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myso9288#0

AI art by myso9288#0 on PixAI. Made with Tsubaki.3 Flash.

m9

myso9288#0

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character: alisa_mikhailovna_kujou 1girl, solo, long silver hair, ahoge, grey_hair, white_hair, blue_eyes, hair_between_eyes, crossed_bangs, medium_breasts, skinny, black and white satin sports bra, black and white skin-tight shorts, sponsor logos on clothing, sitting on bench, cowboy shot, close-up, from side, looking at viewer, looking back, bruised, blood, bloody, sweaty, dizzy, tired but happy, half-closed eyes, light smile, open mouth, heavy_breathing, blush, seductive_smile, locker room, old dirty locker room, realistic, photorealistic, sitting, arm support, leaning back, motion_lines, spoken_heart, dark ambient light, A photorealistic cowboy shot seen from the side, camera just above hip height so the lens rides the line of the bench and the figure is caught in near-profile. She sits at the left half of the frame on a slatted wooden bench whose varnish has worn to bare grey wood in the middle, her hips angled slightly toward the viewer while her shoulders stay turned in profile, spine slumped back against the locker bank behind her, one arm braced on the bench on the near side taking her weight, the other hand resting loose over her own knee, knuckles slack. Her face is turned over her near shoulder toward the camera so she looks directly at the viewer: half-lidded blue eyes seeing the lens a beat late, a faint closed-lip smile tipping into an open-mouthed breath, damp hair stuck to one cheek, the whole head held at the slight list of a person whose balance has not come back yet. Silver hair is damp at the temples and at the nape, several strands working loose from the long fall behind her shoulders and one curl plastered across her collarbone. The satin sports bra and matching skin-tight shorts are black with white contrast piping and white side panels, the satin taking a soft sheen where the shoulder and ribs catch the light, the fabric creased at the waistband where she has been sitting, and printed sponsor logos running along the hip panel and under the shoulder strap, small and cleanly legible as graphic marks rather than sentences. The shorts are cut high and tight enough to read the swell of her hip and the taut curve of her ass against the bench slats, the near thigh pressed flat and spreading slightly on the seat. Bruises sit where a fighter's would: a purple-green bloom over the near shoulder and bicep, a shadow across one rib, a darkening patch on the outside of the thigh. Blood has dried in a thin brown streak from one nostril down past her lip to the corner of her jaw, a smaller cut at her cheekbone, and a red smear wiped across the back of the near hand and along the white side panel of the shorts where she has clearly touched it. The room is an old locker room, not a clean one: grey-green steel lockers pitted and scratched behind her, paint flaking from the doors and one hanging open on a broken hinge, a floor of small hexagonal tiles with dark grout and a puddle-stain pooling under the bench, a low wooden bench-end and a forgotten towel heaped in the near foreground corner out of focus. Everything above and behind is cold and empty. The only light is a single caged bulb high on the left, its cone falling across the top of her head, her near shoulder, the shine of the satin and the wet skin at her throat; her right side falls away into deep shadow and the far aisle of lockers goes black. The bulb's glow is warm amber against the room's cold grey-green, with the white panels of her kit the brightest note in the frame and the blood the only saturated red. One piece of physics holds it: the puddle beneath the bench carries her reflection, darker and blurrier than she is, and the near edge of the bench legs break the reflection into ripples where the water has settled unevenly. Grime, fingerprints on the locker handles and a fine dust on every horizontal surface keep the realism dirty rather than glossy. A small hand-drawn heart sits alone in a tiny speech bubble beside her cheek. Exhausted, filthy, sated.
