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เรียวกัง AI Art & Prompts

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AI artwork
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character: baji_keisuke, copyright: tokyo_revengers 1boy, solo, baji keisuke, long black hair, yellow eyes, tsurime, sharp gaze, yukata, navy blue yukata with thin white vertical pinstripes, yukata slightly open at chest, loose collar, exposed collarbone, barefoot, bare feet, lying on futon, on back, sprawled, washitsu, japanese-style room, tatami floor, folded white futon, from above, high angle, close-up, looking up, head tilted back, one arm behind head, other arm resting on tatami, half-closed eyes, light smile, evening, warm lamp light. High angle looking down from directly above the futon: he lies on his back across the white futon, body diagonal through the frame from lower left to upper right, the checker of his long black hair fanned out loose over the pillow and spilling past its edge onto the tatami, one lock falling across his forehead. His left forearm is folded behind his head, palm up against the tatami seam at the futon's edge; his right hand rests loosely on the futon beside his hip, fingers half-curled near a fold of the quilt. The navy pinstriped yukata is still belted at the waist but pulled wide at the chest, the two lapels fallen apart in a shallow V so the bare breastbone and collarbones are open to the air, the sleeves rumpled and creased across the tatami at his forearms. His bare feet lie apart at the far end of the futon, heels pressed into the quilt, soles turned slightly toward each other, toes relaxed. His chin is tipped back into the pillow and his eyes come up the camera's axis to meet the lens from below, yellow and narrow, a faint lopsided closed-lip smile with the corner of his mouth pulled a little on one side. Behind him the washitsu opens out: tatami seams running in a grid, a low table pushed to the room's edge, shoji screens with pale paper glowing in a band along the right side, and a dark wooden post and plaster wall beyond, all falling soft-focus at the frame's border. A single warm paper lamp hangs above and to the left of the frame; it is the only light, throwing a warm pool across his face, the open chest and the futon's folds, letting the edges of the room and the corners of the tatami sink into dark brown shadow, and the futon around his hips takes the shallow compression he makes in it. Palette of navy, white futon, pale straw tatami and warm amber light, nothing else admitted. Quiet bathhouse languor.
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