#helldwells

[crue11]

this one had it rough . bulsan had mumbled to nunae when they saw the man sitting on the bench in the park ─ exhausted and bloody . bulsan and nunae's nightly strolls were done with great pleasure , darkness surrounding them . freely walking in the most dangerous neighborhoods of the city . letting oblivious men hit on them , try to get sneaky and steal or touch until they'd tear their flesh apart with bare fingers . it didn't happen as much anymore , but bulsan was still a little impatient to have someone bother them . instead , they come across this man ; and sitting either sides of him . ‘ hellooo .. you okay ? ‘ bulsan's voice is melodic , a soft stir in the darkness of midnight . and nunae already has an arm placed to the back of the bench , head tilted to catch the man's gaze with a small smile . he is slightly taller than bulsan , with sharper features . ‘ rough night , sir ? you look terrible . ‘ they purr , bulsan's warm fingers brush away a stain of blood on his cheek .

@helldwells * starter call for bulsan and nunae.

[rockerb0y]

     NOT EVEN  the potent cocktail of chemicals in johnny's bloodstream was immune to terminal dilution, beginning to abate about halfway through the setlist of stentorian songs and eventually deadened to a  numbness  which yearned to be renewed to its former glory. the venue and its effervescent crowd had warmly received the tendentious performance, ardently lauded and extolled the visual backdrop of articles from various smear campaigns against him over the past few years — an  eye-catching  and  provocative  accompaniment to his  idiosyncratic  brand of sound. nevertheless, the fervid feedback didn't automatically merit an encore and his expeditious exit outside wasn't susceptible to further vacillation. the show was over because he said it was over and nobody could overturn the  dictatorial  decision.

     ' the night owl '  had procured his patronage over its surrounding competition with its proximity and diminutive clientele. the business hours were arbitrary and open-ended which catered to his particular ambitions for the evening, opting to occupy a seat at the far end of the bar counter away in self-imposed isolation. the view beyond the sheets of glass surrounding the bar would've enticed any wandering eye, as was expected from its location on the top floor of the bay bridge residential hotel; to him, however, the neon graveyard was a tired sight that failed to inveigle  him into any state of admiration. the inherent exigency of the empty whiskey glass in front of him was far more worthwhile of his notice, second only to the sudden movement on his right side as the adjacent seat was no longer subject to vacancy.

@helldwells: ❝ you look lonely. i can fix that. ❞ ( soooo thinking about silverhand during his prime time while ryker is still a corpo and keeping an eye on him heh )

     twitch of a smile denoted acknowledgement of the stranger ahead of a verbal reply, lidded gaze quick to steal a glance and investigate existing suppositions. the other patron's attire and comportment was of a  certain  caliber, an  eminence  that came married with corporate rancidity; its stench was as familiar as it was distinctively deplorable. despite lacking any tangible evidence or confirmation to his working theory, the once-over alone was decidedly enough to profile his counterpart and make an educated assessment.

     ❝  spoken like a true jig-jig street regular. not all that different from them, actually: corpses and joytoys. both are willin' to bend over and be  fucked raw  by their employer if the price is right.  ❞

     wraithlike whisper from  the hand  goaded him to  glass  the unexpected visitor, to accede and temporarily  tranquilize  the urge to maim. violent fantasy fogged over immediate thought for a moment before it was banished from mind, curbed for the time being as the bartender's attention was beckoned with a  knock  of chrome knuckles against the counter. a refill was sorely needed in addition to a suitable beverage for his  esteemed  company.

     ❝  another double whiskey neat here, and a  jersey turnpike  for this compassionate boy scout. my treat.  ❞

     the bartender's bout of hesitation upon hearing the order was expected but a pointed look subsequently resolved any  doubt  of its sincerity. the recipe was straightforward: all the bar mats' residual liquor collectively wrung into a single shot glass — a mixed shooter perfectly  curated  for any  bottom-feeder.

               ❝  take it, and fuck off.  ❞

BLADE RUNNER 2049 PROMPTS

[stainedpast]

Tsk, they really do know how to annoy him, don’t they? Playing at his nerves like a guitar, which is a little appealing in its own way for not many manage to reach such achievement. He almost rolls his eyes at their words, hands inside the pockets of his jacket, features even more unamused than the usual ones he wears. ❝ You really wouldn’t like it being in there out of hatred. ❞ It is true; if he hates someone enough to remember them, to occupy his mind, they are DOOMED. They have not reached there yet. ❝ What makes you think you’re to begin with? ❞

@helldwells : "for being someone you hate, i'm sure on your mind a lot." be bothering one of your babies with ryker hehe :3

[netrvn]

morning polish has unraveled . the alabaster cloth of her sleeves gathers at the hinge of her elbows , collar unfastened at the throat , honeyed ringlets slipping free as she bends over the marble counter . the apartment stands composed around her with the curated exactitude of a high-end showroom interior , incongruous with the fluidity of lithe muscle & sinew — a space she inhabits without truly belonging , as if anything permanent might weigh her down . the ice breaks the silence first — a sharp thud , amber threading over the cold rocks , fracturing it in slow , molten lines . she slips off her pumps on the way across the room , shedding the last of the day’s curated veneer . stockinged steps whisper over polished tile , soundless save for the faint click of rocks settling in the glass .

