#D&S drabble

[imagineitdearies-old]

Picture this: Rhaenyra snapping at Alicent by accident bc she’s been stressed out and Alicent immediately freaking out and dropping to her knees, hand trembling, neck bared, panicking and breathing too quickly. It’s instinct- she did this when she angered her father and it seemed to calm him down/ made the consequences less and now she’s desperately hoping it will work for Rhaenyra.

Oh no 😭😭 I'm imagining this happens once they have an established relationship (but haven't tied the knot quite yet)......

Rhaenyra stands there, stunned for a second. Then drops to her knees as well and takes Alicent's shaking hands in hers. Speaks to her in quiet, soft tones, reassuring that Alicent is safe and won't face any punishment ever again.

Alicent takes a while to calm her breathing, stop her mind from spiraling. She does believe Rhaenyra at this point, but can't help her triggers sometimes. She throws her arms around Rhaenyra, apologizing tearfully for being afraid and swearing she'll do better in the future.

Rhaenyra reminds her there is a consequence for apologizing for her feelings/existence--time to take her on a dragon ride 😏 (not-so-secretly one of Alicent's fav things, but she has trouble asking for it). They clearly need a break from the stress of court politics today anyway!

(Luke and Aemond gladly lead the meetings that day for their mothers.)

Thanks for this prompt, it inspired all sorts of hurt/comfort moments in my head 💙

[toxicanonymity]

quickie (18+)

1k words. M/f pair (raider/sweet pea if you like). manhandling, restraint, spanking, praise, unsafe PIV, semi-public, 2x use of daddy. not what I was working on last wk :').

She comes to see him when he's working–-resting, it looks like. Leaning back with one foot propped up on his desk. A bemused sparkle plays on his eyes when he gets up and approaches, hands on his hips. "Look who it is," he mutters, eyes darkening with a forward tilt of his head. She shifts her weight and fidgets with the zipper of her open leather jacket. After slowly circling her, looking her up and down, he nudges her (his) jacket off her shoulders, and tosses it to a nearby chair. He stands close behind her, admiring her pretty little dress, running his hands up and down her sides. With his front pressed up against her back, he reaches around to grope her breasts. His nose nuzzles her hair as he takes a slow whiff of her scent, then murmurs, "Need somethin’, baby?"

She turns her head and rubs her lips together before whispering, "maaybe," with the mischievous hint of a smile.

“And I'm guessin’ it can't wait.”

She bites her lip.

His big, weathered hands snake around her torso, one of them working its way lower, and he teases, “Can't wait... turnin’ into your old man, huh?”

She exhales a quiet laugh.

With his arms wrapped around her, one large hand gropes her breasts while the other reaches between her legs, under the dress, to cup her sex. No panties. He slowly runs his middle finger along her slit, all the way forward and back a few times. He lingers with his palm pressed against her sweet spot, feeling her swollen and needy. “Please,” she whispers.

“Please what?”

“Please... daddy”

His hands both stop for a moment, one cupping a breast, and his other palm warm, wet and snug between her legs. His heartbeat quickens.

Her face tingles. “I–you take good care of me.”

“Yeah?” Growing stiffer and thicker where it counts, he holds her close and pushes his hips forward, letting her feel how hard he is. "The things I wanna do to you..." He sucks in a chest full of air and the wind of his exhale hits her hair.

He holds her a little tighter. “What is it ya want, sweetpea?”

She looks back with a slight mist in her eyes. “To feel you deep,” she whispers.

“Mmm,” he responds with hunger, then withdraws his hand to admire the glisten and bring it to her face. A growl rumbles from his chest as she licks it clean, the gentle slide of her tongue making him twitch against her.

Without bothering to go somewhere more private, he lifts her slightly off the ground and carries her over to the desk. He sets her down then nearly slams her into the desk as he bends her over. He holds her down with one hand near the nape of her neck. "Stay," he commands, and she doesn't move as he lifts his hand. "Good girl."

With his warm, hard bulge pressed against her crack, his belt buckle jingles behind her. He puts her wrists together and uses one hand to hold them, while his other hand slides his belt off. He secures the belt around her wrists, with his pants growing tighter as he finishes the double cuff.

"Mmm, baby." He pushes his hips forward, his hardness making her gasp. “You're askin’ for it.”

He backs up and slaps her ass and she lets out a little whimper with the way it makes her need him even more. He smacks her ass once more, then nudges her foot to spread her legs. He urgently scrunches up her dress. His cupped hand hits her cunt, and the smack sounds harder than it landed. With his fingertips on her mound and a thumb on her ass, he beckons her parts, and she tilts her hips in obedience.

“Good girl,” he mutters again. “Gotta be quick, okay?”

He grabs onto the belt with one hand and with the other he aligns his stiff manhood where she's dripping for him. With his naked arousal prodding at her entrance, the contact makes her gasp. He pushes half his tip inside. Then he checks the belt around her wrists, giving it a tug to make sure it stays secure. His hips press forward, pushing her soft walls out of the way as his thick, stiff length slides into her. Holding onto the belt, he bottoms out.

He pauses and slides his broad palms up her arms to her shoulders and on their way back down, he withdraws half his length. Then he holds onto the belt for leverage and slams back in.

