#[scribbled notes]

[aprocessblog]

Love when random inspo strikes

[scene-iii]

if some form of yuu doesn't show up in ace's dream i'll speedrun a bake no hana animatic for dinah.

[wordpress-blaze-157764418]

numb little bug

I want to start this off by saying—loud and proud—I am a BIG believer in mental health treatment, medication, therapy, Reiki, moon water, yelling into the void... whatever it takes to feel okay again when you’re not.

That said, this is not a post about bashing meds. This is a post about finding the right ones—and the very real hell of wandering through the wrong ones like you're in the world's most depressing pharmacy-themed escape room.

For years, I was in and out of medication. I always had this mental image of the version of me I wanted to be—happy, light, energetic, sarcastic in a charming way (not the burnt-out feral goblin flavor). And for a while, I was that person. I was active, smiling, fun, present. A good mom, a good friend, a good me.

Then life did that thing it does. You know, where it sucker punches you and then asks why you’re crying.

Between COVID, burnout, isolation, and the thousand papercuts of adulthood, I slowly became a version of myself I didn’t recognize. Introverted became full-on hermit. I hated leaving the house. Hated even thinking about it. I was trapped in a cycle: Work. Home. Despair. Insomnia. Repeat.

And because life wasn’t spicy enough, I started drinking way too much and mentally berating myself for not “getting it together.” I thought, I used to be strong. I used to be fun. I used to laugh more. So, like any exhausted, overwhelmed, emotionally constipated healthcare worker, I went to the doctor.

We ran through the Greatest Hits: insomnia, panic attacks, depression, that “everything is wrong but I’m still somehow functioning” vibe. I’d always been high-strung, perfectionistic, a bit of a control freak (Type A, but make it spicy). Eventually I was tested for ADHD and autism—and surprise! My brain’s just a limited-edition collector’s item.

I left with a pile of prescriptions and a flicker of hope that maybe this was the start of getting myself back.

At first? Magic. I was sleeping. I wasn’t panicking. I didn’t care so much if the towels weren’t folded the “correct” way (and that’s saying something). But… I still wasn’t happy. I didn’t feel like me. I felt numb. And yeah, numb can feel like “better” compared to raw despair—but eventually, it’s just another prison.

New meds, new hope, same result.

I was exhausted no matter how long I slept. I was hiding in bed from my own life. I watched my dogs—who just wanted to play with me—lay by my bed like little furry emotional support sentinels. My kids needed me, and I couldn’t reach them from whatever fog I was buried in.

It got dark. Really dark. Like “do I even want to keep doing this?” dark.

I finally sat with my little cocktail of pills and wondered: what if part of what’s wrong is right here in this pile? SSRI after SSRI, they numbed me, but never healed me.

So I did what you’re not supposed to do (don’t be like me, seriously), and I stopped everything except my sleeping meds. Withdrawal was like fighting a demon in a Walmart parking lot with flip-flops on—but eventually, I surfaced. And something weird happened.

I started to feel… better.

But of course, life tossed another curveball and my anxiety and panic attacks came storming back in like they were late for a meeting. So I went back to the doctor, hat in hand, feeling like an idiot. Another SSRI. Round four. Spoiler: it did not fix me. I was back to dragging myself out of bed, missing out on life, watching time with my kids and dogs vanish into a medicated haze.

So yeah, I finally said, enough. We tried a different class—an SNRI this time, with Wellbutrin in the mix.

And then…

I. Woke. Up.

Like really woke up.

I felt rested without a pharmacy’s worth of pills. I cleaned my kitchen at 10 p.m. because I wanted to. I started talking with my kids again, asking questions about their lives and actually being present. I didn’t cancel plans last-minute. I walked the dogs. I got up the first time my alarm rang. I didn't feel like I was existing in some doomsday fog. I started living again.

The worst part of feeling good again is realizing how long you didn’t. How much you missed. How much of yourself you lost—and how alone you felt in that hollow space.

And I’ll be honest, I still wake up wondering if it’ll slip away again. If it’ll all fade back into the haze of too-much-and-not-enough.

Because here’s the truth people don’t talk about enough: not all meds work the same for everyone. SSRIs, SNRIs, tricyclics… it’s all trial and error. And error. And another error. And then maybe a win.

You think you’re doing everything right—taking your meds, seeing your doctor, checking all the boxes—and you still feel like a ghost in your own life. And worse, no one gets it. They don’t understand why you can’t just “come out,” or “go for a walk,” or “snap out of it.” They don’t understand the bone-deep shame of missing your kid’s milestones because you were too tired or anxious to get off the couch. They don’t get that you want to do things, but your brain has other plans—usually involving doom spirals or hiding under weighted blankets.

But if you’re in that space right now, let me say this: Don’t settle for half of you.

Keep going. Try the next thing. Advocate for yourself like your life depends on it—because sometimes, it really does.

I’m still on medication. I’ll likely always be. But now, I’m on the right ones. And for the first time in years, I feel like myself again.

Not numb. Not empty. Not just surviving.

Me. Whole. Here. Living.

And that… makes all the difference.

Source: numb little bug

[lavenders-fandom-elixirs]

Hey, so I was trying to read biohazard and it won’t lite me read the last chapter, I was wondering if you could tag me or something so I can read it if it’s not a huge bother for you. If not it’s fine I just want to know how it ends 🤣

*nervous sweating* I haven't finished it yet. I have a portion of the final chapter finished but I've had a hard time finishing it. I started that fic as a way to help me cope with the stress of the pandemic. I got to a job that was a lot better but I've not been the same since T-T. Writing anything has been hard but every time I look back at that fic it requires me to tap in to memories and emotions that are very hard to relive. I will happily tag you when I do finish it. I've actually started writing again and really looking at Biohazard again so I can pick it back up. I'm sorry I've left people hanging with it. x0x

[luna-mayham]

Just puttin a dnd concept character here c: Might become an OC.

