idreamofdango

[idreamofdango]

~Envy~

Note: @idreamofdango - here you go! Sorry the editing took so long.

Tsunade’s gaze drifted lazily from the stacks of paperwork she had long since resigned herself to ignoring, settling instead on the whirlwind of motion pacing before her desk. Anko was deep in yet another impassioned monologue—this time about some new variety of dango that had apparently been an offense to her very existence.

The Hokage exhaled slowly, fingers tapping absently against the armrest of her chair. Why, exactly, this particular tragedy needed to be relayed to her remained a mystery. But given the alternative—drowning in the endless sea of documents that had buried her desk since the day she took office—Tsunade supposed there were worse fates than enduring the dramatic ramblings of a crazed Tokubetsu Jōnin.

A sudden silence pulled her attention upward.

She found herself staring into deep brown eyes, so dark they nearly bled into violet under the dim office lighting. That color had a way of unsettling her, striking something deep and primal in her chest, something she loathed acknowledging.

Anko’s glare was pointed, her arms crossed in clear irritation at the lack of engagement.

Tsunade forced herself to smirk, feigning nonchalance as she gave a single nod.

The younger woman huffed, rolling her eyes before launching right back into her rant.

“…A complete waste of my money! Can you believe the nerve? Charging that much for garbage? I swear—”

Tsunade barely heard the rest.

Her attention had already drifted, her amusement fading into something heavier, something that settled like lead in her stomach.

She had seen those eyes before.

Not on Anko.

Not on anyone living.

They belonged to ghosts, to the ones who had never made it back, to the ones she had held in her arms as their light faded.

Whoever claimed that eyes were the windows to the soul had no idea how painfully right—and dreadfully wrong—they were. Because staring into Anko’s, all Tsunade could see were the dead.

She remembered the first time she had laid eyes on Mitarashi Anko—remembered, with startling clarity, the first and only time she had ever felt jealousy toward another kunoichi.

She hadn’t cared that the girl was just a child. Hadn’t cared how petty the emotion was. All that mattered in that moment was that Anko was taking something—someone—that belonged to her.

Tsunade’s fingers curled into fists as she glared at her pale-haired teammate, disbelief and frustration warring within her.

“What do you mean you’ve taken on an apprentice?” she snapped, voice sharp with accusation.

She was already losing too much. First Jiraiya, with his idiotic decision to stay in Ame and play babysitter to a group of war orphans. And now Orochimaru? Her last tether to familiarity, to stability, was being pulled away from her, slipping through her grasp like sand.

Behind him stood a small figure, her posture straight, rigid with attention. Big, inquisitive eyes locked onto her new sensei with a quiet, worshipful reverence that made Tsunade’s stomach twist.

Orochimaru didn’t so much as flinch under her glare. If anything, his lips quirked into that insufferable smirk that always meant he was enjoying himself far too much at her expense.

“Sarutobi-sensei thought it would be a good idea,” he mused, his voice calm, detached. “Besides, young Anko here is quite the exceptional little kunoichi.”

The way he said it—so damn smug—made something burn in her chest.

“Now now, hime,” he added, his tone turning light, mocking, “no need to be jealous. I’m sure you’ll be assigned your own students soon enough—once you learn to control that temper of yours.”

He was laughing before he even turned away, motioning for the girl to follow.

And she did.

Without hesitation.

Tsunade remained rooted in place, the training ground stretching empty before her, the ghost of Orochimaru’s amusement lingering in the air.

Her hands trembled at her sides.

Shaking in rage.

She had seen the girl many times after that day, always trailing after Orochimaru like a devoted shadow. Wide, pale-brown eyes brimming with laughter, with wit, with a confidence that made Tsunade's stomach turn. That same foul taste always rose in her throat whenever she saw them together, an unfamiliar bitterness curling in the pit of her gut.

Because this girl—this mere child—had done what no one else had ever managed.

She had made Senju Tsunade envious.

At first, she told herself it was nothing. That she didn’t care. But as the months passed, and those happy, adoring eyes continued to haunt her periphery, that bitterness only deepened.

Then, one day, those eyes changed.

The shock of loss had made Tsunade numb. Dan’s death was still fresh, his blood still staining the inside of her mind, and she had nothing left in her to react when the Sandaime sat before her, his mouth forming words she barely processed.

Orochimaru. Traitor.

She just stared at the aged Hokage, empty and unblinking, as he spoke.

She wasn’t sure she could feel anything anymore.

Not until the office doors burst open.

The sharp tang of iron struck first, thick and cloying, as ANBU carried in a limp, blood-soaked body.

Familiar.

“…found in one of the labs…”

“…traitor…”

“…needs medical attention…”

She barely heard them.

Because all she could see were those eyes.

Dead. Hollow. Lifeless.

The same eyes that had once gleamed with sharp, knowing mirth. Eyes that had once mocked her with their brightness, their joy.

Now they stared at her, empty, void of everything that had once made them burn.

The eyes of death itself.

The same lifeless void that had haunted her for years.

