As most of you guys know, the mods, and almost everyone else here, has pretty much taken a hike… and in a nonrp-esque way. So we’re sort of becoming an anrach and branching off from the original Masterlist!

As stated in rule 2:

“Activity checks will be done at the end of every two weeks. If you’ve been inactive for three you get a warning, four weeks and you’re out.”

The mods have definitely been gone longer than that, and we were basically running ourselves anyways! So we are starting fresh. I’m not sure what we’re going to do with these accounts then? We can either make new ones and leave these or delete whatever is on here currently? Or something else, it’s still up for discussion! But well try to discuss on AIM or TinyChat or something. :x

Anywho, please save the link to the new masterlist! (And if you’re interested in being an admin/mod, please tell us.)

((hey guys sorry for not posting or being on any messengers but my keyboard is broke and writing with my tablet is a pain. :( I thought I’d already have a new one by now but I guess not! But yeah, that’s why I’m not on lately! ono))

5sensecamper:

If she had any humor left in her she would have made a show of pouting at this, but she didn’t so she just kind of grunted at the squeeze and kept hidden. After a couple minutes of this, breathing in the same hot, pukey air over and over got nauseating and didn’t help the headache at all. She was forced to resurface. Moving her head made it worse, too, and so did keeping it still. “Ugh, come on,” she mumbled, flatly. “Not even a little? My forehead is still probably a little soft from yesterday, it would just take a tap…” 

It had been so easy last night, when everything was warm and nice, to drift off into a thick black sleep. Now she was simply too ill to be comfortable and just kind of laid there, barely blinking, longing for her mother’s calming embra-

She tensed.

“My mom is going to kill me.” 

This was a deeply upsetting thought.

She suddenly goes tense, so you shush her quietly, ignoring her wishes to be hit in the head again. Getting drunk at summer camp was probably not something any mother would want, but you’re sure no murders will be taking place when/if she finds out. 

“Nauh, you’ll be fine. She might get a little mad, I know my dad will, but it was just a stupid thing that happened. She’ll forgive you!”

Then again you don’t know that! Terezi’s mom could be really strict or mean or something. Or just rule oriented? It would make sense why she seemed to hold the law so highly! Not that you don’t of course, but she seems passionate about it.

(Source: johnscampinglog)

5sensecamper:

She was still freezing and shaking pretty bad, and even though the warm hands made her feel a little better physically she felt herself struggle to keep in something else entirely. Why did she suddenly want to cry? She wasn’t the emotional type, but this camp had beating the crap out of her since day one. Oh, wait. That was why.

She had begged and pleaded to come here, alone. She spent months convincing her grandparents. She knew she was up to it. She wasn’t a little blind kid anymore, she would say. She could do it. She was an independent adult.

An independent adult who was battered and bruised from not being able to control her temper, in bed sick from making stupid decisions, making messes for this poor near-stranger to clean up as he watched over her like a mother hen, and having the nerve, the fucking nerve, to want to cry over it. 

She buried her face in the blanket and, though her aching body and mind begged her not to entertain such a stupid idea, cleared her throat. She had to get her mind off this bullshit somehow. Time to strike up conversation. 

“This is the worst,” she said, slow and hoarse, “literally the worst. At least with the eyes thing I wasn’t really there…” Wait, that was morbid. “Do you see any blunt objects around to knock me over the head with?” That wasn’t funny, actually. That sounded pretty damn swell. Fuck.

You frown deeply at her, “Terezi, no one is getting their head knocked on, okay? Just give your body time to recover from the alcohol. We just won’t be doing that again like… ever. Cause it really kind of sucked a lot.”  

You give her an awkward little squeeze of comfort with the arm still around her. You don’t do it too hard… you’d prefer no barf on you. She seems really sick, she probably just needs sleep, food, water. All those things they talked about in health class but never really thought you’d use… or at least not this soon.  

Your dad would be so upset with you right now. He might bake a “I’m disappointed in you, son” cakes. Those were always the worse. They’d always be really dry or have strawberry frosting, which you found really gross. And then he’d make you eat it all. The thought alone makes your stomach hurt more. 

You suppose he’d at least give you credit for trying to help your friend. You don’t seem to be doing much good. 

Alcohol is bad and Eridan will pay. Well, you’ll yell at him and never let him talk you into it again. That sounds good. 

(Source: johnscampinglog)

5sensecamper:

The retching fit went on for a little while even after she had nothing left. Even so, she wasn’t sure if she appreciated this kid putting his hands all over her clammy face but she wasn’t in any condition to comment on it. After, she didn’t feel a whole lot better. Now she was really cold, teeth chatteringly so, and dehydrated and weak and even more convinced that a possum had crawled into her mouth and died while she was sleeping. 

She carefully just laid down where she was, defeated, on top of John and clinging to the edge of the mattress for dear life. For a while, she was unable to say anything over the shivers and shakes and automatic swallowing. She mumbled a garbled apology as soon as she could, but it was hard to make out exactly what words were said.

