poisonous fog

I guess I’m writing Plangst now. This is fine.

This is the worst thing I’ve ever written but it’s been stuck in my head all morning and if I had to think about it then you do too.
Please help me.

It was only supposed to be a recon mission–in and out, scout the terrain, and (in Lance’s words, accompanied by a wink which Pidge promptly elbowed him for), get cozy with the locals. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. It wasn’t supposed to be anything at all. Just Pidge and Lance and Green on a Highly Uneventful Field Trip.

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amitds  asked:

I think Sakura showing poisons in the manga, being superior to Chiyo and Sasori, learning from Shizune and Tsunade and DB 4 stating that she learned Shizune's techniques point to her being more than able of using Shizune's poison fog and poison senbon. Add in her punching the air and creating a shock wave as seen in the Boruto movie and we have new skills/powers/attacks for Sakura. lol

Sakura is not clueless and inexperienced when it comes to poisons and medical ingredients and weapons in general. Anyone who says this, has clearly erased some chapters from their memory. 

Sakura used sleeping bombs to knock out Kiba and co for hours. She created an antidote for Sasori’s poison, something  no one before her ever could. So why wouldnt she be able to use poison weapons when at the same time, she’s the best at analyzing them and creating antidotes?

Not to forget, she also created a poison kunai to kill Sasuke. The poison was so potent that a little scratch on Naruto’s cheek made him pass out.

Halloween Prompts

1) “It’s funny, isn’t it, that the forbidden fruit is forbidden because of the knowledge it holds,” the demon murmured. He took a bite out of the toffee apple, sweet and sharp all at once. His eyes flicked to her, considering, amused. “Tell me, what is it that your heart most wants to know?” 

2) The cannibal held a blade to the vampire’s throat, breathing hard. The hunt was finally over. 

3) The killer knocked on the door, laden with a bucket of brightly wrapped offerings. The killer held the bucket out. 
“Trick or treat?”

4) “I dare you to knock on the door.” 
I didn’t want to - not because I was scared, not because of what they thought. I didn’t think number 13 was haunted, or that that the boy inside it was the living embodiment of Freddie Krueger. I knew exactly what kind of monster he was. And he knew my secret too and what I was too. He could tell. But if I didn’t do it…well. 

5) “You can’t be here.” He stared at Julian in the pale, ghostly horror reserved for impossible nightmares. “Living people aren’t ever supposed to come here.” 

6) The children rushed down the street, giggling and shouting among themselves as the parents watched from the windows. As the parents dared not go outside, fingers white-knuckled with a cold clammy terror creeping over them like the touch of a frozen, poisonous fog. As the parents avoided each other’s eyes in shame of their sacrifice. Tonight was not a night to go outside.

7) “You should be careful what you summon,” said the voice in his head. “They might not want to go back once you’re done.”

8) “You want your future read?” the woman asked.
The room smelled of a sweet, rich incense and glittered with beads. The fortune teller herself clinked and shone with every rattle of her old and creaking bones. Her eyes were even older. 
“No,” she said. “I want you to read my past. I want to know why they did what they did to me.”
The teller froze and slowly set down her cards. 

9) The man sprinted through the woods, lungs burning and each breath tearing gasping out ragged and too loud in fear. But he couldn’t hear his desperate breaths, he couldn’t hear the pounding of his heart - all he could hear was the song drifting behind him, eerie and beautiful on the wind. 

10) “You need to collect at least three souls tonight, do you hear me?” Her father demanded sternly. 
She heard, she just didn’t want to. Drinking a glass of wine and playing Silent Hill on her console seemed a much better use of this bloody night. God, why couldn’t she born into a normal family?

In which Ardyn makes good on his threat to keep Noctis’s friends company while he’s in the Crystal… Specifically: Ignis. Because that’s where my brain always goes.

( @demishock here you go!! Thanks so much for talking this idea out with me!!)

Seven years, eleven months, thirteen days.

To whatever extent one can speak of “days,” any longer.

