black beatle

the devil wanna put me in a bow tie, pray the holy water don't go dry. rakim beauchamp, prometheus

[beauchcmp]

avi.

He’d lost track of what time it was by now. All he had known when he left the apartment was that he was in need of something to keep his mind occupied. Too long without those distractions, and he’d find himself lingering back on the memories of prison - or worse, the temptation that laid around every corner. Perhaps it’d be easier to try and sleep it off, blissful ignorance to everything - but insomnia seemed to come easier to him instead. As he passed the dimly lit bodega on the corner for the fourth time, he tossed his cold cup of coffee out, before taking a deep breath and standing under the streetlight. He wasn’t sure where to go now, if he should keep walking or just back - and what an ironic metaphor to how he felt in life.

Avi was debating on whether it was worth it to get another cup of coffee as he noticed a figure coming towards the shop as well. Avi tilted his head as he saw them approaching, hands fishing around in his back pocket for his cigarettes and lighter. Even as he spoke to the other person, he still felt the prickliness of anxiety under his skin, trembling and bubbling underneath. Realizing that his lighter was in his other coat, he groaned. “You wouldn’t happen to have a lighter, would you?” he started, fingering through the open carton of cigarettes, trying to pull one out - before noticing that he was completely out of those as well. He swore under his breath, raking his hand through his hair, before laughing hollowly. “Fuck. Cigarette and a lighter, by chance? I’ll owe you one next time I see you, whenever that might be.”

Payday comes and payday goes. Rocky, being a sensible adult, blows it all on a night at the club. He covers the tab, the damages, the drugs, the drinks. He gets hammered, because it’s his night off. For a while, he dances; with a pretty boy and a pretty girl, because they see the money he’s throwing around and want a piece of it. (They don’t get any, because he’s not stupid. But he likes watching them try.)

Now, they’re walking—stumbling, frolicking, staggering—home. Or somewhere close to it. Rocky’s not tired yet, not bored yet, not ready to go home yet. He thinks he needs to be drunker; as it is, he’s sobered up. Only a little, a tad, a touch, but it’s enough that his feet feel the ground he’s walking on and the sky seems so very far away.

He smiles and leaves, taking a left when his friends take a right. They can get home on their own, he doesn’t care enough to see them all the way. They’re adults, they can handle themselves. Besides, he’s hungry and he’s tired of them. The more lucid he is, the more annoying they become.

So he goes his own way. He frolics, stumbles, staggers less. His path is straight now, boring. There’s weed in his pocket, kept safe in a little plastic bag. He thinks about smoking it, to put the weave back into his step. A minute passes and he changes his mind. No, he wants some food. A slice of pizza, maybe. He’s not picky, he doesn’t care.

Walking and walking—it feels like miles, it feels like feet. As he walks, he sees a guy standing under a streetlight. Very cloak and dagger, very mysterious. Rocky stares, because of course he does—who wouldn’t? He might die, he might get a mysterious envelope telling him of a mission, if he chooses to accept it.

Instead, the guy asks for a lighter. After a moment, he asks for a cigarette too. Rocky smiles. Of course he has cigarettes, of course he has a lighter.

“Sure,” he says, still smiling.

To prove it, he takes the box out of his pocket. He pulls one cigarette out and sets it between his lips. He holds the box out to the man, letting him pick and choose which nicotine stick he wants.

“Say you’ll buy me a sandwich,” he continues, the end of his cigarette doing pirouettes in the air, “and you can use my lighter.”

He still smiles. It’s not a threat, it’s not a command, merely a suggestion. A forceful one, but hey, chopped cheese is pretty cheap. It’s not like he’s asking for three of his fingers, just a sandwich.

[beauchcmp]

malcolm.