You move you both over slightly so Terezi doesn’t fall of the edge of the bunk bed, but don’t push her off you, just in case she needs to toss her cookies again. wipe her mouth with your sleeve, and slowly crease your hand motions on her back. 

“It’s ok,” You mumble at her apology, closing your eyes. The light is making your head scream. “Er, do you need anything?” 

(Source: johnscampinglog)

5sensecamper:

Even though he was being careful, his getting in bed felt like being trapped in a storm on a dinky boat. She had to grit her teeth and tense up more to keep from losing it right then and there. She breathed shallowly and waited for it to wear off but it didn’t. In fact, it was getting worse. Oh. Ohgod.

Uncoiling and throwing off the covers as fast as she could, blind and deaf from the high pitch whistling sound going off in her swimming head, she felt around desperately for the edge of the bed. It was up against the wall so the only option was to halfway scramble over John so she could swing her head over the side and loudly splatter stale liquor all over the cabin’s adorable all-wood floor.

You scrunch you nose at your friend vomiting. You wish to pat her back, but you aren’t sure if that would just make it worse. On the other hand, puking is good. It means she’s getting the alcohol out of her system. So that’s what you do… and attempt to hold her hair back. It’s kind of hard at this angle. 

Words of encouragement would be appropriate if not for the fact that sound is suppose to be kept to a minimum…

You’re probably going to have to clean the mess up latter.    

(Source: johnscampinglog)

5sensecamper:

Saying it was okay would be a lie, because nothing was okay, so she kept quiet. After a little while, the added pain from his yapping subsided and she laid there hoping the rest would leave too. It didn’t.

Still, after about 10 minutes she realized his breathing could still be heard at her side. He hadn’t left. Even though it was the opposite of what she thought she wanted, his company was strangely soothing to her. She hated him and everything else with every fiber of her being, but there was something about not being alone that made her relax. 

She groped around for the edge of the blanket and threw it back, inviting him to lie down. “Get in really carefully,” she mumbled.

You perk up immediately, though the sudden rise of your head gives you another wave of nausea. You slowly slide onto Terezi’s bed, trying not to bump into her in case she feels really sick.

Lying down feels a lot better than kneeling, and with someone next to you it’s even better. What can you say, humans are pack animals. They need other people. You need other people.   

You just hope you aren’t pushing Terezi. You aren’t meaning to intrude, just getting up seemed like a horrible idea. It took a lot for you to stumble over here in the burning sunlight. But you hope she didn’t think you were just… creeping or something. You have no idea what you’re thinking right now. You really should just stop.

“Thanks, Terz.” you whisper gratefully.  

(Source: johnscampinglog)

5sensecamper:  

Shivering in agony and letting out a constant “Uuuuuuuuuhhhhhhggggg” for the entire duration of John’s whining, Terezi was fairly certain she was going to die. And she could not fucking wait. She wasn’t able to see so her ability to feel sensitive in the hearing department was raised tenfold. “John, shut up.” She choked, almost in tears. On top of all the hurting, she was acutely aware of this, as well as how greasy and muddy and rashy and sweaty she must look. This was an awful strange time to start being ashamed of her appearance. “Please, please, please just shut the fuck up…!” 

You close your mouth immediately, feeling really bad. Well, emotionally worse. You already felt physically shitty. 

“Sorry,” you whisper very softly. 

You aren’t sure what to do. You obviously didn’t have it as bad as Terezi- which made sense, since you really didn’t drink that much. It has just hit you quicker because of all the sugar in your system. 

What is it even like to be drunk and blind? What is it like to be blind with a hangover? 

You feel obscenely guilty now. You try to think of something that would make her feel better, but you can’t think of anything because thinking just hurts right now, so you just stay quiet. 

(Source: johnscampinglog)

5sensecamper:

She groaned, tucking herself into a little bit tighter of a ball and groaning louder from doing it. This was the worst she could ever remember feeling, she wasn’t in shock or detached in any way from the thousand and one things ailing her. She swallowed thickly and checked over the grocery list she had made in her head of things that sucked right now to make sure she wouldn’t do anything that would result in more pain or a messy cleanup. This was making her head hurt more, so she stopped. It felt like there were huge crowds of loud, pushy people wearing something between tap shoes and cleats trying to shove her eyes out of their sockets, and she would love to take them out to alleviate the pressure but that would require moving and that just wasn’t going to happen.

It was a long while before she responded in English, and even then just barely: A low, gravely croak of a “No.”

“But everything hurts. My head is all spinny. Please?” You kneel down beside her bunk, laying your pulsing head at the end of her mattress.

You need to share your pain with someone. You don’t know how else to deal with it. Maybe this isn’t normal after-drinking protocol, but how would you know? You’ve never gotten drunk before!

“That was horrible. Never doing that againnnnnnn!” You moan.    

(Source: johnscampinglog)