it's my weakness, and I love describing things. Welcome back to the Daxwell collection where I continue to give myself and Magister Pavus increasing bouts of cardiac arrest
it's because I found this and blacked out for like 30 mins ahaha
Maxwell stood at the peak of the staircase sweeping down into the foyer, his hand on the banister, his expression preoccupied.
The warrior was swathed in a sheer scarf of black silk, thrown elegantly over both shoulders and embroidered with gold. The long panels of his white coat hung squarely to his knees, beaded subtly with beaten bronze up the sides in a mosaic of golden flames— Andraste's Chosen, burning.
Beneath the open lapels was a plate of silver steel, enclosing his narrow waist in the mockery of armor as a corset. The trousers, midnight black, were pleated and flared only slightly before disappearing into tall black boots.
The luster prosthetic was held at his side, barely hidden beneath the drape of his overcoat. Around his neck over the scarf gleamed a dozen silver and gold chains, fine as water, at varying lengths. Mixed metals, a terrible faux pas, but oh Maker, somehow the man wore it well.
Dorian, not for the first time, looked upon his lover who stood with his snow white hair tied in a pearl studded bundle behind his head, face framed by errant strands, and felt his breath stutter to a halt. Ridiculously, like a young boy with a crush, he felt his cheeks warm and his heartbeat thunder in his ears.
Maxwell smiled a lovely, sheepish little smile, looking for all the world an emperor of ice and dawn. "It's too much, isn't it. I told Maevaris Tevinter fashion doesn't agree with me—"
"Amatus," Dorian began, his voice strangled. "Not. Another. Word."
*****
no pressure tags for literally nothing but if you want to put your OCs in something shiny and lovely for no reason other than to EAT or have their love interest turn into a puddle I would LOVE to devour such a thing
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Brouhaha
noun: excited public interest, discussion, or the like, as the clamor attending some sensational event; hullabaloo.
OR
an episode involving excitement, confusion, turmoil, etc., especially a broil over a minor or ridiculous cause.
+
Repudiation
• rejection of a proposal or idea
• denial of the truth or validity of something.
Hey gang! Batty's back with more Daxwell and an expansion of my limited understanding of the Pre-Veilguard magisterium. Frustrating as it is, I had a lot of fun working with this piece and outlining the little cameo for Ashur, our beloved Viper, absolutely aura farming the entire time. I fear it is a common occurrence when he's working his day job.
Enjoy my floundering with dialogue and several unnecessary references and blind conjectures below! About 3K words 💚
"As much as I adore the time consuming nature of bouts of semantic ego, I would argue that such measures are as worthless as they are wasteful." Dorian's voice echoed off the vaulted stone balustrades of the magisterium chambers. He stood from his chair, addressing the circular room. "Lord Hostilius speaks out of fear, which while understandable due to our standing lack of triumph against our common enemies, is also a rather reputable thief of our country's resources. One would not take our soldiers' weapons and tell them to simply watch our borders harder. As such, the funds that would provide them those swords and arrows would rob the seamstress of her thread, the baker of his flour— I paint this metaphor to illustrate the shortsightedness one might experience while busy comparing the size of, ah, blades."
Viren Hostilius shot out of his chair, red in the face as he threw out an accusing finger. "The Qun has spies everywhere! Horned or not! You speak with fear, Magister Pavus, lingering on the borders of an isolationist policy while the word of the qunari's marching armies only spreads! They've taken hold of Treviso— If a free port can be blockaded only a few miles to the South, what's to say the dreadnoughts will not finally conquer our passages? If we do not bolster our defenses, who's to say—"
Above the senate chamber, Maxwell listened from where he leaned against the archway in the wings, arms folded across his chest and nestled in the folds of his hooded cloak.
Irian Amladaris laid a hand on Hostilius' shoulder with a scowl. "Sit down, Viren, you're raving like a rabid dog. Our intelligence suggests that the Antaam acts independently."
"Our intelligence has often been wrong regarding the tricks of the ox," Viren snarled as he flicked out the sleeves of his robes and sat, crossing his legs.
"I would also like to put forth that Treviso is more than just a handful of miles from our borders," Zaldereon Antonidas said mildly, not looking up from the long scroll draped over his knees, a flickering magelight lingering unobtrusively over his shoulder.
"My friends," came a voice, entreating, as Lord Bataris stood from his chair.
