#open crime rp

[synsationss]

OPEN: CHRIS

Seated on the gritty sidewalk, bathed in the soft glow of neon signs that flickered overhead, the young man nursed his bruised knuckles and wounded pride. The sounds of the bustling city faded into a distant hum as he cradled the makeshift ice pack of frozen vegetables against his swollen cheek, wincing at the cold sting. His denim-clad knees drawn close, he replayed the heated altercation in the smoky bar, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

“I totally won, right?” He finally barks out after a moment of contemplation. “Definitely didn’t go down without a fight that’s for damn sure right.”

[saltydazedklown]

1920s Joker before he was the Clown Prince of Crime....who wants to take this baby for a spin around the carousel?

Open to original characters and canon characters. All themes/genres are welcome!

I have written Joker since 2013 on older blogs I have deleted. You'd really be missing out if you pass this opportunity up.

This is not a total reboot of my portrayal, by my preference he will always sway towards daylighting as a community outreach entrepreneur while being a piece of shit to middle class and up in criminal ways of all that can be imagined.

His mental health and emotional history is what is being rewritten with newcomers.

Who's down to soil this clown?

Mod: Jonny : 31 : m : queer : neurospicy : chronically unoccupied

To address me use a 🚬

[hungriest-snake-in-hades]

"The stuff I used to get paid to do is no longer an option for when we need options! Because I'm not allowed to apparently raise a murder baby! And last week, Jack's kid turned his ba-ba into a Molotov and now we have CPS on our asses and I either gotta get creative on the right side of legal, or I gotta get new identities for all of us and it sucks because I've gotten used to being called Ross again."

[bluejeanbaby]

plot: colt just got out of prison and is trying to reunite with a partner or ex (bonus points if they have a kid)

open to: any!

"You changed your number." Colt announced as the other approached their door, pushing himself off of the wall he had been leaning against. "Didn't want to come and scare you, or anything but I wanted to let you know I'm a free man again." he announced, smirking as he tilted his head. "Tried to reach out, but I think you've been avoiding me, babe."

[luca-street-chris-deacon-rp]

Open Thread

Open to everyone - M/F

Relationship type - Friend, lover, spouse, colleague, ex partner.

Plot type - Drama, angst, smut with plot

Approved Kinks- Roleplay, objectication, breath play, knife play, BDSM, exhibitionism, scene play, dom and sub, sadism and machoism, edge play, CBT, impact play, rope bandage, fisting, pegging, orgasm control, dirty talk, nipple play, gags, praise kink, electrostimulation, whipping, wax play.

