#parcaes

he’s watching her as she walks in / watches how she watches in / watches the pacing / how many steps she takes to reach him — doesn’t count. it doesn’t matter. still, bored, blue eyes stare, boring into her as she crosses the room and they remain the same when she gets as close as she deems comfortable. no names are exchanged, which he thinks is fair, but also not. who is she? why is it her / why not someone else? he doesn’t know her — maybe that’s the point.

can you feel anything right now? goes the question. it’s something he’s never heard before. usually it’s how do you feel? or what do you feel? never can you? — it throws him, it does, but he still shows nothing but the same disinterest he had when she walked in, when she got close. he shows nothing, just like he always does.

can you feel anything? that’s the question. can he? should he? was it necessary that he did? menma only did what was needed from him, something that he had established long ago. there’s rarely a time in his life when someone asks if he can — can as in ability to, never meaning will he — and that’s something he’s never thought about. he kept everything — most things — to himself, feelings weighed the most when it came to things he internalized.

why?

he blinks at her, slowly, looking at red hair as quickly turning cogs begin turning faster. nothing flashes across his face, only remaining as stoic as he was known for even before he caused this entire disaster. kurama tells him to answer the question / he listens. it’s something to do.

“ i’m hungry. ” that’s an answer. he feels hungry. it’s a feeling; it’s not what she wants and he knows it, too. he doesn’t give people what they want, not anymore, not here. not when people so constantly try digging into a mind that’s not theirs. his mind is for him / for kurama / for no one else, but they try and try and try. whoever this person is, he’ll give her the same as he’s given the others.

who is she? the question comes back and he thinks of his mother. thinks of her hair / thinks of how red hair is apparently a prominent trait about people of the uzumaki bloodline ( not him, though ) and he briefly wonders where she even came from to start with. menma knows the faces of the villagers — knows more faces than he doesn’t and this one in particular doesn’t match up with any face he knows or remembers. she’s not from here, then. is she uzumaki? uzumaki aren’t konoha; they come from the sea, they live elsewhere, only shipped into the village when something is needed from them. how many of them are left, anyway? he’d talked about it with his mother before but he can’t recall any story on how they are now / if there’s any left / if there’s anything to talk about.

it’s not the first time that menma’s ever threatened her, having done the same thing before upon their first meeting. that time, it had been over her invading something of his, this time — he’s not too sure. can’t quite remember what had set him off the edge mere moments ago, only knowing that it was enough for him to feel the need to assault her. and so, it’s only natural for him to try killing her again. what’s not natural is how not too long after he’s all but completely crushing her windpipe and taken an eye out, he suddenly can’t breathe. it’s a sudden thing, too, threads / leashes / ropes that he can’t see, but feel, suddenly tighten around his neck.

he can’t breathe.

it’s not just him, either, but the fox, too. they can’t breathe.

can’t breathe, bound by things unseen. focus leaps off of mi-rae to pay more mind to himself, hands finding way to his own throat in desperate attempt to rip away what’s suffocating him, but how can he free himself of binds that he cannot see? his own rage had already been recycled into distress, growing worse and worse as he continues to struggle to breathe. although rage had been killed, his own murderous intention hadn’t subsided, but grown worse and blended even more with what kurama had in mind.

can’t breathe. kurama —

kurama cannot help. kurama, also, cannot breathe. the both of them suffer. menma suffers more, though, vision already spotting in such little time while his body collapses before her. he rests helplessly on the ground while clawing at something he can’t manipulate, legs kicking while he feels as if his head will explode. maybe his throat will be crushed before he can help himself. maybe his head will be severed before he can breathe again. perhaps he will die here and take kurama with him, alone, but not alone, suffering before his — someone who’s supposed to be helping him. his head’s on fire, neck red from clawing at himself and face begins to turn. kurama’s angered more than before over this change, all but completely rampaging within menma and demon chakra begins to bubble up from within and soon engulfs suffering mortal within itself like a cocoon. it doesn’t help. kurama’s chakra burns the air / burns the floor beneath menma / burns kicked couch / burns and burn and burns away at everything that’s not menma, himself. ( the only reason kurama does not leave the confines of menma’s half closed seal is because he knows that it will help him none. leaving will probably only make things worse and kurama has no mind to experience everything like menma experiences it. still, kitsune does suffer from the same bindings. )

Receiving Clém wonderful love <33 / @parcaes

@parcaes

◖ -‘๑’- ◗

      MEMORY WAS A PHOTOGRAPHIC ALBUM ONE CAN EDIT WITHIN THE MIND --- a bench to the soul that can make a person who they were today. With the many that he held as remembrance, there were only some that he manifested into the form of an image he could keep. Not that any memory was less than the last, he only managed to capture few and far between when he had the chance to. He cherished the few pictures that he managed to have in his household, hoping to only build on them as years began to pass and more memories formed.

      It would come to a surprise ( like every other year ) when he saw the birthday cake in front of him, yet nothing attached to it to say who it was from. He was sure he’d figure it out eventually who it came from, but what caught his attention for the moment was what was next to it --- a book, a photo album similar to the one he found during his travels long ago. 

      From the moment he opened the cover, it didn’t take long for him to be greeted with a sense of happiness, sadness and a mix bowl of emotions he couldn’t describe. Each moment captured with the first couple of glances from the Nanadaime was something that immediately ingrained itself into his soul and elated his being. 

                                                   Who ... did all this?

      There were instances in there that he had never even seen ( his mother pregnant, his parents together ), times he held dearly ( he’d never forget that day with team seven! ) to moments that he had never been there for ( ero-sennin really loved writing and traveling, didn’t he? ). Every picture was genuine and real, even filling some holes his strong heart that he wondered about during his lifetime. 

                                   There was so much ---

      In the comfort of his own four walls and without even realizing it, tears streamed down those whiskered cheeks in happiness as he stopped for a moment to reminisce... allowing himself to take everything in so he could never forget what was in front of him.

       It’s a good thing he was alone --- what would someone say if they saw him crying? 

a meme. // @parcaes

❰❰ HAIR ❱❱ sender pushes receiver’s hair away from their face

◖ -‘๑’- ◗

       IT WASN’T NEWS THAT THE WHISKERED HOKAGE EXUDED HAPPINESS WITH HER --- the two of them spending moments like this making for a much needed break in his daily life as the Nanadaime. He always made it a point to break his schedule here and there to share even the smallest of seconds, maybe miss a meeting or two in between ( which he’s sure to hear about from Shikamaru in the form of a scolding ). Guess he’d have to face that when he returned back to the office. 

      Ah --- but for now, there’s an enamel filled smile that would form and stick on that distinctive visage, the jinchuuriki indulging in their laughter and conversations. It didn’t surprise him in the slightest when her reach found those blond, sunshine colored strands starting to grow just a bit longer than normal --- having a feeling that she would be the first one to notice the growth of them. 

                       He really needed to remember to fix that...

   ↳   « Tough day, hm? » She could have ignored him and go on with her day but Mi-Rae’s heart always melts around children. When she’s younger, she’s so scared to work with them because she didn’t want to leave a scar on their hearts with her clumsy words. She sits next to the blonde boy and opens her bag; if he’s lucky, she still has a few homemade cookies left. « I am not questioning your strength, clearly you look like a tough buddy, but sometimes, it can help to just … vent it all out. » she pauses for a moment as she places the bag of cookies on his lap. « Don’t worry, I’m not an old creepy. My name is Mi-Rae, I am in charge of the mental health program for ninjas, you might have heard of me. » a sheepish, almost shy grin. « Well, I hope you have. »