Max tried very hard to remain still, even as the blond man's silken voice rippled through the hall. It made his skin crawl and his fingers itch for the hilt of a blade. Maevaris had warned him about that one, and if he'd thought to bring paper he'd try to take notes. He settled for sketching the man's visage over and over in his mind— angular brows, sharp nose, calculating eyes in the flickering dark and ghostly blue glow of the torches on the walls.
"Certainly we must all agree that the safety of our citizens remains the utmost priority. To Lord Pavus' point— our seamstresses and our bakers are the backbone of this proud and glorious country, which under our guiding hand grows more proud and glorious still. I, for one, am not opposed to notifying the Minrathous city guard to treat any suspicious activity with the swiftest of decisive action." Bataris spread his hands, reaching out to the lower circle of seats half a level below. "Surely the brothers and sisters of the Chantry can speak to the mission Viren so passionately projects."
Grand Cleric Aedana remained seated, though she spoke with a voice subtly amplified, hands folded primly in her lap. "Tevinter on the whole is well equipped to furnish our armies in another push against Seheron, the most obvious and still lingering threat to our coasts. Unless of course the qunari wish to approach us on land, which of course would be unwise."
"It is not unheard of for the Qun to strike where it is least expected. You of all people Sister Aedana, would remember tale of Kirkwall," Grand Cleric Ulrusis scoffed.
"A horrendous oversight by several earlier members of this very council," Amladaris dismissed loudly. "In which we ourselves were not involved. House Danarius has made many attempts to attone."
"House Danarius has crumbled. Only servants remain," Grand Cleric Aedana said coolly. "The Maker must have seen fit to remove them, as they moved without His guidance. Of course, such violent acts in the lands of the White Divine were cast out quickly. A poor representation of our collective intent, indeed."
Maxwell smiled ruefully, wondering what Varric might say if he were here. He'd send another letter to the old dwarf, surely. He missed his recollections, his witty 'boots on the ground' approach to his tales of the City of Chains. The bloody fall of House Danarius on Tevinter soil hadn't been… recent, per se, but it lingered on the minds of the magisterium like a stain. Dorian spoke of it occasionally. An infiltration of the gates. Slaves running free through the street under cover of the dark, glimpses of lyrium tendrils, like a vengeful spirit had hit the grounds with intent only to break metal and to maul.
He did not say who led the charge, of course. But Maxwell had his guesses as to which independent agents may have been involved. Bull had approved of this tale rather passionately, and would not share what else he might have known.
The Inqusitor's gaze wandered to the seat in the lowest point of the circular chamber, the black throne where the veiled Divine sat in cool, collected silence.
Ashur had offered little insight tonight, likely occupied by other matters. His elbows rested on the arms of his chair, fingers steepled in his lap, head slightly cocked to one side and completely obscured by a drapery of sheer midnight gauze. The silver circlet emblazoned with the canticle sun glinted at the center of his brow.
"I would, if I may, like to address the symptoms of the pox growing in the lower levels of Minrathous," Grand Cleric Drefus began meekly. "If we are to turn our gaze inward to the concerns of the city guard, surely the sickness spreading amongst the soporati—"
"Let the Maker watch over them," Aedana dismissed curtly. "Our holy mission regards the threat to the North, and we have not yet come to a decision."
"Our holy mission does seem to linger rather far outside our own borders," Dorian remarked, as if the idea was almost funny. "I for one would imagine it rather difficult for our soldiers to fight if their barracks were full of the pox."
"Our armies must push the advantage in the waters between Tevinter, Treviso and Seheron. The winter approaches, the seas will grow too rough for travel. If we attack the legions on the straits, they will not be able to attempt an invasion until the seasons change again. From there we can retake Alam without fear of retaliation. The Sister speaks sense," Lord Bataris hummed.
"Why are we so intent on pushing our armies to the brink?" Irian Amladaris sighed. Dorian sat back in his chair and rested his chin on his fist, listening. Maxwell could see the lines in his lover's brow sinking with a weight of frustration. "We are yet still recovering from the breath of rebellion in Docktown. The concerns of the city guard must be prioritized over foreign affairs, at least tonight."
"Rebellion?" Bataris scoffed, crossing his legs. "Merely commoners with delusions of grandeur. A few missing slaves does not constitute rebellion."
