#*in character.

A  dark  prediction  in  her  body,  but  a  warmth  upon  her  face  :  Mikoto’s  joy,  gently  unobtrusive  in  the  space  between  them.  It  was  a  skill,  exchanging  personhood  for  motherhood,  shelving  the  worry  from  his  sight  like  memoirs  in  a  shoebox;  only  her  Lord  husband  would  be  allowed  to  see  the  inner  compartments  of  her  psyche.  For  Itachi...  

For  Itachi,  there  was  only  this.  A  pleasantly  cool  room.  A  family  dinner  table.  The  sugary  scent  of  a  mother’s  love.  The  offer  of  being  a  normal  boy,  ever  present,  even  if  he  did  not  wish  to  take  it.

❝    There  you  go  :  all  better...  As  long  as  you  don’t  pick  at  it,  it  won’t  scar.    ❞

She  felt  a  voyeur  :  prying  into  her  son’s  life  where  she  knew  he  would  prefer  her  not  to.  @sharkfinx​  is  regarded  with  dormant  Sharingan,  dark  eyes  revealing  nothing  of  her  assessment.  His  companions  were  his  own,  to  be  timidly  introduced  to  her  at  dinners  and  just  as  quickly  squirrelled  away  (  before  she  brought  out  the  baby  pictures,  that  is    )  ,  not  summoned  for  tea  before  his  back.  Not  that  her  eldest  had  ever  had  anything  of  the  sort;  birthday  parties,  sleepovers,  game  nights,  all  exchanged  for  missions  and  briefings.  No  friend  made  now  could  replace  his  childhood  deficiencies    ———    but  they  could  try,  and  that  was  enough...

Mikoto  refocused  herself  with  a  shinobi’s  discipline.  There  were  times  intrusions  upon  her  children’s  lives  were  necessary,  a  precaution  that  she  would  not  be  able  to  sleep  without;  being  a  good  mother  did  not  always  mean  being  a  likeable  one.

If  the  clan’s  pressure  was  the  cost  for  her  sons,  then  she  would  pay  that  dowry  a  thousand  times  over.  No  cousin’s  spat  could  compare  to  the  little  joys,  nor  village  negotiations  to  deciding  on  what’s  for  dinner.  Today  had  been  difficult,  even  for  her,  but  she  could  only  smile  as  she  measured  @sasaxkage​‘s  height  against  the  beam,  inscribing  a  new  line  atop  the  wood.  She  motioned  for  the  boy  to  come  to  her  side,  to  turn  and  see  his  newest  achievement.

❝   My heart is full of doubts.   ❞    ———   @uchibito​.

In one of the world’s greatest villages, a boy could be considered a man simply because he throws a kunai straight. Such was the nature of wartime, the nature of Konoha itself; one could not forget how young she and her esteemed Head had been upon their graduations, among a host of other should-be innocents... And yet   /   and yet   /   and yet, despite her familiarity with the law, Mikoto could not forget the truth behind it all, behind Obito’s little Chunin vest wrapped around his little Chunin body    ———   this was only a child.

❝   Obito-kun, I’ll tell you a secret since you’re now an adult...   ❞   Treasonous notions are swallowed, replaced by only a soft smile. Matriarch   :   image of perfection, sat seiza-style even within the comfort of her home, she invites her poor, confused subject to come closer with a wave.

(   Any Uchiha with an ounce of political smarts would know he can not refuse, not unless he rid himself of all his bloodlines, all his honor, all rightful deference to those who laid above his lineage... But it was sweet to think fear was not why he took his seat beside her. Perhaps that was the case, considering the boy’s age. Not even a shinobi education could completely crush a young boy’s naiveite... And that broke Mikoto's heart.   )

❝   All grown-up have doubts, no matter how much they seem otherwise... We do what we think is best, but nobody knows if their choices are correct while they make them. We must endure, and believe in ourselves. So, cousin...   ❞

❝   While it’s good to lend an ear to one’s doubts, wary of possible regrets... Don’t let it overpower you. You are a good boy, and I have faith in you...   ❞

@charaisuke​ is greeted by the sight of his mother at the sink, clearing away the pots and pans tonight’s dinner had claimed. Leaving them to fester on the countertops as they ate was simply inexcusable; it would do Sasuke good if he learnt similar habits, rather than the more social ones his clanmates reported. She does not turn to face him; it was unnecessary when recognising just which of her sons awaited his fill. 

❝    Hello, Sasuke. Are you hungry?   ❞

❝    Good  evening,  sir...    ❞