i'm the trouble ahead

you said, how sad, left to rot alone like that.

[greatdividcs]

i hope you're scared of only ordinary shit.

blog by reid. 28. est. he / they. independent rp blog, ft. original muses. 21+. read rules before engaging. thank you.

rules. muses. opens. wanted plots. wanted opposites.

divider credit: @uzmacchiato

[greatdividcs]

closed starter for @floralglows.

"you need to go."

if you asked kelsey a week ago what he thought he'd say to noah, should he ever get the chance to say anything to him again, it wouldn't be this. and it wouldn't be standing on a beach, shouted over wind that's blowing his hair in every which direction, sneakers dug into the sand, storm crackling overhead, wearing teddy's skin. kelsey's teeth are grit and his fist is clenched, trembling in front of him after having held his palm out to stop him coming any closer. it doesn't work, of course. of course, it doesn't fucking work — as soon as he saw him, noah'd run down the boardwalk steps and charged for him, over rolling sand hills and through pouring rain.

"stop, baby, stop," comes out of him second in scattered breaths, pleading before noah's in front of him but right 'round when he gets so close that it makes him nervous; ten feet, give or take. there's electricity crackling around his fingers still and kelsey backs away, feet stuttering into the roaring shoreline, cold wet rushing past his ankles and sweeping back in. he pales after he hears himself, all at once realizing just how caught he truly is; worse, what it looks like. a faked death, a body swap, with one of their best friends? — having left him, having let him believe he was gone. what does he do? does he explain? he — he's got to get noah away from here, away from him, away and safe. all systems are on alert: "it's not safe here, it's not. you can't fucking — you can't fucking be here."

[felixlefebvre]

Nick Robinson in Silk Road (2021)

[magdalenist]

yearning for some bodyguard x client plots… give me an up-and-coming celebrity and their reluctant security who thinks they’re too spoiled and paranoid for their own good. give me a politician’s daughter who tries every trick in the book to get away from her by-the-book handler. give me a lonely ceo who thinks everyone around them is overreacting when a threat seemingly arises, but they can’t deny the reassurance that comes with having someone around 24/7. forced proximity, high stakes, fake dating, adversaries to loves — so many avenues to go down, so many doors this could open!!

[hiddcnplcts]

the world ended a year ago, but neither muse a nor muse b can move on. they meet by chance at an abandoned settlement, both searching for something—or someone—they’ve lost. when a sudden attack forces them to flee together, they agree to travel together “just for one more day.” but as those days turn into weeks, they begin to uncover parts of each other’s pasts, learning that their meeting might not have been so random after all.

[gifsbyily]

give me a plot (loosely) based on casual by chappell roan where muse a and muse b who have been in a bit of a situationship for a while navigate “what they are”. muse a is completely head over heels for muse b, taking what they can that muse b has to offer, thinking of what their future could be like together etc. meanwhile muse b is reluctant to accept the relationship as anything more than casual, even though muse b feels the same way about muse a, any steps they take towards being anything more than casual is sabotaged by muse b’s commitment issues.

[dogmetaphors]

THE O.C. | S01E01 "Premiere"

[lolastung]

THE OC (2003-2007) — 1.02, “The Model Home”

[greatdividcs]

reverse starter call? <3 i wanna check out some opens & get some new threads going. give this a like if you want me to check your tag out.

[paranormaltheatrekid]

fucked up hurt/comfort. the person who stabbed you tends to your wound. the person who killed your loved one helps you grieve.

[greatdividcs]

open to anyone jay zevari, he / they, nonbinary, 30, bisexual, high school english teacher

"i feel like... i know you from something. from somewhere," punctuating this statement with a tilt of their head and a shift of their weight from the left to their right side, hip out, jay scans the person in front of him, the gears turning just a little too slowly in his mind. "what about me, do i look familiar to you?"

[greatdividcs]

open to anyone zane gray, he / him, cis man, 30, bisexual, bar owner / former pro soccer player

"...jesus christ, what the hell happened to you?" — door swung open, zane's eyes narrow the second he's able to process the sight of them under the dim porch-light; the miscellaneous injuries, the mussed hair, the general state of discord they're in. concern's never been one of his virtues, which is more than made apparent by the expression he's pulling ( nose scrunched, mouth tightened in a line, eyes judging from the side ), but curiosity is winning over anything else, here. he steps backwards, yanks his front door open wider, and gestures inside; ignoring, for now, the burning question inside of why on earth anyone would come to him for aide. he's just about the least comforting person in this entire city. "get in. shoes off," zane barks this over his shoulder, starts to walk inside, then turns on his heel. "... and don't bleed on my carpet. hold it in. do you need a ride to the fuckin' emergency room? what's wrong with you?"

[greatdividcs]

open to anyone dylan cooper, she / he / they, nonbinary, 25, bisexual, supernatural storyteller / podcaster

"sometimes, people just smell like gasoline, alright? it means nothing," one hand thrown out between them, a flat, empty palm that offers nothing, this is the explanation dylan gives for their current appearance — fuel soaked converse and hoodie sleeves — and subsequent odor; and it's a nothing explanation, they know that. about a mile away, there's some smoke that would answer this question a lot better than dylan's willing to, but good luck getting them to admit to it. they sit on the edge of the wooden fence behind them, indignant and content to stick with that nothing story. "are you done being a fed? i'm telling you, dude," thumb jutted over their shoulder, towards a long - since abandoned barn, their attention has evidently moved on from the current line of questioning; they'd called them to show them this place, to investigate inside with them. "there's something in there. poltergeist, maybe? demon? — i gotta get closer. you coming, or not?"

[greatdividcs]

open to anyone, based on kalu akanbi, she / they, nonbinary, bisexual, 30, voice actor

"...it could be worse," kalu's tone is pacifying at best as she breaks the silence — thirty minute deep silence, at that — that's fallen in their shared bedroom; you know, the bedroom booked before they broke up, the nonrefundable one. she sits on the edge of the bed with a bounce, head tilting, nerves on fire. "we could be being murdered. or... yeah, that's all i got — we could be being murdered."

[greatdividcs]

open to anyone, m / masc if romantic, based on the fourth bullet here flynn lee, he / him, cis man, gay, 25, musician

this staring contest that's been going on between himself and the other person in this holding cell is starting to wear on flynn's nerves — he's relatively certain they recognize him, whether they're a fan or just adjacently aware of his music, and more than anything, he's bored. bored, tired of being wordlessly stared at, and it could be a couple of hours before his manager can do anything for him as far as bail goes; so, fuck it. sitting up, flynn snaps his fingers together, tips his chin up, gaze searching for theirs; overall, just tries to get their attention. "...hey. what'd you do?"

[louisegluck]

May Sarton, from Recovering: A Journal [ID in alt text]

[greatdividcs]

open to anyone talon howlett, they / he, nonbinary, 25, mutant verse — son of wolverine. plot — no marvel knowledge needed, if you have questions, just ask me. talon saved your muse, a human, from something, inadvertently revealing his abilities. he’s obviously a bit nervous, but more concerned about ym’s wellbeing.

first order of business — get them inside, set ‘em safely on the bed: check. second, secure the motel room; close the blinds, lock the door: also, check. the third set of tasks mostly just involves scrambling around the room, snagging the first aid kit out of the bathroom, and coming back to set a glass of water on the bedside table next to them before standing awkwardly in front of them. “…you good?” they ask, eyes darting towards the window when a car rushes by, then lowering again to fixate on them. the talking part’s never been their favorite part of hero-ing.