#trialbyice

As always I can't decide my OCs' outfits so I will just follow @niziye's advice and draw them in a new outfit every time 😂💅

The audio is from an IG/TT trend. The illustration from my previous post was derived from this because I really loved the first panel and had to have it fully colored 🤌

A piece I comissioned early Jan from the Bakuten Shoot goddess @niziye. Getting art from you for my first longfic is such an honor 🙇🏻‍♀️

Starting BB OC Week with this piece I’ve been working on for weeks. I had more frames planned for it, but I think it would've become too bloated so I stuck up with this shorter version. I'm damn proud of myself 🌸 Used a lot of CSP materials tho, don’t tell anyone 🙈

🐺: "You should be pleased."

Also gotta love high cortisol Tala 🌸🐺🤬

Yet Wolborg lay utterly motionless, serene, almost like she had decided he was no longer worth even scaring. A small part of him bristled indignantly at the thought. But then, a defiant, almost mischievous streak, long buried under layers of bitterness and seriousness, sparked in his chest and pushed him to test the limits of the beast’s patience. "Getting comfortable, are we?" The words escaped him like a wisp of playful challenge. Yuriy approached her slowly until just inches separated him from his sacred beast. He removed his glove and his now naked hand hesitated just above her flank. A shiver ran deeply down his spine, warning him of this recklessness. He smirked, half daring, half mocking his own fear. Then, boldly, he pressed his palm slowly down. A powerful sensation surged through him as soon as his fingers sank over her immaterial fur. It was like plunging his fist into mildly electrified waters. Her surface wasn’t solid, but it wasn’t vapor either. His eyes shot wide and he drew a startled breath as sparking currents coursed through every nerve in his hand, crawling up his arm, shoulder, reaching his chest, then gripping muscles and bones. He couldn’t describe let alone recognize the sensation, physical and emotional. Then, as shimmering fur danced like ghostly flames amidst his fingers, Wolborg’s golden eyes rolled open in one calm motion, locking directly, almost lazily, onto him. Yuriy froze, pupils shrinking to pinpricks in his eyes. His scowl deepened, expression challenging and arrogant, but every muscle poised to defend or flee. He waited for the teeth, the bite, the thrashing, the icicles, his back to hit the ground again under the crushing strength of her paw and claws. He did not remove his hand, did not look away. Dared her to reject him again. Wolborg stared at him. Unblinking, unreadable, holding him captive. Then closed her eyes again. Returned to “sleep” as if she had merely brushed aside a fly, a harmless disturbance. Yuriy stared down at his hand, stunned, fingers still resting upon her flank, the energy humming against his skin. A wave of something warm and unfamiliar surged inside his chest, a feeling he hadn’t known for so long that it took him several seconds to identify it.  Relief. Acceptance. The sacred beast hadn’t attacked. Hadn’t interacted, but hadn’t pushed him away either. She had simply… allowed it. Allowed him. He withdrew his hand slowly, flexing his fingers and observing them until the tingling sensation faded. A faint smile - a rare, honest thing - crept across his lips, sly yet warm, victorious yet almost... humble. “Alright then,” he murmured quietly, voice sharp-edged as always but almost gentle. “I get the picture. You’re making me earn this the slow way, huh?” The sacred beast didn't react or respond. Which was a victory in itself.

Tala Some scruffy Russian pup sniffed his den, stole his bit-beast, his fame and his sis and he's not amused 🐺❄️