The Inquisition Law Offices provide a wide array of services to a select and not-so-select clientele. Working in Haven is a complicated business for Inquisitor Mahanon Lavellan, who balances actually bringing justice down on those corrupt while casually having his team manage negotiations to keep his city safe and peaceful with the Trevelyan twins in the dark lower streets, the Valo-Kas' warring Tal-Vashoth factions in the Qunari district, and the Carta's pair of rather dangerous contacts, the Cadash siblings. In comparison, The Iron Bull and his Chargers are a breath of calm, relaxing fresh air. Cullen Rutherford, head of the Inquisition Law Offices' Employee Resources department, has been blissfully unaware of all of this until meeting the love of his life in a jazz club bar fight. Cremisus Aclassi was not planning on a six-foot-and-change boyfriend, but hey, when life gives you oversized blushing men, you roll with it. Dorian just really wants Mob Wives of Thedas to stop trying to get him on their show, and his definitely-not-husband to stop interrupting him at work to make out in the Archives.

Alec would have thought that asking for things would get easier in time, and it has—it’s so much easier now—but it’s still not easy. “Could you keep my hands there?” Alec presses his hands deeper into the mattress to point out what he means. “With your magic, I mean.” Magnus arches his brow. “I didn’t know you were into bondage.” Technically Alec doesn't know that yet either, but he's very willing to find out. “I’m into you,” he says. “And your magic.”

“Dragons that lay eggs, are more properly referred to as Dragonkind. They grow to be ten feet tall, walk on two legs, are...somewhat humanoid, and they have a single sex.” “So the same dragon lays the eggs and fertilizes them?” “Hm.” “...I’m still missing something.” “Dragonkind need a host to incubate their eggs for the first few hours after laying.” “Ohh, so the sheepskin and hot water bottle is to keep it snug while you’re holding it against your chest. I see. Bit of a cuddle.” “No, Jaskier.” “...they lay the egg, and then you cuddle it, and they, er. Fertilize it while you’re curled around it? Bit sticky, still doesn’t explain the size of the reward.” “No, Jaskier.” Geralt added thoughtfully, after a moment. “And the one in this territory uses ‘he.’ Not they.” “He. Good to know. Well gods damn it then, Geralt, why don’t you explain to me in direct language where little dragons come from then?”