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Original Prompt
alya kujou with silver hair, medium breasts,, ,beautiful satin black and white sport bra black and white skin tight shorts close-up, with sponsors,, horny,, , ,from side, shes dizzy,, ,skinny,medium breasts,cowboy shot, , look tired but happy, , ,sitting on bench,, realistic, bruised,,bloody,,,,realistic, old and dirty locke rroom,,looking at viewer, sexy ass,realistic,
Mode
flash
Size
768 x 1280
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AI artwork
m9
character: alisa_mikhailovna_kujou 1girl, solo, long silver hair, ahoge, grey_hair, white_hair, blue_eyes, hair_between_eyes, crossed_bangs, medium_breasts, skinny, black and white satin sports bra, black and white skin-tight shorts, sponsor logos on clothing, sitting on bench, cowboy shot, close-up, from side, looking at viewer, looking back, bruised, blood, bloody, sweaty, dizzy, tired but happy, half-closed eyes, light smile, open mouth, heavy_breathing, blush, seductive_smile, locker room, old dirty locker room, realistic, photorealistic, sitting, arm support, leaning back, motion_lines, spoken_heart, dark ambient light, A photorealistic cowboy shot seen from the side, camera just above hip height so the lens rides the line of the bench and the figure is caught in near-profile. She sits at the left half of the frame on a slatted wooden bench whose varnish has worn to bare grey wood in the middle, her hips angled slightly toward the viewer while her shoulders stay turned in profile, spine slumped back against the locker bank behind her, one arm braced on the bench on the near side taking her weight, the other hand resting loose over her own knee, knuckles slack. Her face is turned over her near shoulder toward the camera so she looks directly at the viewer: half-lidded blue eyes seeing the lens a beat late, a faint closed-lip smile tipping into an open-mouthed breath, damp hair stuck to one cheek, the whole head held at the slight list of a person whose balance has not come back yet. Silver hair is damp at the temples and at the nape, several strands working loose from the long fall behind her shoulders and one curl plastered across her collarbone. The satin sports bra and matching skin-tight shorts are black with white contrast piping and white side panels, the satin taking a soft sheen where the shoulder and ribs catch the light, the fabric creased at the waistband where she has been sitting, and printed sponsor logos running along the hip panel and under the shoulder strap, small and cleanly legible as graphic marks rather than sentences. The shorts are cut high and tight enough to read the swell of her hip and the taut curve of her ass against the bench slats, the near thigh pressed flat and spreading slightly on the seat. Bruises sit where a fighter's would: a purple-green bloom over the near shoulder and bicep, a shadow across one rib, a darkening patch on the outside of the thigh. Blood has dried in a thin brown streak from one nostril down past her lip to the corner of her jaw, a smaller cut at her cheekbone, and a red smear wiped across the back of the near hand and along the white side panel of the shorts where she has clearly touched it. The room is an old locker room, not a clean one: grey-green steel lockers pitted and scratched behind her, paint flaking from the doors and one hanging open on a broken hinge, a floor of small hexagonal tiles with dark grout and a puddle-stain pooling under the bench, a low wooden bench-end and a forgotten towel heaped in the near foreground corner out of focus. Everything above and behind is cold and empty. The only light is a single caged bulb high on the left, its cone falling across the top of her head, her near shoulder, the shine of the satin and the wet skin at her throat; her right side falls away into deep shadow and the far aisle of lockers goes black. The bulb's glow is warm amber against the room's cold grey-green, with the white panels of her kit the brightest note in the frame and the blood the only saturated red. One piece of physics holds it: the puddle beneath the bench carries her reflection, darker and blurrier than she is, and the near edge of the bench legs break the reflection into ripples where the water has settled unevenly. Grime, fingerprints on the locker handles and a fine dust on every horizontal surface keep the realism dirty rather than glossy. A small hand-drawn heart sits alone in a tiny speech bubble beside her cheek. Exhausted, filthy, sated.
