cullen home

dionesyia  asked:

I'd really love a oneshot about Carlisle struggling with a mild case of jealousy. Like his SO talks to someone else, and is all nice and smiley because that's the person they are and Carlisle KNOWS that and he really does know better BUT DOES THIS GUY REALLY NEED TO STAND SO CLOSE TO THEM?

There were few things that Carlisle prided himself on. There was his self control, of course, as well as his ability to easily connect with people. It was a quiet sort of dignity, internalized and never boasted about, because that’s just how Carlisle was, wasn’t he? Humble. Vanity certainly didn’t suit him. But there was one thing in particular, something that only Carlisle was capable of, that would occasionally go to his head.

It was you, or more specifically your eyes, and the way they came to life when he was with you. The way they widened in his presence, the way your pupils dilated the longer he engaged you, the way they focused in on him like he was the most captivating thing they ever saw. And there was always this animate twinkle in those beautiful, dark irises, a subtle glistening that Carlisle knew was for him and only him, akin to a shooting star streaking the black sky—striking and uplifting. 

And when Carlisle saw that twinkle—his twinkle—shimmering vibrantly in your eyes while in the presence of another man, something wildly unpleasant tore open in his chest, clawing up his throat and threatening to burst through his clenched jaw. Suddenly the air in the room was thicker, more suffocating, and Carlisle swore he could feel perspiration prickling on his hairline when the man leaned in closer towards you with an easy grin. 

It was a blow to the gut when you smiled back, when the stranger continued to bask in your glowing gaze. And Carlisle knew you were just being nice, he knew better than to let something so juvenile gnaw at him like this, but did this guy seriously just take another step closer to you? 

A red fog creeped in through his peripheral vision, and a deep, guttural growl resonated in his chest, like a low rumble of thunder reverberating from the earthy floor and shuddering the branches of a tree. His upper lip twitched threateningly, and Carlisle had to resist the overwhelming urge to bare his teeth. He may be falling apart on the inside, but he was not about to lose his hold on his self control too.

Your name scratched its way up his raw throat, the strained sound begging your eyes to flicker over to where Carlisle was standing off with rigid shoulders. He tried a smile, tightlipped but still sincere, and you smiled softly in response. He heard you mutter a brief ‘excuse me’ before you started walking over to him, the smile on your face never faltering as your scent grew stronger and stronger with each step you made.

If someone asked Carlisle why he did what he did next, he would say that he truthfully didn’t know. Maybe it was the harrowing jealousy banging its fists against his ribcage. Maybe it was your intoxicating, delectable aroma clouding his judgement. Maybe it was that damned twinkle that was dancing in your eyes as you approached him. Maybe it was all three together.

The exact second you were at arms length from him, Carlisle’s fingers hooked into the belt loops of your jeans and yanked you forward, chests and mouths roughly colliding. Another growl vibrated between your bodies as his lips greedily attacked yours, his tongue dominating, claiming, while unusually forceful fingers and sturdy palms encircled your neck to better control the kiss. His teeth stung as they sunk into your bottom lip, and he swallowed your gasp with a wide, hungry mouth. 

Carlisle ended the kiss abruptly, parting from your lips with a wet, salacious smack, the hands on your neck sliding up to frame your face and hold your head steady. He dragged the pad of his thumb possessively over your spit-slicked lips, and as he took in your hooded eyelids and rosy cheeks, he discovered another thing he could pride himself on; he was the only person who got to see you like this—so undone and wanton.

You swallowed, taking a steadying breath in before self-consciously narrowing your eyes. “People are staring, Carlisle.”

An uncharacteristically wicked smirk pulled at his lips, and he let his gaze cast over your shoulder to the now appalled man, a triumphant swell in his chest urging his smirk into a wide grin. “Good.”

He looked down at you again, pressing another brief kiss to your lips before finally letting his hands fall from your face, a warmth spreading from his chest, traveling up his neck when your eyes twinkled happily—his twinkle.

alright ive been thinking about the inquistion road trip just imagine

-so the inquisitor and they’re companions rent a rv to travel cross country various stops both business and fun along the way

-Josie and leliana take turns driving 

-leliana drives wicked fast and refuses to stop and ask for directions

-meanwhile when the occasional argument breaks out in the back you can hear josie ‘if you do not stop i will turn us right around and we will go back home!’

