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eitaeita.1007@icloud.com

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eitaeita.1007@icloud.com

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1girl, solo, teen, tall, 166cm, long blonde hair, straight hair, jitome, half-lidded eyes, contemptuous stare, calm, composed, unbothered, serene expression, magic academy uniform, navy blazer, white collared shirt, pleated grey skirt, black knee-high socks, holding two spears of blue flame, dual wielding, flame spear in each hand, blazing blue fire, scorched wasteland, burnt field, charred black ground, drifting ash, embers, smoke, from below, low angle, full body, wide shot, standing on one leg, weight on right leg, head tilt, looking down at viewer, looking at another, dutch angle, wind The camera sits low, near the charred earth, tilted a few degrees off level, looking up: a single seventeen-year-old girl stands on a scorched field, her full figure framed against a low plate of dirty sky, so her full height reads clean and her chin sits high in the picture. She is built slender and tall, and her weight rests entirely on her right leg, hip cocked, left leg bent with the foot lifted just off the ground behind her, toes pointed down, so the whole silhouette leans slightly back and away from the viewer -- unhurried, unhurried even here. Her long golden hair is straight, cut in a blunt line well past her waist, and the low wind drags a broad section of it out to her left, strands lifting clear of her shoulder and across her navy blazer; the wind also presses the front of the blazer against her ribs and swings the grey pleated skirt outward at her left thigh, the pleats opening like a fan. She wears the magic academy uniform: a navy blazer buttoned low over a white collared shirt, a loose collar, the cuffs of the shirt at her wrists, a grey pleated skirt to mid-thigh, and black knee-high socks. Both arms are down and slightly out from her body, hands closed around the shafts of two long spears of blue flame. Each hand grips its spear below the head; the shaft is a rigid line of pressed, roaring blue fire, brighter at the core and feathering out into ragged tongues that stream backward in the wind, and the flames throw cold light upward onto the undersides of her jaw, her collarbones and the inside of her forearms, so her face is lit from below while the top of her head stays dim. The left spear is held more forward than the right, and the spearheads cross the sky at different heights, one tips toward the upper left corner, one toward the right. She does not face the viewer squarely: her body is turned three-quarters away, the chin tucked slightly down and tilted back over her shoulder, and she looks back along her own line of sight, down toward the viewer, with her eyes half-lowered under flat lids, the upper lash line cutting straight across the pupil -- jitome, cold, absolutely level. Her mouth is a flat, closed line and her brows are still. Behind her the field is entirely burnt: blackened turf, cracked earth, thin twists of smoke rising from scattered charred stubble, and the ground close to her feet blown clean of ash where the heat has spread across it; farther back the waste softens into grey haze. The blue spears are the only saturated colour in the image -- the whole world around her is ash grey, soot black, dirty ochre and a weak dusty sky, so the blue fire and her gold hair are the only two things that burn. Ash falls lightly through the frame, and where a flake drifts into the blue fire it flashes out and leaves a small bright thread of smoke rising from it. Calm, merciless.
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Prompt original
女 17歳 166cm 金髪ロングの美少女 ジト目 マイペースな性格 魔法学園の制服を着ている 穏やかだが戦闘になると容赦はしない 槍状の蒼炎を2本持っていて背後は焼け野原
Modo
pro
Estilo
Apagado y transparente
Etiqueta de calidad
﹝Prompts﹞
Tamaño
1104 x 1824
Excluir de la imagen
lowres, worst quality, low quality, bad anatomy, explicit, (nsfw:1.2),(nude:1.6),(nipple:1.2),naked
Estilo: Apagado y transparente
Asistente de prompts

