Art Style #3 Practice
I have three art styles that I'm working on. There's my main (the more anime-ish style), my second/cartoon one (as seen in my Enid fanart; the one with the round heads and big eyes/pupils), and my very-inspired-by-Strawberry-Shortcake one (as you will see). The third is my least developed, but I'm liking how it's coming out so far.
As always, no reposting, editing, tracing, claiming, or using my art (in general), or using my artworks for any program, NFT, or AI. Nor do I permit using the designs of any of my original designs or characters for any purpose other than fanart of them.
I've started adding finishing dates on my artwork, since it's not like I can write it on the back.
This girl is supposed to be from the '90s (you know, jean overalls, high ponytail, all that), but I don't have a name for her yet. She's really just a design so I can practice. But in my head I've nicknamed her Ponyheart or just Pony for short. Because of the ponytails and the heart motifs, y'know? Maybe I'll come up with a name for her someday.
The strawberry background is a nod to my inspiration for this style, and also because I just like drawing strawberries. Clip Studio Paint was being a massive pain for me when I tried to use the align tool, so I just ending up doing the rows down by hand.
Shading was an...Attempt. Let me know if you have any polite tips! Sometimes I'm open to help/constructive criticism, but sometimes I'd rather just be able to doodle without worrying about getting it, "right." But in this case, I'd like some advice! Just be nice. :]
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Guys I wrote a Merthur thing! No title (yet)
“I had a feeling I’d find you out here,” Arthur said, boots a quiet click on the battlements. “It’s hardly a feast without the guest of honor.”
It was true, unfortunately—Merlin had been stonewalled into wearing an ornate, midnight blue tunic, embossed with silver threads. His new cloak, fine and fitting his newfound title as Court Sorcerer, was soft with downy gray fur and, by his request, a golden dragon—the Pendragon seal—was embroidered above his breast.
“Or the King,” Merlin retorted, glancing over at Arthur.
Arthur wore his favorite feasting tunic—what Merlin calls it—hemmed with gold thread and embroidery, dark trousers and boots. It reminded Merlin of when Arthur was still the Prince, but now Merlin couldn’t deny that his friend had become a truly great King.
He always knew Arthur would be.
“What is it?” Arthur asked, and Merlin glanced away, realizing he’d been staring. (Merlin always chose the feasting tunic because it was his favorite on Arthur; it also, coincidentally, happened to be the shirt that showed his broad shoulders and chest well.) “Admiring your wardrobe choices for me?”
Unfortunately, destiny decided he was fated to fall in love with a compelling, ornery cabbagehead.
“No.” Merlin’s cheeks heated, and he was glad for the darkness. Arthur would never let him live it down if he knew Merlin was checking him out.“There’s a bit of sauce on your chin.”
“What!” Arthur squawked, rubbing his face furiously with the hem of his sleeve.
Merlin smirked to himself.
Finally, Arthur stopped and realized. “You’re messing with me!”
“Whatever do you mean, Sire?” Merlin drawled.
Arthur made an odd choking sound. Merlin glanced over in concern; Arthur was slightly flushed in the moonlight, swallowing as if he’d had a dry biscuit.
“Are you alright?” Merlin asked.
“Yes, I—“ Arthur coughed. “Just…swallowed wrong.”
Merlin raised a skeptical brow, a trick he’d learned well from Gaius. “You don’t have a drink.”
“Only you would question your King, Merlin.”
“Well, I’ve never been one for decorum.” Merlin returned to staring over the lower town, at the torch lights flickering. It had been a year or so in the making, with many tedious council meetings and self-righteous nobles, but magic was finally legal—and now Camelot rejoiced.
A festival celebrating the lifting of the magic ban; for many, whether magic users or not, it meant not being arrested for simple totems or an in opportune bless you. And, to Arthur and Gwaine’s greatest enjoyment, a banquet in Merlin’s honor.
