droovey

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oh hey i forgot i even had this blog

i might start using it again for stuff

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me: can't focus because deadline pressure isn't high enough

me one week from now: can't focus because deadline pressure is too high

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me: writes one sentence of what’s supposed to be a 4-6 page research paper me: whew! good job, me! better take a break!

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The picture on the top left is the original that I drew. Everything else is thanks to my love of photoshop filters. This drawing and all its brothers and sisters are a Valentine's day gift to my perfect gf, but feel free to snatch them and use them for your own valentine! Happy Valentine's day, baby!

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Written for the lovely, wonderful, amazing toast and her birthday. I hope you enjoy it, darling!

If there had ever been a day in Sebastian Castellano's life where he had considered events normal, it had not been since his return from his adventures at Beacon Mental Hospital. Certainly, they had never included a three-bedroom apartment situated in the center of Krimson City, filled with characters straight out of his personal nightmares. The whirlwind of events that had led him, Joseph, Leslie, Kidman, and the slithering apparition of his hellish nemesis, Ruvik, to reside in the same space still made his head spin. But here he was, waking up in his room with-- Someone laying on top of him? The detective blinked a few times to clear his vision and focused in on the head of white-blond hair resting against his chest. One arm was slung over his ribs and a lanky leg was nudged precariously between his own. One sudden jerk of a knee would make this a very bad morning. But for some reason, out of all of them, Leslie never seemed to have nightmares; he slept like a damn rock. And in Sebastian's room more often than not, although he had his own. No one ever questioned it, though-- they all understood the desire to feel protected after what they had been through, and for Leslie, Sebastian had always been that icon of fortitude and strength. Still, that knee made him nervous. He tried, at first, to roll the boy off of him, pivoting on his side to try and slide him off, but as sound asleep as Leslie was, his grip was strong. His fingers curled into Sebastian's shirt, as if letting go would equate to being shaken away into another world. Falling back into position, Sebastian let out a tired grunt and settled for reaching a hand down to move Leslie's knee to a slightly safer position. His head hit the pillow with a soft poof and his eyes slid toward the clock by his bed. The glowing red numbers read 5:26. No wonder Leslie was knocked out. He still should have been asleep. He couldn't remember what had woken him, but he had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with-- "Ruvik!" The shout was sudden, angry, and not directed entirely at nothing. The flickering image that stayed with him even after the disaster at the hospital was over was suddenly there, hovering over his bed. There had never been an explanation as to why Ruvik manifested into a ghostly figure and continued to haunt their group, but Sebastian knew it had something to do with Leslie. As if on instinct, his arm half-curled around the sleeping boy. "...Breakfast." It was a single, low sound that made even the blessed event of morning food seem sinister and uncertain. Sebastian responded with an open hand swinging toward the apparition. Ruvik's image swayed like mist with the lazy blow and immediately dissipated entirely-- --just as the bedroom door opened to a much friendlier face. "Seb, wake up! It's time for breakfast." Warm brown eyes scanned the scene as Joseph leaned in through the doorway. He didn't bother asking questions about Leslie's placement in the room, and instead just fixed his partner with a disproving stare. "Are you going to sleep all day?" "What are you--?" Confused, tired eyes trailed back to the alarm clock. 9:26. He hadn't read wrong before-- and had the distinct feeling someone was fucking with him. He instantly dumped Leslie off and jumped out from under his covers. "I'm gonna destroy that bastard," he grumbled as he stalked past the apartment's resident chef. Left with a suddenly-wakened, startled mental patient, Joseph only let out a weary sigh. He waited for the confused noises from Leslie to subside and the other man to extract himself from the bed and follow his lead out into the kitchen. The apartment wasn't huge, and when tensions were high-- which was often, with Ruvik constantly hounding both Leslie and Sebastian-- it seemed even smaller. However, when food was on the table, everyone tended to settle a little. As far as Joseph was concerned, he would keep the table constantly filled, if he could. "Wait your turn!" A scathing look was sent toward a reaching hand, and Kidman's fork came down to whack Sebastian's knuckles as he tried to snatch a piece of bacon out from under her. "Never know if you're gonna eat it all. Pig," Sebastian muttered under his breath. He clearly hadn't meant for her to hear the comment, but she caught him in that cold look of hers nonetheless. God, he hated that look. "It's not like you need any more food." And with that, she moved on to the stove, where the eggs and potatoes still sat hot in their pans. "You are getting fat," a voice suddenly whispered in the detective's ear. Sebastian jolted only slightly as Ruvik's ghost appeared behind him, smiling. At least, he was fairly certain it was supposed to be a smile-- it looked more like a malicious grimace to him. "And you're getting on my nerves. Don't you have to feed your spider or something?" Sebastian's nose curled vaguely at the notion. "You leave her out of this!" If wisps of smoke could promote emotion, the air left behind as Ruvik vanished would have seemed surly. Whether he was going to sulk somewhere in a corner or actually take care of the pet he had saved from nearly being destroyed beneath Sebastian's boot on the second day of his arrival-- Sebastian really didn't give a crap. Not when there were potatoes to be handled. "Leave her, leave her..." The quiet, never pointless ramblings of Leslie came as a murmured undertone while he shuffled into the kitchen directly behind Joseph. "Leave her." "Yeah, yeah," Sebastian muttered, as if the words meant something to him-- after following Leslie through hell and high water, they did on some level that even Sebastian himself couldn't really explain. As the patient sat himself at the table, he crossed the small room and set the plate he had building up in front of him. "No eggs, right?" "No eggs," Leslie agreed-- although no one in the room (save Sebastian's interpretation of his understanding of the mutterings) really knew if he was agreeing or just repeating. "No eggs." One, large hand came up to ruffle the pale locks with casual affection before the detective went to fix his own plate. Tucked away in Leslie's room, where he spent most of his time, Ruvik crouched in a corner where a large spider's web clung to the walls. The arachnid itself was settled in the center, seemingly content with its company. It-- she, as Ruvik insisted-- watched as the ghostly figure worked away at his task. A smile, a real one, curled across his scarred lips as another piece of food crumbled beneath his fingers Out in the kitchen, Sebastian could be heard actively accusing Kidman of stealing the last piece of bacon.

