Rin was Minato's favourite. he believed she had a lot of potential. being a medic to the team, she was truly important, and was already incredible at keeping them all alive. she would grow up and become even stronger. he knew she was stronger than she let on.
Obito was Minato's second favourite. sharing the same dream of becoming hokage, Minato would be drawn to raising Obito right and ensuring they both became great hokage.
Kushina's favourite was Obito. they, too, shared the same dream of becoming hokage. they got along well, despite all their playful arguing and fighting. Obito was adorable to her, especially whenever he tried to act tough.
Kushina's second favourite was Rin. being a girl, Rin was easy to get along with, too. she was adorable and got along with Obito, but knew when to put her foot down too. she was a kind girl but had been slightly influenced by Kushina and learned to be just a little harsh if she needed to.
of course, that leaves Kakashi. the distance between the three isn't massive or anything. he is loved no less.
at some point... Minato had lost faith in Kakashi, believing he'd never recover from Sakumo's death, believed Kakashi would never value comrades again. Minato had distanced himself just a little bit from Kakashi, and blamed himself entirely for it (because why would you back away from a kid with no parental figures and clearly needs so much help??).
he believed he could not help.
Kakashi never noticed until he got older and remembered the way Minato would look at him.
the realisation that Minato had no faith, no trust in him hurts, and it only builds a deeper hole when Kakashi knows Minato felt that way all the way up until his death...
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2 things ive noticed about sunday and robin bc i can no longer subject my poor best friend to paragraphs on paragraphs and I want this out of me
1. Designs
Sunday features dull, muted colors and has a lot of sharp edges. He's also got darker colors in general. Robin is so much brighter, bouncier, and has a lot of rounded/organic shapes in her design.
2. Sunday constantly in the shadows, Robin always in the spotlight
Goes hand in hand with their designs tbh, which I find cool
He's just always in the back!!!!!! Pretty much speaks for itself...
I'm so curious to know their deal in just a few days, because this has been killing me this week, on top of their baby trailer 😭😭
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Hello :D I'd love to see a late teens Daud for the drawing request if you're still doing those. Thank you very very much ❤️
a man's lying on the ground, his eyes are already glassy and unseeing (he can't make you do anything anymore). blood is dripping from the knife in your hand, and you can hear how heavy droplets hit the pavement's stone. you need to go, you need to run before someone sees you and calls the guards. from far away wind brings the sounds of celebration – blade verbena is over.
wouldn't it be fun if the lives of both Daud and Corvo changed the same day? Daud kills a man who stole him from the streets and runs while Corvo wins Blade Verbena, first steps that will define them years ahead.
thank you for the request, I really enjoyed drawing this little piece and also thinking about Daud's younger years (I'm going to say that I'm no longer sure about which parts of his biography are canon and which are just nice and fitting widely spread headcanons and at this point I'm not going to check which is which, oops)
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I'm really not sure why people think that Crowley telling Aziraphale about 1) "shut your stupid mouth and die," 2) the Book of Life threat, or 3) the Second Coming would have changed anything about his decision. Those things are held up as like Crowley's Major Sins this season but genuinely. What would it have changed?
Aziraphale already knew Heaven was going to execute him in Hell fire. That was why they switched. Crowley says as much to him in the scene where they're fighting about Gabriel. And he knows probably better than Crowley does that the archangels are horrible and condescending; they've been saying things like that to him since at least Job. Why is the specific language so important? It would have just reinforced his view that the archangels as individuals are the problem, not Heaven itself.
Crowley doesn't tell him specifically about the BoL threat, but he's very clear that hiding Gabriel is putting both of them in incredible danger (a fear Aziraphale tells him is "silly.") And when he DOES try to warn Aziraphale of an active threat--the demons attacking the bookshop--Aziraphale brushes him off. ("I think you're overestimating how much trouble we're really in.") Plus, Aziraphale learns about the BoL threat later anyway, from Michael.
Theoretically there's more legitimacy to the argument for Gabriel's trial and Heaven's plans, but: I'd argue first that Crowley doesn't really have time to tell Aziraphale what he saw in Heaven in detail. The first moment alone they get, he's worrying about telling Aziraphale he loves him, and Aziraphale interrupts with the Metatron's offer. He could have brought it up during their fight, but...he kinda did?? "When Heaven ends life here on Earth it'll be just as a dead as if Hell ended it." And Aziraphale doesn't respond at all, not even to deny it. The one thing that MIGHT have swayed him was hearing that Gabriel was being punished specifically for opposing the Second Coming, but...I'm skeptical. Maybe he might have gone in a little more aware that he might be in danger, but he still would have thought that the problem was Gabriel, not Heaven. He would have thought he could reason with them. That's what he always thinks, when it comes to Heaven. And again, he should already know that Heaven would punish an angel for trying to stop the apocalypse—because they tried to execute him last time.
Other people have said this much more articulately but like. Aziraphale genuinely Was Not Listening to anything Crowley said in the final fifteen, and also the entire season. ("The angel you knew is not me." "Is it wicked? She needed the money!" "Are you sure you're sure?" "Look, there's something wrong, there's something really wrong!") The entire series, really. We saw this in S1, right? When Crowley tells Aziraphale that Heaven wants the war the same as Hell does, he tries to work with them anyway, and only decides to fully rebel when he's told by the Metatron himself that "The point is not to avoid the war. The point is to win it."