Then, a sharper, deep thrust. And another. The way her body hugs his, his hips are soon on auto pilot. He pounds her unforgivingly. . .grunting, breathing vocally, gripping the belt. “Good girl,” he mutters. Relishing in her sounds of pleasure, he has his way with her, not holding back. His primal instinct pushes him deep and fast. "You're doin’ so good," he pants. "Bein’ so good for me–ohhh,” he moans when the praise makes her squeeze him. “God damn,” he mutters. His strong, bare ass flexes as he fucks her with his jeans sitting around his thighs. The force of his rhythm has her drifting forward on the surface. He slows down, anchors his hands on her hips and pulls her back into him hard. After bottoming out hard with moan, he's back to the same pace and power. After a couple more minutes, she lets out a tell tale whimper.

“Take it so good,” he pants, close to exploding. “Go ‘head–ugghh– come for me, baby.”

She whimpers again.

Without stopping, he bends forward and forces a hand under her to grope her breast. “Come on, baby,” he pants, ���come for me.” He breathes heavily for a few thrusts, and she spasms. “Good girl,” he pants, “yeah, come for daddy.”

A white hot pleasure seizes her. Her chest lifts off the desk and she squeezes his cock as she throbs, setting off his own peak. He erupts in a series of moans and muttered curses, seeming to push deeper with every burst. She moans every massive twitch.

His warm spend fills her up over what feels like half a minute, then he stays inside, catching his breath as her pleasure echoes. “Good girl,” he repeats.

Still inside her, he unfastens the belt and loosens it, helping to free her hands. There are impressions on her wrists.

When he pulls out, she whines, “mMM."

“C’mon, baby.” He puts her dress back down to cover her up. He pets her head reassuringly, then pats her butt. She pushes herself up and turns over to face him, leaning against the desk. He runs his hands up and down her sides and looks fondly into her eyes. “You know i’d do this all day if I could.”

“I know,” she says with a shy smile, then it fades to worry as she hears someone coming. “Was I bad to come here?”

He shakes his head no, and his eyes go from her eyes to her lips and back. “You're my good girl, sweetpea.” He cups her head with both hands and gives her a soft kiss on the forehead. Then he grabs a tissue and hands it to her with a wink.

-----

-----

Ty for reading 🖤

and it hasn't been easy lately so ty very much for the encouragement & support, including belt enthusiast @theblackarmor , raider devotee @milla-frenchy , lincoln wife @missannwinchester, slasher wife @thesummerpetrichor, night walks pumpkin @aurorawritestoescape, and mean girl @dark-scape, to shout out a few. but I'm grateful for each one of you.

[the-red-butterfly]

Dior Wanders The Woods

Dior Eluchil (Tolkien universe)

A submission for Scribbles and Drabbles 2024! @fall-for-tolkien Slide 71

Dior my beloved. Never got the time to grow up really (,: Sorry for inserting the sads where there's no need 😂

I have to say I REALLY like how the first one came out. I have my reservations on how Dior looks on the second one though 👁

.

Open for Commissions

[fall-for-tolkien]

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[anerea-lantiria]

Long-tressed Wingildi

"Now behind those greatest chieftains came Falman-Osse of the waves of the sea and Onen his consort, and with them the troops of the Oarni and Falmarini and the long-tressed Wingildi, and these are the spirits of the foam and the surf of ocean."

~ from The Book of Lost Tales Part I, Chapter III: The Coming of the Valar and the Building of Valinor

[dazedspiralslut]

💠My good fucktoy's back from their trip, and I've already got them bouncing in my lap, desperate for my cock and tentacles~ We shotgunned a few hits because I've thoroughly corrupted them, and now they can't wait to get drunk and fuck tonight! We love not having to work~

They're desperately clinging to me, begging for my control, for the pleasure that I freely give~ I love making them thank me for things, especially painful things~ They've been wearing nipple clamps for an hour, and I just ran some ice over the sensitive little things~

They're wearing my hoodie, and I put a vibrator inside them~ They're sucking on ice, imagining it's my tentacle fucking their mouth~

They're a perfect little playthig, and they are so excited to read everyone's reactions to their naughtiness!~ Feel free to send me asks that I can make them answer while mindless for me!~

[fbfh]

As previously stated I'm a slut for arranged marriage aus. I haven't gotten to the college seasons of gilmore girls yet but I can't hold off talking about Logan anymore. Thinking about an arranged marriage au with Logan. His parents got so sick of him sleeping around and bringing home girls they disapproved of, so they took matters into their own hands. Everything happens so fast and next thing he knows he has a wife and a house and a position at a law firm. He would be pretty mad about it if you weren't so... cute. He can't say he hates the idea of waking up next to you every day. He actually likes it. A lot. And the thing is as soon as this happens, he's going to get so fucking protective and possessive over you. The first time he calls you his wife you get fucking whiplash. You hope he doesn't notice how nervous it makes you when he tells his friends to "stop looking at my wife like that" or orders drinks and follows his usual up with "and a martini for my wife. Extra olives." But he does. He always sees how flustered it makes you. And its not like it was fake, you have a rock on your finger the size of a small child to prove it. But you didn't expect him to be so... into it. Into you. But he is. Logan is very, very into you. He surprises you with flowers and new outfits to wear to dinner and a new credit card every other week until you can't justify it as him trying to play the part for his friends and family anymore. You think you might be developing a crush on your husband which would make things really complicated if he wasn't already crazy about you.

[mint-tea-frog]

"Anaravennë"*

Artist: Yours truly (@cilil) Submitted for Scribbles & Drabbles 2024 (slide 27) @fall-for-tolkien

(*Meaning "sun lioness". The art is intended to depict Arien, but can be interpreted as other characters as well.)

[cilil]

rare pair bingo

AN: This is the same post-canon "everybody is alive (again)" verse as my other Mairon x Maeglin fic "A few words of praise". Reading it isn't necessary for context though.