myso9288#0
AI artwork
m9
character: alisa_mikhailovna_kujou 1girl, solo, alisa_mikhailovna_kujou, silver hair, long hair, ahoge, hair between eyes, crossed bangs, blue eyes, skinny, medium breasts, black and white satin sports bra, black and white skin-tight shorts, sponsor logos on clothing, bruised, bloody, bandage, sweat, wet skin, towel, wiping own sweat, holding towel to face, sitting, on bench, locker room, old and dirty locker room, wooden bench, lockers, looking at viewer, half-closed eyes, blush, dizzy, tired but happy, horny, light smile, open mouth, cowboy shot, close-up, from in front, tilted head, leaning forward, legs apart, arm support, sweaty hair, messy hair, realistic, motion lines, sweat drops, seductive smile, heavy breathing, from above, pov, Viewed from in front and slightly above in a cowboy shot, one silver-haired girl sits alone on a scarred wooden bench in an old locker room, her body filling the frame from mid-thigh to the top of her head. Her long silver hair, damp with sweat and clumped against her cheeks and neck, falls past her shoulders; a single cowlick springs from the crown, and two locks of her crossed bangs stick to her forehead. Her blue eyes are half-lidded, pupils a little unfocused by the dizziness, and they look straight up into the lens with a wet, teasing warmth. Her head tilts slightly to the right, the whole upper body slumped forward and swaying an inch off balance, her right hip planted on the bench and her left knee fallen open while her heel barely grips the floor. She wears a black satin sports bra edged in white piping with a small white logo patch on the left cup, the sheen of the fabric broken where sweat has soaked the band dark, and matching black-and-white skin-tight shorts with white side stripes and two more sponsor marks, one on the right thigh and a small one at the hip. Her skin is streaked with old dust and fresh sweat that catches the light down the center of her collarbone and throat. Her right hand lifts a rumpled white towel against the side of her neck, dabbing at the sweat rolling from her jaw; her left hand rests on the bench beside her hip, fingers curled loosely on the wood. Her left arm is bruised in purple-blue patches along the forearm, a thin cut on her left brow has trickled blood down past her temple, the corner of her lip is split, and a reddened scrape crosses her right shin near the knee. Her mouth hangs slightly open in a tired, happy little smirk, breath visible in the wetted glisten of her lower lip. A single dangling bulb glows directly overhead, cool and hard, and it is the only light source: it lays a bright pool on the bench, throws strong downward shadows under her jaw, nose, collarbone and breasts, and leaves the far rows of scarred metal lockers in absolute darkness behind her. Above the lamp a shadowed ceiling is lost. The bench wood is gouged and stained, and her body has left a dark film of sweat on the seat under her thigh. The palette is narrow: silver hair, the black and white of the kit, skin, and the dull chipped grey-green of old metal, nothing else admitted; blood red recurs at brow, lip and shin. Realistic high-fidelity rendering with lifelike textures, detailed skin pores, and physically accurate lighting. Grime and tired satisfaction.
myso9288#0
AI artwork
m9
character: alisa_mikhailovna_kujou 1girl, solo, alisa_mikhailovna_kujou, silver hair, long hair, ahoge, hair between eyes, crossed bangs, blue eyes, skinny, medium breasts, black and white satin sports bra, black and white skin-tight shorts, sponsor logos on clothing, bruised, bloody, bandage, sweat, wet skin, towel, wiping own sweat, holding towel to face, sitting, on bench, locker room, old and dirty locker room, wooden bench, lockers, looking at viewer, half-closed eyes, blush, dizzy, tired but happy, horny, light smile, open mouth, cowboy shot, close-up, from in front, tilted head, leaning forward, legs apart, arm support, sweaty hair, messy hair, realistic, motion lines, sweat drops, seductive smile, heavy breathing, from above, pov, Viewed from in front and slightly above in a cowboy shot, one silver-haired girl sits alone on a scarred wooden bench in an old locker room, her body filling the frame from mid-thigh to the top of her head. Her long silver hair, damp with sweat and clumped against her cheeks and neck, falls past her shoulders; a single cowlick springs from the crown, and two locks of her crossed bangs stick to her forehead. Her blue eyes are half-lidded, pupils a little unfocused by the dizziness, and they look straight up into the lens with a wet, teasing warmth. Her head tilts slightly to the right, the whole upper body slumped forward and swaying an inch off balance, her right hip planted on the bench and her left knee fallen open while her heel barely grips the floor. She wears a black satin sports bra edged in white piping with a small white logo patch on the left cup, the sheen of the fabric broken where sweat has soaked the band dark, and matching black-and-white skin-tight shorts with white side stripes and two more sponsor marks, one on the right thigh and a small one at the hip. Her skin is streaked with old dust and fresh sweat that catches the light down the center of her collarbone and throat. Her right hand lifts a rumpled white towel against the side of her neck, dabbing at the sweat rolling from her jaw; her left hand rests on the bench beside her hip, fingers curled loosely on the wood. Her left arm is bruised in purple-blue patches along the forearm, a thin cut on her left brow has trickled blood down past her temple, the corner of her lip is split, and a reddened scrape crosses her right shin near the knee. Her mouth hangs slightly open in a tired, happy little smirk, breath visible in the wetted glisten of her lower lip. A single dangling bulb glows directly overhead, cool and hard, and it is the only light source: it lays a bright pool on the bench, throws strong downward shadows under her jaw, nose, collarbone and breasts, and leaves the far rows of scarred metal lockers in absolute darkness behind her. Above the lamp a shadowed ceiling is lost. The bench wood is gouged and stained, and her body has left a dark film of sweat on the seat under her thigh. The palette is narrow: silver hair, the black and white of the kit, skin, and the dull chipped grey-green of old metal, nothing else admitted; blood red recurs at brow, lip and shin. Realistic high-fidelity rendering with lifelike textures, detailed skin pores, and physically accurate lighting. Grime and tired satisfaction.