Plot - Luca has been secretly diagnosed with stomach cancer and he's decided that he's leaving SWAT and leaving LA, but he doesn't intend on telling anyone who is in his life. Convince him to stay and give him some hope because he may or may not get the treatment to fight it.

~~~~

Luca removed his bag from his locker and discreetly began removing the contents of his locker piece by piece so no one would notice, sighing softly as he jammed a few pictures into one of the pockets before zipping up the pocket. In a few weeks he would be gone and no one would know where he would end up because truthfully, he didn't know where he would end up. And since he was off the next day, he was planning on going home and getting shit faced drunk. Do drunk that he wouldn't be able to walk, talk or even think.

[bookished]

( a collection of starters. adjust phrasing as necessary.) feel free to make edits to better suit your muse, but please don’t edit or add on to the original post 💛 if you like, please consider supporting me through tips

The old, leather-bound journal was found hidden under the floorboards of the abandoned mansion. Its pages contained cryptic messages and a map that seemed to lead to something of great value—or danger.

In a world where the stars can be plucked from the sky and turned into powerful talismans, a young orphan discovers a constellation that has never been seen before. It points to a destiny that could change the fate of the entire realm.

During the height of the Renaissance, a young artist discovers a hidden chamber in the heart of Florence. Inside, she finds sketches of inventions far beyond her time and a letter addressed to her, written centuries ago.

Two strangers meet on a delayed train during a snowstorm on Christmas Eve. As they share stories to pass the time, they realize they have more in common than they ever imagined—and that fate might have brought them together for a reason.

In a small, isolated village, people start to vanish without a trace. The only clue left behind is a symbol carved into the doors of their homes, a mark that matches ancient legends of a vengeful spirit.

In a future where emotions are controlled by the government, a young woman discovers an underground movement that aims to restore true feelings to humanity. She must decide whether to join them or stay in the safety of her regulated life.

Every night, a small café in the city transforms into a magical place where time stands still and dreams come to life. Only a select few know about its existence, and one day, an ordinary person stumbles upon it by accident.

A high school student finds an old camera at a garage sale. When they develop the photos, they see glimpses of the future. Now, they must navigate high school life while trying to change events they know are coming.

"I don't believe in coincidences, especially not ones involving missing people."

"You mean to tell me you've never seen a dragon before? Where have you been living, under a rock?"

"The prophecy spoke of a hero, but I never imagined it would be someone like you."

"This isn't just a piece of space debris; it's a message."

"Our planet was destroyed. We're the last survivors, and we need your help."

"Do you really believe the king will pardon us if we find the lost treasure?"

"She's a woman in a man's world, but she'll change history, mark my words."

"I didn't come here to fall in love; I came to find myself."

"Every letter I wrote to you, I wrote with my heart in my hand."

"That house has been abandoned for years. Why would anyone go inside willingly?"

"The shadows in this place…they move when you're not looking."

"There's a map, but it's missing the most crucial part—the key to decoding it."

"I've been to the highest mountain and the deepest sea, but I've never seen anything like this."

"Freedom is an illusion they sold us to keep us compliant."

"We've been living in a lie. It's time we uncover the truth."

"Every night at midnight, the old clock shop comes alive. Haven't you ever noticed?"

"They say the forest spirits grant wishes, but only to those who ask with pure intentions."

"I found this old diary in the attic, and it’s like it’s talking directly to me."

[twistedthings]

𝖔𝖕𝖊𝖓 𝖙𝖔: m/f/anyone 𝖕𝖑𝖔𝖙: brody's out here looking for any reason to start fighting people 🤷 but y/m break's it up. it's pretty vague so feel free to assume stuff or hmu to plot if you'd like. 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓:  ex/old fling, friend/fwb, bf/gf/so, person he's fighting or the person breaking up the fight, whatever works~

Always ready to fight Brody shifted his feet subconsciously into a more defendable position as the man he'd started shit with moved to shove against his muscular chest, sending him only a step back. Without missing so much as a beat Brody shoved the other back, a few choice words leaving his lips as he cussed the other out. "Don't fucking push me man, I'll knock you the fuck out," he warned hotly, blue eyes fierce as a smaller body moved between him and the other guy, seemingly to end their flight before it had truly started. He shifted on his feet, movements easy and experienced with a fight, hands clenching and unclenching as they hung at his sides.

[buryeden]

OPEN TO: any muse ! MUSE: wilder "will" buchanan, crime syndicate heir. bastard. jonathan bailey fc. PLOT/AU: any au. muse bg: wilder has taken over the buchanan organization as a displaced bastard, leaving him as the last one standing.