Modelo y LoRA utilizados

Tsubaki.3 - AI Model cover image

PixAI DiT.3

Tsubaki.3
6.70k

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AI artwork
e1
1girl, solo, 17 years old, tall slender build, long blonde hair, straight blonde hair falling past the waist, jitome, half-closed eyes, scornful stare, calm expression, composed, my-pace, relaxed shoulders, magic academy uniform, navy blue blazer, white collared shirt, pleated grey skirt, holding two spears, dual wielding, blue flames, flame spear in each hand, burning wasteland, scorched ground, ash, smoke, embers, from below, low angle, cowboy shot, dutch angle, standing, weight on one leg, looking at viewer, dark sky, night, cinematic lighting, blue light source, high contrast, The camera sits low and tilted, looking up at her from knee height so the two flame spears rise diagonally out of the frame's upper corners: she stands on cracked, blackened earth, one boot forward and one back, hips shifted onto her rear leg, spine straight, chin slightly lowered, both eyes half-lidded in a flat, unhurried stare straight down the lens — no anger in the face at all, only the calm of someone who has already finished the fight. Her right hand grips the first spear low on the shaft, knuckles pale around the wood-dark core, the spear angled forward and across her body; her left hand holds the second spear higher and further back, its butt end trailing behind her shoulder. Both spearheads are open knots of blue flame that shed light upward onto the underside of her jaw, her collarbones and the white shirt collar, while her eyes stay in shadow. Her long blonde hair lifts and streams sideways in the hot updraft, strands crossing in front of the blazer's lapel and a few blown across her cheek; the pleated grey skirt presses and ripples toward the heat, one pleat edge lifted. The navy blazer hangs open over the crisp white collared shirt, sleeves pushed to the wrist, and the fabric's lower hem is smudged with soot. Behind her the magic academy's battlefield is a burnt wasteland receding to the horizon: scorched earth crazed into polygonal plates, shattered stone pillars leaning at broken angles, a toppled arch, and a low haze of grey smoke drifting right to left; every surface that faced the sky is pale with ash while the vertical faces stay charred black — the ash has settled only on the upward planes. Thin embers rise and die in the air, brightest where they pass close to the spearheads. The two spears are the only strong light source in the frame; their blue spills across the ground in long soft pools at her feet, and beyond those pools the wasteland falls away into deep near-black. Palette: cold cobalt and cyan in the flames, ash grey and charcoal in the ground, warm gold reserved only for her hair, the whole frame otherwise desaturated. Her gaze stays level and unblinking on the viewer while the fire does the shouting. Quiet, merciless calm.
eitaeita.1007@icloud.com
AI artwork
e1
1girl, solo, 17 years old, tall slender, C-cup, blonde long hair, jitome, half-closed eyes, scornful stare, calm expression, composed, my-pace, magic academy uniform, navy blazer with gold embroidery, white collared shirt, pleated skirt, holding two long rod-shaped blue flames, dual wielding, burnt field background, standing, from below, cowboy shot, dutch angle, looking at viewer, windblown hair, embers, scorched earth, smoke The camera sits low and tilted, looking up at her from knee height through a shallow dutch angle: the horizon of the burnt field slants behind her shoulders, and a single girl occupies the frame from mid-thigh to above her head, tall and narrow against an ash-grey sky. She stands with her weight sunk into her back foot, left hip pushed out, torso angled a quarter-turn from the lens while her head stays turned forward, so the long blonde hair sweeps across the gold-embroidered shoulder of the navy blazer and hangs past her waist in a heavy straight fall, its ends lifted by the hot updraft rolling off the ground. Her chin is level, her lids lowered over half-closed eyes, the stare flat and unhurried and aimed straight at the viewer — a look that gives away nothing and concedes nothing; one brow sits a fraction higher than the other, her lips closed and perfectly still. The white collared shirt shows at the open blazer front, the pleated skirt moving once at the hem. Each hand grips one shaft of blue flame at chest height: her right arm across her body, her left held wider and slightly lower, the two rods of cold fire about as long as she is tall, rigid and straight as staffs, made of layered blue tongues that taper to points at both ends. Her fingers close pale around the burning cores without flinching, and where the flames pass closest to the fabric the blazer's edge glows faintly cyan. The blue light is a real source: it strikes the undersides of her jaw and cheekbones, rims the inner edges of both arms, and throws cool highlights down the front of the uniform, while the smoky daylight from behind leaves a warm rust rim along the top of her hair and shoulders — two temperatures meeting on her face, the cool one winning below the eyes. In the air above each rod a thin heat shimmer bends the far treeline. Behind and beneath her the field is wholly burnt: blackened stubble, cracked earth ridged in shallow furrows that catch the low light, drifts of grey ash heaped against the charred stumps of a broken fence; a few surviving stalks of grass glow orange at their tips, and fine ash settles on the upward-facing flats of every clod, leaving the vertical sides dark. A single thin column of smoke leans away in the distance. Dust and sparks drift past the lens close enough to soften into bokeh. The palette holds to navy and gold on her, the cold cyan of the flames, and the rust-black-ash range of the field, nothing else admitted. Her chin does not move; the my-pace calm on her face is exactly the calm of someone who has already decided how this ends. Quiet menace.
eitaeita.1007@icloud.com
#Nijisanji
AI artwork
e1
1girl, solo, blonde hair, long hair, jitome, half-closed eyes, scornful stare, expressionless, medium breasts, tall, holding two long rod-shaped blue flames, blue fire, flame in each hand, outstretched arms, burnt field, scorched earth, charred ground, smoke, ashes, from below, cowboy shot, dutch angle, dutch tilt, looking down at viewer, head tilt, leaning slightly forward, sleeveless white tunic, high collar, grey trousers, brown leather boots, knee boots, windblown hair, embers, dark cloudy sky, orange underlight From a low dutch angle, the girl stands alone in the middle of a burnt field, tilted horizon raking across the frame so the charred plain runs uphill from left to right. The camera sits below her chest, looking up: she is 166 cm of lean, long-limbed build, weight settled on her back right leg with the left knee loose and the left hip dropped, torso leaning a few degrees toward the lens, chin lowered so her half-lidded eyes look down the line of her nose at the viewer — heavy upper lids, flat brows, a mouth held in a single straight line. Her blonde hair is long enough to reach the small of her back and is lifted sideways off her right shoulder by the dry updraft, strands crossing the frame edge. A sleeveless white cotton tunic, high collar closed to the throat, hangs loose off her shoulders, soot smudged at the hem; slim grey trousers are tucked into knee-high brown leather boots planted apart on cracked earth. In each hand she grips one long rod-shaped pillar of blue flame roughly as long as her arm, held out and slightly away from her body: the right flame angled up and across toward frame right, the left arm lower and closer to her hip, both wrists straight, fingers wrapped around the base of each flame where it condenses into a narrow core. No heat-shimmer haze surrounds her own face, but the blue light climbs the underside of her jaw, chin and throat, rims the inner edges of both arms and glassily catches the tunic hem. Behind and beneath her the field is nothing but burned ground: black stubble, cracked clay plates, a few charred posts snapped off at knee height on the midground ridge, white ash drifting and settling only on upward-facing surfaces, smoke smeared low across the horizon. The sky is a bruised charcoal overcast, and the only other light is a thin orange underglow along the far horizon that picks out the ridge line and the tops of the ash drifts — the two blue flames are the brightest things in frame, and the earth directly below them is the only place their light lands. Palette: charcoal black, ashen grey, bone white, and the cold blue of the fire, nothing else admitted. Her eyes stay locked on the viewer, unblinking, unhurried, as if the burning field bored her. Calm, merciless.
eitaeita.1007@icloud.com

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