-cullen backseat driving

-solas giving history bits about where they are (and sera groaning each time he does) 

-’are we there yet are we there yet arE WE TH-’ ‘we will get thERE WHEN WE GET THERE SERA’ 

-backseat chess match

-back seat wicked grace (varric of course carries a deck of cards with him) 

-viv complaining about how she can’t wait to leave this gross rv and get some fresh air

-cole spends a lot of time looking out the window

-blackwall attempts playing i spy and other car games. sera enjoys the idea

-bull keeps wiggling his eyebrows in dorians direction

-the inquisitor falling asleep on their love interest 

-varric would attempt shooting Bianca at every target sign. cassandra eventually has to take away any bolts left. 

-theyd totally stop at the world’s biggest ball of twine and other stupid things like that

-battles over the radio 

please add more i just really love this idea  a lot

Cullavellan Week Day 5: Formal Night

I just wanted to draw the clothes, tbh.


(Requested by nowisours-nowisforever)

Jasper stood by your bed, staring down at you as you had an uneasy sleep.

Carlisle said there was little to no chance of you battling this illness and surviving, and Jasper didn’t like that in the slightest. It set the blond on alert, watching every breath and move you made and hoping it wasn’t your last.

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Oh Give Me a Home (Ch. 1)

Banner by the incredible (bestie) @ladydracarysao3!!! 

Rating: E for Explicit/NSFW Content (Eventually)

Check it out on AO3.

Sheriff Cullen Rutherford is a man of simple needs. He desires only a roof over his head, a bed to sleep in, food to eat, and a job to do. All of these needs are met in Val Sable in the Western Approach. That is, until a murder brings fledgeling druffalo rancher, Miss Dahlia Trevelyan, into town on the one o'clock stagecoach. Educated, beautiful, and as ladylike as they come, her presence turns his needs on their ear.

With the fate of an entire town twisted up in the mess that brought Dahlia into his life, Cullen wonders if he can become the man everyone needs. He prays he can become the man Dahlia Trevelyan needs.

Welcome, fair reader, to my Old West/Wild West AU!!! I’ve had this one stuck in my head for a while now, and now seemed as good a time as any to put the first bit of it out there for @cullenappreciationweek‘s Day 6! I hope you have as much fun reading this as I have writing it!!! <3

Chapter 1:

The weight of the six-shooter on Cullen’s hip grounded him. He rested his right hand on his belt, fingertips brushing against that dark metal and ivory handle. A part of him hated standing out in the heat and the dust waiting for the daily stagecoach, though he did it every afternoon like clockwork.

He stood there, sweating under his hat, the wide brim of which bore the small mercy of keeping the sun from his amber eyes. He could feel more sweat beading under his arms, and he shuffled his stance to prevent the moisture from touching the smaller pistol tucked against his ribcage. The windless heat bore down on him like an old corpse, rank and heavy and stale. His office would not be much better when he returned. It would have even less airflow, if that was possible. He could not voice these complaints, however. Such was the nature of Solace in the Western Approach. Such was the nature of midday in the summer months. Such was the nature of his position as Sheriff of Val Sable, a small city named for its expanse of sand. Fitting.

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(Requested by aristocratunicorn)

“Alice, doesn’t Renesmee like purple better?” You asked with a tilt of the head. 

You were visiting the Cullen home to help Alice plan a birthday party for your favorite niece. 

Renesmee wasn’t actually your niece, but she felt like it. You and Bella were practically sisters after all.

She’s quite pretty for a human.

You tensed up suddenly. The Romanians were visiting for whatever reason and you had been feeling uncomfortable since you could understand every word they said. 

You didn’t tell them though, you didn’t want them to know you had been unintentionally listening in on their conversations.

Indeed she is. I don’t know if I’d like to eat her or take her as mine. Vladimir purred out. 

It creeped you the hell out and by the look on Edward’s face you weren’t the only uncomfortable one.

Why don’t you ask her then? She already knows everything. You could hear the smirk in Stefan’s voice. 

You’re right. In a flash you were trapped in the cage of Vladimir’s arms, much to the amusement of Stefan. Y/N, what do you think about being my Queen? He asked dangerously close to your ear.

It seems they knew that you knew all along.

I want a complete tour of the Cullen home, specifically this cabinet in the garage. Carlisle just strolls in there and starts taking out fistfuls of cash, like… wait, what else is in there?? Is this The Stash of various types of currency, fake IDs, license plates for various states, etc? All ready to go in case of emergency, i.e. Somebody Accidentally Ate a Classmate?