Ignis has been keeping careful track of the time and date since the incident in Altissia, to make up for his inability to rely on cycles of light and darkness.

He started counting after Gralea.

For as much time as it took just to learn how to navigate with his blindness, as much time as he’s spent cooking in Lestallum, researching with Talcott in Hammerhead, hunting with Prompto and Gladio… Ignis has spent the majority of these years alone. It’s easier this way, somehow. Time passes more smoothly in his own head, when he can get lost in memories of the past and hopes for the future.

That’s not to say that travelling and fighting alone is a particularly good decision. Ignis takes risks the others might chastise him for, risks he would never let them get away with.

Tonight, for example, he’s settled in to rest and eat without bothering to find a warded campground. 

When he hears the footsteps approach, the brush of thick layered fabric, he curses himself for his own insouciance. He deserves this.

Ignis stays very still, continues working on his soup as though he he’s taken no notice of the new arrival.

“Enough for two?”

No matter how many times this happens, the mocking tone will never fail to set Ignis’s teeth on edge. “No,” he snaps.

“Not expecting company? I understand.” Ardyn’s voice drips with false sympathy. “I suppose it has been some time…”

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Underground Bunker

(Murphy x Reader)

Request:  Reader is out alone in the woods when poisonous fog (from s1-s2) comes. Reader runs for life and runs into Murphy along the way and they both find shelter in a small underground bunker. It’s really cramped inside and Murphy and reader are forced to be close. Snarky comments, flirting, and teasing ensues? ❤️❤️

You were too far out in the woods to return to the camp when you saw the fog coming your way, so you ran. You had no idea where to but it didn’t matter as long as you could find shelter somewhere. The fog was catching up quicker than you had anticipated though and things weren’t looking too good.

“Oh my god….run, run, run.” You scream when you see Murphy showing up in front of you.

“Wha…?” He looks behind, seeing the fog and starting to run as well, “Trouble just follows you wherever you go huh?”

“You’re one to talk Murphy.”

He grabs your arm and pulls you with him, “This way, I know where we can stay till it’s clear.”

“What is this?” You ask while trying to find a remotely comfortable position. When Murphy said he knew a place to stay you hadn’t expected something that reminded you of a broom closet. The place would have been huge if it wasn’t so cramped you couldn’t even turn around properly without bumping into something. So you both just stayed awkwardly pressed together, your hands on Murphy’s chest an his around your waist. He was so close you could feel his breath on your skin.

“An underground bunker…a little one.”

“Yeah no shit.”

You see Murphy beginning to smirk and furrow your brows, “What’s so funny?”

“Are you nervous?”

“No why would I be?”

“Because I can hear your heart beating really loud and fast.”

“Maybe it’s your own or you’re hallucinating.” You hadn’t noticed before but your heart was beating like crazy.  

You just wanted to go out on a quick walk because staying in camp all day made you nuts, you hadn’t expected to spend hours pressed against Murphy, who lets be real you had a huge crush on. Not that you’d ever tell him, the amount of teasing you would get from him was something you could live without for now.  

“Murphy what are you doing?” You can feel his hands moving down your back over your butt.

“Just making sure the door is really locked.”


“You should really learn to be a little less trusting of me.”

“Murphy get your hands away!”

Well that was going to be a long day.  

“There’s nothing wrong with a bit of flirting, you know.” Murphy pulls you even closer while saying it and you begin to blush. Damn that boy.  



“If you don’t stop your flirting I’m going to rip your clothes off.”  

“Yeah…” He stopped for a moment a confused look appearing on his face, “Wait what?”

“What? Weren’t expecting that? You started it so don’t look so surprised now.” You chuckle and look at him.

“Oh screw it…” He leans down, kissing you heatedly while moving his hands under your shirt.

“Well I’m ready, you wanted to rip my shirt off, go for it.”

new ideas to spice up foot ball: the ball is poisoned, fog machines to reduce visibility, drone helicopters to shoot players, house music, trap doors on the field, if you lose the ball you have to pay for a new one

You're Safe//A Jasper Jordan Imagine

Anon said: I know your very busy but could you please please do a Jasper Jordan imagine where you two have to hide in the bunker but you have a phobia of underground places so he helps you feel safe and just lots of fluff please?

