wistful

"Did I turn into a unicorn?" Peter asks dryly, and Stiles glares at him for a moment before the laughter bubbles up, unbidden, nearly unwilling, and he looks so surprised at the sound, his shock dimming it for a moment before it bursts through with even more trembling ferocity. A long, thin, willowy hand curls into a soft fist over his mouth, and he's shaking, frail, more tears falling, but the copper of his eyes are glowing, crinkling around the edges and scrunched with mirth. "No," Stiles chokes, chuckling wetly. "No, fuck you, a unicorn? What, like, Rainbowcreep? Zombiesparkle?" [About a year before the fated Hale fire, Peter starts having nightmares that involve a woman with red hair. The nightmares lead to a spell that brings a man back through time, and, eventually, though the time-traveler is traumatized in the most horrific ways, and Peter's never been good with or for people, in general, they develop a bond that neither of them expects.]

Eyes narrowed, the driver gives [Salim] a reproving look. "I don't think you are telling the truth," he says, glancing at Salim's bag and sling. "I was trying to get to Ubar," Salim admits. "I sometimes walk in my sleep." "Ubar," says the driver, thoughtfully. "The City of Pillars on the old Incense Road. Allah destroyed it, you know. Covered it in sand from foundations to spires. Now, it is Irem, City of the Jinn." "Yes," Salim says, comforted by the familiar sound of the name. "That is the place." "Well, get in," says the driver, rubbing his arms vigorously. "We don't have all night."

In concluding, you are telling me that you would like to make this story faithful, I am telling you exactly what I feel, and somehow I think what we are saying is the same. That is a foolproof ending sentence. Love (and that is repetition, which is important for dull readers), Alex

It lies buried beneath the trees, cracked, its two halves barely touching. One day, when a team of scholars with tools pries it from shady, earthy oblivion, they will remark upon its brokenness in hushed, hopeful tones. Next, they will remark upon its whiteness, and someone in the company who cannot dig, but who is there because she knows the words, will say that west and slightly south lies a tomb carved of the same brightness: a sarcophagus for two, unsplit and unopened. With great strain, she will take the heavy halves in her hands and pray. Wind will rush in from the sea, down the passes: the memory of a blade. And the stone, pieces fitted, will catch the lamp's flame in the sun.

A contemplative sequence of late summer-y vignettes, some funny, some schmoopy, stuck together with jam.

late one night and agin Severus Snape sits with his long time love Mercy Blessing dozzing on his shoulder and musses on their long life together and how it has and hasen't changed and recites her a poem.Follow up to "A Mercy For Snape" which is earlier in their relationship but each can stand alone I think.I do not own characters or world created by J.K. Rrowling