#boltheal

[syntheiis]

Trick or Treat! 🎃

Send ‘Trick or Treat!  🎃’ for a moodboard // accepting

                                   //  Niccolò “Nic” Moretti //

             “ The ocean knows not of wrongs, just the gentle sway of her blue “

[zundkerze]

“ Oh my God, gramps, live a little. “ 

@boltheal

[syntheiis]

@boltheal​

“ I believe I shall ” Koya jested, lowering himself into the trusty seat of his wheelchair.

His prosthetic legs, crafted masterfully to omnic standards, had seen their better days. Just hours before, the few Overwatch recruits available found themselves in a tight combat mission, driving each healer beyond their limits. Nasty, it was; pained yelps rang high over voices, tainting the air muddy with ferocity. He remembered most clearly the cold in his veins once the last healing pod was tossed in the fray. He seldom ran dry on the field.

Yet, no friendly lives were lost. Victory left wounds in their flesh, wounds in need of licking. 

A few explosions too many shattered the support rod of Koya’s left leg—it lay black and unsightly on an adjacent work table ( which would soon be attended by Brigitte ). He couldn’t help but stare, focused on the minty acrylic that decorated the inner thighs. 

“ You did a wonderful job today, Nic. You deserve more thank you’s than I can deliver. “ He smiled up to him. If there was one thing about wheelchairs he’d complain about, it was the reduction in height. “ How do you feel? Anything Dr Ziegler would have to look at? ”

[zundkerze]

❝ … I really hate the awkward silence in elevators, you know? ❞

What follows in response to the older man’s voice is a quiet, nervous chuckle. God… must be just her luck, to get stuck in an elevator with a guy who just so happened to consider her his daily dose of social interaction. Especially considering how long the right was threatening to be, with the elevator moving at an exasperatingly low speed. She didn’t have the time nor the energy for this.

The little metal box, currently making its way up to one of the last floors of the highrise building - she pressed the button instinctively, without really thinking about it - was meant to be a safe haven for her. She sought refuge inside, having previously ruffled some feathers, without noticing she had picked the very wrong crowd to mess with. She would be able to take out a bully or two herself - maybe even three of them at once. 

If they were not exactly built like brick shithouses and armed with guns. She was the one with the knife, in this scenario. There really was no shame in abandoning her post and running, as far as she was considered.

She knew they had followed her into the building; she knew they were most likely keeping up with the elevator using the stairway. All she could hope for was that no one else would decide to board the little capsule, to force the lift doors open, to risk the brutes getting their hands on her and… this guy she was currently stuck with.

God, hopefully, they would not catch up with them…

She looked up to the other, uncertain whether she should offer an answer to his attempt at small talk. She did not owe him anything, that was true enough, but at the same time, she couldn’t really justify ignoring him, when he was obviously trying so hard.

Besides - it had been her who ran right into him as she entered the elevator, at the very last moment. He held the door open for her. He was the reason she got out of there alive and unharmed.

Well… for now, anyway. Where she would go from here? Who could really tell. 

“Ah… well…“ she began, not really quite sure what to say. He did not appear… threatening nor intimidating, not in the least. But then again… you know what they say about the cute ones.

Not that he was the cute one here. No. He was just an old man in an elevator. If anyone was cute around here? She was the one. But- That wasn’t the point! The point… the point…

The point was that, as of now, she did not really trust anyone or anything around her anymore. The approach had saved her life more than once, she was certain of it, but at the same time…

She really wasn’t quite sure how to respond to casual interactions like this one in particular. Not after all this time…

“It’s… not awkward unless you make it awkward.” she replied, quite defensively, immediately biting her tongue and cursing her stupid head. No, that was wrong… one more time.

“I mean… dunno. They should have put on some music, huh? You know… elevator music…?“ When did that go out of fashion, anyway?

@boltheal ☆ Break The Ice [you get a starter! and you get a starter! and you-]

[lethallyenforcing]

‘ what’s the matter? ’

WESTERN MOVIE STARTERS: THE OUTLAW

Metal body stands from the cot, towering over him ( stop! ), steel hands pushing fleshy counterparts away ( gently! ). The deep indent of her form on the bed is splattered with– something from her side, black liquid seeping into white cloth ( so what? ). There was nothing to worry about! Woe be the warframe that could not handle war. Still! The gunslinger refuses; she does not want the medic’s hands inspecting, searching, prying for something he will not wish to see ( sickness… ). 

Mesa has made her own judgement: she is fine. Old voice is silenced forever, unable to reply, but Mesa hopes still that her intent is clear. Stubbornness is solid, racking against the wall of crossed arms and tilted head. NO. 

[mekabound]

everyone else believes in you. why shouldn’t you?

critical role starters || accepting!

     “It’s not that simple,” Hana replies quietly, not looking away from her hands. They’ve become remarkably interesting in the last half hour, it would seem. “Everyone else—” She exhales as though frustrated. With who? Niccolo? Herself? Everyone around her? “They don’t know me like I know me. They don’t know — they don’t know how awful I can be.” The confession is halting, and her tone carries an edge to it, but it’s more than she’s let slip in a while.

     “They don’t believe in me. They believe in D.Va. They know D.Va. They don’t know Hana.” She speaks as though she’s explaining the obvious to a clueless child; really, how hard can it be to understand that?

     “D.Va isn’t me. We aren’t the same. D.Va is… A hero, a protector. I’m… Well, I’m me.” The words fall from her tongue like venom, like being her is the worst fate one could befall — and it is, in her eyes! She’s selfish and cowardly and worried over every little thing, collapsing under pressure she wanted to have. She wanted this! She brought all of this on herself. She hasn’t got any right to ask for help, not now.

     Is this what it’s like being in therapy? She took ages to tell this sort of stuff to her most trusted friends, and here she is now, with this self-appointed trauma doctor, ready to pour her heart — and eyes — out. Yuck.

     “I don’t believe in me because I haven’t done anything to believe in,” Hana continues. “The girl you see on T.V. is the hero, not me.” She’s placed this tangible barrier between herself and D.Va, and it’s been up for so long that she’s forgotten it’s even there. Hana and D.Va just aren’t the same person, that’s the fact of the matter. D.Va is confident and powerful and strong. Hana… Hana’s young and scared and vulnerable. She’s no hero.