"Because I love you!" There's a silence that follows, a pause in their fervor that had pushed past the threshold of some displaced passion. An argument, notorious when he was in their company, was disrupted only by a claim— no, declaration. Wilder was certain, and his thought still raced around it leaving the quiet to hum and beg for the quiet to be filled. "And I won't take it back."

[neonvvaves]

. ݁₊ ⊹ open to anyone (M if romantic) . ݁₊ ⊹ connections: friend, heist teammate, male romantic interest, ally, found family, vigilante, neighbor, anything! . ݁₊ ⊹ Y/M was having a rough day (any reason of your choice), and contacts Davy for a ride.

/ / / ///////////////// "So, you got a place you want me to drive you to?" Like wired muscle memory, Davy shifts gears, and smoothly glides the car into the street. "Or should I drive wherever the road takes us?"

[delancey-asks]

Random crime fun fact.

Did you know there's a man by the name of Jack The Ripper who was known as an unidentified serial killer in Whitechapel, London? People suspect him to be a doctor or something of the sort due to him taking the kidney of a victim.

[godstrayed]

open.

“You possess an unnerving inclination toward self-destruction, with barely a flicker of instinct for survival. You waltz with the devil; only to wonder why your hands emerge charred and blistered, ignorant but aware to your own propensities.” It's not a professional assessment. Far from it. It's merely a curious observation he had spent time attempting to unravel. He is close but has not yet found that thread that will lead him to the end. “You're driving yourself headfirst to ruin, and I can only wonder why?”

[synsationss]

OPEN STARTER: ARNELLE.

“It’s a shame all the pretty girls end up alone for Valentines Day.”

[dcrknesshums]

open starter !! muse: casey morris, twenty six, she/her plot: casey is y/m's girlfriend, and also — though they don't know it yet — a serial killer. she is violently obsessed with y/m's ex girlfriend and is fully convinced y/m is still in love with her. she has gotten so obsessed to the point where she decided to quite literally kidnapped her and now has her tied up in their spare bedroom — surprise !! please do not like my starters !! open to: any !!

❛ are you seriously mad ?? ❜ casey drawled, folding her arms over her chest, the bedroom door behind her leading to where the other's ex-girlfriend was currently flailing against the chair casey had tied her too. she didn't think this was irrational, and it's not like she had killed her — not yet anyways. ❛ god, why are you acting all protective of her ?? she's fine. what are you, still in love with her or something ?? ❜

[officiallyossy-haywooddent]

August 29th.

This is a fanfic / open rp starter so it’s kinda long. The writing might not be great, sorry.

TW for child death, loss of a sibling, minor mentions of bad parenting, minor drug use, minor toxic relationship

Every year without fail the week of August 25 was maybe the worst week of Ossy’s life. Every year they’d go through the same calls, same arrangements, same people. It never changed, even if their life circumstances did. Every year they would end up with a crown of flowers and a box of Halloween candy, completely and utterly alone.

It had been the same when they were eight and had been flown home from camp to give their testimony to the police. It had been the same when they were twelve, reeling from the loss of their brother and best friend and so, so many others; lost and alone in the middle of New York.

It had gotten worse when Ossy was thirteen, their palm sliced open over a marble altar, clasped in the hand of their best friend somewhere in the wilderness of the Yukon. Being fifteen in Gotham would be no different.

—

August 25.

It began, the preparations; the prayers. They called Frank first. Ossy hadn’t talked to him in years when it had first happened, he’d left the island with his mother to live with his grandmother in Vancouver, and they’d drifted apart.

A three hours on the ferry was a long time to travel to see someone, it wasn’t like they’d been good friends. They’d been five and eight, quietly talking in the forest behind their school every couple of days. That was all, Ossy didn’t think they’d ever speak to him again.

Then came the second war. He was there; they weren’t. He stopped by the med bay, asked where they’d been. They answered. He’d talked with them for hours, but he would always have to leave.

Nevertheless Ossy picked up their phone, dialled his number. They let it ring, once, twice. They hung up. It wasn’t right to bother Frank nowadays, and he hadn’t really known her anyway. Most people hadn’t.

They ordered a bulk box of Halloween candy. It would arrive in two days. They wished it would never come.

—

August 26.

Ossy’d found a place that did rush flower arrangements. They ordered three flower crowns, one for them, two for her. The place they’d gotten it, Belle Flore, was this tiny shop in North Gotham that imported seeds from everywhere in the world and grew all the flowers in a grow room above the store. The clerk, a red-headed guy probably less than a year older than them named Rhys, had been nice about the whole thing, suggesting an arrangement of Pheasants Eye, Prince’s Feather, Baby’s Breath, and Buttercup.

The combination was odd but sweet, symbolic. Buttercup had been her favourite after all. The crowns would be done in three days, the 29th.

Ossy would pick it up in the morning, flowers were always better fresh.