Fluff is the best I love fluff


“Get in!” Jasper yelled, holding the door open. You looked at it anxiously, but your fear of the poisonous fog outweighed your fear of underground places, so you jumped in, Jasper right behind you.

He slammed the door, and you pressed yourself against the wall, trying to calm your racing heartbeat. 

“(Y/N)? You okay?”

You shook your head. “Uh, no, not really.”

He sat next to you. “What is it?”

You swallowed. “Nothing, I’m just not a huge fan of underground places, you know? I’m always terrified that everything is going to cave in and I’m gonna get buried alive.”

He gripped your hand and rubbed circles on your back. “Okay, okay, just breathe.”

You nodded and struggled to regain control over your breathing. 

“Look, this bunker’s made of reinforced steel and it’s not that far underground. We’re safe." 

You took deep breaths. In, out, in, out. The feeling of his hand in yours was comforting. "Okay. Okay, I think I’m good.” The feeling of overwhelming panic had passed. 

“You sure?”

You paused for a minute and then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re good.”

He smiled. “Nice.”

You sighed and leaned back into his chest and he played with your hair. “Feel better?”

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”

He kissed the top of your head. “Good.”

The Crown:
  • Churchill: Today's meeting is about whether or not Prince Philip should take flying lessons. I say he shouldn't because flying is dangerous.
  • Advisors: But there's a poisonous fog that's overtaken the city and people who breathe it in are dropping dead...
  • Churchill: That's not the purpose of this meeting. Did no one read the agenda I sent out? We have some really important issues to tackle here, like whether or not we should call Philip's uncle and tell him to make Philip stay away from airplanes.

You rushed over when you saw Bellamy enter the gates in the morning. You and some of the others had been outside last night when suddenly the poisonous fog had set in. Bellamy had taken it upon himself to play the hero and go back for someone who had stumbled over a tree root. The last thing you had seen of them was the fog slowly covering them up as the others dragged you away while you screamed. But here he stood. Alive and well.

“You freaking idiot.” You screamed at him, slapping him across the face.

“Glad to see you too, princess.” He gives you a smirk and you start hitting his chest until your fists hurt and you start to cry, collapsing into Bellamy’s arms.

Bellamy slowly slips down to the ground, taking you with him. You stay like this for a while, crying and weakly punching him while Bellamy strokes your head and gives you a kiss on the forehead.

He hugs you and whispers into your ear, “I’m sorry I worried you.”

Asian And Asian American Fiction Reads Written by Authors of South Asian Descent (In No Particular Order)

1.Bitter Sweetsby Roopa Farooki - A spellbinding first novel about the destructive lies that three immigrant generations of a Pakistani/Bangladeshi family tell each other. Henna Rub is a precocious teenager whose wheeler-dealer father never misses a business opportunity and whose sumptuous Calcutta marriage to wealthy romantic Ricky-Rashid Karim is achieved by an audacious network of lies. Even as a child, their daughter Shona, herself conceived on a lie and born in a liar’s house, finds telling fibs as easy as ABC. But years later, living above a sweatshop in South London’s Tooting Bec, it is Shona who is forced to discover unspeakable truths about her loved ones and come to terms with what superficially holds her family together–and also keeps them apart–across geographical, emotional and cultural distance. 

2.Swami and Friendsby R.K. Narayan - Swami and Friends introduces us to Narayan’s beloved fictional town of Malgudi, where ten-year-old Swaminathan’s excitement about his country’s initial stirrings for independence competes with his ardor for cricket and all other things British. 

3.Malgudi Daysby R.K. Narayan - In this collection of stories composed of powerful, magical portraits of all kinds of people, and comprising stories written over almost forty years, Malgudi Days presents Narayan’s imaginary city in full color, revealing the essence of India and of human experience. 