LOUD & DEAFENING SILENCE   hunger .   give  my  muse  something  to  eat  /  drink . ( elias ryker — @helldwells )

she offers him a glass with a slow turn of her wrist , the twin weight balanced effortlessly , burgundy nails whispering against crystal . for a moment , the neon catches her profile , blue luminescence backlighting a gentle pull that has begun to thread itself at the corner of glossed petals , revealing something private in the expression , tired but not bereft of warmth . “ long day ? looks like Arasaka’s been keeping you busy . ” it's almost playful & raw . bottle-green hues hold his façade , tracing the lines of his expression . catlike curiosity flickers in her gaze — intimate & attentive , careful not to intrude on his privacy . somewhere above the skyline , an ad-drone crawls past , its glow diffused by the droplets of rain clinging to the glass . from this distance , the city almost looks like something worth saving . yet it’s only a spectacle — like the Glenn apartment enclosing them . a curated illusion incapable of disguising the slow , pervasive decay the city is steeped in .

[2077smerc]

[8. ] sender patches up receiver's wounds, hands trembling as they whisper, "you can't keep doing this to me." ( or reverse??)

V's got the medkit open with muscle memory alone. Her hands work fast, but there’s a tremor in them that wasn’t there last time. Or maybe it was and she just didn’t let herself notice. Not until now. Elias is a mess. Blood slicks across his side, down his ribs, and she doesn’t even know if it’s his or someone else’s. She mutters a curse, presses the gauze harder than she should, and hears him grunt—more annoyed than in pain. And before she can stop herself, it comes out in a whisper, sharp and cracked: "You can't keep doing this to me." The words hang there, fragile, exposed. Her hands freeze. The gauze is stained now, useless. She tosses it aside and grabs another. "You show up like this and—hell, Ryker, I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do. Call someone? Stitch you together with zip ties and adrenaline? Act like it doesn’t scare the shit out of me when you stop moving for more than two seconds?" She presses her forearm to her eyes for half a breath, dragging it down her face like that’ll help hold herself together. Silence, except the low hum of the city outside. The buzz of neon. A siren a few blocks off. She glances at him finally, jaw tight, voice low. "Next time, you’re going in with backup. Me, someone, anyone. Or I swear to all the chrome in this damn city, I’ll shoot you myself just to keep you from bleeding out on my floor."

[klarsynt]

@helldwells sent: "i know what you're thinking."

a brow slowly lifts. emil's head cants to the side, eyeing the other man. his own eyes look right back at him. it makes him want to shudder. ❝ you sure about that? ❞

[chernayavidua]

incoming signal from @helldwells: "i… i’m not the person you think i am." / meme ➢ accepting

                 everyone is an actor in their own life. the scripts change based on what type of performance they want to give and who the audience is. it is a fact. she is no exception to this. very few know of her personal life and the one that knew her better than most is no longer around. but there's something about elias that feels familiar. something about him that she understands. their little corner boot seems almost insulated from the cacophony of the bar.

                 “so you're not a good detective? you're one of the other hundreds of corrupt pieces of shit. is that what you're saying?” her tone holds a hint of sarcasm, features shifting into a you can't be serious look. this is a habit of theirs: getting drinks after a difficult case to talk. sometimes they talk about the case or any case that comes to mind, other times they talk about nothing important. he might not work with her but she trusts him more than half of the cops in her department. if she were to get into a tough spot, elias would be the first call she'd make. he wasn't a replacement for phil ---no one could replace him--- but he was the next best thing. she knew he wasn't corrupt. she knew he was dedicated to the job just like she was. but she also knew that he was trying to get something off his chest without actually having to confess anything. something she often wishes she could do.

                 “or are you trying to tell me you killed someone and need help hiding the body? because i have a shovel in my trunk if you need it.” an attempt to lighten the mood a bit. an attempt to disarm and make confessing easier.

[downspirals]

🙄  to  roll  your  eyes  at  my  muse :D

@helldwells

there is an annoyed huff that comes from her in response to his eye roll. "you're the one who asked for my help." nadine is quick to point out, their hands on their hips. "it's not my fault i'm not all up to date on all the fuckin'.... uh, future shit! i'm not from here!" and they still aren't entirely sure how they ended up here. but he didn't have the answers to all his own problems, let alone theirs.

"so, are we working together? or what?" they really hope the answer is yes. because they don't really have anyone else to ask.