He cannot help but compare himself to the swords that hang on the wall, silver and pale and edged with red, kept in sheathes until they're needed to kill. (At five years old he takes a needle and inks red into his own skin, sharp slashes like the cut of a knife on each cheek, and it’s the first time Uchiha Tajima ever looks at him and smiles.)

“No,” Tobirama says again, though he already has a sneaking, sinking suspicion that he’s going to lose this argument, as he does the vast majority of his arguments with Mito. Then, because sometimes the only way to undermine Mito's crazy is to match it, he adds, “If one of us is Batman, the other has to be Robin, and I look terrible in pixie boots.”

When Tobirama returns with the drinks, Madara glances up, flushes slightly at the sight of him, and tries valiantly, if pathetically, “Do you drink milk? It certainly did your body good.” It takes effort not to throw the tray at him.

A super-cracky modern!AU where Akatsuki is a group of quasi-reformed terrorists and former suicide squad now (nominally) on the side of the angels, saving the planet their own way. Mostly accidentally. Or through recycling. (That's entirely Obito's fault.)

The separate steps along divergent paths don’t change the fact that the destination remains the same.

Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, oh my. (Or, Tobirama has a date. He will probably live to regret it.) Prequel to It’s Witchcraft.

For this ask on my Tumblr: IM IMAGINING THE WRITING THING AS MADATOBI NOW?? IMAGINE!! secret letters between enemy clans. tiny stick figure drawings of hashirama doing something stupid. instructions for a new jutsu. the possibilities are ENDLESS (Aka that soulmate AU where if you write something on your skin it also shows on the other’s.)

Crown Prince Obito elopes with the blacksmith’s son. Madara hardly expects his day to get worse from there, but he forgot to factor in his ridiculous brother, his nephew’s cunning, and the return of a distractingly attractive sea god he’d really rather remain in his past. There's only one direction for things to go from there, and it’s definitely not up.

“It was science,” Tobirama huffs, turning his glare on Madara. “You left your DNA all over me, Uchiha. I was hardly about to pass up the opportunity.” Obito debates clamping his hands over his ears and humming loudly. He did not need to know that in any shape or form, oh god.

Aka everyone is a superhero or a sidekick or a damsel in distress in true comic style. Includes terrible hero names, almost everyone wearing spandex (Sakumo why must you be sensible and break the mold you nerd), ridiculousness, secret identity fails, and all of my favorite crack pairings. I would be sorry, but that would require a sense of shame and I misplaced mine long ago.

“You sure you want to do this?” Tōka asks, doesn’t let her gaze waver from the mercenary with a gun to her cousin’s head. Her own are completely steady, and she doesn’t miss a step as she turns, following the woman’s retreat deeper into the cave. “Sorry, Tōka,” Mito says, and the tone is light but there's a look in her eyes that Tōka is fairly sure is rueful. “I'm too pretty to stay in prison for the rest of my life."