Nov 2, 2026

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Shelter

Made for the contest Breath of Fresh Air, in which we should redo an old image with our current skills. Original image from nearly 2 years ago: https://pixai.art/artwork/1823009974481965900

Contest Entry

Breath of Fresh Air 🐇😈

#ออริจินัล #มินิสเกิร์ต #เสื้อผ้าเปิดออก #กระโปรง #ตาแดง #รองเท้าบูต #กลางแจ้ง #ผมสีแดง #ผมยาว #รองเท้าบูทยาวถึงเข่า #ผมดำ #ผมหลายสี #ใบหน้าด้านข้าง #ถุงเท้ายาวสีดำ #เสื้อแจ็กเก็ต #เข็มขัด #กลางคืน #ทิวทัศน์เมือง #แขนยาว #กระโปรงพลีท #ฝน #หนัง #ผู้หญิง 1 คน #เมือง #อาคาร #พังก์#มุมมองด้านข้าง #รองเท้าบูทผูกเชือก #หิน #เสื้อแจ็กเก็ตหนัง #ปิดปาก #ไฟนีออน #Rocker #ผมระหว่างตา #Original Character

เผยแพร่เมื่อ Nov 2, 2026

sora

ดูเพิ่มเติม

1girl, solo, petite, short girl, long hair, black hair with red streaks, red eyes, long eyelashes, bags under eyes, small nose, soft lips, cropped leather jacket, black leather jacket, open jacket, layered clothing, punk skirt, pleated skirt, rocker girl outfit, zettai ryouiki, black thighhighs, knee boots, medium breasts, hands in pockets, leaning on fence, leaning to the side, looking to the side, profile, from side, dutch angle, low angle, cowboy shot, outdoors, street at night, neon lights, strong rain, pouring rain, rain, wet hair, wet skin, wet clothes, wet floor, wet floor reflecting lights, under shelter, puddle, reflections, fabric tension, natural folds, dark palette with neon accents, high contrast, dramatic lighting, cinematic, rim lighting, anime illustration, highly detailed, clean lineart, masterpiece, sharp focus, night, moody atmosphere Camera looks up at her from a low dutch angle close to the wet pavement, the street running away in a steep diagonal so her crouched height reads large against the receding neon. She is a small, fine-boned young woman, seen mostly in near-profile: she has turned her face sharply to the side, chin level, one red eye fixed down the empty street away from the lens, long eyelashes lowered against the rain, faint smudged shadows under her eyes, a small nose and softly closed lips. Her long black hair with red streaks hangs soaked and heavy, streaked strands plastered flat to her cheek, her neck and the shoulder of her jacket; the rain-darked red strands catch the neon and flare where the black stays matte. She leans at a lazy angle against a steel tube fence that runs along the kerbside, her left shoulder and upper arm pressed flat to the top rail, the rail hard against the leather so that the jacket's sleeve bunches into tight creases; both hands are buried in the slanted front pockets of the cropped jacket, forearms angling down, the leather pulled taut and glossy across her knuckles' hidden bulk. Over a thin dark knit top with a high collar she wears the cropped black leather jacket, its hem stopping high at her ribs; below it a short pleated punk skirt of dark tartan-edged black, held by a studded belt, and the gap of bare thigh above black thigh-high socks leaves a clean band of zettai ryouiki, pinpricked with rain, before the black knee boots, laced and buckled, planted hip-width apart with her weight on the right leg, the left knee bent and relaxing toward the rail. Her hips cant out to the side opposite the lean, her jacket's collar standing up against a wet nape, medium breasts pushing a soft tension into the front panel of the knit where the jacket hangs open. She stands under the deep overhang of a shuttered shopfront, its metal canopy edge throwing a ragged line across the wet ground a half-metre in front of the fence. Beyond that line the street is drowned: sheets of rain slant down through a haze of neon — magenta, cyan and a low amber sodium glow — from vertical signboards along the opposite side, their lettering illegible, blurred by the downpour into smeared bands of colour. The whole roadway is a black mirror; every sign, every lamp and her own slim silhouette lie stretched and wobbling in the standing water, broken into shards where the raindrops strike. Water runs from the canopy lip in a continuous bead-strung line, drips along the fence rail, and pools in the flat tops of the rail posts and the upturned studs of her belt — the only places the rain sits still. Spray from the gutter wets her thighs in fine freckles, and her jacket's leather shines in narrow slick highlights where the neon magenta rakes it from her left and a cool cyan fills the shadow along her right side; the wet floor bounces the same two colours back up under her chin and the inside of the skirt's pleats. Cold sheen, quiet defiance.

Shelter

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