They spend the rest of the day asleep. The tranqs they’d gotten from Peter were nice, though they’d had to ration them out. They’d told him 2 wasn’t gonna be enough.

-

August 27.

Ossy sleeps through the day. They don’t move, but it’s fine. They don’t need to. Sleep is quiet, calming. Hypnos must have taken pity of them, each dream is an altered memory of their life before everything, a kinder one.

-

August 28.

The phone rings five times before going to voicemail, their mums soft voice letting them know to leave a message and that she’d get to it in the morning. She wouldn’t, not when she saw the caller ID.

“Hey, mum. It’s me. I just wanted to say I’m sorry, and I’m..I’m doing something for the 29th. You can always join me, I’ll pay for your flight and everything.”

Ossy pauses, taking a shuddering breath. It’s been a while since they’ve cried properly.

“…I miss you. And Grandpa. I’m sorry..about everything.”

They hang up quickly, regretting every second of it. She’d just delete it when she saw it, she always did. They leave the message anyway.

The package with the candy arrives at the manor, nobody asks what’s in it. Ossy doesn’t know if anyone even noticed it arrive. They request the day off tomorrow from the Deli, Mr. Maroni approves it. He’s been nice since he found out about the mugging, probably thinks they’re still scared of doing the night shift. They are, but they wouldn’t tell him that.

The night roles around and they pop the second half of a tranq. They don’t know if they want to wake up in the morning, sleeping away the 29th doesn’t sound half bad. It would be mean though, she would never have done it. She didn’t sleep, it was genetic. The gene had skipped Ossy.

-

August 29.

At 5:30 AM they show up at Belle Flores, it’s the same clerk, Rhys. He quietly hands over a pastel blue box with a subdued smile. He knows what the crowns are for, they’d told him. It’s easier to talk to strangers about these things.

Ossy stops back at the manor, grabbing the cats before hopping on one of the busses. They need to get out of the city again. Sometimes Gotham, with its constant noise and soaring buildings, felt like a maze. This then made them the rat, trying to find its way out before getting zapped.

The concrete held an energy they could never quite get used too. Ossy missed the blue pine of the salmon and rain forests; trees so large and thick they muffled everything within their shade, where oceans crashed against the conifered cliffs of their piece of home. They’d stolen that line from John Vailant.

The bus pulled to a stop outside a rocky beach. The cats had been quiet for the ride, good travellers. Ossy realized she’d never gotten to meet them.

They set up camp on a fallen log near the tree line, setting up a fence so the cats could be let loose to roam. Two of the flower crowns were laid side by side, the third resting on their head. It was good work, better than either of them had ever been capable of.

Ossy sat there for a while, listening to old songs they had long forgotten the words to, taking two bowls and pouring them full of the candy. It was stale, but that didn’t really matter. Stel had always saved her Halloween candy until Easter. They ate quietly, watching the cats play fight.

Ossy wasn’t sure how long it took for them to break down but they’d like to think it was close to an hour, a respectable amount of time to hold vigil before they imploded.

It was stupid for them to think they’d escaped it, moved past it. Not her death, no, they could never get over that, but being alone each year.

Not even having a picture of the family together. It was starting to get to them. Ossy would never admit it but they were starting to forget her face. People had always said they’d looked similar. They could never believe it. Stel had been good, so much better than any of the rest of them. Ossy would never be sure how she came from a family like theirs. Truth be told, they weren’t even sure what they looked like anymore, but that had little to do with the comparisons.

Ossy pulled out their phone, dialling half the numbers in their phone before deleting each one. They didn’t want to feel the need to explain it all to anyone. Deanna had told them to stop over analyzing their emotions, it wasn’t actually a form of processing apparently.

Finally, they landed on someone they wouldn’t mind calling. The gnawing sensation in their gut growing ever stronger as the phone rang, the soft click of the receiver letting them know there wasn’t really a way back.

“Hey.”

[bluejeanbaby]

open to: f/nb/m

connection: exes, fwbs, whatever you see fit!

"It's hardly stealing. You left your keys in the car and I returned it. What? Do you want some fucking gas money too?" Colt rolled his eyes as he slid the other's keys towards them. "What are you going to call the cops?"

[renegadetulisrp]

Lunara - Interpol Agent 30+

Nate - ER Surgeon 40+

Jason - Club owner 40+

Adra - Teacher 30+

Carlos - Car Mechanic 40+

Elora - Student 20+

Savannah - Visual Artist 30+

Diego - Bounty Hunter 40+

Zach - Mob Boss 40+

Akira - Biochemist 20+

Alexander - Guitarist 25 - 30+ Ariaella - Baker 25-30+

**These are currently my babies with no active threads! Like for a starter from one of them. Specify muse if you want or I can just throw a random one at you! Please note that some of my muses here are asexual / demisexual so if you do want shippy things, we need to do some plotting / discussions.