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.

A generous allowance from his parents or Wei Wuxian in his life: Jiang Cheng would make the same choice a thousand times over, but his grad school stipend is barely enough to support himself, let alone the two of them. An arrangement with an older man might keep his head above water—if he doesn't wade in too deep.

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"