It wasn’t that Merlin wasn’t glad for the magic ban being lifted, or even being made Court Sorcerer, it was just…
“Brooding’s never suited you, Merlin,” Arthur said, drawing Merlin out of his thoughts. He bumped Merlin’s shoulder playfully, standing close enough that Merlin could feel his warmth in the early autumn air. “C’mon, out with it.”
Merlin sighed. “Just thinking.”
“Merlin.”
“Alright,” Merlin rolled his eyes. “I was just remembering the first night after I arrived in Camelot.”
Arthur hummed, quietly prompting Merlin to continue.
“Well, I’ve already told you why I risked coming to Camelot. And for obvious reasons, I was terrified of being found out.” Merlin well remembered the sight he saw when he first arrived. A man executed for the crime of magic. Though Merlin had known about Camelot’s anti-magic stance (especially so close to the border), it had been another thing entirely to witness Uther Pendragon.
Merlin glanced sidelong at Arthur, who watched him quietly in the darkness. The subject always seemed to draw a shadow of darker times over them both, so he continued.
“But that first night…I had looked out my bedroom window, out at Camelot.” Merlin gazed over the familiar sight, as amazed as he was all those years ago. “Hiding my magic was hard but nothing new, and despite everything, Camelot was full of possibilities. Massive, compared to Ealdor.”
“It is,” Arthur agreed. “Bigger than Ealdor, I mean.”
Merlin smiled slightly. Arthur had taken a shine to Ealdor since his first visit there; although they couldn’t visit often, even less so now, Arthur has always found a way to spare a day to visit with Hunith. Or send a gift with Merlin when he went on his own.
“Anyway,” Merlin continued, and sighed, shaking his head slightly. Unable to quite shake this mood. “Camelot looks the same.”
“But it isn’t,” Arthur insisted. “And neither are you.”
Arthur gestured to Merlin’s attire. Even his hair had been combed back, a silver circlet on his forehead. It still felt clunky to wear, too much like a crown, but Gwen had insisted it suited him.
“You’re right about that, and I’m glad for everything…”
Arthur tilted his head. “But…?”
“But it is a bit…overwhelming,” Merlin confessed. “Everything’s changed so much. I don’t have to hide anymore. I’ve got a laundry list of duties—which, thankfully, no longer include mucking out the stables, or even cleaning Gaius’ leech tank.” Merlin shrugged slightly, to himself. “I almost miss it sometimes, though.”
“Courtly duties not stimulating enough?” Arthur smirked.
“Tedious. How is it that the supposedly most educated in Camelot ask the most stupid of questions?”
Arthur snorted and laughed. “Gods, I wish I could ask them all that in council meetings.”
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Despite the high emotional stress of an already high stakes goal, Fel and Alistair knew that, if they Wanted to get away, using Alistair's new position as Feral's *brother in law* was the only realistic option for them. Especially since BEFORE their engagement, anytime Alistair was even remotely close to Feral's office ehen Feral himself wasnt there, he was always yanked away.
Alistair was professional as always when approaching said office, already having an excuse ready, just in case he would be yanked away again.
however, it didn´t seem like anyone was paying much attention to the brit..
perfect.
he opened the office door and closed it behind himself as soon as he was in hoping, for a second, that Feral might have left his keys behind so he could make this search a whole lot safer for himself..but alas..Feral was unfortunately the smart and careful sort of scumbag.
well, it didn´t matter too much. finding dirt on someone like Feral couldn´t be that hard..surely.
he will be in and out in mere seconds.
Alistair walked around the office, letting his gaze wander around the little trinkets and folders that were arranged neatly on shelves. but in reality, he was moreso listening than looking. he was keeping an ear out for subtle little beeps, clicks or whirrs that could indicate the presence of cameras..
but no..it was dead quiet.
still, Alistair was allowing himself a little bit more time to thoroughly inspect the little nooks and crannies that could house the tiniest piece of electronic equipment.
nothing.
finally, and rather abruptly, the old brit began to rummage through file cabinets and drawers, looking everywhere he can to find a little scrap of incriminating evidence.
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