4.A Fine Balanceby Rohinton Mistry - The time is 1975. The place is an unnamed city by the sea. The government has just declared a State of Emergency, in whose upheavals four strangers–a spirited widow, a young student uprooted from his idyllic hill station, and two tailors who have fled the caste violence of their native village–will be thrust together, forced to share one cramped apartment and an uncertain future. 

5.A Suitable Boy by Vikdram Seth - Vikram Seth’s novel is, at its core, a love story: Lata and her mother, Mrs. Rupa Mehra, are both trying to find – through love or through exacting maternal appraisal – a suitable boy for Lata to marry. Set in the early 1950s, in an India newly independent and struggling through a time of crisis, A Suitable Boy takes us into the richly imagined world of four large extended families and spins a compulsively readable tale of their lives and loves.

6.Sacred Games by Vikram Chandra - A policeman, a criminal overlord, a Bollywood film star, beggars, cultists, spies, and terrorists—the lives of the privileged, the famous, the wretched, and the bloodthirsty interweave with cataclysmic consequences amid the chaos of modern-day Mumbai, in this soaring, uncompromising, and unforgettable epic masterwork of literary art.

7.Animal’s Peopleby Indra Sinha - Ever since he can remember, Animal has gone on all fours, his back twisted beyond repair by the catastrophic events of “that night” when a burning fog of poison smoke from the local factory blazed out over the town of Khaufpur, and the Apocalypse visited his slums. Now just turned seventeen and well schooled in street work, he lives by his wits, spending his days spying on town officials and looking after the elderly nun who raised him, Ma Franci. When Elli Barber, a young American doctor, arrives in Khaufpur to open a free clinic for the still suffering townsfolk – only to find herself struggling to convince them that she isn’t there to do the dirty work of the Kampani – Animal gets caught up in a web of intrigues, scams, and plots with the unabashed aim of turning events to his own advantage.

8.Maps for Lost Lovers by Nadeem Aslam - Jugnu and Chanda have disappeared. Like thousands of people all over England, they were lovers and living together out of wedlock. To Chanda’s family, however, the disgrace was unforgivable. Perhaps enough so as to warrant murder. As he explores the disappearance and its aftermath through the eyes of Jugnu’s worldly older brother, Shamas, and his devout wife, Kaukab, Nadeem Aslam creates a closely observed and affecting portrait of people whose traditions threaten to bury them alive.

9.The Kite Runnerby Khaled Hosseini - The unforgettable, heartbreaking story of the unlikely friendship between a wealthy boy, Amir, and the son of his father’s servant, Hassan, The Kite Runner is a beautifully crafted novel set in a country that is in the process of being destroyed. It is about the power of reading, the price of betrayal, and the possibility of redemption; and an exploration of the power of fathers over sons—their love, their sacrifices, their lies.

10.Running in the Familyby Michael Ondaatje - In the late 1970s Ondaatje returned to his native island of Sri Lanka. As he records his journey through the drug-like heat and intoxicating fragrances of that “pendant off the ear of India, ” Ondaatje simultaneously retraces the baroque mythology of his Dutch-Ceylonese family.

11.The Blood of Flowersby Anita Amirrezvani - A mesmerizing historical novel of an ill-fated young woman whose gift as a rug designer transforms her life. Illuminated with glorious detail of persian rug-making, and brilliantly bringing to life the sights sounds and life of 17th-century Isfahan. 

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anonymous asked:

I just had the worst week and felt so tired, maybe youll kindly give me some warm cuddly everlark drabble? Something like katniss had a bad day and in the end of the day peeta always there for her? Or something like that? Pretty please? *tiredly wink eyes*

Anon, I cannot refuse this request. In the name of getting something to you as soon as possible, I whipped this up as soon as I got your message, and it’s not been edited. If you like, I have more ideas in my head with actual cuddling in them which I will gladly write for you. Let me know and I hope your week looks up soon. Hugs and kisses! <3

Between the primroses and “Real.”