⸙ Prompt: Leather | Mairon x Maeglin ⸙ Synopsis: Mairon awakens something inside Maeglin. ⸙ Warnings: Dom/sub undertones ⸙ Double drabble | AO3

There has always been this feeling inside of him, Maeglin remembers, this vague yet undeniable feeling that he is different and needs, longs for something that he doesn't quite understand. 

But there was no time to search, not when he was Eöl's son, not when he was King Turgon's nephew, not when loneliness consumed him. All he could do was dream. 

Yet now that Maeglin sees Mairon like this, he feels irresistibly drawn to him, like moth to flame. The Maia is clad in leather so tight that every muscle, every curve, every angle of his fána is visible, like a smooth, black layer of skin. His upper body is bare, save for a few straps of leather hugging his chest as if to mockingly imitate proper clothing and a collar of sorts that bears his symbol, the flaming eye. 

In his hands, he holds a whip. The very same leather, black and spotless. Maeglin can imagine its crack even before it's been used.

Mairon smiles, tempting and triumphant. Of course he has already noticed how the Elf looks at him. 

"Well, Maeglin?" he asks smoothly, unrolling his whip. "If this is to your liking, would you like to play?" 

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @angbangbaby @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @destinyeternity1 @edensrose @elanna-elrondiel @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human @melkors-defense-attorney @saintstars @sauron-kraut @urwendii @wandererindreams

[imagineitdearies-old]

The hurt/comfort thoughts 👌

If you ever write about Alicent confronting rhaenyra about visery I hope you do it in rhaenyra pov coz that realisation about perfect daddio 😮‍💨

I think daemon coming back to stir could be a big problem specially beginning of the reconciliation/marriage could put massive doubts in Alicent head. Rhaenyra only needs Alicent for show kinda thing in a earlier chapter you reference other alphas thinking luke/rhaenyra weak.

Have Alicent for show and daemon for love even if it’s not true to Alicent it could be specially with daemon fuelling it and they do have two kids together

Rhaenyra asking Alicent to do something to please her. You mean sexually or in general either way the angst 😭

Yes to the helping jace with omega related stuff. Even though they was trying to help him in a way they’ve stumped his growth as a omega massively and even if it’s nothing to feel shameful about. Hiding it makes it seem like there is.

Is Luke going to confront Alicent then lol like aemond confronted rhaenyra.

Omg I hope they all get there happy ending 😂 you’ve wrote it in a way I just want everyone to relax and ride into the sunset together even aegon and he’s 😬 of a character. Poor Helaena just trying to help and hold it all together herself.

Ps your profile of merlin brings back so many memories. God I loved Arthur/merlin but I was so conflicted as a baby gay I fancied morgana so bad and wanted her to win 💀 😂

(The hurt/comfort thoughts referenced)

I love your idea of a Rhaenyra POV for that scene! Supreme angst potential.

Yeahhh I imagine Daemon returning in the guise of visiting the kiddos but actually is there to support Corlys proposing some war/conflict he wants to get involved in, and he basically plows over Rhaenyra's voice during a small council session and she has to snap at him in front of everyone. So then afterwards she opens up to Alicent a bit more about their (toxic) relationship. It totally has potential for angst with Alicent, especially when he first arrives/before that conversation, given her insecurities about Rhaenyra not wanting an omega in the past and now only needing Alicent for political reasons (or so she fears).

Pleasing Rhaenyra: I meant more generally, I think Rhaenyra would be pretty wary about asking for anything sexual especially at the beginning of their relationship. Of course, when they're more established, maybe it would be something she considers benign (call her alpha in bed? idk) but that is a specific trigger for Alicent after Viserys.

I want a happy ending too don’t worry, I’m going to make it happen if I have to drag these traumatized bitches kicking and screaming towards that sunset 😤 (this may actually turn out to be necessary with Aemond, lol)

(Ayyyyy I was ALSO a babygay salivating over Morgana! In my head she and Arthur reconciled and realized Uther was the true villain, and they’re all living happily ever after in Camelot)

[i-did-not-mean-to]

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[senjutsunade]

~The Last Mission~

Note: A lot of people have harsh criticism over Tsunade leaving Konoha following Dan's death. But there was more at play and this is my small attempt at sharing how I see events unfolding.

Tsunade’s eyes fell to her hands, staring at them with a gaze hollowed out by grief and disgust. Hands that had healed hundreds, brought life back from the brink more times than she could count. Hands that had crushed boulders, created chasms, wielded power that most shinobi could only dream of. They were hands people revered, hands that earned her accolades, ones that made her an idolized figure in the village—a so-called goddess of healing.

And yet, these very hands had failed him.

Dan…

His name was a wound that never scabbed over, an ache that didn’t dull with time but grew sharper, crueler. How could no one else see it? That the blood of the man she had promised a lifetime with was soaked into her skin, invisible to the world but ever-present to her. She had washed her hands until they were raw, scrubbed them until her flesh felt like it would tear. But nothing could rid her of the stain she alone could see—a deep, insidious red that marred her with her greatest failure.

There was a deeper wound on her though. A bigger failure. One so deep she had successfully concealed it. For now. No one knew about her fear, her horror of blood. No one could know.

She had done everything to hide it, to bury it so deeply that it would never betray her, never expose her as the fragile, broken woman she had become. Her hands started to tremble. She curled them into fists, as if squeezing tightly enough might erase the memories etched into her skin, but the trembling only grew worse. How ironic, she thought bitterly. People hailed her as the pinnacle of strength, resilience, the female Sannin. Yet here she was, undone by her own hands, the hands she couldn’t bear to look at without remembering the moment she had watched Dan’s life slip away.

