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See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

Sounds perfect Wahhhh, I don’t wanna

From @cassandrashipsit: My giftee is @hubbabubbagumpop and my prompt is “Modern Bull and Dorian adopting qunari babies.” I would say it’s rated gen/teen.

Research was something Dorian did exceptionally well. It came to him naturally and he enjoyed it immensely. He loved to bury himself in information, filing it away in his mind for future use, leading to brilliant conclusions down the road. Naturally, when he and Bull decided to adopt a child, he did research. Seeing as they were adopting a qunari child, he felt it was even more important to be completely and totally prepared for the arrival of their proverbial bundle of joy.

Dorian was not prepared. Bull, who had spent many of his formative years tending to the needs of the smaller children in his cohort was, perhaps, slightly more prepared, but only slightly. Dorian had researched co-parenting, sleeping arrangements, bottle vs. breast feeding (there had been a highly embarrassing conversation at 2:37 am where Dorian was convinced that the proper stimulation would allow Bull to breastfeed, which Dorian still twitched and blushed at the memory of) and making organic baby food. He had spent years going with little sleep as he chased fascinating thaumaturgical formulas, and so he felt he was well versed in the forms of sleep deprivation.

What the books and YouTube videos and even the so called “mommy blogs” he read had failed to truly convey was the absolute, crushing terror of child rearing. When the smiling nurse, under the supervision of a stone faced social worker handed Felicia over to Bull, swaddled in the pinkest, tiniest hat and mittens Dorian had ever seen, he had felt two emotions: one, an overwhelming sense of affection that left him feeling as if his chest was suddenly too small to contain the ache inside of it, and two, abject fear.

He and Bull were now responsible for a small, sentient being, totally dependant upon them for every possible need she could have. Why in the name of the Golden City had he thought he was ready for that level of responsibility? He could fail. He could fail utterly and then Bad Things would happen to her and not only would that be unacceptable and unthinkable, but it would be his fault.

Felicia was precious. Her soft skin was a darker grey than Bull’s, her fluffy curls as white as starlight on snow, and her big eyes quickly shifted from from the deep blue of infancy to a bright and charming brown. Dorian was completely smitten. She was an amazingly well behaved baby, something he had felt a bit smug about at first, until the paranoia set in. She was too good. She woke with regularity during the night to demand that her hungry belly or soiled diaper be seen to, but the minute she received attention from one of her fathers she quickly became a cooing bundle of chubby happiness that left Dorian breathless with that affection so strong it was painful. He kept himself awake some nights watching her intently in the crib attached to their bed, terrified of the potential she represented, the weight of her well being on his shoulders, and also the possibility she might simply stop breathing because of course that was a thing that babies did and what on earth had the Maker been thinking?

Bull had arranged for six weeks of paternity leave, but they had agreed it would be easiest in the long run for Dorian to serve as primary caretaker for the time being. The royalties from his last publication and speaking tour would be more than enough to give them a cushion, and he could still research at home while he cared for their daughter. It had all seemed so simple before reality had interfered with his perfectly researched plans.

By the time Bull went back to work Dorian’s confidence in his ability to take care of Felicia on his own was beginning to falter. Some days were fine - Felicia napped at the right times, took her bottle with enthusiasm, happily shat and spit all over the various cloths provided for such activities. She giggled and batted (contentedly) at Dorian and the various educationally and developmentally appropriate toys that they and their friends had purchased for her.

And then there were days where she screamed for hours, for no logical reason, testily shoved her bottle away, lost interest in her toys, and refused to sleep, leaving Dorian nothing more than a frazzled mess of nerves and a growing sense of inadequacy.

Children were terrifying.

Bull didn’t like to use the word hysterical - it had a lot of unpleasant misogynistic connotations, and also seemed pretty ableist. But when he came home from work a couple months after he returned to work and heard Felicia screaming through the front door (and damn didn’t she have a hell of a set of pipes on her!) and then found Dorian inside weeping softly while their daughter flailed in his arms, occasionally smacking him with a tiny, stray fist, it was honestly the first word that came to mind.