Malcolm sat on the bench just a block away from the hospital, the sun still hours away from setting. He was overlooking a small parkette, his first two fingers of each hand rubbing circles into his temples. He’d just gotten off his early shift at the hospital, which was thankfully relatively quiet compared to any of the chaotic night shifts. But even given the ease of work today, he found himself with an insufferable headache. It had been coming and going for the past few days, ever since the aftermath of the whole shipping debacle died down. He would make a point of going by Mount Olympus later to check in on Zeus and change his bandages like every day since the shooting. He could only hope that the headache would disappear long enough for him to make a proper check-up. Mal released a sigh and dragged a palm down his face before leaning back in his seat on the bench, finally taking in his surroundings since sitting down.

“You’re bein a pussy,” Rocky says. “It’s a broken leg, not the end of the fuckin world.”

Poor Ty, he’s too high to even realize who’s talking to him. Rocky told him, last night, told him it was gonna be too much for him, that he wouldn’t be able to handle Rocky’s best shit. And here he is, twelve hours later, crying in the emergency room because he can’t figure out where he is, why he hurts, when it’s going to stop.

With a sigh, Rocky stands. He’s the kid’s dealer, not his mom; why should he bother sticking around? His back hurts, he’s tired, he’s bored of being grilled by nurses to tell them what he’s on. So he leaves. He pats Ty’s not-broken leg and tells him it’ll be okay. (Ty doesn’t notice. Rocky doesn’t care.)

Brushing past the tired and bedraggled staff, Rocky thinks about going home, climbing in bed, and worrying about everything else later. But he’s got a shift today, at the parlor. It starts in an hour, maybe less. Not worth it to go home. But he ends up in a park near the hospital, for a breather, a refresher. He inhales, nice and deep. The city smells like shit, but at least it doesn’t smell like a hospital.

He looks around, searching for an open spot. He wants to sit, stretch out, smoke a little. On a bench sits a man who looks to have the same idea. Rocky, ever the sympathizer, sits next to him, slouching low and extending his legs far out in front of him. From his pocket, he pulls out a cigarette.

“Mind?” he asks, popping the lid. “Need a pick-me-up before work, y’know? If only coffee didn’t taste like shit.” He smiles. It’s almost polite.

[fandomrunoff]

[beauchcmp]

amelia.

Pain could be sourced from many places, a potential for physical or emotional trauma always prevalent within the corners of her life. Shelving past experiences, Amelia had grown accustomed to the low ache in her heart, which would over-ride any physical blow. Her occupation required strength, and she’d taken many hits whilst pursuing the path to become a much greater and far more skilled fighter. Still, there was some annoyance rooted deep within, from her unfriendly spar with a named foe. Being bested was not enjoyable, in fact she rather loathed it - a draw was no better than a loss. She half protected herself, it simply wasn’t good enough.

Needless to say, the limits of her patience had been pushed and Amelia was left with a lingering annoyance. Rationally, she knew that things could have gone far worse than they had, there was some mercy in that. Sat on a bench in the park, fingers clenching her coffee cup, so that the traces of her name printed on the side had melted into her skin, she let out a long sigh. Athena needed to be better, so that she could remain strong. Taking a sip, she released a groan, “This coffee tastes just as disappointing as the current state of things.”

Every once in a while, he walks to work. Sometimes, the subway, it’s too crowded for him. One elbow to the gut, one ponytail in his eye, and he bails, walking out a stop or three early just to escape. Rocky loves the city, don’t get him wrong. He loves every part of it—from its busy streets to its stinking underground. But sometimes, it’s just too much.

So, he walks. It’s not far from his place, the parlor. It’s invigorating, some might say. To Rocky, it’s just a chance to stretch his legs, listen to music, enjoy a moment to himself. He thinks about getting coffee, but decides against it. Instead, he smokes. Cigarettes give him the same rush as coffee, the same energy spike. And they taste better too.

He walks and he smokes. Every once in a while, he looks around, admires the view. It can be so pretty, when it wants to be. Not the architecture or whatever, but the people, the life on its streets. He watches them, judges them, lets them pass.

