#zhartha

[sterrenlied]

🎶 | @ZHARTHA // 回      ↪ MEME // NOT ACCEPTING

— 回 = PATCHING A WOUND .

✧*:･ﾟ| HE is not known for recklessness or anger. For PAIN, be it in inflicting or receiving. Yet battles hold no mercy to the restless scientist, the world does not care about the SUFFERING he's felt, about the clawing, scratching, screaming inside his skull. Siebren fought, tried his best to protect Zenyatta: BUT AT WHAT COST?

THE omnic is regarded with soft eyes, a gentle grey like northern seas or the sky on a mildly cloudy day. He wants to push the other AWAY, wants not to gaze upon metal features that manage to look worried. But something in him aches; it is SHAME in himself, in his broken mind.

❝I am sorry,❞ he whispers, raising head weakly from his cot. Siebren doesn't force the issue, but he does prop himself up on his elbows. GENTLE are metal fingers that hold him steady. He smiles, a false one that doesn't reach his eyes, palm of hand rubbing the intricate grooves of Zenyatta'a. ❝I am trying; I don't want to HURT. Did I hurt you? Please tell me I did not.❞ Voice begging and pleading, he leans in, forehead resting against the monk's. ❝I don't want to hurt … I don't … ❞

[martyrbot-a]

zhartha  —  collapse // help him he falls !!

SPRING days like these, wet and mild, are rare so high in the mountains.  too often are the peaks where they reside gripped by frost.  spring means new beginnings.

a light drizzle dampens the courtyard outside. 

‘ careful, ‘ he says, reluctant to offer a hand.  the young omnic can be so stubborn —

‘ zenyatta! ‘

it is only barely that he catches him, machine reflexes guiding his hands to draw him closer, catching his weight.  zenyatta is almost cradled to his chest, held up by mondatta alone. 

he sighs.

‘ my light, you must not push yourself so. ‘

[warpulse]

⭐⭐

( Send “⭐️” and I will compliment a random mun! / accepting )

1. @zhartha - we haven’t been doing much interacting lately and what we do have is mostly on my akande blog BUT you are so wonderful and talented and i miss writing with you!! your zen is so fleshed out and so loved and it shows in everything you do. you write some amazing shit and i’m always inspired by your replies. you are really just fantastic in general, you’re very genuine and kind. let me know if you ever wanna rp on discor.d or anything!

2. @mageshot - we’ve been mutuals for a good while but for some reason it took me making my new blog for us to actually start plotting and writing, but either way, i’m glad we did! lyric is a wonderful character and i’m honored to be able to write jack with them. your love for them shows through in everything you do and it’s infectious tbh, i love lyric and i love them as ghoul, too. you’ve been lovely to talk to and i hope we can do that more!

[graciieuse]

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

In the event she hears and understand Zenyatta’s philosophies, she’d buy them more than she buys Akande’s. Despite the similarities, they’re packaged differently, that she’s more receptive to his version. 

Should Widowmaker gain enough of a conscious to seek redemption, she’d ask Zenyatta to forgive her. 

Spending enough time with him, Widow would learn to not hate herself. The fun part is she’s both of the brothers Shimada in one package. Is fun the right word? Perhaps the correct way to put it is: “Zenyatta you better r u n.” (or float.) 

The chiming of his orbs inspires the dancer in her. 

[martyrbot-a]

@zhartha

Hesitation could not play on boards that had once been programmed to feel nothing of its sort, but once fitted together by careful hands, and the consideration of another who say him as alive brought too much too quickly. What had been stunted bloomed rapidly, urging the newly built omnic back and away.

“I – .”

Zenyatta tilted his head to the side, surprised back the lack of mechanical squeaking and the smoothness of the motion. Then, as he examined himself, he began to flex his fingers, listening to the click and slide. 

“I am alive? …. Am I alive?”