The world had never understood her loss. They whispered that they did, murmured words of sympathy as if their platitudes could penetrate the chasm that had opened inside her. But Dan wasn’t just another casualty of the battlefield, not just another name on a stone slab. He was the man who had seen HER, not just her strength or her reputation, but her—the terrified girl hiding beneath the titles and the expectations, the girl who was crumbling beneath the weight of a name she had inherited, a legacy she was expected to uphold.

He had been her savior. In his arms, she had glimpsed a future that was not defined by blood or duty. He had given her a reason to believe in something beyond the weight of her own history, her own family name. She had dared to dream of a life where she didn’t have to be Senju Tsunade, the last of her clan, the one from her generation expected to burn the brightest with the Will of Fire. But Dan had seen beyond all of that. He’d seen her as she was—a girl afraid of her own greatness, terrified of the crushing strength that had always set her apart. She had wanted so desperately to protect life, to save others, even as her training had shaped her into a weapon designed to end it.

Her shoulders began to shake as she stared down at her hands, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. Her fingers unclenched and then clenched again, the tremors racing through her as she tried to keep herself together. She could feel the weight of expectation, the village’s gaze upon her, their hopes and dreams intertwined with hers, and she was drowning in them. Drowning in the legacy that had become her prison. She was the village’s hope, the Last Senju, the Strongest Kunoichi—and she had failed. She had failed Dan, failed to protect the one person who had looked past the façade and seen her, who had loved her not for her accomplishments but in spite of them.

Her chest tightened, and the tears came unbidden, hot and fast, spilling over and streaking down her cheeks as she folded in on herself. The grief hit her in waves, each one more crushing than the last, leaving her gasping, struggling to keep her head above water. Her usual grace, her carefully maintained composure, had dissolved entirely. Her face was blotched and pale, her eyes swollen and rimmed with red, her lips trembling as she pressed a fist to her mouth to muffle the sound of her own sobbing. Her hair, usually pristine, hung in disarray, clinging to her damp face and neck as her body shook, wracked with a sorrow too vast for words.

Tsunade’s hands shook, reaching for a kunai, its cold steel pressing into her palm as if urging her to confront her deepest fears. Her gaze transfixed by its edge, by the way it gleamed in the low light. It was a tool she had wielded a thousand times before, but now it felt foreign, an object charged with a dread that slithered through her like poison. Her thumb hovered over the sharp tip, trembling, a quiet act of desperation as she tried to reconnect with some part of herself that had always felt so certain, so untouchable.

With a ragged breath, she pressed her thumb down, just hard enough to break the skin. Pain flared, quick and sharp, followed by a few drops of blood welling up, rich and red, trickling over the blade’s edge.

And that’s when the scream ripped out of her.

It came from somewhere deep, a raw and primal sound that clawed its way up her throat as if it could purge the trauma lodged there. She clapped her free hand to her mouth, as if she could force the scream back inside, but it was too late—the blood was there, staining her skin, staining her memory, flooding her mind with images of Dan’s body, lifeless in her arms, the blood slipping through her fingers as she tried to keep him with her. She clenched her eyes shut, biting down on her knuckles to muffle the sob that threatened to tear her apart.

Her hand shook violently, and instinctively, her chakra flared. A soft green glow bloomed around her thumb, knitting the wound closed in an instant, erasing all trace of it. But even as her skin returned to flawless, unmarred flesh, she knew it hadn’t healed anything. She could still feel it—the weight of that kunai, the sting of the wound, the blood that no one else could see but that she felt everywhere, as if it had seeped into her very bones.

How would she function like this?

The thought stabbed through her mind, sharp and merciless, each word echoing with the weight of a thousand doubts. How would she keep being a kunoichi when the mere sight of blood—blood she’d spilled so easily before, blood she’d healed and fought to save—turned her into this? She had always been the healer, the warrior, the one who never faltered in the face of anything. And yet now, here she was, broken by the very thing that had once been her strength.

Fragments of thought clawed at her mind, jagged and relentless, each one cutting deeper than the last. How could she go on? How could she return to the field, knowing that her hands would betray her, her mind would falter? Her breaths came fast, shallow, as the weight of her own fear closed in around her, crushing her with the knowledge that everything she had been, everything she had lived for, was slipping through her fingers like sand.

What was she if not a healer? Who was she if she couldn’t fight, if she couldn’t wield a kunai without feeling her mind unravel? And Dan—she had lost him, lost him because her hands hadn’t been enough, because her strength had failed her in the one moment it mattered most.

How could one night, one failure, have stolen everything she was? Her lover, her identity, her future—all of it ripped away, leaving her hollow and stranded in a life that suddenly felt alien, unbearable.

She curled in on herself, arms wrapping tightly around her knees, her whole body folding as if she could make herself small enough to escape the weight of her own grief. The once-imposing figure, the warrior who had struck fear into the hearts of her enemies, was now reduced to a broken woman, undone by the ghosts of the past, by the love she couldn’t save and the future she couldn’t protect. And as she wept, she could feel the stain of his blood still on her hands, mocking her, reminding her of the one truth she could never escape—she, the claimed goddess of healing, could not save the man she loved most.

In her grief, time shattered into broken fragments. Hours blurred into days until reality came pounding on her door once again.

The Hokage's office was unusually quiet, the heavy weight of responsibility hanging in the air like a dense fog. Tsunade sat across from the desk, her posture stiff and unyielding, her face carefully neutral, betraying none of the storm churning inside her. She barely acknowledged Orochimaru's presence. It had been weeks—weeks since the incident, weeks since she’d buried the part of herself that once healed without hesitation, without fear.

