#morrigan x amell

[arthmis]

saw a bunch of adult kierans & kinda wanted to do my own :~)

[sulky-valkyrie]

Happy Friday! For Morrigan and anyone (or no one) “ why are you so invested in keeping me alive? “

Happy Friday!! for @dadrunkwriting

Daylen walked out of his room, then just stood in the hallway, watching his hands shake. After almost two years of fumbling through finally understanding what it meant to live outside Kinloch, his world had shifted underneath him again, but this time, it was as though he was walking on crumbling tiles, or quicksand. There was no euphoria in revelation today, and no satisfaction in learning more Warden secrets.

From the moment the words left Riordan's mouth, Daylen had been on automatic, nodding along as Alistair argued that there must be some other way. He'd barely heard Riordan's assurances that it probably wouldn't come to it, that the oldest Warden alive always was the one to do it. Daylen's mind was already miles away and days ahead, focused on one immutable fact: Alistair had to live.

Daylen was no one and nothing: a mage who hadn't had the grace to lie down and die. Alistair was someone, no matter how many times he might protest otherwise. More’s the point, he was far less likely to be 'accidentally' killed, either while fighting, or afterwards.

He'd been ready to die to keep Alistair alive, and had been planning how to do exactly that when Morrigan had thrown a wrench the size of a pony through on his schemes and left him as shaken as he'd been at Ostagar.

Morrigan wanted to sleep with him.

He certainly wasn't opposed to it, or to engaging in a bit of carnal ritual magic. She was beautiful and smart and spoke her mind the way he wished he could, using that barbed tongue to cut anything and everyone to ribbons. No, he wasn't opposed to it at all, nor had he been when she'd coyly complaining about how cold and lonely her tent was. He'd been besotted with Alistair at the time, but not so besotted to turn her down, and when she'd made it clear that a relationship didn't interest her, he'd put it out of his mind. Like being back in the Circle, really.

What was the harm in doing it again? Especially to be certain Alistair would live?

But still. A child? To know he'd fathered one and left it with a woman less nurturing than a than broodmother and twice as mean? How would he be able to look himself in the mirror? How would Zevran ever look at him the same?

He could ask Alistair, of course. Well, tell him. After the Landsmeet, he'd been so grateful that he'd sworn to Daylen he'd do anything to repay him for killing Loghain and not making him king.

He could ask him and not even mention a child. He'd never see it anyway, and what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

That thought made him feel ill. No, no more secrets.

Daylen wiped his palms on his robes and steadied his hands with a quick spell. It was one of the first he'd ever figured out how to modify, and, after years or daily practice, he'd honed it to something so simple yet complex that it cost barely any mana to cast or maintain, so little that even a Templar wouldn't spot it. Only Alistair had ever noticed, though he hadn't realized exactly what he was commenting on until Daylen explained it.

You're so confident all the time. Is it that spell you do every morning? Would it work for someone else? I — no. The spell stops the shakes. Everything else is a side effect and sort of… flattens a lot of rough edges. I think if I cast it on you, it would just paralyze your face.

It was that tremor in his fingers that made him avoid classes on creation magic back in Kinloch. Sigils and glyphs required precision, but any amount of stress made it virtually impossible for him to hold a pen, much less sketch out straight lines or perfect circles. Destruction was easier. He didn't need to be precise, just not pointed at a friend.

Tonight though, he wasn't destroying anything, except his life with Zevran. Would it be worth it?

He touched the door knob. It has to be.

"Have you decided, then?" Morrigan asked as he walked in. She hadn't moved from her spot by the fireplace, but everything in her posture radiated wariness. And impatience.

Daylen folded his arms and leaned back on the wall. "Just one more question." He'd never consider casting the spell for the side effects, but tonight, he was grateful for the calm in his voice that masked the screaming terrors in his mind. I have to do this.

"The time for questions is over," she snapped. "Either lay with me tonight or I leave. Simple as that."

"Why?" he asked. "Not why are you leaving, but… why do it at all? Why are you so invested in keeping me alive? Not Grey Wardens, but me." He paused. "And don't try to tell me it's because your mother wanted it."

Even in the dim light of the fire, he could see her flush with anger, or possibly embarrassment. "Is it not enough to know that I am? Is it not enough to simply accept my offer and be grateful for your life?"

He shook his head. "Just say it, Mori. Tell me this means something. That we could've had —"

"I will not." She took a step toward him. "You have your Templar and your assassin. Your life is too crowded already."

Daylen stayed put as she continued her approach, hips swaying with promises he couldn't help but think about. "He's not mine. Not like that. Neither of them, especially Alistair. And you didn't answer my question."

"Didn't I?" Morrigan was pressed against him now, warm but unyielding, and pulling his arms around her waist. "Perhaps your hearing is as damaged as Oghren's liver." Her lips were soft against his ear. "Now, let us make this a night to remember."

