Enjoy your stay.
Self correction, mass disection, Self-infraction.
I'll reply to starter tomorrow I'm too drunkhello

Vladimir Vadaldi

17 year old male with homicidal tendencies.

Welcome to the roleplay, Joey! You’ve been accepted to play Vladimir Vedaldi (Munro Chambers). Please send in your character’s account within the next 48 hours!

Character: Vladimir

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The following roles are now re-opened. As always, you are more than welcome to re-join, just as long as you are confident that you can stay active, or can explain why you may need a little time off.

I’m aware that the following people may wish to keep their characters. If you notice that some people that are inactive are’t on this list, it’s most likely because I’ve contacted them directly and they are excused.
I’m be away this week, so you have until Monday 14th to improve your activity. Strike-through means that your role is safe.

fuck-spencerquinn asked:
B11 for Spencer or if that's taken any of the bottom bunks by a window. Kelsie says B1 for Aden. P/Ty.

A2 - B11

A6 - B1

arthur-gustin asked:
I'd like B11, please.

Posting because I need to remind myself for later and make sure nobody else asks for the spot in the meantime.

A6 - B11.

write-on-walls asked:
Is there a most wanted female role?

It took me a while to narrow this list down, but I managed to list just three. Personally, I’ve recently been wanting to see Katrina Bates (Emilia Clarke), Annabeth Parker (Foxes/Louisa Allen) or Carson Madera (Felice Fawn). We also have a most requested tag which I’ll be updating soon, plus this ask. (:

- Alice xo

If anybody on the roleplay has been waiting to see a particular female character, let me know and I’ll add it to the list.

FC: Xavier Dolan || Sexuality: Gay || OPEN


The past isn’t something that Maxwell Lloyd often speaks about. However, this does not mean that he doesn’t dwell on it – silently and alone. He was always too proud to express any weakness, and his disorder was certainly something he considered to be weak. He didn’t feel embarrassed by the reason for his post-traumatic stress – no, that was something that, despite keeping to himself, he refused to feel any shame for, but it was something that he felt was personal, too close to heart to share with anybody else – even those who knew already.

Before being admitted to Backlist asylum, Max was a royal marine – something he’d worked hard for throughout the entirety of his life - had never lost passion for, even to this day. There was never a mission he’d shy away from or think twice about going out to accomplish. He let nothing hold him back, no nerves or fears, gut feelings or discomforts. That was, up until he was twenty-three years old. He’d only been a marine for just over six months, but after training, everything tended to move quickly, groups were kitted up and send out, brought back in again, recalled when they were needed and repeat, repeat, repeat. However, one thing that he failed to consider, was personal bonds.

He met a young man, Jude, who was close to his own age, plus just a year or two. He was good company, in more ways that perhaps Max would admit aloud anymore – mostly with the risk of making moving on harder, rather than shame, although that is what he felt at the time, when the two were no longer alone to fool around recklessly, but were out in the field, training, fighting, hiding, patrolling, whatever it may have been. Only after June had been killed, caught in a mine field, had Max realized how he’d taken him for granted. He sometimes wondered if, had he not been there, just a mere few feet behind to see his apparent love take the impact of the blow, land painfully on his back with large metal shards piecing his chest, neck and face, he’d still struggle to remember how he looked.

He was forced to continue his work, mainly patrolling, but when noises that weren’t actually there would cause him to sign for backup, or blooded faces that were, to anyone else, nowhere the be seen would take over his vision, pull screams from his chest and draw enemies to their location, he was given leave, deemed unfit to serve as a marine any longer. However, things only got worse at home, he’d see June’s face more –never clear and well, always bloody and torn- he’s hear the chillingly short bang of the explosion, would sit up in the night, shaking and wheezing. He was an only child and found himself living with his parents after a few days of attempting to continue his life alone. But after merely a week, his mother and father suggested that he went to Blacklist asylum for help, which he accepted without argument. All of his fight was gone.

FC: Josh Dun || Sexuality: UTP || OPEN


There’s no known cause or source of Toby’s disorder - his family can’t even pinpoint the time in which he began to show signs of DID - which most likely had something to do with their ignorance. ‘Donnie’ had been making appearances since Toby was as young as a middle school student. They believed it to be a phase for a long time, up until when his uncle Adam was released from a mental heath clinic at aged twenty-seven, Toby being twenty.