No one knew.

Not a single person, not even the Hokage, who sat across from her now, his voice steady and calm as he explained the mission.

Infiltrate and gather intelligence on the border patrol routes, schedules, and security protocols of Kumogakure. Simple, straightforward, and essential for the village’s safety. An easy mission assigned to not one but two of the sannin. But to Tsunade, it felt like a world away from the hollow, broken shell of herself that she had become. The weight of the kunai still sat in the pit of her stomach, the blood of her failures still staining her hands in ways no one else could see.

The Hokage's words droned on, but she barely heard them. She should be focused, sharp, her mind already calculating the risks, the strategy, but instead, all she could do was stare at the polished wood of the desk, trying to push back the tidal wave of panic rising within her.

No one knows, she reminded herself.

No one knew about the terror that lurks just beneath the surface, the fear that controls every part of her now. No one knew how each day, each minute felt like a razor’s edge against her sanity.

Her throat tightened as she tried to respond, tried to form the words, but they caught in her chest. She should say something—she should tell the Hokage that she was barely holding it together.

But no, she couldn’t.

She wouldn’t.

There was too much at stake, too much that would crumble if she let her secret slip. Too much she would lose.

No one knows…

She forced herself to look up, meeting the Hokage's gaze for a moment, and then quickly averted her eyes. Maybe it will be okay, she thought desperately. Maybe it will be fine.

She had to lie to herself that she could do it again. She had to.

“Hai, Hokage-sama,” she said, her voice sounding distant to her own ears. She couldn’t help but feel the weight of her own words, how hollow they felt now. She said nothing more, simply nodding, confirming the mission. The Hokage gave a slight nod in return, signaling the end of their conversation.

Her first mission since that night…

The room seemed to close in on her as they both stood, the finality of the mission settling over her like a lead blanket. She bowed, her movements mechanical, and turned to leave. But as she did, something in her twisted. She should say something—anything—about how she felt, how her hands trembled just from the thought of blood, how she didn’t know if she could do this anymore. But she couldn’t.

She wouldn’t.

They exited the office, and the door clicked shut behind them, leaving her in the dim hallway. She tried to steady her breath, tried to shake the weight of the lie she’d just told. No one knows.

The words were a mantra now, a fragile shield she had to cling to. She didn’t look at anyone, not even Orochimaru, who walked silently beside her. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him; she had known him for so long, he had always had her back, and yet… even now, she couldn’t bring herself to speak. The words stuck in her throat, thick and suffocating.

They reached the gates in silence, the tension between them palpable, even if neither of them spoke of it. Tsunade stole a glance at Orochimaru, her partner, her teammate. He had always been the one who understood her in ways no one else had. But was she putting him at risk? Her failure had already cost so much—Dan, her future, her identity. Was she about to drag Orochimaru down into the same abyss she had fallen into?

Her heart pounded in her chest, a fierce, frantic rhythm that threatened to drown out her thoughts.

She should tell him, tell him everything, but the words were stuck, trapped, suffocating her with their weight. You can’t, she thought. You can’t show weakness now.

The gate loomed ahead, and with it, the promise of a mission that should have been nothing more than a routine operation. But nothing felt routine anymore. And now, she was about to step into the unknown with Orochimaru at her side, knowing that she couldn’t tell him the truth, that the very thing she feared most—the thing that made her hands shake and her heart ache—was something she would never be able to escape.

Orochimaru knew her too well - and though no words were said, his gaze asked if she was ready for this? Tsunade took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Instead, she simply nodded in his direction, the same way she had nodded to the Hokage, the same way she had nodded to herself when she had promised she would be okay. But she wasn’t. And they both knew it.

“Let’s go,” she finally managed, the words coming out too quietly, too strained.

One last lie, to herself, and to him. And then, they left.

The mission was supposed to be a simple one: infiltrate and gather intelligence. There was nothing complicated about it. No need for excessive violence or destruction—just information on Kumogakure’s border patrols, their schedules, and security protocols. A straightforward retrieval job for a kunoichi who had seen countless battles, who had spent her life walking the razor’s edge between life and death. She had healed the broken, crushed her enemies, and stared death in the face more times than she could count. This should have been easy.

She could handle this.

The words echoed in her mind like a mantra, a simple reminder of her status. A Sannin. The Last Senju. A healer who had saved hundreds, no—thousands, over the years. She had learned how to handle things, how to stay in control, how to make sure the mission went smoothly. That’s who she was. That’s what she was.

But fate had always had other plans for her, hadn’t it? She had been dealt a cruel hand over the years, and despite her strength, she couldn’t shake the feeling that every turn she took in life was just another set-up for disaster. This mission was supposed to be another notch in the belt. Another success. Another day at work.

But fate? Fate never liked her.

The moment they entered the forests of the border, she felt the shift. The air felt wrong, too still, too quiet. The tension in her muscles tightened, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. She looked at Orochimaru, who gave her a small, knowing glance, the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. They had been through too many missions together. She knew that smile, knew the silent communication between them—the unspoken understanding of how this would go.

Only, it didn’t go the way it should have.

What was supposed to be a routine infiltration soon escalated into chaos. They hadn’t counted on a dozen Kumo Jonin lying in wait. There was no subtlety to this fight. It was a barrage of kunai and shuriken, the sounds of steel slicing through the air, bodies crashing into the earth. There was no time for careful strategy; everything had to be dealt with right then, right there. She gritted her teeth, pushing the panic that had started to bubble up back down into the pit of her stomach.