"So there is no reason for us to re-militarize the commoners' city guard," Dorian put in elegantly, rolling a finger in the air as if bored. "Let's wrap it up, everyone, go home. Maybe perhaps now we can provide you with the basic necessities of your profession. Such as food and medicine, if we are so inclined."
"Now, Lord Pavus," Bataris chuckled. "You know as well as I do that sick commoners are hungry commoners, and hungry commoners are violent ones. To give them what they whimper for will only embolden the worst of them. Besides, the condition of Docktown is of little concern to this council at present. The infestation of vermin can be handled with the correct application of force. Militarize our guardsmen indeed. Qunari spies and these so named Shadow Dragons run rampant— not as rebels, but as undersupplied, hungry, sick nuisances. At this time we are not well equipped to eradicate them, but my policy would allow such action. Quickly, so as not to trouble the heftier matters of these halls again. It would provide stronger armaments, reinforced magical observation—"
"Hear hear!" Viren crowed.
"Again, to your point, to strengthen our internal forces is priority indeed." Bataris smiled at Dorian, and Maxwell had the sudden and curious urge to carve out his teeth. He blinked it away.
"You speak of loyalty to our contrymen, sympathy for the working class, and yet you would impose an atmosphere of terror and starvation? We would be no better off than if the qunari blockades came straight to our shores. Surely the local newsletters would react with outcry, where the money goes, the inevitable violence against those suspected of treason— If it's rebellion you so despise, I hardly think having armed guards stalking door to door will improve morale." Dorian spread his arms wide. "Leave such fox-hunting to the Templars. I propose leaving off the business of foreign invasion, striking out internal bruise and battery aside, and diverting the attention of the local Chantry to their individual cities. The Circle of Magi is well equipped to handle things like the pox with its plethora of healers and closely guarded herb gardens. If we were to levy a small decree of sympathy to the soporati class, things may quiet considerably both within our borders and without. Now I know we within the Magisterium have a long and complicated history with sympathy and the… purpose of the Maker's people—"
"Blasphemy! You would joke—" Grand Cleric Aedana hissed.
"I will not be lectured," Bataris said coolly. "On loyalty by the apprentice of Gereon Alexius, who so thoroughly insulted all of our countrymen with both his alliances and his failures."
Maxwell grit his teeth as the magisterium erupted into brouhaha, shouts of dissent and clamors of scathing refute echoing off the chamber walls. If Mae were here, he could imagine her voice cutting through the crowd as she leapt elegantly to Dorian's defense. She was not here. Bataris and his ilk had made sure of that. His throat burned. If he could speak here, if he could tell all of these morons where to shove their conjecture and take their bruised egos straight to the Void where they belonged— the inability, for the sake of his lover's reputation and his own, burned like a brand against the inner curves of his rib cage.
Dorian, to his credit, took it all in stride with a breezy laugh even as the Black Divine held up a single gloved hand. The cacophany of the Grand Clerics was instantly silenced, though the magistrate continued to bicker and roar, arguing blue in the face inches from one another, some in their seats, some out—
"Enough," the Archon's voice boomed, unseen.
Quiet fell like a steel curtain over the hall as the command shook the stones. Maxwell felt it vibrate against the pillar and through his shoulders.
The invisible voice of the Archon Radonis rumbled from an unseen force. Until now, no one had been sure if he was in attendance. This was not unusual, as the highest seat was normally obscured in shadow if the mage-ruler of the Imperium wished it so. He was a shrewd man, and had offered his verbal dissent of Corypheus on multiple occasions during the height of the Inquisition. He'd even ordered medical supplies be sent through the Merchant Princes of Antiva in an uneasy alliance as acknowledgement of the Breach. Josephine had somehow managed that one. It was also rumored he had a fondness for cats, which Maxwell could respect.
"We will recess," Radonis stated, and it brooked no argument. "I will confer with those that have my ear. To those not present for tonight's proceedings, I will say they have not missed much."
Maxwell met Dorian on the steps of the sanctum, having wound his way out again through the servant paths. A few had begun to know him there, but Leliana paid well for secrecy, and some of them seemed to enjoy the man's limited company. It may have helped that he occasionally brought good wine.
"Fools," Dorian grumbled, tucking his hands into his peacock blue robes to ward off the damp chill. The streets were still wet from the evening's autumn downpour, and the magister stepped off the cobbled street into the dark between the senate building and a low slung basilica.
