not-plaidweave:

laurelsofhighever:

junie-junette:

Commission of
Alistair from Dragon Age and @laurelsofhighever‘s OC, Rosslyn Cousland.

I hope you’ll like them ! Thanks a lot for your support !

***

Hoooo myyyyy… When was the last time I’ve draw something ? I’m all rusty and tired, my body hurts and I feel so weak, like I could break just like that ! But I’m tired to be like that so I will work to feel better ! èAé Life is still a bitch, but I won’t break so easily ! Be ready for more drawings so !

Loooooooooook!!! I literally can’t get over how amazing this art is. Thank you so much @junie-junette!

And here’s the sneak peek  of The Falcon and the Rose to go along with it:

It was Alistair.

He lay without moving. A thin sheet was pulled up to cover his bare chest, a thick crust of gore caked his scalp and the left side of his face, and the skin beneath it shone pale with sweat. Was all the blood his? Someone had splinted his left arm and tied it in a sling. If he were dead, then surely they wouldn’t have bandaged his wounds, or propped him up with so many pillows for comfort. Surely.

…

She turned and shrugged off her cloak and gambeson, laying both across the foot of the bed before rolling up her shirtsleeves.

“Um, what are you doing?” Alistair asked as she sat down. The bed was very narrow. He tugged his blanket back up to cover his chest, suddenly light-headed and rather warm. Water plinked into the bowl as Rosslyn squeezed the excess out of the cloth.

“I refuse to talk to someone so unkempt,” she breezed. “It’s undignified.”

“Unkempt?” He looked down at himself, pouting. “I am not.”

“At least tell me this isn’t all your own blood.”

“I – hm. I’m not sure.” He focussed on the way Cuno was butting his head into the crook of his elbow, because the only other thing to focus on was Rosslyn’s studious frown, the way her lips parted slightly as she trailed the cloth over his forehead. It was hard to think when her touch brushed so gently over his skin.

Conversation faltered after that. When most of the dirt was wiped away from his face, Rosslyn shifted closer and set to cleaning out the deep gash on his cheek, wincing in sympathy every time he grimaced at the sting of the salt. It was an ugly wound, but the edges were straight enough that it should heal with little scarring. She had to pause every few seconds to tilt Alistair’s head back towards the light, because he kept turning to study her face no matter how she told him to hold still, and after a while it became easier just to leave her fingers resting against his jaw, his stubble prickling against her skin.

reblogging again because the chapter is now up!

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AO3