Her fingers tangle in the wire and even though she’s done this a hundred thousand times, it’s just too much today. Katniss thrashes her hands about with a growl on her lips and then a soft cry as the wire cuts into her skin.

When she finally manages to disentangle herself from her own snare, she flings the jumbled mess onto the ground and tries to cry. Not a single tear escapes her burning eyes as she turns her back on her task and trudges towards the district line, missing her best friend and hunting partner. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, the feelings rush over her swift and unstoppable.

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This one is for @mphelmsman9 who wanted Johnlock, post-TAB, 9. Here you go!

The ride back to Baker Street is…tense. That is the best word for it. You sit in the middle of the back seat, your body pressed so close to mine, that I can feel the heat seeping through my pores. I am fighting the urge to press closer into you, lean my head on your shoulder. But that wouldn’t do, would it, not with Mary sitting on your other side, glaring daggers in my direction. It’s distracting in the extreme. She’s poison yellow fog, piercing and harsh.

You reach over and grab my wrist, press your fingers to the pulse point there. “Sherlock, you doing ok?” you ask. I look over at you, your eyes, so concerned, so full of care. But there is an anger simmering there too. You’re upset with me for what I did. The choice I made. It’s swirling around you, soft blue compassion mixing with purple tendrils. If I reached out now, I wonder, could I touch it? Yellow spike. Crimson pinprick. Best not then.

“I’m fine.”

Your fingers are like molten fire on my skin. Reluctantly I pluck my arm from your grasp and place it back in my lap. The rest of the ride is passed in uncomfortable silence, I can see the emotions swirling around the closed space like flies. Dimly I register that I’m starting to shake, to come down from the carefully crafted high I had designed. We need to drive faster.

Thankfully we pull in front of the flat and I all but throw myself out of the car, racing for the door. I can hear you behind me, a terse conversation with Mary, vermillion, then a hushed conference with Mycroft, cerulean, before you are following me up, hot on my heels.

“Sherlock…” you begin. It clear you want to discuss what happened, what I did, and why.

“Not now, John.” Deflect. I race towards the bathroom, slamming the door in your face and locking it, pressing my body up against it.

I can feel it coming, the tremors starting, racing through my limbs like a tsunami, unstoppable and terrible in their wake.

“Sherlock, open the door.” You’re pounding. “I need to make sure you’re ok.”

“I’m fine, John. Go home. I’ll call you in the morning.” I lean my head back against the door. Alone. Alone is what I have. Suddenly it comes crashing over me, and I cannot control it. Alone. Always alone. It’s what he wanted. For us to be apart. To burn the heart out of me. He knew it, he knew the moment he met me, that you were my greatest weakness. My heart. And now, what is left?

“God Dammit, Sherlock! Either you let me in, or I’ll break the fucking thing down!” Aubergine.

“What do you care, John? I’m fine, for god’s sake. Go home!” The tears that have been threatening to fall since the tarmac finally spill their banks. I need to get to my coat. One more hit…

“What do I care? You prick. I care because you’re my best friend. I care because I thought that today was the last time I’d ever see you. I care, Sherlock.” Your voice has gone soft, shades of cornflower blue cutting through the purple.

“I can’t do it, John. I can’t do this, alone. Moriarty… please…” I’m not even sure what I’m asking for anymore, the tears falling like raindrops from my eyes. The chills are starting, and I know soon I will be violently ill. I need to be alone. I need John.

“Open the door, please, Sherlock.” Your voice cracks on my name. I reach up and unlock the door, then crawl away to lean against the tub.

You are by my side in an instant, checking my pupils, my pulse, your hands trailing fire over my flesh wherever they land. I need, crave, more. It’s the sweetest hit I’ve ever known.

“John, I need…”

You wipe away the tears from my eyes with a sweep of your thumb. “What do you need?” you whisper.


“You idiot. Don’t you know it’s always the two of us?” And as you wrap your arms around me I sink into your Mediterranean blue bliss and am calmed.

