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Marsmelow Galeri

Jelajahi karya seni 796 Marsmelow yang sedang tren

AI artwork
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character: inoue_takina, nishikigi_chisato, copyright: lycoris_recoil two girls, 2girls, from below, low angle, cowboy shot, campsite in a forest, night, campfire, tent, sitting on a fallen log, leaning forward, looking at another, light smile, open mouth, blonde hair, short hair, red ribbon in hair, red eyes, black hair, long hair, purple eyes, casual camping clothes, hooded jacket, long sleeves, skirt, socks, holding a skewer, marshmallow on a stick, leaning together, shared blanket over shoulders, forest, tall trees, ferns, moss, embers, sparks rising, firelight from below, warm orange key light, deep blue night background, palette of firelight orange, mossy green and night blue The camera sits low among the ferns, looking up: from below, a cowboy shot framing two girls seated side by side on a fallen log, the campfire in the near foreground between the lens and their knees, the tent a dim pale shape behind their shoulders and the black columns of the trunks climbing out of the top of the frame. On the left, the blonde girl with short hair cropped at the jaw and a red ribbon knotted at the side of her head leans far forward over her knees, elbows planted on her thighs, one hand turning a skewer so the marshmallow hangs just above the coals; her red eyes are wide and fixed on the marshmallow's turning surface, and her mouth is open mid-sentence as she tips her chin toward her companion. Her weight rides forward on her hips, both boots flat on the packed earth, and the ribbon's tail lifts in the hot updraft from the fire. On the right, the girl with long black hair spilling over one shoulder and purple eyes sits a little further back, one knee drawn up with her boot braced on the log, her gloved fingers wrapped around the handle of an enamel mug that steams in the cold; her gaze is turned sideways and down onto the blonde's skewer, one brow faintly raised, lips closed in a small line halfway between patient and fond. A single wool blanket is draped over both their shoulders so it bridges the gap between them, the blonde's hood and the black-haired girl's sleeve both emerging from under the same fold of it, and the blanket sags in a shallow catenary where their shoulders fail to meet. The fire is the only light source: it strikes them from below and in front, lighting the undersides of their chins, the rims of their noses and the fronts of their knees, throwing tall wavering shadows up the trunks behind them, while everything past the log falls into absolute night blue; the tent fabric glows a dull warm amber only where the firelight grazes it. Sparks drift upward and die against the dark, and the smoke leans away from the fire in one consistent direction, bending around the blonde girl's upraised arm. The ground holds the fire's orange in a ring of packed dirt and moss, cooling to green at the edges of the light. Palette kept to firelight orange, mossy green, night blue and the red of the ribbon; the rest of the world in shadow. Warm, unhurried.
なななり
AI artwork
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1stickman, solo, black stickman, thin straight limbs, plain round head, featureless blank face, sitting on the floor, sitting cross-legged, leaning forward, hunched over, hands braced on the floor in front of him, blowing, pursed lips, tiny spark, small glowing ember, pile of dry cardboard, crumpled brown corrugated sheets, warm light expanding, glow, orange rim light, minimalist line art, flat white background, simple background, side view, low camera, close-up, from side, profile A single black stickman seen in profile, his round featureless head and thin straight limbs drawn as clean uniform dark strokes, sits cross-legged on the bare white floor with his knees spread wide and his hips tipped back onto his sitting bones. He is folded far forward over his own lap: the spine arcs from the hips, the shoulders roll ahead of the chest, and both hands are planted flat on the floor just inside his knees, elbows bowed out, arms taking part of his weight while his tucked feet carry the rest. His face is turned down and to the right toward the small pile of dry cardboard sitting on the floor a hand's span in front of his shins. The cardboard is a low heap of crumpled brown sheets, corrugated edges torn and fanned, flaps cocked at angles, laid in flat opaque brown blocks against the white ground. In the crevice at the top of the heap sits one spark, a single small hot dot, and his lips are pursed into a tight small circle a short distance from it, cheeks drawn in, brows of the barest line lowered in concentration. The warm light comes from that one spark and from nothing else: it climbs the underside of his chin and the front of his throat, rims his nose and the inner edges of his forearms, and catches the top edges of the cardboard flaps, while the whole of his back and the back of his round head stay pure flat black lying on the white floor, their shadows thrown short and soft behind him by the low source. The white of the ground stays clean and empty beyond the pair of them, the only other mark a faint thinning of the warm tone across the floor where the glow reaches less far. Minimalist line art throughout, flat unshaded fills, no gradients except the one spreading pool of ember warmth. Quiet concentration, small and warm.
Foxy Limbo

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