The same emptiness that had stared back at her in her nightmares—Nawaki’s, wide and unblinking in the rain.

Dan’s, frozen in time as the light left them.

Tsunade stepped back.

No one knew she had been within Konoha’s walls that night. Summoned back in the wake of Orochimaru’s betrayal.

No one knew she had fled before dawn broke.

No one knew she had taken those eyes with her, carrying the weight of a third pair of ghosts that would keep her awake for months to come.

And soon enough, she had learned how to drown them out.

Sake became her salvation, her escape, her means of silencing the ghosts that whispered to her in the dark.

By the time she lost herself at the bottom of a bottle, she was already in debt to half of Hi no Kuni.

On her return, she'd not been ready for quite a lot.

But the one thing she was most definitely not prepared for was this.

For the ghost of the child she had abandoned, now standing before her on her first official day as Hokage.

Not for the face-splitting grin—sharp, teasing, taunting.

And certainly not for those eyes.

They were still the same. Still empty, still lifeless, still laying bare all of Tsunade’s failures for the world to see. A hollow reflection of everything she had tried to drink away, now staring her down in broad daylight.

Her breath caught.

Guilt churned in her stomach, twining with a sharp, unbidden terror, clawing its way up her throat. Perhaps that was why the young woman’s expression softened. A flicker of something less cruel, something less dead passing through those pale-brown depths.

Perhaps it was pity.

Tsunade didn’t care.

Didn’t question it.

She was just relieved—painfully, achingly relieved—to see something there at all.

“Hokage-sama?”

Tsunade never did understand how it happened.

She doubted she ever would.

Somewhere along the way, their roles had shifted. The venomous resentment, the bitterness of years past, had faded into something else entirely.

Because if she had to name the one shinobi she trusted beyond all others—the one who would never falter, never waver—she wouldn’t have to think twice.

The snake mistress would always be one of the first few names on her lips.

"Will you please listen—"

Perhaps it was the shared understanding of loss, the unspoken recognition between two people who had seen everything they loved torn away.

Perhaps it was the betrayal.

"Will you listen, already?"

A voice cut sharply through the fog of memory, yanking Tsunade back to the present. She blinked, disoriented, only to find herself staring into a face much too close for comfort.

"Personal space, Mitarashi!" she huffed, one hand shoving the grinning menace away before settling into an all-too-familiar twitch of her eye.

That smirk. Damn that smirk.

"Whatcha dreaming about?" Anko chirped, as if she hadn’t just slammed Tsunade straight into the past.

How did she do that? The sheer whiplash—the impossible shift from one extreme to another—should not be possible. It defied all logic.

"None of your business, Anko," she muttered.

Mistake.

Tsunade knew it the moment the words left her lips. She might as well have drawn a target on her forehead and handed Anko a kunai.

Predictably, the younger woman took the opening with a victorious gleam in her eye, planting herself on the disaster zone Tsunade still begrudgingly called a desk, making herself right at home.

“Would those thoughts, by chance, revolve around a white haired Perv?” Tsunade wondered if she could develop a permanent eye twitch if this subject wasn’t dropped sometime soon, as she gritted her teeth, forcing out a tense “No!”

[idreamofdango]

2 mandarins for good luck 🍊🍊

[idreamofdango]

~ Sanctuary ~

She stood before the establishment, the faintest trace of hesitation in her stance—so subtle, so fleeting, that few would ever recognize it for what it was. But there was no one around to see, so she didn’t bother to hide it. The place had aged, worn down by time and neglect, its wooden beams weathered, its once-bright sign now faded and chipped. Somewhere in the depths of her mind, she could still recall how it had looked in its prime—polished floors, fresh paint, the scent of warm confections curling through the air like an unspoken promise. She had stepped through these doors only days after its grand opening, back when the world had felt simpler.

Time had not been kind to its exterior, but the inside? The inside still pulsed with life.

It had stood through the reigns of three Hokage, watched generations of shinobi pass through its doors—some weary, some laughing, some never returning. The walls had soaked up their voices, their stories, their burdens. It was more than just a shop. It was a sanctuary, a quiet promise of familiarity amidst the chaos of a shinobi’s life. Here, missions, bloodshed, and duty could be set aside, if only for a little while.

In that way, it was home.

Scoffing at her own sentimentality, she shook off the lingering nerves and stepped inside.

The moment she crossed the threshold, warmth wrapped around her, thick and heady, carrying the scent of sugar, cinnamon, and something faintly charred from an overworked oven. It hit her like a memory��sweet, cloying, overwhelming. The air buzzed with sound, the rich hum of voices overlapping in easy camaraderie. Laughter rang out in bursts, the scrape of chairs and clatter of dishes filling the spaces in between.

No one paid her much mind, a few curious glances flickering her way before slipping back into their conversations. She let her gaze sweep across the room, instinct guiding her to a familiar corner, to a sight so unchanged it made something in her chest ease.

Order placed, she wandered over, amusement flickering in her gaze at the predictability of it all. The routine never changed. It was always like this.