Maxwell did not hesitate to take his hand, drawing him closer in the evening shadows and out of the lamplight on the road. "You did well."
"Hardly. I was only able to goad them."
"You kept tight hold of your tongue, where I would have completely lost my temper. Apprentice to Alexius, indeed." Max scowled in the darkness of his hood. "Next they'll be accusing you of being Venatori."
Dorian chuckled, drawing close to the warrior against a stone column, threading his fingers through both of Max's, metal and all, as he leaned up to ghost his breath shamelessly across the Inquisitor's mouth. "And you would trust me, Inquisitor? Perhaps I have been your enemy all along."
Maxwell scoffed, laughing and unmoved as his lips split into a grin. "As much as I would love to explore that story, in the bedroom or outside of it—"
Dorian laughed and kissed him, soft and quick, before linking his arm through Max's and turning back to the cobbled path of the alley. "Come. I'm terribly exhausted of this place, and would rather not return for another ten years. You may just get your wish."
"My wish?" Max sighed and rested his temple on Dorian's hair as they walked. "To gut Bataris like a fish and present you with his head?"
"How romantic— but I meant the bedroom bit."
"Ah." Maxwell flushed.
"Your way sounds thrilling too," Dorian offered sweetly.
"Hmm. I would not do Mae the disservice."
"Yes, I'm rather sure she wouldn't mind taking a crack at that herself."
Max felt a dark chuckle burble up from his chest as he shut his eyes and let his lover lead him out onto another well lit street, their boots rippling silver puddles reflecting the city lights and magical writings over shopfronts. They reached one of the waiting carriages with its black horses and clambered inside, and Dorian called out a greeting to the driver before politely asking him to make for the Pavus estate.
Max rested his head on his lover's shoulder where they sat side by side in the carriage's plush interior, listening to the rumble of the wheels on the street. After a stretch of comfortable silence, Dorian threaded his fingers under the hood and into the bindings of Maxwell's hair. "The Divine was rather pensive."
"Mmm," Maxwell offered wearily, feeling the beginning of a migraine press a talon to the center of his brows above the bridge of his nose. His neck was stiff, his bad shoulder sore from pressing into cold stone all evening. There was a tiny violet crystal shining like a needle-beacon on the center of the carriage wall, casting a bright light despite the curtained windows.
"I had hoped he would refute Aedana outright, but in that horrible muck of repudiation it may have only cast him in suspicion. He is wise not to risk his position, and I'm certain Tarquin would have approved of his silence but I do so wish to have heard a voice of reason besides my own. Now, I know he puts quite the stock in my sparkling personality—"
Maxwell chuckled, brows furrowing against another throb of the light wrapping around his skull.
Dorian paused, before whispering a word of magic and the violet glow through Max's eyelids dimmed considerably. "What is it, amatus?"
"Sorry. Headache."
"Another? My delicate love, we ought to submerge you in ice and not let you out until you've knit yourself back together."
"Mm."
Dorian's fingers massaged the base of his neck, his many rings cool against Max's feverish skin. "You are running warm, as usual."
"I'm fine. Maybe just overdid it a little tonight."
"Well. I am pleased to know you find the machinations of the Senate as painful as I do. The communications of the Imperium are trying, to say the least. You'll get used to it. In time."
"Communications might be a stretch," Maxwell said bitterly.
"I am being oh so very charitable. As I'm wont to do. Now, we will go home and I will have someone run us a hot bath so that we can wash the rank of stupidity off us, how does that sound?"
"That sounds nice," Max murmured, sighing.
"…You sound tired, amatus." Dorian's voice was soft with sympathy as his hand gently brushed the hood off of Max's head. He only curled closer, his cheek on the magister's shoulder.
"A little."
"And you still threaten violence on my behalf. It seems the Inquisition is still relevant in those halls after all."
"Hmm. They'd never say it aloud, certainly not to you, but your influence carries. Your actions. The Shadow Dragons, the Inquisition… You are a hero, Dorian. Maybe not to all of them, but certainly to Thedas."
Dorian scoffed. "A hero, am I? Not a politicking jester?"
"You and I both know you think more highly of yourself than that. And for good reason," Max said firmly, opening his eyes to glance up at his lover. "You were a solider. One of my soldiers. And I know you were a good one, and I know it was because you believed that this country could become something greater. Safer."
