzy, horny, cowboy shot, upper body, close-up, from in front, old pub, wooden walls, cheering crowd, realistic, looking at viewer, A front-facing cowboy shot cropped at the hips, the camera slightly below ring-floor level so the viewer looks up across the near ropes: at the centre of the frame she stands squared to the lens, one shoulder dropped, both bandaged fists raised between her chin and her collarbone in a tight guard, knuckles turned inward, the left fist a hand's width higher and a little forward of the right, elbows tucked against her ribs, thumbs locked over curled fingers. Her weight hangs on her back leg, the front knee slack and turned inward, so the whole torso lists a few degrees off vertical and the guard sits slightly low, the way a tired fighter's does. Her chin is up but her head is tilted a touch to her left, eyes half-lidded and unfocused, pupils aimed just past the lens rather than into it, both irises catching the overhead light with a wet glassy shine; a heavy black eyeliner wing has smeared at the outer corner of the right eye and dragged a faint dark streak toward her temple. Colour rides high on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, lips parted on a short breath, one lip corner pulled in and caught between her teeth in a small nervous bite, the wet edge of the lower lip shining. Her white hair is loose from its braid at the crown, the braid fallen forward over her right shoulder and hanging down the chest, the small flower at the side of her head knocked askew, several fine strands stuck to the sweat at her cheek and throat. Bruises map her visible skin: a purple-green shadow swelling under the left eye, a split at the inner brow with a dried dark line down the cheek from it, a bruised bloom across the right ribs just under the bra band, and a red graze on the point of the left shoulder. A thin trickle of blood runs from her right nostril over her upper lip to the corner of her mouth, drying darker where it thins. Her fists are wrapped in off-white cloth bandages, wound in overlapping diagonal turns around the knuckles and wrist, the fabric dirty and compressed, a coin-sized bloom of fresh red soaking through the wrap over the front knuckles of the right hand and a rustier brown ring on the left. The sports bra is black satin with white piping along the neckline and underband, sheened with a hard wet highlight across the bust, sponsor patches sewn along the underband and one on the left cup โ€” a rectangular black-and-white patch reading "IRON FIST GYM", a smaller round patch above it, and fine illegible print under them; the black-and-white shorts are cut high at the hip and grip the skin tight, their white waistband carrying a second sponsor band whose lettering stretches with the fabric where it pulls across her hip. Sweat beads stand on her collarbones and run in a short track down the sternum into the band's edge. The ring frames her: a near rope crosses the lower foreground in a soft blur just under her elbows, the middle and far ropes cut behind her shoulders, the corner post rising to the right of frame. Above and behind, her own cast shadow is thrown long and broken across the scuffed canvas because the light is coming from behind her head. An old pub wraps the ring โ€” dark plank walls of unpolished wood, a low ceiling lost in shadow, a bar counter glimpsed at the far left and hanging bulbs in tin shades. The crowd packs the space beyond the ropes as a dense mass of shoulders and raised fists, faces reduced to open shouting mouths and bright eyes, everyone blurred into a shallow depth of field so the shouting reads as noise rather than detail. A man in a flat cap leans over the top rope at frame right, mouth open wide in a cheer, one arm flung out; a woman with short dark hair beside him has both hands cupped around her mouth. Warm hanging bulbs and two hard overhead spots are the only sources: the spots hammer the top of her skull, the rise of her shoulders and the wet planes of her bra while her eye sockets and the underside of her chin sink into warm brown shadow. Palette is beer-amber, tobacco brown, black satin and the cold white of bandages and skin, with blood the single hot red accent. The near rope's shadow lies across her forearms in one unbroken bar; the canvas under her front foot dips and puckers where her weight has been planted a long time; the crowd's beer glasses throw small wobbling highlights up onto the lowest plank of the wall behind them. Dust turns slowly in the spotlight beams above her head. Nervous, punch-drunk and lit from within.
v4r.justin#0
AI artwork
jg
character: emilia_(re:zero), lumine_(genshin_impact) 1girl, solo, emilia_(re:zero), long white hair, crown braid, braid, x hair ornament, hair flower, purple eyes, purple ribbon, pale skin, skinny, slender build, medium breasts, black and white sports bra, satin wrestling bra, black and white pleated miniskirt, sponsor logos on outfit, boxing gloves, red boxing gloves, at turnbuckle, wrestling ring ropes, corner post, ring apron, school gym, wooden gym floor, climbing wall bars in background, from side, from infront, close-up, cowboy shot, upper body, dizzy, seductive smile, half-closed eyes, arrogant look, smug, looking at viewer, lidded eyes, open mouth, blush, sweat on skin, wet hair, hair sticking to face, leaning back against turnbuckle, arms draped over ropes, one glove hooked on the top rope, head tilted back, heavy-lidded gaze, spotlight, realistic, photorealistic, high detail skin, fabric sheen, purple and white palette, A close-up cowboy-shot framing cut at the hips, the camera set low at the side-front of the ring corner so the shot runs at a slight upward tilt and only her upper body fills the frame. One young woman with long white hair, a crown braid running back over the crown and a loosened braid falling over her right shoulder, a violet flower-and-ribbon ornament at the side of her head, the hair damp and clinging to her cheek and neck, leans back into the padded corner of a wrestling ring, her spine against the turnbuckle pad and her shoulders pressed to the top rope. She is skinny through the arms and shoulders, medium breasts filling a black-and-white satin sports bra whose panels are printed with sponsor logos that curve and stretch with the fabric over each breast and along the chest band, and the waistband of a black-and-white pleated miniskirt shows just at the bottom edge of the crop. Red boxing gloves: the right glove is hooked over the middle rope and taking her weight, the rope pressing a flat dent into the leather, while the left arm hangs loose with the glove turned inward against her thigh. Head tipped back and tilted toward the lens, chin up, one brow lifted high, lids heavy and half closed over violet eyes fixed on the viewer, the mouth curved into a slow lopsided smile, lower lip parted, a wet sheen on her collarbone and a single bead of sweat running down the side of her throat and stopping at the hollow of her neck. The turnbuckle post and the white-taped rope cross the frame in front of her left shoulder, the rope slightly out of focus in the near foreground while her face stays sharp. Background is a school gym in shallow depth of field: pale wooden floorboards, a wall of climbing bars, a folded mat, everything softened and desaturated into muted cream and grey. A single overhead ring spotlight from above and slightly behind the corner throws a hard top-light down her forehead, nose and chest, darkening the sockets of her eyes and leaving the back of the ring corner in deep shadow; the satin returns a narrow specular streak down the bra, and the spotlight also catches the rope itself, so the fibers nearest her glove glow while the rest of the rope falls away dark. Palette held to black, white, warm skin and the one violet note of her eyes and hair ornament against the cream-and-grey gym. Sweaty, teasing, punch-drunk.
Justin G

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ใƒชใ‚ช
4#Puella Magi Madoka Magica#Kaname Madoka#Puella Magi Madoka Magica
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