[timelessda]

Morrigan & Kara<3

[ART BY: Morght On ych.commishes.com]

I'm running multiple Dragon Age roleplays where Kara is an additional Grey Warden companion as opposed to, well, the main character [So participants Warden + Alistair + Kara] :') Depending on participant choices, Kara can either end up with Leliana, Morrigan or the participant's Warden (think Iron Bull/Dorian in DAI). So I figured, why not commission some Kara/Morrigan content?<3

Appearance for Morrigan is based on the mods I used for my most recent playthrough of Origins~!

Morrigan Of Inquisition Mod

Morrigan Ashes Inspired Robes Mod

[nelkenbabe]

Well, well. What have we here?

every so often you gotta redo a comic you drew two years ago. let’s see what this’ll look like in 2024, yes?

[carnalapples]

How about "Own, Growls, Hymn" for DADWC? :3

Happy Friday!! For you and @demarogue for @dadrunkwriting, I have some (faint) Morrigan/Amell:

“What do you require of me?” Morrigan stands to her full height and Amell thinks, briefly, that this was a mistake. 

"I wanted to ask you a question."

“Speak it.”

Somewhere behind them, he hears the low growls of what he thinks are wolves but is too skittish to ask, and he can’t stop his eyes from flicking toward the noise. Something plays across Morrigan’s face then, her lips curving up in a wry smile.

“There is nothing you can do about them,” she says.

“I’m just not used to it.” Like he is not used to armor instead of robes, or to the open air and the itchy grass, or the way he is addressed as Warden above all else.

“Still?”

“I was in the tower for eighteen years, and out here for just these months. You’re clever enough to do the math.”

“And I thought you were a quick learner.”

“Did you?” Her eyes narrow at that, at the earnestness he fails to cut out of his voice.

“You cannot tell me you miss that place,” she rejoins, as if it is a fact that he cannot refute. Does he miss it? He does not know.

He knows that each night, he lies in his bedroll and he tries not to dream. Sometimes he will turn over well-worn sections of the Chant in his mind, as if he can ward off a demon with words alone, with the pretense of holiness that he has always been denied. Worse than dreaming, really, is the fantasy. Sometimes he will wonder what it would be like if he had been allowed to stay, but mostly he wonders what his life would be like if he never had magic at all, if he didn’t have to live with the curse of it. 

He thinks maybe he would be okay, giving it up. But then he cranes his neck to the side, and down by the fire lies Morrigan, who has never seen her magic as a shameful thing.

“You do not miss your own home at all?”

“It is not my place to miss it. Flemeth told me I must go, and now I am here.” She adjusts her robes tighter around her. “I do not believe your prison can be called a home.”

“It was my home,” he says. “Are you cold?”

“What?” She blinks at him briefly before pulling her thoughts back together, the barest hint of a frown on her mouth. “I am fine.”

“Take my cloak," he offers quickly, too quickly.

"I do not need your cloak."

"Consider it a solution to a problem, then."

"And if there is no problem at all?"

"Consider it a gift." He's already unbuttoned it, the fabric hanging limply around his shoulders.

“You are sentimental.” The way she says it does not sound like a compliment. 

“Is there a problem with that?”

“Sentiment is a weakness. Although not as much as love.” At his silence, she cocks her head. “A Warden like you still believes in love?”

“I would whether I were a Warden or not.”

“They fed you many stories in your Circle, then.” Another one of her pronouncements, and even when he disagrees, which is often, he finds himself coming back here like a stray dog, to the fire that makes him sweat in his armor and her sharp tongue which does nothing to help.

“They fed us well,” he agrees. “Though stories do not do much for the stomach.”

And then she laughs, and he is reminded why he comes back. When Morrigan laughs… it’s like the hymns the sisters would sing in the Circle chapel.

He’d work nights in the chapel because it was slightly better than in the kitchens. One gave you extra food, and the other let you sit down. He’d light the candles, organize the books, and let the sisters’ and the templars’ hushed murmurs wash over him. And Amell had always carried it inside of him, the knowledge that the prayers were really meant for others. They could carry the prayer and the lightness of being, and he would carry the power, the magic, the sin that was his to bear.

But the song belonged to anyone that could hear it. It was not the peaceful melody of Transfigurations that brought him peace, but Threnodies, the harsh slant of the words on his ears. There was a beauty in there, a raw truth. 

Sometimes Cullen would be in there, too, and even now the thought of him stirs something fond before he remembers. He only ever lets himself think of one image now: the candlelight would catch on his face, on his eyelashes, pale golden as he looked over at him. And sometimes he would smile back, and Cullen would flush just a little before he turned back to his prayer, and Amell never knew if he was imagining the smile on his face or not.

Morrigan’s lashes are dark by firelight, dark shadows deepening her face. Cutting her sharper, more severe. She slips the cloak off his shoulders, his skin prickling as her hands brush it. "You had a question, I believe.”