Just imagine for a second: some giggling couple of teenagers sneaks out here to make out during the graduation party in Eclipse and discovers The Stash 😄

“OMG The Cullens are gangsters!”

Some sweetness

Trevelyan x Cullen x Alistair

“Remember me?”

Cullen’s sword clattered loudly to the floor as his hand slackened at the familiar and unexpected voice from the hooded figure in the doorway.

“Alistair,” he breathed. He reached out the now empty hand slowly, disbelieving, then suddenly grasped a handful of cloak and jerked his lover roughly into him. Alistair rumbled a chuckle low in his chest as he returned the embrace. “I can’t believe it’s you. Thank the Maker you’re alright.”

Alistair leaned into the strong arms he’d so long denied himself, pushing his face into the hair behind Cullen’s ear, breathing him in. How he’d missed him! With a deep breath he pulled back and looked down into those topaz eyes still wide with shock, “How is she?” he asked quietly.

“She’ll be so much better now you’re home,” Cullen stepped back to let the man in, scooping up his pack and securing the door “As am I.” He dropped the bag on a chair and reached again for the man his heart had been missing, as if to assure himself he was real. “Maker Ali, I’ve missed you,” his voice quietly broke as he let tender fingertips brush those familiar lines of his jaw. Alistair’s eyes slid closed at that touch, his chest tightening.

He wrapped a cool hand around Cullen’s wrist, pressing his cheek into that warm palm. “I’ve missed you too,” he whispered lowly. Cullen’s fingers flexed at the contact, he sighed with deep contentment as the hollow part of himself that opened they day Alistair left began to fill. “She’ll want to see you, I’ll give you two a few minutes,” he said nodding toward the bedroom.

Alistair released his lovers hand and took a deep breath, eyes hooded in trepidation as he glanced at the door. He nodded and steeled himself, whatever came, he deserved it.

Trevelyan heard a shuffle just outside the door as her husband returned “Cullen, what was that noise, I woke up and …” her mouth fell open with a loud gasp as the man stepped into view. Not Cullen. Suddenly she was bolt upright, blankets flung back, “Alistair!”

“Yes love, it’s me” he stood, eyes cast downwards to the floor, shoulders hunched. Sweet Andraste how he’d missed her. He wanted nothing but to gather her in his arms and feel the warmth of her, but he’d been away so long…

“Oh Alistair, come to me,” her arms reached out for him, her missing part. Hungrily she clutched him to her as he moved to sit by her side on the bed. Alistair slid his arms around her not-so-little middle and buried his face into her warm body. He felt her kisses atop his hair as she rocked him gently, seeking comfort in him as he did in her. She cradled his head in her trembling hands and lifted his face to hers. Her watering eyes flickering over his features, drinking him in. With a small sound her lips parted, and she leaned down to press her mouth to his. With her kiss his first tear fell, he couldn’t believe he’d almost forgotten, memories a poor substitute for the reality. He was hesitant but Trevelyan was steadfast, there was no doubt in her touch, she knew this if she knew anything- she loved him. At her gentle insistence he let her in, her tongue danced in his mouth, caressing his with such sweetness and loving.

Let me in my love, open yourself to me, trust this, I will never not want you…

Trevelyan tried to pour herself into him, conveying her longing through their kiss, begging his heart to finally hear her in a way his ears never had. To feel this truth as surely as he felt her lips. How could he not when she felt she would split apart with the strength of the storm that roiled through her body with her love for him? Breathlessly she broke away, her chest thundering from the fierce tide within her. “Do you see now? Can’t you feel how very much you matter?” she held his gaze, her voice low and uneven, “You fill me, I will never be whole without you. Won’t you let us love you the way you love us?” She stroked his brow tenderly with trembling fingertips, her thumb tracing the line of his lower lip as with her eyes she begged him to surrender. For heartbeats they stayed locked in that suspended moment. Alistair’s lifelong fear to trust, to completely relinquish the safety of his defensive walls began to waver. But if not for her, and for Cullen, then for who? As the last vestiges of his fortress crumbled beneath the crashing waves of her love he finally found his worth. His breath hitched as he allowed his heart to believe, finally, that he was wanted.