myso9288#0
AI artwork
m9
character: alisa_mikhailovna_kujou 1girl, solo, long silver hair, ahoge, grey_hair, white_hair, blue_eyes, hair_between_eyes, crossed_bangs, medium_breasts, skinny, black and white satin sports bra, black and white skin-tight shorts, sponsor logos on clothing, sitting on bench, cowboy shot, close-up, from side, looking at viewer, looking back, bruised, blood, bloody, sweaty, dizzy, tired but happy, half-closed eyes, light smile, open mouth, heavy_breathing, blush, seductive_smile, locker room, old dirty locker room, realistic, photorealistic, sitting, arm support, leaning back, motion_lines, spoken_heart, dark ambient light, A photorealistic cowboy shot seen from the side, camera just above hip height so the lens rides the line of the bench and the figure is caught in near-profile. She sits at the left half of the frame on a slatted wooden bench whose varnish has worn to bare grey wood in the middle, her hips angled slightly toward the viewer while her shoulders stay turned in profile, spine slumped back against the locker bank behind her, one arm braced on the bench on the near side taking her weight, the other hand resting loose over her own knee, knuckles slack. Her face is turned over her near shoulder toward the camera so she looks directly at the viewer: half-lidded blue eyes seeing the lens a beat late, a faint closed-lip smile tipping into an open-mouthed breath, damp hair stuck to one cheek, the whole head held at the slight list of a person whose balance has not come back yet. Silver hair is damp at the temples and at the nape, several strands working loose from the long fall behind her shoulders and one curl plastered across her collarbone. The satin sports bra and matching skin-tight shorts are black with white contrast piping and white side panels, the satin taking a soft sheen where the shoulder and ribs catch the light, the fabric creased at the waistband where she has been sitting, and printed sponsor logos running along the hip panel and under the shoulder strap, small and cleanly legible as graphic marks rather than sentences. The shorts are cut high and tight enough to read the swell of her hip and the taut curve of her ass against the bench slats, the near thigh pressed flat and spreading slightly on the seat. Bruises sit where a fighter's would: a purple-green bloom over the near shoulder and bicep, a shadow across one rib, a darkening patch on the outside of the thigh. Blood has dried in a thin brown streak from one nostril down past her lip to the corner of her jaw, a smaller cut at her cheekbone, and a red smear wiped across the back of the near hand and along the white side panel of the shorts where she has clearly touched it. The room is an old locker room, not a clean one: grey-green steel lockers pitted and scratched behind her, paint flaking from the doors and one hanging open on a broken hinge, a floor of small hexagonal tiles with dark grout and a puddle-stain pooling under the bench, a low wooden bench-end and a forgotten towel heaped in the near foreground corner out of focus. Everything above and behind is cold and empty. The only light is a single caged bulb high on the left, its cone falling across the top of her head, her near shoulder, the shine of the satin and the wet skin at her throat; her right side falls away into deep shadow and the far aisle of lockers goes black. The bulb's glow is warm amber against the room's cold grey-green, with the white panels of her kit the brightest note in the frame and the blood the only saturated red. One piece of physics holds it: the puddle beneath the bench carries her reflection, darker and blurrier than she is, and the near edge of the bench legs break the reflection into ripples where the water has settled unevenly. Grime, fingerprints on the locker handles and a fine dust on every horizontal surface keep the realism dirty rather than glossy. A small hand-drawn heart sits alone in a tiny speech bubble beside her cheek. Exhausted, filthy, sated.
myso9288#0

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