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Scáthach, Ritsuka Fujimaru (Male)
Contest Entry
PixAI × zeta Original Character Creation Contest 2026 #zetaCollab
Pokaż parametry
- Oryginalny prompt
- fate_スカサハ、fate_藤丸立香(男)、抱き合っている、恥ずかしがっている、焦っている、ロッカーの中、ロッカーの扉が閉じている、カットアウェイ
- Tryb
- pro
- Tag jakości
- ﹝Podpowiedzi﹞
- Rozmiar
- 768 x 1280
- Metoda próbkowania
- Euler
- Niepożądane
- lowres, worst quality, low quality, bad anatomy, explicit
Pomocnik podpowiedzi
Model i LoRA użyte
Podobne obrazy
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じ
character: scathach_(fate), fujimaru_ritsuka_(male)
two characters, 2girls? no, 1girl and 1boy, scathach and male protagonist, long purple hair, very long hair, red eyes, skintight bodysuit, short black hair, hair ribbon, blue eyes, black gloves, long sleeves, hugging, mutual embrace, arms around each other, blush, full-face blush, embarrassed, flustered, sweatdrop, flustered expression, wide-eyed, inside locker, confined space, locker door closed, closed metal locker door, cutaway view, cutaway, interior view, cramped, from side, dutch angle, close quarters, shoulder-to-shoulder, standing, leaning together, tense shoulders, looking at each other, no empty space, dusk light through vents
The shot is a cutaway: the metal locker's front wall, closed and latched, is sliced away at the picture plane so we see straight into the tall narrow steel interior, its sides, back panel and bottom sill enclosing the two figures. Both are crammed upright inside it, chest to chest and shoulder to shoulder, the man's back pressed to the rear panel and her spine curved against the door side, her arms locked around his shoulders and his arms wrapped around her waist, her knee bent and wedged beside his hip, both her boots braced on the sill. Her long purple hair spills over his forearms and pools and tangles against the back panel; the loose strands of his black hair, ribbon and all, are flattened against her cheek and the locker's ribs. They are too close for anything but a whisper-thin gap: every breath lifts her chest against his coat and his chin presses the top of her head, and both stare at each other wide-eyed, his gaze fixed down at her face, hers angled sharp up to his, pupils small, a bead of sweat rolling from his temple and another at her jaw, mouths open as if caught mid-word, ears and cheeks burning dark red. Crisp white comic emphasis lines flick off both their shoulders and off the rim of the sliced-open locker mouth in short radiating strokes. A thin seam of cool grey light leaks in through the louvered vent slots high on the closed door beside them, laying pale horizontal stripes across her hair and his shoulder while the rest of the locked interior falls to deep shadow; the metal reads scratched and cold, its interior walls matte, its floor scuffed. Steel grey and black for the locker interior, purple and crimson for her, navy and white for his collar against it, the only warm colour the red flush of both faces. Claustrophobic, flustered comedy.
じゅうばんめ
じ
character: scathach_(fate), fujimaru_ritsuka_(male)
two characters, 2girls? no, 1girl and 1boy, scathach and male protagonist, long purple hair, very long hair, red eyes, skintight bodysuit, short black hair, hair ribbon, blue eyes, black gloves, long sleeves, hugging, mutual embrace, arms around each other, blush, full-face blush, embarrassed, flustered, sweatdrop, flustered expression, wide-eyed, inside locker, confined space, locker door closed, closed metal locker door, cutaway view, cutaway, interior view, cramped, from side, dutch angle, close quarters, shoulder-to-shoulder, standing, leaning together, tense shoulders, looking at each other, no empty space, dusk light through vents
The shot is a cutaway: the metal locker's front wall, closed and latched, is sliced away at the picture plane so we see straight into the tall narrow steel interior, its sides, back panel and bottom sill enclosing the two figures. Both are crammed upright inside it, chest to chest and shoulder to shoulder, the man's back pressed to the rear panel and her spine curved against the door side, her arms locked around his shoulders and his arms wrapped around her waist, her knee bent and wedged beside his hip, both her boots braced on the sill. Her long purple hair spills over his forearms and pools and tangles against the back panel; the loose strands of his black hair, ribbon and all, are flattened against her cheek and the locker's ribs. They are too close for anything but a whisper-thin gap: every breath lifts her chest against his coat and his chin presses the top of her head, and both stare at each other wide-eyed, his gaze fixed down at her face, hers angled sharp up to his, pupils small, a bead of sweat rolling from his temple and another at her jaw, mouths open as if caught mid-word, ears and cheeks burning dark red. Crisp white comic emphasis lines flick off both their shoulders and off the rim of the sliced-open locker mouth in short radiating strokes. A thin seam of cool grey light leaks in through the louvered vent slots high on the closed door beside them, laying pale horizontal stripes across her hair and his shoulder while the rest of the locked interior falls to deep shadow; the metal reads scratched and cold, its interior walls matte, its floor scuffed. Steel grey and black for the locker interior, purple and crimson for her, navy and white for his collar against it, the only warm colour the red flush of both faces. Claustrophobic, flustered comedy.