When this kind of information comes from Crowley, Aziraphale just doesn't hear it. He rationalizes, he makes excuses, he accuses Crowley of lying. Of course Crowley has given up on telling him things. Of course he's just started handling things himself. He could have told Aziraphale everything he’s seen and experienced down to the smallest detail since Armageddon and Aziraphale still would have left.
Anyway. Just me tapping the "this is more than a lack of communication, it's a conflict that's been going on since literally Before Time" sign.
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i’m a bit too hungover to fully articulate this the way i want to but
there’s something about camila dragging billy to that party where he’s immediately offered alcohol because she’s never truly seen his addiction for what it is vs daisy staying in his tour bus with him because she understands that they’re fighting the same struggle
there’s something about camila not really having any clue why billy needs daisy so much to the point where she has to ask if daisy’s a better lover than her vs daisy inherently understanding why billy had to choose his family despite never having a family of her own
there’s something about camila never intervening in the billy/eddie conflict in all those years vs daisy showing up and immediately telling billy that aurora needed to be eddie’s project too
there’s something about billy writing the same songs over and over with camila vs daisy forcing him out of his songwriting comfort zone leading to him writing the most personal and beautiful songs of his career
something something daisy allowed him to be the truest version of himself while camila let him hide behind the idealized version something something billy ultimately chose camila because he wanted to be the man that she saw instead of the complicated mess that daisy understood him to be
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Mutt
Summary: After an ambush, Soap learns to trust the newest member of the 141
Pairing: Johnny Soap Mactavish x Fem!Werewolf!MC (call sign is Mutt)
warnings: vague description of violence and injuries.
word count: 800
thank you to: @captainsamwlsn @thesadvampire @humanransome-note @joel-mlller and @luxuryberzatto @madhyanas @littleferal and @djarin-junk for helping me with this story and rattle off in your ears about Mutt! I love you all so very very much <3
_______
“What are you?”
It was a valid question given the circumstances.
Soap could hardly count himself as conscious at that moment. It was a wave, pulling him back and forth until he was able to force his head to the surface, gasping for air and able to just barely look at his surroundings before he was pulled under again.
“Does it matter?”
It was dark out. He remembered it being dusk when they set out on their mission, the sun slowly setting in the horizon as Price told them to radio in at any issue and meet at their rendezvous point as soon at possible.
Fuck.
He broke the surface once more to notice that he wasn’t moving, but swaying side to side. Each step that crunches the ground is not his, but the blood drip, drip, dripping down, leaving a foreboding trail of their journey, is.
Your shoulder digs into the crevice of his chest with each movement.
“Yer carryin’ me, Mutt.”
“I am.”
You never spoke much. Johnny had equated you to Simon in that way, quiet and foreboding. Your actions spoke where your voice rasped in the shadows. Tucked in the corner booth of a pub when the others went to celebrate a job well done. The loyal guard dog, waiting on its haunches for an order.
He was the one who would move to you first. Setting a beer in front of you before sliding into the seat across from you with a tap of his knuckles on the polished table. His knee would bump yours every time. You’d never complain.
“Big scary bastards, the both of you.”
But then you’d give him a grin, a flash of your crooked canines so fast it was gone when he blinked.
“Well it’s a damn good thing you talk enough for all of us then.”
Jonathan Mactavish was only a stone’s throw from 215 pounds but you carried him without complaint. The swaying with each step made his head spin and looking up was too much work for him to trust himself not to vomit. He let his eyes drop and stare at the ground, watching you take one step after another in a steady rhythm like an infant listening to their mother’s heartbeat. Through the darkness, he’s able to make out the shadowed shape of your feet in the night.
“You’ve got no shoes on, Mutt.”
“Feels better this way.”
He can’t see much. Even if it weren’t for the blood loss and what he’s going to safely assume is a grade two concussion, it’s far too dark out for his surroundings to be seen as anything more than vague shapes and textures he can almost make heads or tails of.
Your eyes are focused on the trail ahead, already accustomed to the darkness in a way he’d never seen anybody else without night vision goggles or a Mag-light.
“Tried to reach Price but the comms are busted. You got your bell rung pretty bad back there but-” You shifted your grip on his body and he felt something sharp press against his ankle, a gentle warning that mouthed at the skin of his Achilles's tendon. “We're only a few miles away from the rendezvous point. Think you can keep it together until we get there?”
Claws. You had claws.
Through the nausea rolling through his body and the lights dancing behind his eyes, Soap could feel the fog begin to clear from his head. A flash of orders rising from his memory like the vision returning after a flash grenade.
He remembered seeing you charge through the muzzle flash and smoke like a vision. Uniform stained with the viscera of your enemies so dark he didn’t recognize you at first. The moment you came toward him he was raising his gun until he heard you speak.
“You know me, Johnny.”
But he didn’t. Not really.
When he looked at you there was no familiarity or trust. He knew the color of your eyes and the curl of your lips in a snarl but nothing else. Not your name or family nor the reason you joined.
In the darkness, moonlight glinted against your eyes and he found himself thinking of the coyotes in Las Almas that watched him and his team from the shadows, pacing with a choir of chattering yips and howls in the darkness, waiting for the proper time to pounce.
He’d never admit it but there was a pause, when his hand held the barrel of his gun steady at your head. Just as long as the width of the shallow breath trapped in his lungs, a split second where his pointer finger twitches, where the voice in his head urges him on.
“You never answered my question.”
He knows nothing of you except that the blood in your mouth was spilled for him.
“I’m your teammate. That ought to be enough for you.”
It would have to be.
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