I Resist the Muses

Prompt 1: Who are you?

Muse: Gideon Prewett
Fandom: Harry Potter
Words: 100

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( cut for length, also written in fic format )

( cut for length, written in fic format )

Jessica Moore // Supernatural

( cut for slight sexual content )

Padme Naberrie Skywalker // Star Wars

My mama. She was the most wonderful person someone could ask for. She was smart and beautiful and she was just, mama. It's dumb, I know, but I'd want any moment I had with her relived. Even if it was one of the fights we had. Just something to help me keep remembering her since she's slipping from my mind.

If I had to choose one though, I think I would pick the time she was teaching me how to raise the flame on a candle. She realized I was stronger then I knew. The flame actually set off the sprinkler system. She laughed and told me I was her little fire starter. We played in the water that was raining down on us until the fire department came.

It was one of the last times I had with my mom, and I still remember it. I wouldn't change it for the world, I'd want to relive that one though, keep it fresh in my mind.

Tara McFadden // The Covenant (Original Character)

(My saving grace)

Muse: Carinae Moriarty
Fandom: Original (So Journeys the Fool)
Words: 233

I don't cook. Fuck that. Ma Lee cooks. Ma Lee in a part of Berlin that tourists seldom find.

Lee's cafe keeps me alive like no crooked corporate medic, street-corner apothecary, psychiatrist or pocketbook of philosophy can.

The medicine is nearly entirely self administered, affordable, non-destructive and honest. Qualities missing from every other facet of my life.

I am:
Hunched over the counter, consulting the oracle of hot-n-sour soup, seeking a cure for a musty fall cold - feeling an uncomfortable physical pressure, externally. Shifting on the stool, breathing in the spice bearing steam, closing my eyes in happiness, thinking 'Nothing is wrong with this perfect bowl of soup.' Opening my eyes and losing my thoughts in the shimmering, coppery, soup-mirror; but there's something pulling me back to the present. Frowning slightly and pressing back with my spine against the hard seat back, a gouging lump fitted to my waist, eyes clearing as my attention is again drawn to the burden of my lethal gear. God Fucking Damn-It. I reach back and rediscover the buttoned-down Glock tightly snugged against my back. I remember my relationship to the weapon and taste the bitterness of the soup like bile at the back of my tongue. I drop the spoon on the counter and payment that far exceeds the bill. I've never been so uncomfortable "in uniform"; I'm not a fidgeter, a twitcher, an undisciplined gear fiddler, now I feel the need to run from this place before it discovers that I don't belong. Before I've made the door Ma Lee has swept up the money and turned back to where her grandchildren wait.

I don't cook. Fuck that.