soliamurr:

mister-kh:

I can’t believe Kakashi and I are on the same level of petty

@blackkatmagic
kakashi tbh I really really wish that this moment of characterization could have carried over to the rest of the manga with kakashi riding his team and turning them into terrifying people not HEALTHY but horrifyingly competent like kakashi himself they all had the potential for it tbh

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Team Seven is a team of monsters.

The village had thought that the kyuubi’s container was a monster, but they had not known.  They had not known how vivid orange chakra could flare with hate-fire-rage-vengeance.  How pupils would slit and tails would form and how orbs of cutting wind could destroy just as easily as kunai in the dark.  They did not know that a child of warm spring sunshine could become a summer sun that scorched the earth to a desert beneath his feet.  The way winds could howl around his shoulders like shrieking foxes and the stacked-savored never-forgotten whispers.  He howls and the wind screams with him.  He rages and the world is fire and wind and an ancient hate, and ancient rage, leashed and muzzled but-only-just.  Naruto still smiles, bright and orange and yellow and red, and his smiles are nothing but sharp, bloody teeth.

The last Uchiha was supposed to be something of a wunderkind.  He had the eyes of all the village on them, the last loyal Uchiha, as though a six year old child could choose loyalty surrounded by the dead.  Crowds part before them as they always have, but it is different.  He wears hatred and power and anger cut into his bones, crawling across skin like curses.  His eyes are red-red-red like demons, like blood, and they spin-spin-spin pinwheels that see everything, that slow the world like molasses and honey, sticky-sweet and poison.  Sticky-sweet-slow and they rob everything, mind and body and health. He is dark and pale and shadow, and if you see red-and-glowing it is already too late.  He was quiet and aloof and now he is silent-and-alone, hiding in the shadows cast by the too-hot-sun and the strong-tall-rock he stands beside.

She was just a civilian, just a girl.  Pink-haired and bright and booksmart but with no legacy, no family, no clan to teach her weapons to wield or bodies to break.  That is fine.  She doesn’t need it.  She is tall and strong and powerful.  Her hands can heal but they can break. She shatters mountains the same way she shatters bones.  She smiles and tilts her head and she bounces all cute and innocent and bubbly until that smile is a barring of fangs and it’s not her head that tilts it’s the way your body falls, and the bouncing is the beat of your heart and the only thing bubbling is the blood bubbling from the slash across your throat.  She stands tall-strong-immoveable.  She is two girls in one skin, and one is anger-and-rage-and-hate and the other is calm and implacable and solid-like-rock.  Both hide behind bright eyes and a smile of an innocence so long-lost it is all but forgotten.

Oh they are good, they are strong, but they are broken, broken in ways that cannot be fixed.  Broken and put back together different—just this-edge-of-functioning but oh so deadly.

Kakashi and his terrifyingly broken team. He loves them the way a broken man loves broken things, not knowing how else to shape them except in his image. They are his, fiercely, to guard and protect and to teach, but Kakashi knows nothing but brokenness, and how to be crushed and be remade.  So he pushes them.  He pushes them until they break and then pushes them more.  He shatters them like rock-bone-body beneath Sakura’s pretty pretty hands.  He traps them like Sasuke and his glowing-eyes and sticky-sweet-honeyed-poison.  He burns them the way Naruto scorches the earth until it is dry and withered and barren.  And then, then, he forms them back up with hands that split lightning and draw walls from the earth to withstand the blasts of friends-turned-enemies.  He shapes them with clever-nimble fingers that form-mirror-echo hand-signs back faster and more furious, turning an enemy’s own jutsu back on itself stronger and deeper and more powerful.  He shapes them, forms them, careful-sure-shaking, carves strength into them with nails that will never be clean of the viscera wedged beneath them. 

He loves them and that love is as twisted as it is poisonous, but that is the only love he knows how to give.

Broken things survive, and Kakashi will not lose another precious person, whatever it takes.