The lone occupant of the table sat exactly as expected—leaning back in her chair, eyes closed as if sleep could take her at any moment, a half-eaten dango skewer dangling loosely from her fingers.

Tsunade liked these constants in her life. Sake was one. Jiraiya’s stupidity, another—an infuriating, almost comforting inevitability. Naruto, with his relentless brightness, his unwavering belief in the impossible.

And this sight before her?

This was something else.

A reassurance. A quiet, steadfast kind of comfort.

“Mitarashi…”

It was barely more than a murmur, but it was enough. Across the table, Anko barely twitched in acknowledgment, too enraptured by the dango in her grasp to bother responding. Tsunade didn’t push—she never did. The tokubetsu would speak when she felt like it, and until then, she would lose herself in the sticky-sweet bliss of her addiction.

Tsunade had wondered, on occasion, if Anko’s obsession with dango was anything like her own love for sake.

She never asked, though. There was no need. Some things weren’t meant to be picked apart, only accepted as they were. Just another quiet, unspoken fixture in her life—one she found herself content with.

Exhaling a customary huff, she slid into the only other open seat at the table, her fingers drumming idly against its surface. The silence that settled between them was an easy one, the kind that made her wonder if anyone else had ever occupied this space. If anyone else had shared in these quiet, wordless meetings, or if it had always been just them.

Her order arrived, and no sooner had the plate been set down than a greedy hand shot out, swiping a skewer straight from it.

Tsunade’s eyes flickered toward Anko’s plate—where she could have sworn there had been nearly a full serving just a moment ago. And yet, somehow, it was now reduced to nothing but a few stray crumbs.

She should have learned by now.

She honestly shouldn’t even bother ordering dango in the first place—she didn’t care for the overly sweet taste, and she never actually got to eat any of it. But still, she always did. Just as, without fail, a nearly full bottle of sake would be waiting for her, poured without request, as if the owners had long since accepted the inevitability of her visits.

Nothing needed to be said. The sarcasm and quips that flitted across the table were just habit, a lazy exchange neither of them had to think about.

It wasn’t the food she came for.

It was this—the presence, the company, the unspoken understanding that here, no explanations were needed.

Whether a week passed or months, nothing changed. No questions asked, no expectations set.

And when they finally left, the only evidence of their time spent here would be the empty bottle of sake and the haphazardly stacked plates left in their wake—a quiet, familiar testament to their existence.

@idreamofdango

[idreamofdango]

they specified die ╮(╯_╰)╭

:Slams 200 ryo onto your desk:

How do I tell someone to eat shit and die with flowers?

... Go ask the Yamanaka, they'd know better than I would, and I don't want to be the cause of any snubbed lovers but...

Orange lilies, Tansy, Lavender, Geraniums, Yellow carnations, and maybe some black eyed susans could make some lovely compositions if you're creative about it.

[idreamofdango]

just give nonnie some of that belladonna you're growing in the flowerbox outside your kitchen window

:Slams 200 ryo onto your desk:

How do I tell someone to eat shit and die with flowers?

... Go ask the Yamanaka, they'd know better than I would, and I don't want to be the cause of any snubbed lovers but...

Orange lilies, Tansy, Lavender, Geraniums, Yellow carnations, and maybe some black eyed susans could make some lovely compositions if you're creative about it.

[idreamofdango]

GLITTER ٩( ᗒᗨᗕ )۶

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

@idreamofdango Aren't you always looking for things to chew? How about this person?

[idreamofdango]

[idreamofdango]

*beacons you to a dark corner* psssst hey, you 🫵 do you want a sneak peek for the new AU I’m working on?

Hehehe of course you do >;)

Cyborg!Anko for my Bulletproof Hearts AU!! There’s a lot of context needed to make this make sense (and I’ll get into it once I’m done *at least* Genma and Kakashi’s character sheets as well) but uhhh the AU is mainly based on the MCR Killjoys universe, but I take inspiration from Cyberpunk, Fallout, Mad Max, Trigun… so think retro-futuristic post-apocalyptic Japanese -American fusion :) The tokujo squad run a gas station out in the middle of the wastes which they also use as Anko’s mechanic shop, Genma’s radio station, and the base of operations for the rebellion against the fascist government of Neo-Konoha! So if that sounds interesting stay tuned because I’ve got lots where that’s coming from!!!

[idreamofdango]

[idreamofdango]

Shiranui is most definitely worse.

thirsty bastards on my dash!!

[idreamofdango]

just. one. bite.

a blushy lil raidou for today's warm up

[idreamofdango]

Oops forgot to post her on main

*throws this at you* can you please hold my wife? :)

[idreamofdango]

I'm sorry I can't do much today, yeehaw

[idreamofdango]

still practicing backgrounds :_). baby steps and rushed colors

[idreamofdango]

wtf, over.

[idreamofdango]

Some snakes I’ve painted over the years~

Happy Lunar new year!

[idreamofdango]

do we have a choice?

Are you guys okay with me being completely insane