They both looked up as Cullen entered quietly, Trevelyan smiled warmly and reached a hand to him to join them. Cullen slid onto the bed with his lovers, both of them, and with a shudder of pure joy as he enfolded them in his arms his heart was complete once more.

Alistair was home, and together they were whole again.

@cullenstairshenanigans ​ a gift for you. Because Summer Wine gives me feels and I guess this is the only way I know to express that. Thank you :)


(Requested by Anon) (Part 1 of this imagine here) (Part 2 of this imagine here)

“Why are you doing this to me?” You groaned out from your spot in the backseat.

Your brothers both looked back at you and rolled their eyes. “Because you’re acting like a child so we can’t trust you to go by yourself.” Sam replied before turning to face the front.

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Far From

Blame @cullenappreciationweek. I wanted to do something for the redemption/change aspect, and something with his Inquisition self trying to come to terms with it all.

Cullen finds it some time after coming to Skyhold. He hadn’t even known he’d taken it - an unusual slip; he thought he’d been rigorous in checking his luggage when leaving Kirkwall, not wanting to waste any space when there was none to spare, and yet he must have carried it through the Conclave, through Haven. It must have been sitting at the bottom of his personal bag while he stood in front of the skittish Herald and assured her he was no longer a templar. He grimaces at that, his head aching from his own stupidity rather than from the withdrawal, before he returns his attention to it. There wasn’t time when they came here; they’ve spent weeks struggling to maintain the Inquisition hour to hour, never mind unpacking and worrying about home comforts.

He pulls the piece of material from underneath the books and potion bottles, the keepsakes of a life that he doesn’t know whether to call his own anymore. He unrolls it between his hands, and simply… looks. Red and purple silk shines in the candlelight, and his eyes are drawn to the golden Sword of Mercy.

Mercy. He thought that meant something, once. Before Kirkwall, before… No, since Kinloch. Maker, he lost himself there, and only ran even further from himself in Kirkwall.

“Cullen!” a bright voice says behind him, and there’s a half-hearted knock on his office door.

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Part of a collaboration with fatally-procrastinating​ who wrote a beautiful fic to accompany this piece I’ve had kicking around my head for ages. 

Cullen read the letter again, hoping to find some hidden line that he’d missed. Some small message for him. The wind tugged at the paper and he tightened his grip. Three weeks since her previous letter—three weeks of silence—and this was all she had to say?
What of all the things he’d asked? The things he’d told her?
He closed his eyes to the cold wind and hoped the chill would loosen the ache in his chest.


(Requested by Anon)

You were outside the Cullen home waiting for everyone to come back from hunting. It had been snowing for a few days so you wanted to build a snowman once the snow stuck.

The bottom of the snowman was nearly done, you just needed a little more…

“Hello there.” You looked up to see Jasper there with a pile of snow in his arms. “Need some help?” He dropped the snow on top of the mound you had been building.

You smiled and nodded. “I’d like that. Thank you Jazz.” He started patting the snow into place and you watched with a bright smile.

This is nice. I like this. You stared at Jasper, loving how snowflakes fell into his hair and made him look like a snow angel.

You know what would really make him look like a snow angel?

Jasper looked up just as you shoved a snowball into his face. He stared at you in surprise. “Oh…” His lips curled into a sinister smirk. “Is that how you want to play, my little human?”

In the blink of an eye Jasper was gone and you felt yourself being picked up. Your scream of surprise turned into more of a laugh. “Jasper!”

You were plopped down into a pile of snow, your pants getting soaked through.

“Remember this,” Jasper stood above you with a smirk. “You don’t want to challenge a vampire darlin.”


Originally posted by tentacle-explosion

Imagine Cullen wrapping his arms around you for a hug, the smug look on his face. Imagine the fur tickling your nose as you inhale his scent. Him. Imagine those soft lips meeting yours. Imagine the feel of that scar on your lips. 



(Requested by Anon)

You loved going to the Cullen house. You adored the family, adored the home, but most of all you adored Rosalie. The blonde had seemed so unfriendly the first time you met, she had tried glaring you into submission but you took it in stride. 

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ma-sulevin  asked:

DWC "Blood at the corner of your mouth" for Cullen

Pairing: Cullen x Trevelyan
Words: 883
Rating: M

I’ve become so sleepy, so this may be weird and shitty… And I’m also combining two of your prompts for this one. About a million years ago you also prompted: “The waver in a person’s voice when they’re stressed.”


