#morrigan x amell

[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

[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

[asphy7]

Niran Amell

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

[rosella-writes]

happy friday! for dadwc this week, perhaps "Using your body to shield them from attack." from the acts of service prompts for a pairing of your choice :3

Thank you!! For @dadrunkwriting

Pairing: Eilonwy Amell x Morrigan Rating: M for gore and violence Tags: darkspawn gore, wounds, body horror Words: 439

~~~

Eilonwy sensed the hurlock before it struck — its sickly song was more than its gurgling groan, more than the whistle of air around its striking weapon, more than the patchwork armour that creaked when it moved. But even her sense for the creature couldn’t help her turn fast enough to intercept its blow. 

But Morrigan could. 

Her body furled around Eilonwy like a closing petal. Bones groaned, skin stretched, and the tang of her magic on the air was thick and cloying with pain — she disappeared into a burst of feathers and a drip-drip-dribble of blood. The hurlock, bewildered and lacking its weapon, reached for Eilonwy now with bare hands. 

Her thudding heart threatened to choke her. Rage, such as the Templars had guarded against, felt like fire in her veins. The charred tip of her staff flared coal-bright — the skin on the hurlock’s fingers peeled back like burnt paper.

Eilonwy’s own two hands reached back — her staff lay between them, no more use to her than a scorched branch — and her pale skin was lurid and bright as sunlight against its rotten skull. Its gnashing teeth nearly caught one of her fingers. Its burning hands scrabbled against her Warden armour. Its face began to melt like wax beneath her palms. 

She hooked her nails between plates of bone.

Its screeches of battle dissolved into screams. She felt the rip of that noise in her own throat — maybe she was screaming too. 

Its body was beneath her now, pinned by her knees. She hunched over it — primal as the magic she’d once rejected in favour of the study of entropy — and clawed into its face, down its throat, into its sinuses, its brain. All burned at her touch.

Wild magic snapped and crackled around her, completely out of control. 

Something ripped at the creature’s throat. 

Eilonwy glanced down, nearly blind with rage and tears, to find a familiar ferret, black as night, trying to help. A great wound gaped in its side, but it wriggled in between Eilonwy and the hurlock’s chest, chirping and scolding and pausing only to gorge on darkspawn vocal chords. 

The hurlock was no longer moving. 

Eilonwy fell back on her haunches, something she now recognised as sobs ripping through her chest and throat. The ferret came with her — it wriggled up to span her shoulders instead. It still scolded, sounding not unlike the witch herself on a normal day. Eilonwy clutched it close. 

“Morrigan, why did you do that?”

The ferret only chittered. Eilonwy petted the length of its spine, murmuring and sobbing, and slowly willed the wound in its side to knit closed.

[mossyarts]

im doing DAtober out of order to try at least a bit so heres my drawing of the Midday Meal prompt!

[pinayelf]

thedas tweets pt 2

bonus lol:

[laniardraws]

Continuation of this

[seigephoenix]

Happy DADWC day! How does a bit of “I have neither the time nor the crayons to explain this to you.” “What are those?”  “Crayons.” sound for M!Warden x Morrigan?

Happy DADWC! For @dadrunkwriting Here is my Maximillian Amell and Morrigan for this lovely prompt. Poor lovely Max. He just doesn't have much experience in these kinds of things and takes them quite literally. XD

Ship: Maximillian Amell x Morrigan Content Warning: Awkwardness and a sudden smoothness that shocks everyone Length: ~900 words

Max was bound and determined to get Morrigan to speak more with him.  He understood she was wary of Circle mages, and he couldn’t blame her.  The hatred and distrust apostate mages received was enough to make anyone wary.  He just wished she’d talk to him even a little.  Each and every time he tried to get closer to her and speak about a magical theory, he’d get brushed away.  Her favorite was always: I have neither the patience nor crayons to explain this topic to you.

Maximillian Amell was nothing if not clever.  He had popped over to the merchant in Denerim who had been quite bewildered over his request but thankfully had what he was looking for.  Max knew that he just had to get close to Morrigan again.  She was warming up to him in other areas, but clammed up whenever he wanted to talk magical theory.  So frustrating.