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Not only one little lady, but two: Amy Sullivan and Molly The Golden Retriever, from John Dies At The End by David Wong.

Amy is an incredible character - a girl who survived so much shit, but doesn’t give her agency up; a girl with a titanium rod in her spine and an amputated hand who is the bravest person on the books; a girl who saves the day without having to become ~one of the boys~ or stop feeling fear, like so many female characters are made to in order to show they’re tough now. I love her.

And Molly is a golden retriever who sometimes floats or comes back to life from the dead.

I love John Dies At The End.

fave lady a day

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new game

go to a random wikipedia article and replace the first noun of the first sentence with “My gender”.

"My gender is a heavy metal compilation album by various artists, released as a heavy metal tribute album to Frank Sinatra."

"My gender is an extensible, modular, component-based C++ simulation library and framework, primarily for building network simulators."

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Do u ever wonder if, in a few decades, memes will be featured in history textbooks? As a part of history and internet culture? Bc if my descendents even have to so much as read the words “skeleton” and “war” together I’m coming out of my grave to fuck shit up

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(shakes head) You come into MY house, you tell me MY favorite characters are heterosexual…

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a very complicated recipe!

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The Order: 1886 introduces Nikola Tesla (concept arts)

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whats the worst that could happen

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I think tumblr has left a lot of us emotionally stunted. This is a great community for empowerment, catharsis, or coping, but those things aren’t recovery in and of themselves. Comparatively, they’re easy when compared to the painful self-reflection and real-world scenarios you’ll have to encounter on the road to true recovery. Not only does Tumblr not focus enough on recovery, but there’s almost a disdain here for the very notion.

There’s a lot of time spent validating everything. “Your symptoms are valid! Your responses are valid! Your depression is valid! Your coping is valid!” Well, yeah, all that stuff is definitely valid, and understanding that is important step in recovery, but it’s certainly not the final step. All that stuff is valid in the same way a baby chewing on a teething ring is valid, and there’s nothing to be embarrassed about if your recovery is still in its infancy, but Tumblr almost encourages you to stay there, to never grow out of it.

There’s a difference between what’s valid and what’s healthy, what’s best for you. I recently saw a post that validated people who stay in their room all day. Is that a valid response to anxiety? Sure. Is it a healthy response? Hell no, and there isn’t a person on Earth who can convincingly make the argument that the best thing you can do for your anxiety is to never leave your room.

Or how about those “how to care for a _________” posts? They’ve got some great tips there, and a lot of what they say is true, but you cannot reasonably expect people to coddle your issues, insecurities, or self-perceived inadequacies. Your recovery has to come from you. It has to be a difficult decision you make with yourself and carry through with because you need it. Your recovery can’t come from hoping other people will validate you.

No one should be ashamed of where they are in their recovery process, but there’s also no reason why you should be in the same place with your issues as you were in 2010.

Your final goal is not validation. It isn’t empowerment. It isn’t finding a way to get through the day. It isn’t being comfortable with your problems, nor is it accepting that they’ll never go away. The final goal is health. The final goal is happiness. The final goal is contentment. The final goal is recovery.

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If you think this is a joke then you’re not in college yet.

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writhing pile of cat children. disgusting

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A lot of people are posting about Five Nights at Freddy’s but I think we’re all missing the most fucked up part of this God Forsaken game.  

For 5 nights of work, six hours each, with a job description that basically amounts to “Don’t die at the hands of a bunch of deranged Chuck E Cheese character knock offs” 

They pay you $120

For the most stressful, life-threatening 30 hours of your life

They pay you one hundred and twenty dollars

You are making four dollars an hour