Cullen grunts and paces across the command tent. When he’s tired of the tent, he grunts and paces throughout camp instead. Unsuspecting soldiers are hit with ire as he barks orders at them while he paces. Many gruff comments like, ‘Isn’t there something productive you could be doing,’ and ‘With guard postings this lax, it’s amazing we have not been overrun,’ are thrown this way and that.

Logically, he knows that Izzalea faces death daily when out on the field. But usually he is consumed with work in his tower, and something about the separation makes it so he doesn’t feel the danger as strongly as he does now. Now, on this march back to Skyhold, he doesn’t have that separation. Not on days like today, when she receives reports of multiple fade rifts opening not far from the march.

Now, he has to sit and twiddle his thumbs, watch over the entirety of the army as it rests for the night, all the while she is out there…fighting demons…without him. She should have returned by now. He should have gone with her. Why did he not go with her?

Finally, he hears a soldier call out her and her company’s arrival, and Cullen rushes toward the sound. Easily, he knocks men out of the way as he barrels toward the spot of red hair he can see through the crowd. Red hair that is illuminated by firelight.

When he reaches her, he lets out a sigh of relief. “I’m glad you’ve returned,” he says.

Izzalea turns to face him and his heart sinks. She has bags under her eyes, ichor caked all over her gear, and blood dripping from the corner of her mouth.

“Maker,” he exclaims and reaches for her cheek before he remembers himself and the countless soldiers surrounding them. “Are you alright?”

Izzalea yanks off her gauntlets and rubs her eyes. “Yeah, I just took a hit to the face is all.”

“She means a terror demon’s body broke its ass on her face,” Varric says with a little too much irritation to his tone for Cullen’s liking.

The mage Aurora steps closer to Izzalea, voice so soft Cullen can barely hear it over the rest of the camp’s commotion. “I’m so sorry Inquisitor. Really. If there’s anything–”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Just have a healer with some talent meet me at my tent, please,” Izzalea says abruptly. There is a waver to her voice and she rubs her jaw with a pained expression. She then walks forward, no regard for Cullen or anyone else between her and the direction of her tent.

Cullen decides to follow her, watching with worry as she stomps and pushes her way through the slowly parting seas of Inquisition bodies. He is not a step behind her when she rips open the canvas to her tent and storms inside.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he hazards to ask.

“Yes!” she snaps in return, then falls into the closes chair. She sighs a deep and heavy sigh, her forehead resting in massaging fingers. “I’m sorry. It’s just… It’s just…” that waver in her voice returns, this time far stronger and there is a hint of tears welling in her eyes.

“Izzalea, talk to me.”

She sniffs and quickly wipes her face. “It’s nothing. I’m just tired. By the way did you know Orlias erupted into a civil war while we were fighting that blasted demon army? I mean…what fucking timing.” She pauses and shakes her head. Soft chuckles make her slouching shoulder bounce. Quickly, those chuckles compound upon themselves and she erupts into laughter.

Cullen kneels before her, hand on her bouncing, hysterical knee. She carries so much, and every day it’s toll on her shows more clearly. Yet, no matter what he does, he cannot seem to get her to open to him. She will no longer even accept a kiss from him at night, instead she makes up an obvious excuse and leaves.

He wishes she would let him in. She has become so different since he arrived in Western Approach. A war has not only been waged around her, he senses one waging within her as well. But she seems determined to fight it herself.

“Ehem.” The soft sound comes from behind them. Cullen turns to find a mage healer standing, or rather, hesitating by the tent’s entrance.

“Yes, come in,” Izzalea says through dying laughter. She points at her face. “I was smart enough to close rifts in a war zone without a talented healer. But don’t worry, you should see the other guy. Apparently, I have a very hard face!” She giggles a little more, but no one is fooled, and the healer walks forward while giving Cullen a worried glance.

“Izzalea… I,” Cullen begins but she cuts him off.

“I’m really tired, Cullen. Can we reconvene in the morning?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” He turns and heads toward the open night air, but steels himself just before leaving the tent. “Izzalea, please listen,” he says. He does not turn. He does not look at her, but his head hangs and drifts toward his shoulder. “If you ever need to talk. You need only to ask.”

A silence swells behind him as he waits for her to answer, but finally he hears her softly clear her throat before saying, “Thank you, Cullen… Goodnight.”