It will be fine…

She told herself that, as she danced through the chaos, her eyes flashing with determination. She was Senju Tsunade. She could handle this. She could—

A swift movement to her right, and she was already in motion. Two Kumo nin fell to the ground, unconscious, their bodies crumpling like ragdolls. Her breath was steady, her chakra flowing like a well-practiced routine. She could do this. She could fight and win. She had fought worse odds, and she had always come out on top.

But then the third one came.

The man was faster than she had anticipated, and before she could react, his blade slashed toward her. She barely had time to twist out of the way, feeling the brush of air as the blade missed its target by inches. Her heartbeat was deafening in her ears. She moved instinctively, her body flowing with the rhythm of battle. She slammed her fists into the ground, using her strength to shift the earth beneath her and send the nin around her tumbling, disoriented.

She could do this…

Tsunade exhaled sharply, wiping the sweat from her brow. She was managing. She was fine.

But then she saw him.

Orochimaru was cutting through three Kumo nin with his sword, his movements a blur, lightning fast and deadly. A twisted smile tugged at the corner of Tsunade’s lips for a brief moment—before the distraction cost her.

A flicker of motion. A flash of steel. Before she could raise her arm to block, the kunai struck her, embedding itself through her arm. The pain was immediate, a sharp bite of reality that ripped through her senses. For a moment, she stared at the weapon, the blood seeping from the wound in slow, crimson drops.

The sight of it was almost mesmerizing. She was trembling. Her fingers twitched, trying to pull the kunai free, but her body didn’t respond the way it should. Blood. She could smell it now, the thick copper scent mixing with the sharp tang of sweat and the metallic bite of panic. It drowned her, suffocating her as the world seemed to close in.

No.

Her breath hitched in her throat, and the tremors began. It wasn’t just the pain—it was the blood. The blood that had always been her companion, her constant. Blood that had always been her ally when she needed to heal, when she needed to fight, when she needed to protect. But now? Now, it felt like the weight of her failures. It was the blood of a man she couldn’t save. The blood of her own incapacity. The blood of the girl who had spent her whole life running from her own legacy, from her fear of what she was capable of.

And somewhere, in the distance, there was screaming. Animalistic, raw, and broken. It wrenched at her heart, clawing at her chest with an almost unbearable intensity. Is it—?

She couldn’t tell. She barely had the strength to stand, her knees buckling under her as the world tilted to one side. The kunai still embedded in her arm. Blood dripping from her fingers as she collapsed to the ground, the battle around her fading into a haze of screams and chaos.

Is it me?

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move. Her body betrayed her, her mind drowning in the horror of the blood that coated her hands.

And then the screaming—the wailing—didn’t stop.

It didn’t stop.

Tsunade collapsed fully, her vision blurring as she crumbled into the dirt, her head spinning, heart pounding, body trembling. The world became a blur of blood, a blur of screams, a blur of everything she had failed at. And yet, somehow, it was all too clear. She wasn’t the woman she had been. She wasn’t the healer, the protector, the fighter. She was nothing but a broken shell, collapsing under the weight of her own phobia, the haunting realization that, for all her strength, she couldn’t save herself.

The trembling started low in her limbs, but it quickly climbed, stealing through her body with such ferocity that it felt like an earthquake rattling her bones. Every twitch, every tremor was a visceral reminder of her helplessness. She couldn’t stop it. She couldn’t stop herself. Her hands, shaking violently, were covered in blood—her blood, the blood of others—and it made everything worse, made her feel more like a monster than ever before. But she couldn’t do anything to stop the trembling.

It was almost as if her body had rebelled against her, reminding her of all that she had failed, all that she couldn’t undo.

Through the fog of fear and confusion, through the pounding of her own pulse in her ears, she heard a distant voice—a familiar voice, though it was strained, raw, and desperate. It cut through the chaos like a knife.

Orochimaru?

Was he screaming? He’s screaming.

But no. Orochimaru never screamed. He’d never screamed. It wasn’t his nature. He didn’t shout. He never showed fear. He was always calm, calculating, composed. That was the man she knew.

So why had he sounded so terrified then?

Why would Orochimaru be scared?

The blood. The blood was everywhere. Her vision was clouded by the red sea, the thick, overwhelming smell of it filling her nostrils. It coated her skin, stuck to her clothes, made her feel like she was drowning in it. Why was there so much of it? The question beat at her like a drum, each pulse of her heart making the ache inside her worse, more unbearable. Her hands were stained—her hands, the ones that had healed, that had saved lives, were soaked through with the proof of her failure.

Orochi…did you see it? she asked, though she knew he couldn’t hear her thoughts. Did you see the blood?

It didn’t matter. She couldn’t stop shaking. She couldn’t stop trembling, couldn’t stop the feeling of suffocation crawling down her throat.

Orochimaru, I can't breathe… The thought clawed at her, and she could almost hear the scream that never escaped her mouth.

Her breath was shallow, uneven, strangled in her chest. It felt like the world was closing in on her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even feel herself anymore—she was nothing but a vessel, trembling violently in Orochimaru’s arms. It felt like hours—like years—before she even realized that he was carrying her, that he was lifting her, taking her away from the chaos, away from the battle, away from the blood.

Momentary awareness had her realizing that the kunai had been removed from her arm. She refused to look at it but she could feel the roughness of the bandages wrapped around the wound. The wound throbbed. She allowed her chakra to numb it. Heal what damage could be healed and then once more reality slipped away.