Dorian turned to him, face wet with tears, hair mussed and mustache drooping, and Bull felt his chest grow tight with love and concern.

“Amatus… I’m ruining our daughter, and she isn’t even old enough to speak yet.” Dorian made a small, despondent noise at the back of his throat that reminded Bull of a really distressed puppy. Heedless of his bad knee and the toys dotting the living room floor like colorful, plastic caltrops, Bull knelt down and then sat, drawing Dorian into his arms, still holding Felicia.

Apparently the presence of Bull was enough of a novelty that she stopped screaming and glared at Bull, brown eyes full of an oddly specific infant rage he was learning to recognize. Bull suspected it was the rage of a fighting spirit too big for a tiny, squishy body, but what the hell did he know?

“Look, look at that, she hates me, she loves you, I am going to ruin everything!” Dorian wailed plaintively, sniffing.

Bull probably shouldn’t find Dorian’s suffering attractive, and really he was sympathetic, but his kadan was incredibly pretty, especially when he cried. The way his tears made his lashes form little points was distracting. Also, Dorian had given up on wearing eyeliner lately, which meant the drops weren’t streaking black down his face. He was all long eyelashes, glistening skin, and red flushed lips under his wilted facial hair. An expression like that had once meant Dorian had had a really good night, not a really bad day. And Bull had to admit their sex life has been a little… non-existent lately, so maybe he was a little easier to rev up than usual, but he really wanted to put Felicia in her bassinette and then spend the rest of the evening slowly taking Dorian apart until all that simmering anxiety disappeared. Bull knew context when he saw it though, so he ignored his base urges and simply kissed Dorian softly on the forehead.

“Kadan, she doesn’t hate you. I’m pretty sure her brain isn’t developed enough to hate anything at this point, except maybe carrots.”

Dorian glared at him nearly as angrily as Felicia, but there was a twitch at the edge of his mouth, probably because Bull had been the one scrubbing beets off his horns and face after that particular meal time.

“She is a very well developed and brilliant baby and I am sure she can hate whomever and whatever she wants!” Dorian snapped.

“Kadan, you’re pretty adorable when you’re indignant, you know that?”

Dorian scowled again but the twitch at the corner of his mouth was even stronger. Bull grinned, and reached down with his free hand to trace softly over Felicia’s cheek with a thick finger. Her chubby fists reached out to grab at it and he let her. She managed to maneuver his finger to her small mouth and then clamp down hard on his finger with her toothless gums. Her toothless gums that had a sharp little bump he could just feel with the tip of his finger. Oh shit.

“Uh, Dorian, hate to break it to you babe, but I think what you’re dealing with isn’t hate, it’s teething.”

Dorian blinked, dark brows drawing together.

“Don’t be ridiculous, she’s only three months old, teething commonly takes place at six months.” He stared at Felicia who was gumming at Bull’s finger with obvious delight, eyes going unfocused, rage filled screaming totally forgotten.

“Babies aren’t always by the books kadan. Obviously Felicia a prodigy, just like her daddy.” Bull gave Dorian the slow wink that he knew drove him nuts. If there was a midpoint between disgruntled, delighted, and terrified, that was the place that Dorian’s expression had landed.

“She doesn’t hate me? I haven’t ruined everything?” He sounded hopeful, and so sweet that Bull leaned over and softly kissed away a bit of moisture from his cheek.

“Not even a little. Can’t promise we’re not all going to be miserable for a bit, but it’s absolutely not your fault.” Dorian seemed to deflate, relaxing against Bull and burying his face against his shoulder. Bull made out what sounded like “thank the Maker” but it was hard to tell with Dorian’s face muffled by muscle and t-shirt. Bull smiled and wiggled his finger in Felicia’s mouth. He’d wait a little while to tell Dorian what qunari children were like when their horns came in…

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