‘ DO you think so? ‘ 

hands folded in his lap, mondatta was the picture of serenity where he sat, regarding the omnic before him.  young, it seemed, and unsure.  no small blessing, that he should be there to help him. 

‘ it is not for me to decide what you are, or are not, ‘ he hummed, watching carefully. 

best not to overwhelm.  allow for the exploration and realisation of life, hopefully in more peace than he himself had been allotted by fate.

‘ how are you feeling? you seem well. ‘

[martyrbot-a]

@zhartha  —  a talk ( father and son )

SOMETHING  has been changing with zenyatta.  less bubbly, a cloud cast in front of the sun  —  a change like continental drift, pulling in slow cycles and heavy earthquakes.  rebellion, men of lesser wisdom might say.  pain, mondatta thinks, pain that he slowly recognises.  zenyatta is unhappy.  something gnaws at his child, chafing the spirit that fills his days with light.

there comes a time when enough is enough.  

‘ zenyatta, come and sit with me. ‘

barely twelve, and so grown-up  —  or desperate to be.  worry creases a deep frown between his brows as zenyatta hesitates.  thankfully, the younger sits without question, legs folded and eyes averted.  mondatta pours tea, adding two cubes of golden brown sugar to each cup.

‘ i believe that we have something to speak about, chidiya. ‘

[sterrenlied]

🎶 | TEKHARTHA ZENYATTA // @ZHARTHA 001 // STARTER CALL

✧*:･ﾟ| HE hears a melody.

NOT his usual melody, no; strangeness of it all. A DIFFERENT melody, clear, empty. Eyes flit open, lids heavy and faltering. Breaths heavy. It takes him a moment, a very long moment that stretches into infinity. Thoughts slowly PIECING TOGETHER in his hard mind.

THERE was a mission, yes; usually he doesn't leave his laboratory. Your research is precious, after all, they said. You're useful. He BELIEVES it, of course. A brilliant mind such as his can't be put to waste! Yet, he supposes, now it is being put to waste. He was separated. They were AMBUSHED.

FINGERS twitch. The room sparse. Unfamiliar. Cold.

❝HALLO?❞ He asks, lifting himself up, voice echoing and reverberating off the walls and floor. Elbows first, then hands, he's propping himself up, and with just a push, he's a few inches off the surface. FLOATING. Not standing. ❝Where am I?❞ He snaps, weary, head splitting open. And again, as he sees a shadow flicker in the doorframe. ❝Where am I?❞

[sterrenlied]

🎶 | @ZHARTHA // “Do you think we’ve met in other lives?”      ↪ MEME // NOT ACCEPTING

✧*:･ﾟ| AN unusual cadence rising and falling in the air, a pleasant melody ringing between the two. Stars alight in the sky, thinking in CASCADING patterns like a waterfall of cosmic proportions. In the distance, owls and crickets contribute to the song, unknowingly albeit, for only Siebren and Zenyatta can truly hear. They sit side by side, darkness reigning but slowly giving up its hold to the morning light instead. A hand snakes out to catch another, fingers WEAVING with each other upon stone. The silence is powerful, and yet, not existent in the slightest.

HE is thankful that words pierce the HARMONIES between them, for if he closes off, the melodies grow unbearable, the universe frighteningly prevalent in his weak mind. A miserable existence cowering before all of time and space. And yet, this is different. This is easier. Small talk whispered from man to man on the early morning breeze.

❝I know it.❞ When he responds, it is resolute and full of CONVICTION. Legs hook beneath him, head a cant as he gauges Zen's response. He's seen glimpses, and truth be told, he can't say for certain that his companion was in those glimpses, but faith would NOT be faith if one relied entirely on fact. He repeats his words, this time with eyes focused entirely upon the other. ❝I KNOW IT.❞

YET the life that matters is the here and now, when he leans up against his companion. There's nothing a soul could do about other worlds, other existences, but there's EVERYTHING a soul could do about the life one currently lives.