じゅうばんめ
じ
character: scathach_(fate), fujimaru_ritsuka_(male)
2girls, 1boy, 2people, scathach_\(fate\), fujimaru_ritsuka_\(male\), very_long_hair, purple_hair, red_eyes, short_hair, black_hair, hair_between_eyes, blue_eyes, hugging, embrace, mutual embrace, blushing, heavy blush, embarrassed, flustered, panicked, gazing at each other, eye contact, locker, inside locker, closed locker door, see-through locker door, translucent door, visible through door, face focus, close-up, upper body, from side, profile, cramped space, sweatdrop, tension lines
The camera looks in through the locker door from just outside it, framing both faces at close range in a tight side-on two-shot: the flat metal door is shut and latched, and its slightly translucent panel lets the whole lit interior read through it, so the pale door surface and its vent slats sit as a faint grid laid over the two of them. Inside, they are pressed chest to chest in the narrow locker — she is the taller one, her back against the left wall with one shoulder blade flat to the metal, very long purple hair crushed behind her and spilling over the shelf edge; he is crowded in against the right wall, his own shoulder wedged where the walls meet, one hand flat on the metal beside her head for balance and his other arm hooked around her waist, while her arms are up around his shoulders, her fingers gripping the back of his collar. The height difference means his chin is near her collarbone and he has to tip his head back to meet her eyes; her chin is lowered toward him. Both are mid-flinch, caught in the moment the door clicked shut: mouths open on half-drawn breath, eyes wide and locked on each other — her red eyes staring down into his blue ones, his gaze tipped up to hers — neither looking toward the door or the viewer. Deep flush across both faces, reddest at cheeks, ears and the bridge of the nose, with a couple of small sweatdrops at his temple and hers. His short black hair is mussed where it presses the shelf; strands fall between his eyes and one locks over his brow. Clothing: he is in a jacket with long sleeves, a ribbon at his collar and black gloves, gloved fingers splayed stiff against the wall; she wears her close-fitting bodysuit, its fabric creased and pulled tight across the hip where she twists. Cool grey-blue interior, the door-glass tinting everything a half-shade paler, with a single hard strip of corridor daylight leaking in through the vent slats at the top: it lies as bright bands across her hair, his cheekbone and the tops of both their shoulders, and leaves the space under their chins in shadow; the vent slats cast a striped shadow down his forearm. Condensation from their breath fogs the inner face of the door panel in a soft oval around their heads, and it is exactly there — where the glass is clouded and wiped — that the pane reads most transparent. Overwarm, stifled, close-quarters panic.
じゅうばんめ
じ
character: scathach_(fate), fujimaru_ritsuka_(male)
2girls, 1boy, 2people, hug, mutual hug, close embrace, embarrassed, flustered, blushing, gazing at each other, eye contact, looking at another, inside locker, locker door closed, cutaway, cross-section view, focus on faces, close-up, from side, cramped, confined space, long hair, purple hair, very long hair, red eyes, short hair, black hair, hair over one eye, blue eyes, black gloves, long sleeves, jacket, grin, open mouth, half-closed eyes, raised eyebrow, sweatdrop
A cutaway view from the side, the near wall of the metal locker sliced away so the lens looks straight into its narrow interior: two people packed into the tall steel box, the door shut flush behind them. The locker's inner walls press close on every side -- a shelf edge above their heads, a coat hook at shoulder height, a vent grille of horizontal slots on the back panel, the seam of the closed door running down the far side with its handle and latch catching a sliver of light. The camera sits at chest height and close, so the faces dominate the frame and the steel walls frame them in a tight vertical slot.
Scathach is pushed against the back panel, her very long purple hair crushed flat against the steel and spilling down over the shelf edge, one long strand caught on the coat hook; she is the taller of the two, so she has to stoop, one shoulder braced against the corner, her weight on her back foot with the front foot lifted slightly off the locker floor. Both her arms are locked around his shoulders, forearms crossed behind his neck, red eyes wide and fixed on his face, brows drawn up, lips parted around a caught breath, a hot blush spread across her cheeks and the tips of her ears. The closed door's metal edge cuts across her elbow.
Ritsuka is pressed chest-to-chest with her, his back to the door, black-gloved hands gripping the back of her waist and the fabric of her side, his short black hair mussed against the door's inner panel, the strand falling over one eye pushed aside by the closeness rather than by his hand; his blue eyes are turned up to hers, chin lifted, mouth open in a flustered half-grimace, cheeks flushed deep, one eyebrow hitched higher than the other, a bead of sweat at his temple. Their foreheads almost touch; their gazes are locked, each reacting to the other's flustered face at a distance of a few centimetres.
The two bodies fill the locker so completely that the steel bows their clothing and compresses the space between them -- her long sleeves bunched at the elbows as her arms wrap, his jacket rucked up where his shoulder meets the door, the fabric of both pressed flat where it touches metal. The only light is a thin blade of corridor light entering through the door's vent slots and the gap under the door: it strikes the back of her hair, the rim of his cheek and the inner edge of the door, leaving the locker's depths in close, warm shadow, and the two faces are lit by a soft bounce off the pale steel walls. Palette: cold grey-blue steel, her violet hair and crimson eyes, the warm flush of two faces, nothing else admitted. Quiet, breathless, cramped intimacy.
じゅうばんめ
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