During the feast celebrating her adoption as heir, Sandry thinks about what being nisamohi will mean for her.

Sometimes they forget: she's a political science major.

15 texts that were never sent in Westeros.

A different kind of race.

Clint Barton's presidential campaign started as a joke. It didn't end that way, except for Steve.

She has no care of the Iron Throne--yet, and then only who sits on it, leave her be. She is going to reclaim her home, the place she once despaired of, dreaming of the sun and songs of the south. She was a Stark of Winterfell, there had always been a Stark at Winterfell, tales Old Nan told if the Starks lost Winterfell for good, the winter would win. Her mother scoffed at the tales, Sansa had as well, but whispers are on the cold wind. Winter is Coming. She was going to see the Spring.

When Tyrion neglects to impregnate Sansa with the heir to Winterfell, Tywin decides to take matters into his own hands. But Sansa is no longer a little Northern dove; she is a Lannister with nothing left to lose.

“You ready?” you ask, and the most important human in the galaxy sticks her tongue out at you. Several of your organs do a giddy flip. Then the knot is tied and that’s it, you’re moirails.

This is a dangerous game that they're playing.

FMA best case scenario. But the Elrics, even at peace and completely happy in themselves, are still kind of alarming to bystanders.

“Thank you,” he says, and the words feel like they don’t fit right in his mouth. What are you supposed to say, really, when someone gives you a piece of their spirit-form? Especially under these circumstances. Shisui wishes treason came with some kind of manual. Maybe a book full of helpful hints. When plotting to overturn decades of hatred and stop a war by lying to the whole world, be careful not to offend the man giving you his teeth to wear as earrings.

She’s barely days away from finally challenging Yagura for his seat, so of course Zabuza chooses now to make himself a problem.

The pen is mightier than the sword, or how Zuko saves the day via the power of good penmanship.

After much deliberation, careful study, and scientific analysis, Wes Janson decides that the Fate Of The Galaxy is entirely dependent on the state of Senator-Princess Leia Organa's hair.

“We have to get up?” Wei Wuxian prompts him. Lan Wangji nods. “Jiang Wanyin said the Wen Clan will be brought in to the conference.” In his arms, Wei Wuxian stiffens. He shakes himself out of Lan Wangji’s hold, sitting upright and brushing his hair back from his face. Incongruous with his love-kissed body and the golden light shining over his skin, his eyes sharpen. A glint, dark as obsidian, replaces the dreamy clouds of a moment before. Lan Wangji mourns the simple happiness, even as he leans in to look at those eyes. “We should go,” Wei Wuxian says. His voice is soft rain, the promise of an oncoming storm. Hanguang-Jun shocks the Four Great Clans by standing beside the Yiling Patriarch and performing a ritual to prove that Wei Wuxian remains on the righteous path. If only every problem could be solved by so simple an act.

Dark eyes catch his from across the room and Nie Huaisang pauses as Jiang Cheng spreads an arm across the back of the couch he occupies alone, idly swirling his drink in his other hand. The lush fabric of the sofa looks almost magenta in this light and plays beautifully off the deep purple and sharp lines of Jiang Cheng’s suit, making him a splash of vibrancy in a room otherwise dominated by boring blacks and muted tones. The sofa is also the sole piece of furniture in the room, besides the bar and the high tables. The message is unmistakable: this is Jiang territory, and everyone else is a visitor. Receptions are good for seeing and being seen, and Nie Huaisang likes what he sees at this one.

Nie Mingjue took one look at the ash-faced girl on the streets of Lanling, caught her by the shoulder and said, “Aren’t you that Wen Qing? I used to see you at discussion conferences – what are you doing here?” Nothing is ever the same again.

In a moment of lightheartedness, Lan Xichen proposes to Nie Mingjue that they go dare the dangerous Burial Mounds to see what the Yiling Patriarch is really doing there, and so judge for themselves whether Lan Wangji's unauthorized visit there was in fact a breach of the rules or not. What they find there - isn't what they expected.

“It’s impossible,” Wen Qing said, her voice flat and eyes icy. “Literally impossible. It would kill you both.” “But –” “If you don’t care about your own life, at least care about his,” she said, and Wei Wuxian fell silent; she’d hit him right where it hurt the most, and he turned and stormed away. Wen Qing waited, watching as Wen Ning ran after him, distressed by his distress, and when he was finally out of earshot, she said, “You may regret that, one day.” Behind her there was a rusty bark of laughter, if that horrible twisted sound, low and grating and rasping at the throat until it bled, could be called a laugh. “I won’t,” Jiang Cheng said. “Thank you for lying to him.”

Sandu Shengshou and Hanguang-Jun had, infamously, long since mastered the art of existing in the same space without ever acknowledging one another directly, and Wei Wuxian, having never in either of his lives met a delicate social situation he didn't blithely barrel through if it suited him, happily chattered enough to fill what might have been awkward silences in any other company. But in the end it was not Wei Wuxian who ultimately prompted the cessation of the cultivation world's coldest and most famous feud. or: The Badass Teamup of Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji

Nie Huaisang snapped open his fan and covered his face. "Be careful. I'll take advantage."

It wasn’t that Jiang Cheng hadn’t liked Nie Huaisang well enough, when they were all learning together in the Cloud Recesses. Anyone who had the energy to keep up with Wei Wuxian – and just enough good sense to help veer him off the really bad ideas, even if he did keep egging him on in regards to the medium-grade bad ones – was good news in his books. But liking him didn’t mean respecting him, and the fact that Nie Huaisang hadn’t participated much in the war – couldn’t participate much – had led Jiang Cheng to discount him more or less entirely. That’s what made it all the more surprising when Nie Huaisang ended up being the unofficial leader of the three remaining Great Sects in opposing Jin Guangshan after the war.

“What,” Nie Mingjue said, even as Jin Zixuan got up with a set expression on his face to accept a bow from his servant, “are you doing?” Jin Zixuan paused, looking puzzled – and no surprise, since Nie Mingjue hadn’t said anything beyond the most mundane greetings when he first arrived. “Sect Leader Nie..?” Nie Mingjue rose to his feet, his brother’s hand falling off of his arm as if he’d shaken him off like a dog. “What are you doing?” he demanded, louder this time. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

The ladies of the Red Keep take matters into their own hands.