A few blocks from the parlor, there’s a park. It’s on the small side, but it’s nice. Green this deep in the city always is. He starts moving in that direction, towards its trees and bushes and cute little benches. It’s a good place to take a breather after the subway crowd. So he makes a beeline for it, takes the few extra blocks it takes to get there. And when he does, he takes another cigarette out of the pack, lights it fresh. He inhales, exhales, and almost seems to smile.

Rocky wanders for a moment, trying to find the perfect place to finish his smoke. He doesn’t have to go far before he sees her: Amelia, Athena. It’s funny, running into her at a place like this. So open and inviting, nothing like them, nothing like him. He sidles up to her, sits next to her on the bench. Playing coy, he only glances at her before looking forward, staring at the clouds or the birds or a passerby.

“You don’t know the right place to go,” he says. “There’s a place, few blocks down, makes the best coffee this side the Hudson.”

Exhale, inhale; he slumps a little, arm over his chest. Closed off, nothing personal.

“I could take you, if ya wanted.”

It feels like a date. They’ve never done that before. How meet-cute of him.

[beauchcmp]

julian.

Despite the somewhat crude (but funny nonetheless) words, Julian scans over the man standing opposite him without really meaning to, belatedly catching himself openly admiring the other man. It’s not necessarily his looks - though obviously, it doesn’t hurt - but the aura of boldness and confidence he’s exuding that has Julian somewhat enchanted, though momentarily.

“That’s actually…kind of refreshing to hear.” He burst into laughter, a full-on, worry-free laughter that he’d almost forgotten about since being at the party. Leave it to a handsome stranger to force him out of his shell, even for just a second. “I don’t think people would appreciate that too much, though. Still, I acknowledge your support, and I thank you for it.”

It was possible that the stranger didn’t find the situation as funny as he did, though, so Julian cleared his throat and searched for politeness. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh at you - I wasn’t laughing at you, you just caught me off guard. Uh, name’s Julian.” He said, sticking his hand out.

If there’s one thing Rocky knows, it’s when he’s being sized up. But this time, it’s not malicious; the kid’s not trying to pick a fight, he’s—what? Ogling, maybe. So Rocky smiles, flashes those pearly whites so the kid knows he knows the game’s afoot.

And Rocky, the gentleman he is, returns the favor. His gaze is slower, though. He takes his time, ogling. It’s more fun that way. He’s cute; with wide eyes and a nice smile. Rocky wonders if he’s got any tattoos (ink’s more telling than words, in his opinion). If he does, he can’t see them. Not yet, at least. When the kid laughs, Rocky laughs too. Real easy, real nice.

“Well, if you do end up pissin in the pool, I’ll be the first in line to buy you a drink,” he says.

As the other rambles, Rocky sips his drink. His beer’s starting to get warm, but he doesn’t care—either way, it tastes fucking disgusting. At some point, he’ll get something tastier, but right now he has other things to deal with. Such as, boys who don’t know when to stop talking. It’s almost endearing.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he replies, “I know when I’m bein laughed with.”

He takes Julian’s hand. He gives it a firm squeeze. (If there’s one thing his mother’s countless boyfriend’s taught him, it was how to give a good handshake.)

“Rocky.” He withdraws his hand. “Pleasure meetin you, Julian.”

Beer touches his tongue and he grimaces, bringing the cup as far from his taste buds as it can get. He purses his lips, almost frowns. He glances around the party and he’s almost smiling again.

“Well, hey, you know what? How ‘bout I help you find the bathroom. ‘Cause, frankly, I don’t know where shit all is and I do love a little light B&E. It’ll be, like, an adventure or some shit.”