“You look quite pleased with yourself tonight young Maximillian.” Wynne broke him from his thoughts as she joined him by the fireside.  “Is it a pair of pretty painted lips that tickles your fancy today?”  Max fought the flush.  Wynne was as close to a mother as he was likely to ever get after his thrust him into the circle at a young age.  Instead of the usual teasing, Wynne merely smiled at him.

“She is good for you.”  Max was surprised.  Wynne was accepting of an apostate?  She must have read the question on his face.  “Apostates or Circle mages, we both draw from the same source do we not?  The only difference is one has a set of iron bars as their prison and the other the constant state of unease from being hunted.  Same prison different jailers.” Wynne explained as she held out her hand for Max’s hound to sniff as he came over for treats.  “You could learn from one another.  It is cute to see you showing affection for someone.”

Max rubbed the back of his auburn hair as he remembered how awkward he was in the Circle.  He was so studious that he hadn’t even realized his good friend had a love affair going on with a Chantry sister.  The entire incident regarding the First Enchanter and Jowan made Max realize he lived in a bubble of his own making.  A bubble he had to break if he expected to survive out here in the real world.  “I.”

“She is looking your way my dear.” Max’s head snapped up at Wynne’s words and she chuckled as she saw Morrigan’s turn just as quickly.  “Such stubborn people.  Well, I have faith that you’ll break her resolve.” Wynne gave Max a reassuring pat on his shoulder before she turned to pester Alistair.  Max took his chance and strolled over to Morrigan’s small tent.

“Are here to bother me with your apostate questions yet again?” Max narrowed his eyes as she didn’t even bother to look at him.  She waved towards the small log near her fire and Max settled himself down on it.

“I have, in fact, come to pester you with more questions.”  Max saw the hint of a smile on her lips and his heart kicked up a notch.  She turned to face him and he fought the flush on his cheeks as he faced her.  She made him nervous, but not in a fearful way.  He enjoyed her company but the quiet looks she sent his way had his palms itching sometimes.  Alistair told him it was because she put a spell on him, but Max knew that wasn’t true.  Wynne had teased him that it wasn’t a magic spell Morrigan had cast on him but another one, more powerful than even the strongest mage in Thedas.  That had him thinking for days about it.

“Wonderful.  Just what I needed to ease the boredom in my otherwise dreary night.”  Max arched an eyebrow as she turned to face him.  He rested his hand on top of his pocket, relieved to still feel the weight of the box in there.

“You said you could teach me how to shapeshift?  I want to learn.”  Max knew this question always without fail resulted in her annoyance.

“Again?  I’ve told you before, I do not possess the patience nor the crayons to explain this complicated.” Morrigan paused as he held the box in front of her face.  “Pray tell what are these?”

“Crayons.”  Morrigan’s lips parted in a perfect o shape as she realized what he had done.  She pushed his hand away and stared at him.

“Are you that determined to learn shapeshifting?”  Max felt his chest grow tight at the imminent dismissal on her lips.  He didn’t want to be turned away again.  He let the box drop to his feet and he grasped her hand in his.

“I just want to spend time with you.”  Max saw his words stunned her.  Her lips struggled to form words and he swore he saw the hint of a flush on her cheeks before she schooled her features.  Morrigan turned her head and he saw the pursed lips and thought he had messed up.

“You could have just asked.”  Now it was his turn to be stunned and they stared at each other for a quite moment before his grin broke the tension.

“Then can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Spend time with you?  I really want to Morrigan.”  He pulled her hand towards his face and pressed a kiss to the back of it and grinned at her reaction.  Her cheeks did indeed turn a bit pink under the firelight.  Max suddenly realized the bold move he’d pulled off and felt his own cheeks grow warm.  Her fingers shifted until they were intertwined with his.

“I’d like that as well.”

[athirstygoblin]

Part 4 out of 4 for a test I'm doing

Remember to reblog and be respectful!

Alistair

Leliana

Zevran