Sigrid Draws

Sigrid | 37 - she/her | Mostly (hopefully) art blog, some NSFWish | Shameless Wolianger

[underarchon]

I've been pretty absent on here due to a terrible job I was at, but I am happy to say I am now working a much more pleasant job that doesn't kill every ounce of creative energy I have.

A lot happened last year in my personal life, mostly not great stuff, but I did get to go to Fan Fest and had a blast!! It's definitely helped reignite my creative spark, so I will be back to posting my Urianger/NezRianger nonsense :)

[underarchon]

"I'll be waiting for you."

[underarchon]

To be young and in love...

[underarchon]

I finished it and while I still have a lot to learn with coloring, I've very proud of this.

[underarchon]

WIP

[underarchon]

Happy birthday to my best friend of 23 years! We met in math class over our love of Final Fantasy and Sailor Moon, and even though we can't see each other as much now, I'm still happy to have you in my life!

This is one of her favorite characters, Schala from Chrono Trigger.

[underarchon]

~if you like pina coladas~

I am so hyped for Dawntrail, aka Nez and Urianger's honeymoon bonanza for me!

[underarchon]

Have a sketch dump.

[underarchon]

Urianger modeling his vacation tunic for Nez.

[underarchon]

I like to think Urianger visited Nezara in Kugane at least once.

[underarchon]

Honestly this is going to be a rare update, but things have been rough and I just wanted to sketch them happy and in love for my soul.

[underarchon]

Drawing Warianger was my Christmas present to myself.

[librarymage]

[grabs your shoulders and shakes you] something being widely accepted fanon does not actually make it "basically canon" and it doesn't mean people who don't incorporate it into their fics or acknowledge it are doing something wrong

[ievaxol]

no one can unring this bell

on good days, the creaking hardly bothers him.

'tis simply part of the daily routine to draw from the well of his aether and breathe life into his limbs again upon waking, to close his eyes through the initial panic of being pinned to the bed by dead weight and then the secondary, slower burning one of that dead weight being attached to him.

it took a couple of years, but he got the hang of it eventually. for all the theatrics of his youth, g'raha has discovered a pragmatic streak that runs deep within him.

he'll trade an arm for a settlement, half a leg for a child with eyes the color of lakeland -- he'll barter, give and take and move the pieces he has with lips pressed together and eyes cast to a future that may well lay hundreds of years ahead.

his own body is merely another resource at his disposal. he sits down with stacks upon stacks of books on anatomy to find a way to have the aether penetrate all the way out to this fingertips, not for himself but because the dexterity is needed in order to fight.

lyna smothers him in salves and ointments and he lets her, if only so she can feel needed. there is no need to tell of an itch that goes deeper than skin, not when she frowns in determination and sets his heart to bursting with affection.

on bad days, it does bother him.

those days he lets the sleeves drop a little lower and he stays in the tower if he can, both relieved and sickened at the familiar hum of aether that cocoons him.

relief at knowing he'll be able to move the way he wants. that he'll be able to fool himself into thinking there is nothing wrong with him so long as he doesn't look upon himself and see the tattered remains of his dress branded into the mockery of flesh provided by the tower.

nausea at the calculations that perpetually run in the back of his mind, reminding him of the fact that his body is no longer his. how many ilms of skin does it cost to save a life? what limbs would he trade for the crystalline mean? does he have the right to grieve himself?

it would probably do him well to remember that the tower isn't sentient as such, yet he can never shake the feeling that it hungers for more. some days it feels as though he has placed himself in the maw of a starving beast that is simply waiting for him to grow a little more before its jaws snap shut.

and time is notoriously not on his side.

on the worst days, the creaking is all he hears.

when he's called out on extended business, or another summoning attempt falls flat, or someone dies, or, well --

it's so loud those days. the scrape of rock against rock, slow and relentless. it is inescapable, too, as his chest heaves with every breath he takes and the crystal moves with it, groaning and cracking like a live thing.

the warmth is siphoned first out of his skin and then out of the very air, leaving his teeth chattering and lyna's face engraved with a silent worry that he's scared will grow permanent, and he wants to weep at how the one supposed to protect her ends up hurting her the most.

every swallow is a struggle, every step a fight. the seams of his transformation cracks and bleeds pain until he's half delirious with it, overcome by the need to claw his way out, out, out of his own body and the prison it makes.

it's basic survival instinct after all, to run away from what's killing you. and here he is. walking toward it, sprinting some days, as if he truly can't wait.

he has a thousand things to do and a hundred places to be, and yet all he is capable of is humming under his breath to try and drown out the never ending sound of his own corpse being puppeteered.

a small prize to pay on the grand scale of things but gods.

gods does he long for silence.

[underarchon]

I saw you dripping sunlight

I saw you dripping moonlight

Traditional versus digital.

I sketched this up, and the idea was to make clean lines in CSP so I can project it on a canvas to trace and paint, but uhhhh I actually really like the digital version better. Might just finish it and fork out the $ to get a nice canvas print of it.

[underarchon]

Trying to get back in to traditional art so naturally I drew ~*them*~

[underarchon]

"What thinkest thou, of mine appearance?"