She didn’t remember much of the journey. It was a blur of dizziness, of muffled sounds, of nothing but a constant buzz in her ears. But when they finally broke through the gates of Konoha, she felt it. She felt something—a flicker of cold, of shame, of utter horror that cut through her like a blade.

The emotions flooded her, crashing over her with the force of a tidal wave. Humiliation. Why her? Why had this happened to her? Why had the mission ended in failure, in blood, in terror? Why was she trembling? Why was her body betraying her so completely?

Guilt. The guilt was suffocating, all-consuming. It was everywhere, all around her, like the blood she was soaked in. She had failed. Failed everyone. Failed the mission. Failed Orochimaru. Failed herself. Failed Konoha.

And assaulting her, worse than the blood, was the thought that her greatest weakness had finally revealed itself to the one person she had never wanted to see it—Orochimaru. The one person who had always been by her side, the one person who knew her better than anyone else. He had seen her fail. He had seen her at her lowest. And she couldn’t escape it.

“Why?” she sobbed. “Why this? Why me?”

The sobs burst from her, jagged and unrelenting, raw with the weight of everything she had lost. She didn’t care anymore. She no longer cared if anyone saw her. She no longer cared if anyone knew the truth of what had become of her.

What did it matter now?

What did it matter what image she had been trying so desperately to preserve? The woman who had been the healer, the protector, the strongest Kunoichi. The woman who had walked the line between legend and reality. What did it matter now?

She wasn’t a healer anymore. She wasn’t a Sannin anymore.

What was she now?

She had nothing.

Nothing to offer. No way to fix this. What was she without the ability to heal?

Her sobs didn’t stop. She was past caring. She was past hiding, past pretending she was strong, past trying to keep up the façade. She was just broken. And everyone could see it now.

Her mind circled in a spiral of despair. She was unworthy of the Senju name. Useless to Konoha. An embarrassment to the Sannin.

Her entire body shuddered, as if the weight of her failure was too much to carry anymore. And then, from somewhere far above, she heard Jiraiya’s voice—soft, soothing, yet still carrying the weight of worry. He spoke to Orochimaru, but the words were lost to her.

Then, she was passed into Jiraiya’s arms. She felt his strength holding her up, but it was hollow. She couldn’t find comfort in it. She was too far gone.

She was drowning in her sobs. Heart-wrenching, desperate sounds that seemed to tear her apart from the inside out. The pain was so raw, so overwhelming, that she wondered if she would ever stop. Her chest ached with the force of her crying, her body wracked with it.

But she couldn’t stop. She didn’t know how.

Time lost all meaning once again.

The world around her was dim, but the touch on her head brought her back to the present, grounding her if only for a moment. She blinked, feeling the calloused, familiar warmth of her sensei’s hand resting gently atop her head. For a fleeting instant, the past blurred with the present, and she was the young, naive girl she used to be, staring up at him with wide, hopeful eyes. That hand—so steady, so certain—had once meant comfort, an unbreakable promise that everything could be set right. Sarutobi Hiruzen had once been her unwavering rock, the man she had believed could shield her from anything.

But time had tarnished that illusion, and reality had shattered her faith. Those hands, now worn and frail, had proven incapable of protecting the people she loved most, of protecting her. She'd seen him falter, seen him weighed down by the sacrifices of shinobi, by the choices that had demanded lives instead of miracles. She’d watched as the invincible became merely human, as the strong became burdened by the limitations of this world.

In recent years, she and her sensei had drifted, their once-easy rapport strained by the growing chasm of her disillusionment and grief. Their interactions, rare as they were, had become stilted, colored by unspoken disappointments and a distance neither could seem to bridge. Yet, tonight, as she raised her head, her gaze met his with a desperation she hadn’t felt in years.

Her eyes, usually hard and defiant, softened as she looked up at him, pleading without words. Fix me, she begged silently, the rawness of the thought an ache in her chest. She wanted him to wave his hand and somehow lift the crushing weight of her shame, to make the weakness that had taken root in her vanish like a bad dream. She wanted him to be the man she’d once believed he was.

But in his eyes, she found no comfort, no reassurance. Instead, she saw resignation—soft and gentle, yet edged with pity. He understood her pain, and it hurt to see that understanding in his eyes. It was as if he knew, as well as she did, that there was no easy cure for her broken spirit. She was fractured, and he could offer no remedy.

A hollow ache spread through her, and she tore her gaze from him, turning her head to the side, unwilling to let him see the shame etched across her face. Bitterness coiled within her like a silent beast, gnawing at the edges of her resolve. The hopelessness of it all settled heavily in her chest, an immovable stone.

She forced herself to take a breath, steadying the tremor that threatened to overtake her. “Sou ne…” she murmured, her voice barely audible. Somehow, she gathered enough strength to keep her hands from shaking as she straightened. Her gaze remained fixed on the wall, unwilling to watch as he turned his back to her, the familiar sight of his form retreating behind the desk both painful and symbolic. His footsteps were soft but heavy, the weight of duty pulling him away from her, as it always had.

The faintest rustle beside her reminded her that she wasn’t alone. Jiraiya and Orochimaru had been watching, their silent presence both a comfort and a reminder of what she could no longer be. She drew in a shallow breath, steadying herself. “Put me down, Jiraiya.” Her voice was quieter than she intended, but it held an edge of finality.

The grip he’d kept on her loosened as she was put down, and she stood unassisted. Every step toward the Hokage’s desk felt like a battle, her legs heavy with the weight of everything she was about to relinquish. Her gaze remained fixed on the polished wood as she approached, the sheen of the surface reflecting back her shadowed form. She refused to meet anyone’s eyes, feeling their silent, judging gazes like stones upon her back.

