Originally posted by corazons

Originally posted by unfamiliarworld

Originally posted by phiones

Originally posted by edo--tensei

Originally posted by itadattebane

Originally posted by corazons

Originally posted by issmonthme

In other words, The Uchiha Clan

The Uchiha's Names Auto Corrected

Madara = Mascara
Obito = Photo
Fugaku = Frugality
Yakumi = Yakima
Yashiro = Yoshi
Izuna = Irina
Sasuke = Assume
Itachi = Hitachi
Sarada = Sagrada
Naka = Baka
Naori = Maori
Baru = Bari
Rai = Rain
Tajima = Yakumi
Mikoto = Mojito
Indra = Install
Inabi = Inability
Tekka = Tells
Hikaku = Hokkaido
Setsuna = Destination
Kagumi = Laguna
Shisui = Shiki
Taiko = Tailored

My daily problems smh
Madatobi Sickfic

Hearty as an Ox
Madara/Tobirama
Words:
2,079
Rating: Gen
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Sypnosis: Go home, Tobi, you’re sick. Pure fluff set in IzunaIsAlive!AU.
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Tobirama slumps in his office chair, contemplating on committing the one act that is unheard of when considering his stubborn, prideful hide; defeat.

Aches jostle every fibre of his muscles. His head is pulsing like an angry, bleeding wound – Hashirama could’ve grown branches out of his desks, repeatedly slam it on his forehead, and neither the frequency, nor the severity of the throbbing would change. Chills penetrate his armour, making him quiver. Exhaustion threaten to drag his eyelids close. Pure stubbornness had gotten him dressed, fed and to his office this morning, but is quickly leaking out of his nose.

A sniffle escapes from him. Tobirama sighs and reaches for a tissue.

Around him is the hum, thrum and drum of chakra signatures, adding to the pounding his head. Times like these, being an astounding sensor becomes a double-edged sword. One aggravating chakra signatures is bouldering their way towards him, and Tobirama grips his letter opener for his customary greeting.

His door slams open. “Senju–,” Madara seamlessly ducks as the letter opener goes flying over his head. “That’s a pretty weak throw. You’re losing your touch, Senju. Anyhow, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

Any other, normal, person would take one look at the pure, unadultered hatred burning in his eyes, and body flicker away screaming. Not this buffoon. No, this monkey is the type to poke a growling tiger with a stick whilst snickering and end up wondering why he’s getting clawed to pieces.

Maybe Madara will catch fire from the heat of his glare, wouldn’t that be ironic.

“What do you want, Uchiha?” snarls Tobirama, then cringes because a snarl is only half as effective when it rings this nasally.

Madara’s jaw snaps shut. A leather gloved hand comes up to tuck a wad of spiky fringe behind his ear, and the dark, soulless eyes roam up and down Tobirama’s face. “You’re sick.”

“I’m not,” denies Tobirama. It would have been convincing, if not for the pile of tissues in the rubbish bin beside him. Face stiff and stony, Tobirama shuffles a foot over to tuck the rubbish bin under his desk – discretely.

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