#117 words

[mundrakan]

Prompt: Foe

@wolfstarmicrofic

“Why, Sirius?” Remus hammered his fists against the shoulders of Sirius' wide frame. “Why am I still unable to hate you? Why can't I just see you as a foe, not after all you've said and done?”

Sirius caught the fists gently, kissing each of them. “Because evil is tempting?” The bitter taste of the words made more than obvious, how Sirius despised even in himself everything that he came from.

“No...” Remus decided, the hands opening up and then closing again, this time around Sirius'. “Because if there is one person, who knows for a fact that we are not just the darkness within us, it's me. And you. It's because we are alike.”

[nic-mccool]

For Bandi-pa

In my hand are papers the color of sand, and soon just as likely to crumble into humble little dunes--but of brittle flakes instead of grit-- waiting for time to unmake them into bits.

On the pages are words in fading type, blurred with age, degrading, sustaining legibility yet, but past their prime and with the threat of waning strength after this length of time.

In the words are stories. Not just the ones that the letters tell, a story that is done, but better still: the story of a man I haven’t met and never can, and yet his blood runs on (like the sentences we both tend to write, spending nights sacrificing sense for our love of language) inside me-- a story that never ends.

[foundloveinbudapest-blog]

morenavbby replied to your post: One Word Prompts for One Hundred Word ...

laundry

 In the laundry room of Stark Tower, Clint was pressed into his chair with Natasha straddling his lap. The machines hummed loudly all around them but they didn’t notice, not when her hand was stroking the strands of hair at the back of his head while her tongue was in his mouth and his hands were at her waist. The whole of the Avengers could have walked in at that moment and Clint didn’t think either of them would have noticed for the world.

Because right then the room was theirs, all theirs, and he could brush his thumb over the smooth flesh of her stomach and pull her closer.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[foundloveinbudapest-blog]

one word prompt: fingers

“Sit down,” Natasha said. She pushed down on his shoulder to get him seated on the chair.

“What?” Clint asked.

Natasha grabbed Band-Aids and an antibiotic cream from the bathroom before rejoining him. “Your fingers, Clint. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Clint looked down. In the middle of the fight he’d lost his glove and his armguard and the damage that had been done was extensive. His forearm was a mess of purple, yellow, and black bruises that stretched up his arm and faded back into his own peach toned skin. His fingers were bleeding, broken callouses and bruised tips. “Okay.”

“You shouldn’t have kept going,” she said.

Clint grinned sadly. “Then I would have lost you.”

[the-d-oo-r-s-of-perception]

[ofwinston-blog]

My first day in the colony

I remember a feeling of confusion, and that my mouth felt like it was filled with cotton, my head filled with bees. Waking to a dark ceiling and a hard cot, but the pillow was soft under my tender bandaged head. I lied there for several minutes before I worked up the courage to make a noise, I squeaked a timid hello?

A woman poked her head around the door, her hair was shoulder-length and orderly she said her name was Eric. She brought me a broth in a metal bowl and fixed the bandage on my head. Bandages are poor replacement for wings. I slept again for several hours.