"I fear I might start bawling like an infant if you keep that up, amatus. So do me a favor and shut up, will you?"
Max laughed and lolled his head back onto his lover's shoulder, squeezing his hand in his lap. "As you wish, dear."
*****
divider by @saradika-graphics
Tagging my loves! Always so excited to see you about! <3
DRINK WATER
Missing my boys, so here's a little more pre-Veilguard Daxwell shenanigans. Thinking about making this some kinda reunion! Sera soon? Who knows!
I do love this particular trio. They rag on each other and they flirt and they're sweet and stupid territorial around each other, lol. It's a really great dynamic to explore, two husbands and their war buddy.
"But you know Desire, they're petty, and then they're sloppy. So splat-! I split the guy's brain open. Four whole sections of skull, real bloody— Krem turns to me and goes 'Way to keep your head, chief.'
'Well,' I told him," Bull regaled, grinning as he reached for the bowl of grapes. "'Neither of us got any.'"
Dorian groaned as Maxwell dissolved into muffled, choking laughter, holding his glass of wine away and hastily covering his mouth before he could spit it out.
"I had hoped after all this time we could approach the tragedy of possession with a little more tact," Dorian sighed from where he sat on the loveseat across from the roaring fireplace.
"Please, you were always first with some scathing judgement on their motives or observation of their crappy handwriting. The corpse was long gone. Full devour. No use beating around the funny parts."
"Laugh or you cry," Maxwell managed hoarsely, nodding as he tried to catch his breath, crossing his legs to lean back beside his lover.
"That's very easy for both of you thick-headed sword-swingers to say, I imagine."
Bull smiled at the magister from his seat in the biggest wingback armchair in the house. "You're doing just fine, you old fop. No demons' got the jump on you in years."
"I am very well protected." Dorian cocked his head in the firelight, his gaze wandering fondly to his lover.
Max paused with his glass at his lips only to beam. "Your credit is your own."
"Well. My years and years of academic and magical excellence may have something to do with all that, but I was attempting to flatter you."
"Boss' immune," Bull commented sagely. "Tried that back in the ranks when I was trying to get in his pants."
"For information to pass back to the Ben-Hassrath," Max guessed, a stunned and laughing smile on his mouth.
"Yeah. For that." Bull tipped his horned head, though his eye glittered with mirth.
Dorian scoffed.
"Don't worry, you were faster. But if you ever need a third—"
Maxwell went a charming shade of cherry red. "Bull!"
"There he is. Sharp as a tack."
Dorian laughed and smoothed his lover's hair behind his ear. "What do you think, amatus?"
"I think I am way too drunk to have that conversation." Maxwell rolled his gaze to the magister with a long suffering grin.
"We'll put a pin in it, shall we?" Dorian teased, looking back to Bull across the sitting room.
"No rush. I've got, what, all week?"
"You know you are welcome here for as long as you need." Dorian sounded nearly offended by the implication. "I'd be insulted if you stayed any less. My hospitality is legendary, you know. You'll be the envy of any of the other emmisaries and visitors flattering the magistrate. How else will I rub it in Lady Asmalia's face that I play a more generous host?"
"Not sure many of your emmisaries have horns, Dorian."
"Maybe not in the literal sense."
"Utter nonsense," Maxwell said firmly. "I'm rather certain Viren Hostilius has three of those, and a wicked little tail to match. The point is, Bull, we'd love to have you here."
The qunari's lips quirked. "I've never been scared of the Vints, boss, but this Viren guy is starting to make me nervous."
"Yes, dear Maxwell has a personal vendetta." Dorian fondly stroked his lover's chin with his thumb, smiling.
The Inquisitor scowled, meeting the magister's gaze. "If we meet outside those halls, Dorian—"
"How ready you are to rush to defend my honor. Honestly, it's adorable. This is why I keep you around."
"Doubt you do duels the same up here." Bull sniffed. "I don't remember Minrathous being very blunt-ended. All faith in you, boss, but they like to play dirty. Then again, I didn't remember it being so cold and damp either."
"Unseasonable, isn't it? Winters have been harsh, as of late," Dorian agreed, taking another sip of his wine. Rain continued lashing at the windows as thunder rumbled outside.
"You have any trouble?"
"With the weather?"
"No, Dorian, assassins."
