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justin

KI-Kunst von justin auf PixAI. Erstellt mit Tsubaki.3 Flash.

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character: alisa_mikhailovna_kujou 1girl, solo, adult, silver hair, long hair, ahoge, hair between eyes, crossed bangs, black and white yoga shorts, matching sports bra, standing, from behind, looking back over shoulder, seductive smile, adjusting hair, hand in hair, cowboy shot, alluring pose, dirty old changing cabin, wooden stall walls, realistic style, volumetric light, dust motes, The camera sits low and slightly behind her, a cowboy shot cutting her at mid-thigh, so the frame is dominated by her back and the turn of her head over her right shoulder. She stands in the narrow interior of a derelict changing cabin, weight settled on her right leg with the left hip dropped and the left knee eased forward, spine arched into a lazy S that pushes her shoulder blades together and draws the black-and-white yoga shorts taut across the hip. Her silver hair falls in a long sheet down her back, ahoge springing loose at the crown, a few strands of hair between her eyes and crossed bangs slipping across her cheek as her head turns; her right hand is buried in the hair at the nape, fingers combing it up off her neck while her elbow points out and back, and her left hand rests light on the jut of her left hip, thumb hooked into the waistband. Seen past the shoulder, one blue eye is visible over the cheekbone, lid lowered, and the corner of her mouth curls into a small knowing smile aimed just off-camera toward the viewer. The cabin is cramped and old: bleached, splitting planks for walls with rusted nail heads weeping dark streaks, a warped bench running along the left side, a warped door edge crossing the left foreground out of focus, a bare hook screwed into the board above her shoulder with the ghost of a rust ring beneath it. Daylight leaks through a gap between two boards on the right and a high cracked pane behind her; that low cross light is the only illumination, striking her right shoulder, the side of her jaw, and a stripe across the low bench, while the rest of the cabin sinks into brown shadow. Fine dust hangs in the beam and settles visibly on the upward-facing edges of the bench and the top of the hook; the floorboards under her bare feet are scuffed pale where feet have worn them. The palette is narrow and warm-cold: silver and cool skin against bleached grey timber, deep umber shadow, one red note only in the old paint flaking off the bench end. Desaturated, tactile, quietly self-assured.
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Ursprรผnglicher Prompt
,adult,alya kujou with silver hair,, black and white yoga shorts and matching sports bra ,,from behind, eralistic,alluring pose,dirty old changing cabin,seductive smile, standing,adjusting hair,,cowboy shot,
Modus
flash
GrรถรŸe
768 x 1280
Prompt-Assistent

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AI artwork
j
character: alisa_mikhailovna_kujou 1girl, solo, adult, silver hair, long hair, ahoge, hair between eyes, crossed bangs, black and white yoga shorts, matching sports bra, standing, from behind, looking back over shoulder, seductive smile, adjusting hair, hand in hair, cowboy shot, alluring pose, dirty old changing cabin, wooden stall walls, realistic style, volumetric light, dust motes, The camera sits low and slightly behind her, a cowboy shot cutting her at mid-thigh, so the frame is dominated by her back and the turn of her head over her right shoulder. She stands in the narrow interior of a derelict changing cabin, weight settled on her right leg with the left hip dropped and the left knee eased forward, spine arched into a lazy S that pushes her shoulder blades together and draws the black-and-white yoga shorts taut across the hip. Her silver hair falls in a long sheet down her back, ahoge springing loose at the crown, a few strands of hair between her eyes and crossed bangs slipping across her cheek as her head turns; her right hand is buried in the hair at the nape, fingers combing it up off her neck while her elbow points out and back, and her left hand rests light on the jut of her left hip, thumb hooked into the waistband. Seen past the shoulder, one blue eye is visible over the cheekbone, lid lowered, and the corner of her mouth curls into a small knowing smile aimed just off-camera toward the viewer. The cabin is cramped and old: bleached, splitting planks for walls with rusted nail heads weeping dark streaks, a warped bench running along the left side, a warped door edge crossing the left foreground out of focus, a bare hook screwed into the board above her shoulder with the ghost of a rust ring beneath it. Daylight leaks through a gap between two boards on the right and a high cracked pane behind her; that low cross light is the only illumination, striking her right shoulder, the side of her jaw, and a stripe across the low bench, while the rest of the cabin sinks into brown shadow. Fine dust hangs in the beam and settles visibly on the upward-facing edges of the bench and the top of the hook; the floorboards under her bare feet are scuffed pale where feet have worn them. The palette is narrow and warm-cold: silver and cool skin against bleached grey timber, deep umber shadow, one red note only in the old paint flaking off the bench end. Desaturated, tactile, quietly self-assured.
justin
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, 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
j
character: alisa_mikhailovna_kujou 1girl, solo, adult, silver hair, long hair, ahoge, hair between eyes, crossed bangs, black and white yoga shorts, matching sports bra, standing, from behind, looking back over shoulder, seductive smile, adjusting hair, hand in hair, cowboy shot, alluring pose, dirty old changing cabin, wooden stall walls, realistic style, volumetric light, dust motes, The camera sits low and slightly behind her, a cowboy shot cutting her at mid-thigh, so the frame is dominated by her back and the turn of her head over her right shoulder. She stands in the narrow interior of a derelict changing cabin, weight settled on her right leg with the left hip dropped and the left knee eased forward, spine arched into a lazy S that pushes her shoulder blades together and draws the black-and-white yoga shorts taut across the hip. Her silver hair falls in a long sheet down her back, ahoge springing loose at the crown, a few strands of hair between her eyes and crossed bangs slipping across her cheek as her head turns; her right hand is buried in the hair at the nape, fingers combing it up off her neck while her elbow points out and back, and her left hand rests light on the jut of her left hip, thumb hooked into the waistband. Seen past the shoulder, one blue eye is visible over the cheekbone, lid lowered, and the corner of her mouth curls into a small knowing smile aimed just off-camera toward the viewer. The cabin is cramped and old: bleached, splitting planks for walls with rusted nail heads weeping dark streaks, a warped bench running along the left side, a warped door edge crossing the left foreground out of focus, a bare hook screwed into the board above her shoulder with the ghost of a rust ring beneath it. Daylight leaks through a gap between two boards on the right and a high cracked pane behind her; that low cross light is the only illumination, striking her right shoulder, the side of her jaw, and a stripe across the low bench, while the rest of the cabin sinks into brown shadow. Fine dust hangs in the beam and settles visibly on the upward-facing edges of the bench and the top of the hook; the floorboards under her bare feet are scuffed pale where feet have worn them. The palette is narrow and warm-cold: silver and cool skin against bleached grey timber, deep umber shadow, one red note only in the old paint flaking off the bench end. Desaturated, tactile, quietly self-assured.
justin

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