#dadcullen

[pookydraws]

“Papa, why you come home late.”

I’m sorry.

[cullywullycurlywurly]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Dragon Age: Inquisition Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Mage Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Cullen Rutherford/Female Mage Trevelyan, Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford Characters: Cullen Rutherford, Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Human Inquisitor Additional Tags: Future Fic, Next-Gen Summary:

“I wanted to join the Templars. My father said no.”

She'd left Skyhold looking for answers. She hadn't expected the ones she'd found.

[pookydraws]

Let’s go, papa!

[pookydraws]

Not only loving husband, but protective father.

[pookydraws]

Rutherford Family.

That’s just...I use too much energy to add the little ones!

[pookydraws]

Rutherford family.

[pookydraws]

I found that drawing their family is a hard work. I’ll paint it later.

[abderian-aeolist]

In A Templar’s Arms

(Cullen x Lavellan)   

Pre-Trespasser DLC, so no spoilers.

Short, shameless dad!Cullen. In my headcanon, Falere and Cullen eventually wind up with three rough and tumble girls and a timid little boy.  Falere comes to terms with her children being more of a reflection of their father than her elven heritage.

Getting back into the swing of fanfic, so I thought I’d post a bit of something I’ve had laying around for ages.

Check out my other stuff here.  =)

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She’d handled giving birth to their first child with the same level of fight she gave to everything. Her cries rebounded off the walls of the room like shouts in the heat of battle.  After, looking into her daughter’s blinking eyes, she’d laughed haggardly and said, “You almost got the best of me there, little one.”

Cullen reached out to touch the downy strawberry-blonde hair barely visible atop his daughter’s head…and halted.  He didn’t know how to hold a child, almost everything he’d ever held had been a weapon or shield.  The chantry had commanded the items he wielded be regulated, ordained, addictive or turned against a foe.  He’d only newly learned to love, to caress, to relish.  His prayers of late had been whispered, not commanded, to no Maker but the woman who had remade his heart into something whole.  Their new-found worship, their deepening intimacy, had led to the child in her arms, but beyond that knowledge he knew nothing of how to proceed.

Seeing his hesitation, she’d taken his extended hand and gently pulled him towards her.  

“Here, silly.  Like this.”

When he’d gotten in close enough that the two of them were shielded from the others in the room, she’d looked at him, winked, and muttered, “I only know because Josie showed me how to do it.  She’s been making me practice on her dolls for weeks.”

He’d laughed under his breath and then, somehow, suddenly, that tiny body was cradled in his arms.

Like an idiot he’d looked down at his daughter and whispered, “Oh Maker.”

A healer had quietly stepped in then, murmuring her own words to Falere, who nodded and responded quietly to her inquiries.  Cullen, though, was wholly transfixed.  He feared moving, lest he should disturb her.  He feared dropping her even though he was seated, and stationary, and not planning on sprinting any time soon, but then, out of the blue, she was asleep in his arms.  

She was asleep, just like her mother was most nights when she flopped against his chest and inevitably ended up drooling on his shoulder.  This precious, breathing thing that someone had mistakenly put into his bumbling possession, lay trusting in his arms.  Even more miraculously, her tiny visage showed none of the signs of alarm he had felt sure were radiating off of him.  He watched as her fingers curled and uncurled against her chest and in his heart he felt his apprehensions trickle away.  

Downy strawberry hair fluffed from atop her head, and something about her face, though it was still the round countenance of a newborn, drew a tender smile from his lips.  He’d looked down at Falere in wonder and said without a drop of irony, “She did get all the best of you.”

Lavellan had laughed again, but there had been a sadness in her eyes as she reached across to the child in his arms.  Love, without a doubt, but also resolution.  As if she’d only then made peace with a now-true reality that had revealed itself in the flesh.  Wordlessly, her calloused thumb ran an uninterrupted oval around the gentle curl of her daughter’s ear, so unlike the sharp points of her own, and the blooming emotion in Cullen’s chest ached in response.