I Resist the Muses

It's snowing. Small flakes of white spin madly, silently. Images drift and spin, to settle scattered on the ground.

The feel of skin beneath my hands, smooth and warm. The brush and tickle of sandalwood scented hair. The sharp ridge of a hipbone beneath my tongue. A shiny ring of steel so intimately placed rubbing against the back of my throat. The gasps and moans of pleasure, murmured words of love. These sharp and burning memories leave a bloody trail behind as they slip now from my hands.

I long to cling, to hold, to hear those words from you. Instead I let you go, hold my memories close. The sound of your laughter, the curve of your smile, the scent of your skin.

Alone I sit here, with the wall to my back, and watch the falling snow.

I love you.


Muse: Grey MacNamara
Fandom: None, original character.

Open for comments, etc. here.

"There is no agony like bearing an untold story inside of you." - Maya Angelou

I wonder if there are truer words?

Everyone has their secrets, I'm sure. In the years that I've lived, I've uncovered my share of them. Somewhere inside, though, there's always one that is only mine and no one else's.

There are times that I want to tell someone, anyone. If one person would listen, I would talk to them, wouldn't I? Just tell them everything inside me.

I almost told Sheik, once. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't say it. There are no words for secret agonies.

I'm sure I'm not the only one.

(Open to comments, etc., over here.)

MUSE: Link
SOURCE: Legend of Zelda

It doesn't really snow in Gotham, so much as the streets pile up with ice and sludge. Layers of ice, and people still drive like the end of the world is coming. But hey, it's Gotham, right? So it might be. Wouldn't really be surprising, after all this time.

I'm not in the heart of Gotham tonight, though. Lucky me.

In an hour, we're supposed to have dinner. You know. As a family. I hope Dick leaves early, to avoid the craptastic traffic that is sure to be accumulating on the road from 'Haven.

Alfred has been up in arms about this all day. NO ONE ALLOWED IN HIS KITCHEN, KTHX. At all. Which kind of sucks, since I've been hungry since about noon. I don't even know what all he's cooking. It's all very hush-hush, you know, don't ask and I won't have to hit you with a spoon.

Whatever it is, it'll be worth waiting, but it sure as hell isn't making my stomach any happier.

Oh. That's the doorbell. Guess I'm out, then. Hope he brought some chips or something, though...

(Open for comments, etc, here.)

Muse: Tim Drake (Robin)
Source: DC Comics

(Who am I?)

[fake LJ cut, possible spoilers for the end of MGS2 : Sons of Liberty]
Also, Otacon does not yet have a tag.

Fandom: Metal Gear Solid
Muse: Dr. Hal "Otacon" Emmerich

It still surprised Isabel that people thought that it didn't snow in Italy, and she listened in mild annoyance to the young American tourists as they gawked at the first flurries of the night. Of course, snow was now a huge tourist draw for the Alpine towns, bringing in life and money during the dark winter nights instead of isolation and death. It's also uglier now for all that it has lost its sinister edge, at least in the cities where it turns black from the vehicle exhaust. Black like the long grip of death in winters centuries ago when the wolves roamed the hills driven by starvation to the small lights of the villages to snatch what life they could, when fire was life for the small lives of the Children of Seth, and when travel was for armies or fools.

( A gaggle of children ran by pelting each other with snow balls... )

Comments here, please.