"Ah, speaking of playing dirty." Dorian set down his glass on the table between them with a frown. "Only three. I'm thinking it's the off season."
Maxwell's eyes went round as dinner plates. "Dorian."
"Hm?" the mage replied pleasantly, not looking at him.
"When in the Maker's soiled loincloth did you last encounter assassins? I thought you and Mae had taken care of the last one before I arrived— and that little band of thugs, the Blind Men? I thought this wasn't a problem, have they sent someone new?"
"Oh, they weren't here for me, darling."
"Dorian," Max scolded, a furrow in his brows. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want to trouble you," Dorian replied mildly, pursing his lips. "Very small timers, I myself would have been entirely insulted."
"My love," the Inquisitor pleaded, exasperation dragging at every syllable.
"Alright, alright! Next time one crawls in through the window I'll be sure to fetch their target first."
Bull rumbled a laugh as he lifted his cup in mock toast. "Still got it, boss."
dividers by @honeyluvsw
:DD Yeah I got no excuses I just miss the Iron Bull ok leave me be
Thank you @woundedsoul12 for the tag! Wishing you safety and warmth, darling, no rush on content anyhow! <3
I'm cooking this week's AWWF and god DAMN is it getting a little heated in here and it's only because I haven't finished Tevinter Nights (sobbing) and I'm doing this completely blind because I want to Make Shit Up and I Miss the Viper Aura Farming (Ashur this one's for you)
Anyway here's a little more than five sentences, enjoy some pre-Veilguard magisterium
"As much as I adore the time consuming nature of bouts of semantic ego, I would argue that such measures are as worthless as they are wasteful." Dorian's voice echoed off the vaulted stone balustrades of the magisterium chambers. He stood from his chair, addressing the circular room. "Lord Hostilius speaks out of fear, which while understandable due to our standing lack of triumph against our common enemies, is also a rather reputable thief of our country's resources. One would not take our soldiers' weapons and tell them to simply watch our borders harder. As such, the funds that would provide them those swords and arrows would rob the seamstress of her thread, the baker of his flour— I paint this metaphor to illustrate the shortsightedness one might experience while busy comparing the size of, ah, blades."
Viren Hostilius shot out of his chair, red in the face as he threw out an accusing finger. "The Qun has spies everywhere! Horned or not! You speak with fear, Magister Pavus, lingering on the borders of an isolationist policy while the word of the qunari's marching armies only spreads! They've taken hold of Treviso— If a free port can be blockaded only a few miles to the South, what's to say the dreadnoughts will not finally conquer our passages? If we do not bolster our defenses, who's to say—"
Above the senate chamber, Maxwell listened from where he leaned against the archway in the wings, arms folded across his chest and nestled in the folds of his hooded cloak.
Irian Amladaris laid a hand on Hostilius' shoulder with a scowl. "Sit down, Viren, you're raving like a rabid dog. Our intelligence suggests that the Antaam acts independently."
"Our intelligence has often been wrong regarding the tricks of the ox," Viren snarled as he flicked out the sleeves of his robes and sat, crossing his legs.
"I would also like to put forth that Treviso is more than just a handful of miles from our borders," Zaldereon Antonidas said mildly, not looking up from the long scroll draped over his knees, a flickering magelight lingering unobtrusively over his shoulder.
"My friends," came a voice, entreating, as Lord Bataris stood from his chair.
Max tried very hard to remain still, even as the blond man's silken voice rippled through the hall. It made his skin crawl and his fingers itch for the hilt of a blade. Maevaris had warned him about that one, and if he'd thought to bring paper he'd try to take notes. He settled for sketching the man's visage over and over in his mind— angular brows, sharp nose, calculating eyes in the flickering dark and ghostly blue glow of the torches on the walls.
"Certainly we must all agree that the safety of our citizens remains the utmost priority. To Lord Pavus' point— our seamstresses and our bakers are the backbone of this proud and glorious country, which under our guiding hand grows more proud and glorious still. I, for one, am not opposed to notifying the Minrathous city guard to treat any suspicious activity with the swiftest of decisive action."
*****
Batty, hanging in the rafters: MAN FUCK THIS
Max: [shushes me violently]
Lol not my favorite place to be writing in so far, but excited to keep this up and keep getting mad. I'll let Dorian handle this one.
Gentle tags for my beloveds who may be interested in the coming scandal <3
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