alyssalenko:

I had the pleasure of snagging a spot in @nsfwfrosch’s last ko-fi event for a sketch of Odessa Cousland and Alistair and I am floored. It is so beautiful and so them I wanna cry. Thank you! I can’t stop staring at it! Eeeeeeee!

thelionandthelight:

Commission from the superbly talented @nsfwfrosch from her last ko-fi event. Thank you so much, as always, your work is gorge and makes my day 😀

Alistair and his lady love, Florence “Flora” Cousland 🙂

MUSCLES 💦💦 also BUTT! hnghhhh

inquisitoratheniel:

“Ar lath ma, vhenan…”

This is the seriously gorgeous commission I got from @nsfwfrosch for her latest Ko-fi event of Alowyn and Cullen enjoying… spending some time together. 😍😘 I am so in love with everything about this piece from their expressions to Alowyn being blissed out to and especially Cullen’s hand in the sheets. 💘💘💘💘

jawsandbones:

“I really don’t care. You still look hot and
I’m trying not to kiss you senseless right now.”

---

The last time she stood in this
court, it was to declare the innocence of the Wardens. Spilling blood for the
good of Ferelden, the spear in her hands and Loghain on his knees. Zevran supposes
it’s why she agreed so easily to it, the dress. After all, it was Anora who
asked her to wear it. She stands behind them both, this Warden, The Warden. Her presence gives Ferelden
faith in their new monarchs. Alistair makes his speech, and Mahariel clasps her
hands behind her back and does not fidget with the dress. The court doesn’t
know what it costs her to stand there.

It doesn’t know the arrow that
had ripped through her upper arm. Still bandaged, still torn, weaker than she’d
like. They don’t know the bruised knees, the cracked ribs, twisted ankle, or
the ache of having a friend simply disappear. She thought she’d at least have a
chance to give Morrigan a proper goodbye. Mahariel keeps her head held high,
shoulders stiff, and stance wide. A warrior’s stance. Alistair looks over his
shoulder once he finishes, at her, and it’s the applause from the court that
dismisses them.

Zevran leans against a wall,
near that corner. Far away from the others, the ones she has to make her way
through. To shake hands, make promises, accept congratulations. She is polite,
at best, but curt, and quickly pushes through them. To him. Wrapping a hand
around his wrist, stepping close. “I wish I had my shield,” she says, “I could
push my way out of here.” With her other hand, she finally tugs at the dress,
and he smiles.

Instead of her usual braids
bound up, she wears one, draped over her shoulder. He follows the end of it,
wraps his hand around it, while the other slips to the nape of her neck.
Pulling her forward, “you look beautiful. It is truly difficult not to kiss you
senseless right now.” Her hand travels from his wrist upwards, over his
shoulder, settles with her palm splayed against the small of his back.

“Please, save me from this
place. These people.” Behind that pillar, against that wall. Smiling as he dips
close, closes his eyes, presses his lips against hers. Returned wholeheartedly,
leaning into him, her hand clenching a fist in his tunic. Holding him close as
he kisses her again, and again. Once, to either cheek. The tip of her nose. Her
lips, once more. Forehead against forehead.

“They are busy with their new king and queen,”
he whispers to her, “let’s leave.” Her hand travels up and down his back as she
looks around the room. Nobles crowded in circles, talking to one another. Alistair
and Anora drifting to one after the other. Turning back to him, surging
forward, and one last kiss before she twists her hand in his, leads him to the
door.