With deliberate slowness, she reached up, her fingers brushing against the cool metal of her hitai-ate. Her thumb grazed the engraved symbol, a symbol she’d worn with pride, once. Now, it felt foreign, a lie carved into steel. Her hand wavered, the tremble nearly betraying her. She steadied herself with a quiet breath, the weight of the forehead protector heavier than it had ever felt.

And then, in one swift motion, she released it. The hitai-ate dropped onto the desk with a soft thud, the sound louder in the silence than she’d anticipated. It lay there, gleaming under the dim lights, a silent testament to all she could no longer bear to uphold.

She didn’t look back as she turned and walked out of the room, her footsteps a steady, quiet rhythm that carried her farther away from the place that had once felt like home.

[the-red-butterfly]

In My Life

Thingol & Luthien (Tolkien universe)

A submission for Scribbles and Drabbles 2024! @fall-for-tolkien Slide 95

This was inspired by the song "In My Life" from the "Les Misèrables."

Listen. LISTEN. The song is literally perfect for them 😭 At least in my heart, I dunno. I'm getting emotional again.......

Also, I can't believe how much I liked the little figures that I did, ngl, in a very rushed way 😂 Guess I should do things like that more often...

.

Open for Commissions

[scyllas-revenge]

I'm not much of an artist, but it was still a lot of fun participating in Scribbles & Drabbles 2023 (@fall-for-tolkien) this year. It's such a talented, amazing group of people, and I can't wait to see what the incredible authors have put together for my submissions!

Worse than Spiders - what if Mirkwood was crawling with all kinds of other giant creatures?

and

Fly, You Fools! - it's Middle Earth but with flying horses. that's it that's the whole prompt XD

[blackjackkent]

43. Bloody kiss. Either Wyll/Rahka or shadowzel. Which ever one speaks to you more friend!

Ooooh. Intrrrrrriguing. This actually ties in nicely with a thought I had for another of the prompts from @astreamofstars from this ask, so I am gonna combine the two. >:) This is a mild retcon of a scene from my liveblog, but I do what I want, muahaha. XD

Wyll/Rakha - Bloody kiss (kiss roulette meme) - Holding hands and that's all they can think of (“What Are We” moment prompts)

----

She is soaked in Kressa Bonedaughter’s blood. It stings in her eyes, it covers her cheeks and her mouth. The Myrkulite lies dead before her, a final vengeance for a torment Rakha doesn’t even remember. 

It felt so good to kill her. And the beast in her mind is awake again and hungry for more, scenting that blood on the air. 

They cut you into pieces, it whispers, a hiss like a serpent in her ear. They sliced out your mind. They made you into meat. Will you not return the favor? 

She feels suddenly aware of every breathing creature around her, every life waiting to be snuffed out. Lae'zel and Minthara looting the belongings of the dead cultists. Absolutist thralls and mind flayers moving down the slimy corridors beneath Moonrise. The very walls of this place, fleshy with a sort of half-life that would give so sweetly under her ripping, tearing claws… 

And Wyll, of course - sitting at her side, watching her. 

Yes, whispers the beast. Start with him, just as I told you; tear that soft thing from your life and begin your reign of death… 

She kisses him. It’s a sharp motion like a blow, wrenching him by the collar until their lips crash together. A vein pulses in her temple with the concentration and effort it takes. Against all the howling evil within her, she kisses him rather than killing him, and the blood on her face mixes with the kiss and makes him taste of iron.

She feels him respond, can almost hear his heartbeat stutter to a faster pace with the muted need strung taut between them. It is not just passion - though that is part of it, certainly, as she channels all the beast’s rage into the softer feeling she has for him. But more than that, it is a feral, demanding, clinging thing, a reaching-out for the safety only he can provide. 

He knows her well, by now. He knows the monstrous thing that lives inside her, and the signs that it is trying to take control. But he also knows that this isn’t her, not really - not who she wants to be. He is the Blade of Frontiers, and he has seen monsters driven by true darkness.

“Stay with me, Rakha,” he whispers against her mouth. He takes her hand and squeezes it fiercely. His palm is warm, sweat-slick from the colony’s oppressive humidity, and his grip grounds her, drawing her back to herself, bit by bit shutting out everything else. “Stay with me. Show me the light.”

He is the only one who has ever thought there is light in her.

She draws a slow, unsteady breath. The roaring darkness in her head starts to fade, and as it recedes, the kiss softens. It loses its hungry, conquering edge, grows gentler; Wyll takes control of it now, his free hand cupping the back of her head, steadying her against him. A strange sound escapes her, a sort of whimpering groan, and he answers it with a sigh against her lips.

His touches have done their work. The beast settles back into restless sleep and she is conscious only of him - and of the grief that remains from Kressa’s revelations now that the rage has cooled. His touch soothes that too, but it cannot drive it away entirely. 

She wishes, sometimes, she could simply have this softness, without all the broken edges in her soul. “Thank you,” she mutters. The kiss breaks and she leans her forehead against his, closing her eyes.

His grip on her hand loosens but doesn't let go. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks. "About what she said?"

"No," she says. She doesn't have the strength for her usual curtness; the word emerges wistful and exhausted. A pause, then-- "Later."

"Later it is," he agrees. "I'll be ready."

[mint-tea-frog]

"Mysterious Potion"

Artist: Yours truly (@cilil) Submitted for Scribbles & Drabbles 2024 (slide 121) @fall-for-tolkien