Teasing can be frustrating, but it will all be worth it in the end - right?

“We have received confirmation that there is a hostage situation in progress at a warehouse compound two hours out of Los Angeles, following a multiple-vehicle pileup on Highway 101 this morning...” The one in which Stiles has lived to (legal) adulthood and, along the way, become a bit of a badass himself.

It had taken her quite some time to name her Queensguard. Not to choose them; Sansa had been choosing them for a great deal of time – since the day she watched her father die, in truth – her choices growing and expanding over the years until she’d known with no doubt who would make up her Queensguard before she knew for certain she would be Queen. But a Stark girl ruling Westeros alone was unprecedented enough, even without her unorthodox choice of guard, so Sansa had tread carefully when naming them, choosing her times and her methods with all the canniness she’d learned at the hands of men like Petyr Baelish and women like Cersei Lannister.

There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, or: Sansa goes home.

Myrcella knows what is said of her rule behind her back, that she presides over a court of bastards and women. Who better to rule a realm of bastards and women?

"Is this your first time?" Olivier has never slept with a virgin.

Brienne looks like the perfect portrait of a knight, kneeling in supplication before her lady.

Let it be known that Yuri Plisetsky is killed by his first friend, and possibly, if given more time—and if he could just admit it deep down in his heart that yes, he has a crush on Otabek the size of St. Petersburg—his first boyfriend, during the exhibition gala of Trophee de France. Oh, what’s the murder weapon, you ask? The goddamn hoodie. Or: Otabek dresses sexy for his EX Gala and Yuri loses his shit.

In which Yamamoto has cause to go undercover with Bianchi and discovers something about himself.

Stiles goes to a Halloween party on campus to blow off some steam after a stressful week of midterms. He doesn't expect the party to be crashed by both a supernatural predator and Derek Hale.

Harmon knows how this goes. He's from Nevarra, and he's read books. Plural. If you want to fight a dragon you need to find a Kindly Mentor who can teach you all their Secret Strategies. So all he needs to do is find this old Tal-Vashoth dragonslayer his cousin keeps going on about, get him to teach Harmon about dragons, convince everyone else to go along with his dragon-hunting plans, fight a dragon, and win. Easy, right? Starring one cheerful qunari grandpa, one grumpy necromancer grandpa, and a bunch of Nevarran mercenaries who are about to have a very educational experience.

Piecing together the stories of the past from the things that were left behind is not always an easy task. Chapter 1 - In which historians really don't get it at all. Chapter 2 - In which Par Vollen releases some historical documents and the Dawnstone Dragon fandom goes wild. Chapter 3 - Political fallout, historical recipes, more on the Museum of Vashoth Culture's resident Simulacrum, and so on... Chapter 4 - In which Nigel makes a discovery.

“I slept fine enough,” Jaime grins back. “And I’m sure your daughter won’t have my head for anything that’s happened in the last moon.” “That she won’t,” her father agrees. “And please, the last thing I dared hope for her was that she’d marry someone who would just care for having heirs and not even knowing them. All things considered, I think any woman in the realm would kill to have you for a husband.” “Just everyone’s luck that she waited long enough to run into me, right?” Or: in which Brienne is off being a knight in shining armor and Jaime is in no way shape or form stopping her from doing it.

A month and a half into his duties, a letter arrives. Lan Zhan, it reads, I miss you already. Throw over your responsibilities and meet me at the western ridge at Qixi. Yours, Wei WuXian. -- Wei WuXian and Lan WangJi parted ways after Yunping — but not forever. [!!CQL verse!!]

Ed doesn't know how he got himself into this situation. And by situation, he means dancing the lead role in a ballet he barely knows.

“Can't kriffing believe he sent a Naboo to kriffing Tatooine,” Owen says, too loud, but—they're in the middle of the wilderness. There's no one who’s going to hear him except the Force, and if it does hear him, he hopes it turns around and beats some light-bedamned sense into Obi-Wan Kenobi’s skull. In his lap, fully entranced by the corner of the blanket Owen has him bundled in, Luke coos, beams, and flips his tail. The fancy, flowing, colorful fins slap Owen’s thigh, and he sighs, tugs the bottom of the wrap down to hide as much as he can.