Send me a number and a ship and I’ll write you a ficlet

Against All Odds

Summary: In the wake of a friend’s death, Miller has a very shocking, and untimely, revelation: he might just be in love with Monty Green. {Spoilers for 3x06}

a/n: This is @madgesundersee‘s doing, because she’s got me on the Miller & Minty feels train like woah. 

“You sure?” Bryan asked for the second time.

Miller nodded stiffly, shoulders rising up to his ears. It wasn’t going to be easy hearing how Monroe died, but he needed to. Monty was off telling Harper, and Bellamy was off being Pike’s lackey, and so Bryan had broke the news to him.

His boyfriend was so hesitant though, and annoyance gripped Miller. Didn’t Bryan know that after all he had seen and done on the ground, after all the blood and death he has tasted, he was strong enough to handle this, strong enough to handle more dead friends?

More dead friends.

His earlier words to Octavia felt dangerous now, as if by speaking them he had made them come true. So he nodded at Bryan tersely, telling him to get on with it.

He started slow, describing the drive and the initial confusion at finding the village empty. His words picked up speed and intensity as he revealed the trap, the fiery arrows flying through the air, Octavia’s screams, Bellamy’s shouts, and then the poisonous fog.

“And we could just hear her screaming for help, but you couldn’t see a damn thing. Going in after her without even the slightest chance of knowing where she was–”

“But you guys got her out?” Miller questioned, because he had seen the look on Bellamy’s face. It was the look he knew too well, the sheer pain and guilt of watching someone close to you die right before your eyes.

Monty did,” Bryan murmured, awe in his voice.

Suddenly every part of Miller went cold. “What.”

“Monty went in after her. His mother was freaking out. Bellamy had to pull her back from going in after them, and I swear, he took so long I thought they were both done. But then he came back, dragging Monroe, and he was right there by her side when she–when she died.”

Bryan trailed off, almost guiltily, because this heroic story didn’t have a happy ending. He cleared his throat and ducked his head, and Miller clenched his fists tighter. Monroe was dead, and they had almost lost Monty too.

“Nate.” Gentle hands came to rest over his wrists, thumbs rubbing to soothe away his tension. “Nate, talk to me.”

“She’s dead,” he croaked, hot tears burning his eyes. With a sob, he buried his face in Bryan’s shoulder, letting the grief overtake him.

Bryan rubbed his back, pressed kisses into the crook of his neck and his temple, whispering ‘I’m so sorry’ over and over again.

He could say all the sorry’s in the world, but Monroe would still be dead, all because of Pike and his greediness, all because this place was a hellscape determined to kill them.

But it didn’t kill Monty.

The thought came to him as he slumped against Bryan, and he felt more grateful than he expected for that one little reprieve.

“Dude, he came out of that fog like he was a damn ghost, and carrying Monroe with him. I couldn’t believe it!”

Miller grimaced as he sat down beside Bryan at the lunch table. That story was now something he heard on a daily basis. It seems his boyfriend liked the status being associated with the big guns in camp, which was a new thing for him. He knew the ground changed everyone, made them harder, but this was–something else. Every time he heard Bryan recount Monty’s save, it rubbed him just a little more raw.

“Sophie and Tate asked,” Bryan said, almost defensively, once Miller had settled.

“Okay.” He picked up his fork but didn’t eat, instead just moved the food around.

“I know you don’t like–”

“I don’t like what?” Miller snapped, jerking his head up to look at Bryan. “Hearing again and again about the night one of my friends died?”

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anonymous asked:

prompt: "bellemy blake,you are NOT allowed to die,you hear me?you can't.I need you."

A/N This might not be exactly what was requested but anyway this is how it turned out. First time I’m attempting something like this so I hope you like it.

Everwhere around her was chaos. Clarke could see the grounders push through the crowd, spearing down anyone that wasn’t from their group. She could hear the screams of anguish, the cries of pain, the rippling sensation of flesh being cut and it took her a minute to realize it were her screams. She was the one in pain and that spear that stuck out from her abdomen definitely didn’t belong there.