[robbersdjh-deactivated20221115]

‘prompts: 1) things you said at 1 am 2) things you said through your teeth 3) things you said too quietly 4) things you said over the phone 5) things you didn’t say at all 6) things you said under the stars and in the grass 7) things you said while we were driving 8) things you said when you were crying 9) things you said when I was crying 10) things you said that made me feel like shit 11) things you said when you were drunk 12) things you said when you thought I was asleep 13) things you said at the kitchen table 14)things you said after you kissed me 15) things you said with too many miles between us 16) things you said with no space between us 17) things you said that I wish you hadn’t 18) things you said when you were scared 19) things you said when we were the happiest we ever were 20) things you said that I wasn’t meant to hear 21) things you said when we were on top of the world 22) things you said after it was over 23) things you said on the streetcar at 1 am 24) things you said with clenched fists 25) things you said in the back seat of a cab 26) things you said sitting still 27) things you said on the phone at 4 am 28) things you said but not out loud 29) things you said in the backyard at night 30) things you said on the highway 31) things you said while I cried in your arms 32) things you said I wouldn’t understand 33) things you said at the back of the theatre 34) things you said in your sleep 35) things you said that made me feel real 36) things you said you’ll never forget 37) things you said with the tv on mute 38)things you said while holding my hand’ 39) things you said when we first met 40) things you said when you met my parents 41) things you said you loved about me 42) things you said when you asked me to marry you 43) things you said in our vows 44) things you said before you kissed me 45) things you said on new year’s eve 46) things you said when you kissed me goodnight 47) things you said in a hotel room 48) things you said on our honeymoon 49) things you said when we were 18 50) things you said when we were 70 51) things you said as we danced in our socks 52) things you said with my lips on your neck 53) things you said in the dark 54) things you always meant to say but never got the chance 55) things you said under your breath 56) things you said in the spur of the moment 57) things you said when no one else was around 58) things you were afraid to say 59) things you said after we fell in love 60) things you said [make your own]

the ones with single quotes aren’t mine, but the rest are. great story and fic prompts

reblog if you want your followers to send you a number and pairing to write a fic about

(via showbizhowell)

[xxmoved-blog]

Memory Meme

[edisonvilensky-blog]

xxmoved-blog:

Past experiences help shape who we are currently, how we see the world. Send in a symbol and I’ll write a drabble of one of my muse’s memories. 

❥ - a childhood memory

♣ - a fading memory

✂ - a vivid memory

✖ - a repressed memory

✈ - an eye-opening memory

✤ - a memory that involves romance/love

☤ - a memory of death/loss

✍ - a memory of their mother

☽ - a memory of their father

✌ - a memory of a relative

↕ - a memory that may or may not have happened

♚ - a memory of something paranormal

✓ - a sexual memory

♬ - a friend/best friend memory

[justrpmemesandmusings]

Send me a faceclaim and I’ll tell you who they’d be in my muse’s life as a NPC

[bangurz]

[beauchcmp]

rafael.

Rafael was feeling rather jumpy without any weapons on him. He was clad in nothing more than a pair of swim trunks, showing off his muscled torso. Yet, it was the lack of knives, guns,anything that left him feeling exposed, rather than the ample skin baking under the hot summer sun. Unsure how to interact with the others, Raf stayed by the bar, nursing his beer and watching the beautiful and wealthy around him.

Noticing another person drinking alone, Raf gave them a courteous nod.

“These parties are fucking exhausting, aren’t they?” he asked, hoping to have a partner to bitch with. “All of these rich fucks expecting you to kiss their ass.”

The sun’s working hard to turn him nice and gold under his tattoos. It works hard, harder than he ever has, trying to get at his bare skin. Rocky lets it have its way with him; the warmth, it’s nice, organic. In the city, it’s sweltering and smoggy; in the city, the sun never hits him, it just cooks the sidewalk until he feels it through the soles of his shoes. So out here, it’s fucking nice. He can’t remember the last time he’s been outside New York.

But his drink’s gone—how disappointing. He goes to the bar, to get a refill. Something stronger than the last one. A beer to start is fine, but he never drinks more than one. It’s weak and flavorless, but cold and bubbly; somehow, the two balance each other out.

