Sansa knows, standing on the steps of the Great Sept, staring into Joffrey's triumphant eyes, the blood her father soaking the stones and all the Lannisters' beautiful promises ringing in her ears, that Starks have always been the best liars.

When Petunia Dursley refused to take Harry in she forfeited his birthright protection, so Dumbledore took the baby to the safest place he knew: Hogwarts. The applicable staff (mostly just… not Snape) took Harry in on a rotating schedule as he grew from baby to toddler to child. They traded extra credit for babysitting among the older students, and Harry grew up knowing a few dozen different laps that were safe and warm to nap in. This was a Harry who grew up among books, among old transient walls and learned professors. They gave Binns night duty sometimes, and let him talk young Harry to sleep. This was a Harry whose world changed, on principle, daily. The stairs moved. The walls became doors. You had to keep your eyes open–you had to pay attention. So he did. He grew up in a school. Knowledge was power, but knowledge was also joy. This was his sanctuary. There was magic in his world from birth.

What if, when Petunia Dursley found a little boy on her front doorstep, she took him in? Not into the cupboard under the stairs, not into a twisted childhood of tarnished worth and neglect—what if she took him in? Petunia was jealous, selfish and vicious. We will not pretend she wasn’t. She looked at that boy on her doorstep and thought about her Dudders, barely a month older than this boy. She looked at his eyes and her stomach turned over and over. (Severus Snape saved Harry’s life for his eyes. Let’s have Petunia save it despite them). Let’s tell a story where Petunia Dursley found a baby boy on her doorstep and hated his eyes—she hated them. She took him in and fed him and changed him and got him his shots, and she hated his eyes up until the day she looked at the boy and saw her nephew, not her sister’s shadow. When Harry was two and Vernon Dursley bought Dudley a toy car and Harry a fast food meal with a toy with parts he could choke on Petunia packed her things and got a divorce.

The Lotus Pier always loved the bright spirits of the world, the free and unrestrained; she held them cupped in her hand like birds, ready to fly away, to go where their whim takes them, to return because they loved her. Her cultivators reflected that, shining bright, standing against the world and attempting the impossible. But they were only humans, their lives short and too easily cut shorter; when the invading armies came to the Pier, she tried her best to help her people – help them fight, help them flee – but the enemy was already invited inside her gates. There was nothing she could do. (and then she woke up again)

Everyone has their own theories about how Jiang Cheng, of all unlikely people, got the opportunity to become a god. They're all wrong. It started with a kind act - and a story.

Nie Huaisang meant for it to be a surprise. Learning the Song of Clarity for his brother, so that he wouldn't need to feel bad about his sworn brothers travelling all the way to Qinghe for him - it would be the perfect birthday gift. Obviously he can't just ask someone to teach him, since they would just tell his brother about it, but that's fine; Nie Huaisang knows of a place where he can sit and listen in secret - he'll just pick it up that way. Except something must have gone wrong, because he's started coughing up blood...

"You can't seriously be suggesting that we elect Sect Leader Yao to be Chief Cultivator!" “I don’t see the problem,” Nie Mingjue said, heroically maintaining a straight face despite the slightest curve in his eyes that indicated a man who knew exactly what the problem with his suggestion was. “According to all the stories I’ve heard him tell, Sect Leader Yao has been at the forefront of every action in the past few years, large or small - no matter where or how implausibly quickly he must have traveled to get there.”

Lan Xichen wished that people in Qinghe weren't so notoriously reluctant to share personal information. It was one thing not to know exactly how old someone was, or what their given name was, but entirely another thing to belatedly find out that there was a new baby in the family.