She could feel herself waver, she almost fell over when strong arms surrounded her and kept her upright. “Clarke! Clarke!”

“I’m okay,” she muttered and tried to push herself out of Bellamy’s arms. It was just a stab wound. It wasn’t that deep she would- okay maybe she wouldn’t be okay but she wasn’t the priority. They were under attack and they needed to get out. Now! “The tunnels, we need to get as many of us out as we can get.”

She was ready to jump in the group that was still fighting, the numbers that were dwindling swiftly on both sides but was stopped. “Like hell you will. Get out of here. I’ll tell the rest.”

She wanted to protest but she could barely stay on her feet and they both knew it. She was bleeding, she needed a place where she could examine herself, where she could see if any splinters were left in the wound and she couldn’t do that here. Besides they would need a doctor. She was the only one they had. If only she had trained someone else…

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Restoring a clan

“Why are you so late?”

Hinata jumped up, clutching her heart, and slowly moved her pale eyes to look back. Sasuke had silently walked in to the medical room where she was speaking to Sakura, and was leaning on the door now.

For a moment the two only exchanged looks. His dark eyes were indifferent, while her pearly ones were somewhat flat, completely out of color. Her face was pale.

“I-” she finally started.

“You came here for your test results, didn’t you? It’s been four hours.” Sasuke then moved his eyes to Sakura. The medical nin answered his serious gaze with a sad one, then looked away.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” she explained and headed for the door, but the Uchiha man did not move away. It was incredible that even at 24 he was still as stubborn as ever.

“What’s going on?” His voice was low. Serious to the point of sending shivers down Sakura’s spine.

“The test results,” Hinata started, almost whispering. She was facing him with his back, staring at her feet. She was not capable of looking at his eyes. “They… they aren’t good.”

Her husband raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“I… I have an infection. I may need to undergo surgery and…”

A few moments of silence passed. Sakura grit her teeth. This was too personal, she needed to leave the room, but Sasuke had completely forgotten that she was standing before him, he was concentrated at the back of Hinata’s head. His hands were folded on his chest. His expression was tense and the Haruno realized that she had not seen him like that for a while.


“I may not be able to have children.”

Silence fell into the room like a thick fog of poison.

“May not?” Sasuke finally spoke. His voice was too cold.

When Hinata did not answer, he let his arms fall to his sides. His jaw was clenched, but it suddenly relaxed. A blank expression appeared on his face.

“Hinata.” the girl almost jumped at the sound of her name. But she did not turn around. She was clutching the sheets of the medical bed she was sitting on. Sakura could see how much trouble she had breathing evenly.

“I-” she tried to speak. Her voice was shaking.

“I have a clan to rebuild.”

The Haruno shifted her green eyes at the man. He couldn’t…

“I know.” Hinata’s voice was a mere whisper.

“Then you should know that, given the circumstances you just presented, we cannot be together.”

A moment of painful silence passed. “I know.”

“Good. I will send you the documentation tomorrow.”

With these words the Uchiha man turned around, opened the door and  walked out, not bothering to look back even for a second.

Sakura stood there, staring at the open door and empty door-frame. She slowly realized that her eyes had widened at this, and that her hands were shaking.

A light sound took her out of her shock. She turned around to see that Hinata’s shoulders were shaking as well. The young woman had covered her mouth with both hands and seemed trying her best not to cry, but it wasn’t working.

The pink-haired woman felt her eyes burning, a painful lump was stuck in her throat, and she wanted to run after that bastard and beat the life out of him. But Hinata needed someone now. And she no longer had anyone.

“Shhh,” Sakura started as she walked to the bed and sat next to her friend. The white eyes turned to her. Her cheeks were wet from tears. “Hush now, it’ll be alright…”

“No it wont,” Hinata breathed.

And Sakura knew that she was right. She exhaled, trying to keep her composure, and took Hinata in her arms, letting her cry as much as she needed. Why did life had to be so crippled sometimes…


SasuHina angst always helps my depression. If only I was as strong as Hinata. Maybe then I’d have the strength to have that conversation with him…