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詳細を見るFoxy Limbo
パラメーターを見る
- オリジナルプロンプト
- A 2D black stick figure waking up on the floor of a dark concrete room. The small campfire from yesterday is completely dead and covered in gray ash. Frost on the walls, minimal line art, hand-drawn sketch style
- モード
- flash
- 縦横比
- 1472 x 832
プロンプト自動変換
利用したモデルとLoRA
ほかの類似作品
続きを読むfl
1girl, solo, 2D black stick figure, stick figure, solid black silhouette limbs, round black head, no face, minimal line art, hand-drawn sketch style, lying on floor, waking up, pushing up on one elbow, one knee drawn up, on the ground, dark concrete room, bare concrete floor and walls, dead campfire, extinguished fire, gray ash pile, ash mound, cold charred logs, frost on walls, frost crystals, ice bloom, cold breath vapor, from above, high angle, wide shot, dutch angle, looking up, small figure in large empty room, monochrome gray palette, cold blue-gray shadows, textured graphite linework, rough pencil hatching, visible sketch strokes
Seen from high above in a tilted wide shot, the room is a bare concrete box, and the stick figure occupies only a small fraction of it -- a single black ink-drawn silhouette curled on the cold floor near the center-left, small against the vast empty gray. The figure is caught mid-waking: on its right side, propped up on one bent elbow, black-ink forearm pressed flat to the concrete, the other arm loose and half-drawn across its chest, one knee drawn up with the foot planted, the other leg still flat along the floor. Its round black head is tilted up and away toward the far wall, the body's whole line angling upward off the ground as if just lifting itself from sleep. No facial features; the tilt and the propped elbow carry the waking. Freshly disturbed: the concrete under the near shoulder is slightly smudged with soot and the ash dust near the figure's outstretched leg is scattered outward in a thin dark smear where a hand has brushed it. A short distance to the figure's right, the campfire is completely dead -- a low mound of gray ash with a few blackened log ends half-buried, all heat gone, no ember, no glow, the ash mound slightly cratered in the middle where the coals collapsed overnight. Frost creeps across the concrete walls in pale crystalline blooms, densest at the floor line and along the corners, thinning toward the ceiling; a faint haze of the figure's own cold breath hangs just above its head as a few sketchy pale strokes. The only light comes from a single unseen high opening off-frame upper left: a cold, pale, slightly blue wash rakes across the floor and catches the tops of the ash mound and the frost crystals in thin bright highlights, while the right side of the room and the figure's far side fall into soft gray shadow; the shadow of the figure stretches short and soft across the concrete toward the lower right. Cold blue-gray and charcoal palette, the black of the stick figure and the gray of the ash as the only strong values against the pale frosted concrete. Minimal linework, loose graphite and ink sketch strokes, hatching kept sparse and rough, blank paper left breathing in the emptiness. Quiet, desolate, cold dawn after a night survived.
Foxy Limbo
fl
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
fl
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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