While he waits (for his vodka on the rocks), Raf looks at him, he nods. Rocky nods back. He’s always liked that guy.

“Exhausting?” he repeats. “Nah. Invigorating. They got top shelf liquor here. And, sure, they expect you to kiss their ass, but ain’t the look on their face when you don’t just precious? It’s like they’ve never been told no before. Try it, next rich fuck that talks to you.”

[beauchcmp]

julian.

Being around crowds was something Julian was already used to, though he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen so many happy-drunk, half-naked people in one place. He’d kept his shirt on as he had very little intention of getting in the water, trying to navigate through the crowd with a red solo cup in his left hand, feeling slightly nervous (though that wasn’t anything new) as he chose to tap a nearby partygoer on the shoulder to get their attention.

“Er, excuse me - have you seen a bathroom around here? I’m assuming I’m not supposed to piss in the pool.”

In a sea of people, he’s lost. He might be a head above some, might be more inked than others, but no one pays him any mind. Some days, he likes it, likes disappearing. Other days, he’s rambunctiously drunk, trying to get everyone nearby to look at me! I’m the most interesting one here, so pay attention to me!

Today, he’s the former—until he’s drunk enough, maybe. He’s quiet, subdued. In his hand, he holds a beer. Fresh and foamy, nice and cold. He drinks it, taking nice long swigs. It’s not as much fun, being the only mostly-sober one at a party, so Rocky works to change it. In a moment, he’s going to get something stronger than beer. Once he works up the motivation—hot days make him lazy.

Someone taps him on the shoulder. He turns, cup to his lips.

“Why not?” he asks. “Just assume you can, easy. Now you got yourself a big ass toilet.”

[jakegyllenhaal]

[olympiansrpg1-blog]

BASICS

Name: Rakim Hannibal “Rocky” Beauchamp Age: 28 Affiliation: Titans Occupation: Drug Dealer Faceclaim: Don Benjamin Status: TAKEN by Mae

THE STORY

They call you Prometheus. You have always embraced the fire, the harsh, acrid smell of leather and the constant buzzing of a tattoo parlor. They say one man can’t change the world but you have always fought that, against anything that stood in your way. Your knuckles have always been stained red and painted blue, because you have never learned to face the world any other way. They don’t understand that you are a man of chaos and a man who rarely steps into the fire without careful calculation all at once - a businessman, one who has created something out of so little. Soon enough, all the red lines led to you, no longer someone who could be so easily ignored. It didn’t take long for Atlas to find you, as you have never been humble nor felt the need to hide yourself from the rest of the world. Unlike some others, you didn’t agree to join Atlas because you needed him - no, you, a small fire, finally saw an opportunity to engulf the rest of the world in flames. 

CONNECTIONS

ATHENA - You tell yourself that you didn’t realize it was Athena because it was too dark, but you know that’s not quite true. Maybe it was a form of temporary rebellion, to feel that rush of adrenaline that comes from almost getting caught, meeting up in secret spots and sneaking in through back doors. It’s just for fun, anyway - at least that’s what you tell yourself. 

POSEIDON - If there’s something actively stopping the Titans from completely taking over the New York scene, it’s the fact that they can’t seem to get rid of Poseidon, who no one can seem to touch right now. If you could just track down where they manufacture their goods, it’d be too easy to bring them down. Plus, it’s just the icing on the cake that you’ll get to show that smug bastard that they’re nothing special. 

HYPERION - You’ve dealt with a fair share of dishonest people in your past, and you’ve hated every single one of them. Hyperion is no exception, and you can’t stand the fact that you can’t seem to read them. You have to admit it’s a little mean, the way you always goad Hyperion, but for once, you’d like to see the real person underneath that mask. It’s nothing personal. 

SUGGESTED FACECLAIMS

Rick Genest, Don Benjamin, Kim Woo Bin, Charlie Hunnam, Zoe Kravitz, Kehlani Parrish, Rihanna Fenty 

Keep reading

[180069death]