He always walks away from talks like these feeling like it’s his fault, somehow. For believing in things he shouldn't, for not being bold enough. He is tempted to tell her about it, but he cannot figure out how to articulate it. That her laugh is like a hymn is too trite for such a clever girl as her, and she has likely never heard Threnodies and it would all be different through her ears.

"I think I have my answer," he says softly, and at that, she raises her brows, just a bit. Imperceptible if he weren't looking. And for him, raised on fleeting touches and the reading of meaning where there is none, it is enough.

[flowerpaletteart]

you are impossible

[sissy-the-siren]

Managed to snag two worldstate comms from @maturiin! I'm so in love with my precious beans being in love!!!! LOOK AT HOW HAPPY AND CAREFREE THEY ALL ARE!!!

[artoflevity]

witch hunt

[themaybug]

morning after + reactions 😭

[socialprawn]

i like drawing agape happy she deserves it 😭🌹

[thedarkangel74]

Amell is always described as being an edgy, strong- jaw-line, conventionally attractive, action orientated mage in the dragon age tag.

Counterpoint: He/She/They is a skinny and scrawny bean who prefers to read and study indoors. By the age of 10, they have read each book in the circle three times. As lifelong scholars, they have a hyper-fixation of all things magic and are desperate to learn new forms of magic (that's not blood-related). And at the slightest provocation, will talk nonstop about theories about some obscure magical property for hours

[rosella-writes]

WIP Whenever

Thank you for the tags @fadedsweater and @thebookworm0001 💚💚💚 I love reading your snippets 🥰

Tagging forward to @sulky-valkyrie @blarrghe @queenaeducan @pickelda and @broodwolf221 to share if they like! CW: smutty smut of the lesbian persuasion

Eilonwy pulled back to admire the witch spread before her —she took in Morrigan’s parted legs, her hands both firmly clamped over her own mouth, her long black tresses let down in waves over the bedroll beneath them, and the wild, musky hair that led from inner thighs to inner lips and glistened with eager wetness.  Eilonwy never got used to seeing her like this, to seeing her own pale hands gripping deep into the brown flesh of Morrigan’s sides, to seeing how her attention reduced such an abrasive, closed-off woman to one who whimpered and trembled at her touch. Her own arousal ached between her closed legs at the sight.  Usually by now Morrigan would be putting up a terrible fuss — staring, are we? had your fill? go on then, before I take what I want myself — but her hands stayed over her mouth. From the way Morrigan’s golden eyes flickered beneath her long lashes, Eilonwy suspected she’d beg if she allowed herself to speak.  Maker forbid the woman allow herself to sink to something as low as begging.  Eilonwy leaned down, holding Morrigan’s golden gaze with her own blue one. She breathed a cool sigh over the witch’s flushed cunt, which earned a desperate little squirm. Morrigan’s legs locked around Eilonwy’s shoulders to trap her close. “Had enough of my dilly-dallying?” she teased. Morrigan’s eyes flashed with sudden anger, but her hands didn’t move. Weak static crackled through the length of her hair.  Eilonwy pressed a tiny, chaste kiss to the crease of Morrigan’s thigh — her chin dipped too close to the wetness that dripped to the bedroll, and she came away with a smear of Morrigan’s want on her face. “You’re so desperate, just look! Have you been wanting me all day?” Those eyes glimmered bright with poisonous green.

[asphy7]

Niran Amell

Ditches the wardens to go help raise his son and support Morrigan on her adventures.

[pinayelf]

thedas tweets pt 2

bonus lol:

[missalenkos]

I love happy endings and I really REALLY need to know my Warden and Alistair have a chance of growing old and happy together. However, I also enjoy a good angsty history from time to time so, sometimes, I love punishing/treating myself with the following headcanon:

Warden Amell finds a cure to the taint and is eager to share the happy news with her beloved. She hears that he went to Skyhold to help the Inquisition, so she heads there. Apparently, her cousin Hawke, with whom she used to have a great relationship as kids, is also there. Same as her good friends Leliana and Morrigan. And her old flame, Cullen. However, when she arrives to Skyhold, she discovers that Alistair has stayed behind in the Fade.

She loses her mind because she was so close and haven't they already done enough? Don't they deserve to be together and happy at least? I imagine her crying between Leliana's arms; pleading with Morrigan to help her find a way to enter the Fade herself; feeling like a horrible person because, just for a split second, she has wished it was her cousin the one that stayed behind; screaming at Cullen with tears in her eyes because, although, deep down, she knows it's not the Inquisition's fault, how could they have allowed this to happen (and Cullen feeling terrible because he already wanted to apologize for how they ended things and for all the untoward things he said to her but, after this, how can he face her?) ...

Ouch, my heart... If I was better at writing in English, I'd write a fic with this...

[laniardraws]

Continuation of this