They are enemies before the Inquisition brings them together. When the tension of unexpected camaraderie gives way to something more, Dorian learns that the Iron Bull is almost nothing like what he expected. It leaves one to wonder: what does the future hold for a Tevinter mage and a Qunari ex-Ben Hasrath agent?

Geralt is not making a nest. Jaskier has noticed this. Geralt is in fact drinking a rather foul-smelling potion that sours the sweetness of his scent and muffles its otherwise obvious meaning. “Does that stop heat?” Jaskier asks curiously, absentmindedly tuning his lute as he speaks. He hadn’t thought anything could, but, well . . . witchers and their potions. “No,” Geralt says darkly.

Liu Qingge is struck by a poison that affects him at inopportune moments. The only cure, of course, is dual cultivation with an accomplished cultivator. Too bad that the only person around is Luo Binghe, and that suddenly everything is happening at once. Yue Qingyuan? Kidnapped. Shen Qingqiu? On his way to rescue him. Luo Binghe? Confronting a truth he never expected. And Liu Qingge is left with his spotty cultivation, a bone to pick, and no plans for how to cure himself of the poison.

When he’d admitted his problem to Shouta in an embarrassing split-second decision that he’d almost regretted—because what twenty-two year old up-and-coming pro hero had never managed to get off before, seriously—he hadn’t expected his best friend to bluntly offer to help. But now. Oh, now. Hizashi felt like he was going to explode, and not in a good way.

It’s okay to be a wolf in the NHL now. That’s what everyone tells Dylan, anyway. To Podfic: "I Love the Riddles That You Speak" & "Race Like Falcons to Crash and Burn"

“That was so good,” Willie tells him, and he gets that heat in his stomach again. "You're so good."

They get to the tables with the guys, who’re watching with varying levels of amusement, and finally Ritter drops him on the padded bench. Matt bounces and nearly slides right off. Ritter manages to catch him, one firm hand planted on his chest, pressing him down. “Stay,” he orders and Matt sucks in a sharp breath as something in him goes molten hot. OR Matt's got a bit of a Ritter sized problem.

“I don’t have a small dick, idiot,” Alex openly laughed, a stark contrast to Henry’s quiet, reserved chuckle, “I have no dick.” Henry stared at him for a moment and Alex just looked back at him, taking a sip of his drink. “Funny,” he said with a flat voice, indicating that he did not, in any way, find it funny. “Well,” Alex moved to clarify, tilting his head to the side for just a moment, “I supposed I do. But it’s currently tucked away in my hotel room. And I’m not sure if you count t-dicks in what you’re referring to.” “I… don’t know what that means.” Alex laughed again, shaking his head this time, “Of course you don’t.” “Shall I google it?” And Alex couldn’t help but egg him on. “Oh, definitely. When this event is over, you should open up your laptop, pull up that special website you go to for your alone time and type ‘T-Dicks’ into the search bar. I promise it won’t disappoint.” OR Henry does as Alex suggests... and Alex is obsessed with how Henry looks when he falls apart. Lots of sex ensues.

The wedding’s going to be tonight, presumably so no one involved has time to get cold feet, which gives Geralt just enough time to clean up and get the dirt off his armor and overthink every tiny little detail of this arrangement.