It only took the older man a matter of weeks -having moved in to live with the family until he found a place of his own- to realize that the way Toby acted was more than just a phase. During his time in the clinic, Adam had met people like Toby, and even studied with the doctors in his free time to learn more, and the disorder was instantly recognizable to him. He first noticed the young man’s attitude, going from a polite boy, never to speak out of place or forget his manners, relatively withdrawn but good company where it counted, to a witty, confident, chatty, charming young man. ‘Donnie’ wasn’t rude or overly cocky, but the new confidence as clear. It took a few episodes until he confronted his uncle — like it was a secret, ushering him into the otherwise empty kitchen as ‘Donnie’ to announce that “I’m not Toby, I’m Donnie. This body isn’t mine.”

The only problem was that, when he was confronted by his family about his disorder and need for help, Toby was puzzled. He had no memory of ‘Donnie’, although ‘Donnie’ remembered Tony, and it was a split second decisions when the family decided not to mention it again, noting the young man’s distress and confusion. But he still needed help. Just a few month later, his uncle found himself a job. A doctor at Blacklist Asylum for the insane. Toby trusted Adam like a brother, and so when the man offered him a place as a volunteer worker ‘just for some fun’, the young man was eager to oblige. He’d always loved to help and spend time with Adam. Little did he know that he was in fact there for treatment, his food spiked with medication and his lunch times in his uncle’s office being recorded for signs of any progress.

He still lives in the asylum and his uncle still gives him jobs to do around the asylum, mainly gardening work and simple cleaning chores, and Toby - being the clumsy, absent-minded man that he is - tends to do a terrible job, but Adam is not prepared to tell him the truth, but lets his nephew stumble his way around, clueless and useless.

FC: Simon Neil || Sexuality: Straight || OPEN


Press, money, luxuries; it’s all Zachary Greensmith Jr had ever known. His father, a wealthy surgeon was one of the most famous in the world and with him -along with his mother whom brought even more fame and money into the family as the aftermath of her teenage fame as a model, followed by her clothing line, made successful by her precious fame- raised Zach relatively responsibly considering their fortune, with no nannies or house sitters, no cheats or shortcuts. Despite their lifestyle, the family’s relationship was always genuine. He was raise a polite young man, never greedy or rude, never blinded by his wealth, despite the odd rough night with friends in dark clubs or modern bars.

Zach had a wife of his own by the time he was twenty-five years old; a funny, goofy, intelligent, attractive woman. Her name as Angela, was three years younger and the best thing to ever happen to him. However, the best thing was taken away when the worst struck. When the president fell ill, Zachary’s father’s services were requested. They attended the press conference as a family, he and his wife, his mother and father. Dr. Greensmith announced proudly that he’d be the one to operate on the president, expressed how flattered he was to be summoned for such an operation, and the family left together also. Of course, despite the intense security and safety procedures, there was always a risk.

Zachary was the first to take a bullet, straight through his brain. When he awoke, the doctors stressed that it was a miracle that the cheap metal that hit where it had, that they’d managed to save his brain and keep him alive and functional. Then the bad news came. The news that his wife, his mother, his father, had not had the same luck. All with a bullet in their heads, all dead and had been for days by the time he’d awoken. The doctor had offered his deepest condolences and Zach had chuckled in amusement and announced “I think you may have the wrong person, sir”.

Yet another few days prolonged until he was confronted again. The doctors had tried to explain his condition, how the bullet had damaged a certain part of his brain, used terms that he couldn’t get his head around, and he told them this, stressed that he should understand, because he was “Americas best surgeon” and the doctors had sighed in defeat after continuously trying to explain the man’s situation. Zachary had no memory of his old self, no memory of Angela or of being the son of a Zachary, no, he was the Zachary.

When he was sent to Blacklist Asylum, his condition improved no more. Some doctors took pity on him when the man misunderstood and convinced himself that he worked in the asylum. He was even given a white jacket and a name badge, told to “sleep in that patient’s room to supervise them through the night”. He not only believed himself to be the original Zachary Greensmith, but he was convinced that he was a doctor at Blacklist Asylum. He’d get confused when he saw people he was unfamiliar with, think they were the press. He’d wave and shake their hand, assume that they’d be in awe of him and would occasionally have further delusions of people stood outside, cameras in hands with the flash on; just small scraps of his missing past. He’d occasionally wake up in the morning and just remember, spend the day mourning the loss of his family, wander around in confusion, but ninety percent of the time, he was clueless. Doctor Greensmith; the friendly, funny, reliable surgeon. That was him.