D.Va AI Art & Prompts

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D.Va เป็นฮีโร่ยอดนิยมจากเกมยิงมุมมองบุคคลที่หนึ่งแบบผู้เล่นหลายคนชื่อดังอย่าง Overwatch ซึ่งพัฒนาและเผยแพร่โดย Blizzard Entertainment องค์ประกอบภาพที่พบบ่อยได้แก่ หุ่นยนต์ MEKA สีชมพูอันเป็นเอกลักษณ์, ชุดนักบินสไตล์ปลั๊กสูท, หมากฝรั่ง, หูฟัง และปืนพก Light Gun โดยผลงานแฟนอาร์ตมักแสดงภาพของอดีตโปรเกมเมอร์รายนี้กำลังปกป้องเมืองปูซานแห่งอนาคต หรือเข้าร่วมการแข่งขันอีสปอร์ตสุดดุเดือดในจักรวาลของเกม

AI artwork
m
character: takarada_rikka, d.va_(overwatch), copyright: overwatch 2girls, split screen, d.va, takarada rikka, upper body only, boxing gloves, sports bra, pink and black sports bra, red and black sports bra, pleated miniskirt, matching skirt, old dirty boxing ring, boxing ring ropes, d.va at center of ring, rikka pushed against ropes, fists up, boxing stance, leaning back against ropes, weak, tired, exhausted, half-closed eyes, unsmiling, grim expression, blood on face, blood on body, bloody nose, bruised face, sweaty skin, sweat, messy long hair, old pub interior, crowd, cheering, throwing money, banknotes, from front, front view, looking at viewer, looking to the side, brown hair, swept bangs, whisker markings, facial mark, black hair, long hair, blue eyes, bow, no one smiling, dramatic lighting, shallow depth of field, (sexy:1.1), best quality Split screen, a hard vertical seam dividing the frame into two equal halves: on the left half, seen from the front, a brown-haired young woman with long swept bangs, brown eyes and pale whisker-like marks on her cheeks stands at the center of a boxing ring, her pink and black sports bra dark with sweat, the matching pink and black pleated miniskirt riding at her hips, fat padded boxing gloves raised in front of her face in a high guard, her forearms angled inward, one glove tucked close to her chin, the other a knuckle-width further forward so the guard is asymmetrical; her legs are out of frame, everything below the waist cropped away. On the right half, also from the front, a black-haired girl with long hair and a blue bow above one ear is shoved back against the ring ropes, the top rope biting across her mid-back, the ropes pressing dents into her red and black sports bra and compressing the fabric where they cross her ribs, her red and black pleated miniskirt squashed against the lower rope; her hands are trapped between her body and the ropes, one red boxing glove flat on the strap, the other hanging loose at the end of a tired arm, her head tipped back and to one side, chin lifted, the bow knocked askew. Both faces are battered: split lips, a swelling half-shut eyelid, dark trickles running from the brow through one eyebrow and dried crusts at the nostril and the corner of the mouth, streaks of red spattered across both chests and down the collarbones, sweat beading on the skin and running in lines through the grime. No one smiles: D.va's jaw is clenched, her brow lowered, eyes narrowed hard over the top knuckles of her gloves, looking straight down the barrel of the lens; Rikka's lids are heavy and half-closed, her gaze drifting sideways and down toward the ropes pinning her, mouth slack with exhaustion, a low furious weariness rather than fear. Around them the ring is old and filthy: canvas scuffed gray, ropes frayed and taped at the joints, rust on the ring hardware, and beyond the ropes the dim interior of a smoky old pub, dark wooden paneling and dusty bottles glinting out of focus. A crowd of blurred spectators presses at the ring apron on both sides of the seam, mouths open in cheers, arms flung up, and paper banknotes flutter in the air and lie scattered on the canvas, several mid-fall curling against the steeper perspective of the ropes and skidding to a stop in the dirty cloth. One overhead lamp per half throws a hard single source down from above and slightly behind the camera, picking out the sweat and the wet blood in bright highlights, dropping the crowd and the corners of the ring into brown-black shadow so that the two fighters are the only fully lit things. The palette is disciplined: hot pink and black on the left, deep red and black on the right, all of it bedded in the pub's nicotine browns and the gray of the old ring, blood red as the only accent shared across the seam; the lighting prints with an advertising-clean glaze, making even the filth look glossy. Exhausted, hard-hitting.
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