Additional context for character:

Music and image that inspired all this:

[doctorsiren]

Oh Dipper, you would LOVE Chappell Roan

[goldensunset]

i love comparing pokédex entries for the same mon between different games bc almost all of them will be very brief, matter-of-fact, purely scientific without any first person pronouns or personal information about the author. and then you get to the legends arceus entries and laventon’s writing stuff like ‘ngl i still don’t understand this species’ ‘i tried petting this pokémon once and it bit me’ ‘i live in fear of this thing’ ‘man i miss galar. who said that’

[rueclfer]

piercer boyfriend touya who insists that he'll stay home while you go out with your friends and will stay up (despite your protests) for you to come home and help you get ready for bed.

he's expecting you to get home drunk. messy drunk. he's known you long enough to know that "just two drinks," is never. just. two. drinks.

he couldn't give less of a fuck about you sleeping in your makeup or wearing your outside clothes in bed, but trust that he will be cleaning those semi-healed piercings that he had done for you when you first started seeing each other.

tonight he's having trouble keeping you still.

"i wanna go to bed," you drunkenly mumble, squirming on the seat of the toilet and pulling away from his touch.

"not yet." touya responds, keeping your head steady with a gentle grip on your jaw, and with his other hand, dabbing a wound wash solution soaked q-tip across the shell of your ear.

your eyes trail down to where his hand makes contact with your face. you were an inch away from being able to bite down on the skin between his thumb and index finger and you knew it wouldn't be a proper night out if you didn't mildly annoy touya at least once.

"don't think about being a little shit right now," he breaks the silence.

you groan, "i still have to take off my makeup. just leave it, i'll clean them in the morning."

"who told you to get 3 piercings within a week?"

"stop it." you pout. "that was when i was blinded by love, i couldn't help it."

touya's focus turns to you, slightly tilting your head up to face him where you see a smirk grow on his lips.

"so it was love at first sight, huh?" he inches closer to you, almost grazing his lips against yours.

"or maybe it was the free piercings?"

a flash of annoyance crosses his face as he rolls his eyes, but the smirk doesn't leave. he closes the gap between you and firmly press his lips against yours. his hand slides down to the column of your neck. it pushes you back against the tank of the toilet, it takes the air out of you, and it leaves you feeling dizzy.

he pulls away and you're breathless for a moment as he presses a quicker and gentler kiss to your forehead and tilt your head to the side, finishing up with your right ear.

"can you help me take off my makeup too? and help me change into jammies?" you quietly murmur as the tip of your ears grow red.

"uh huh. anything else?" he breathes out a chuckle.

"never leave me and love me forever?"

touya would never admit it, but he loves it when you get like this after a few drinks. you're syrupy sweet, clingy, and knows exactly what you want. he can't help but feel a bit weak.

"done and done."

[duck-of-the-mob]

death note shitpost scribble he’s literally just a princess

[deerspherestudios]

Hi, so this is my first ask, I hope you are having a good day/night! I have a question: Yesterday you posted about mychael's handwriting, and that got me curious, what would Alma/Vida's handwriting be like? (Ooh and Atom's, too!) Have a good one!

Ahh it's a long time coming but Atom's handwriting is,,, well,,,

They're not the best with spelling. Or writing at all for that matter.

Bonus: Mychael’s handwriting OR Alma/Vida’s handwriting.

[brambeag]

cleaned up dis varric from a while back 😁

[cursedthing]

.was going to wait til we do more pride doodles but honestly be free our (mostly) aros

[aprocessblog]

I had a sudden vision on the way into work I had to actualize which was the idea of re-election campaign signs for Travis Hackett. So here it is.

(Kaylee obviously designed the sign on Canva at the local library and bought a few because Sheriff Hackett wasn’t going to, as he ran unopposed.)

[scene-iii]

Dinah “My day-to-day is monotone and I love having the freedom to explore new avenues in this world, if even this autonomy was ripped away from me I would surely wither” Yuu

and

Ace “My best friend brightens up when a new experience rears its head and I will do everything in my power to see that smile” Trappola

in Playful land

[lavenders-fandom-elixirs]

Hi Lavender! You haven't been on Tumblr for a while, hope you're doing ok! :)

>.> This was sent in a while ago. I'm sorry, Nons I haven't really been on tumblr at all so this was the first time in a while. I'm overall OK but it has been a struggle mentally off and on. Life stuff can already be a lot but man unpacking and processing trauma is a doozy. X.x

And Baldurs Gate....I've also been consumed by Baldurs Gate.

Thank you for checking in 💜

[brawltogethernow]

The Disco Elysium/Death Note fic I discovered I'd accidentally crafted myself into the perfect engine to write when it possessed me for five straight months (based off neproxrezi's excellent viral post) is finally done and posted.

A crossover formatted like a Disco Elysium bonus sidequest! Play as Harry Du Bois*,

*simulate watching a letsplay where the player selects slightly different choices than you would

and investigate who fatally struck Light Yagami with a Kineema Coupris! (It was you.)

PROJECT your latent bisexuality onto Light's corpse!

FLIRT with Touta Matsuda????

ENCOUNTER an exciting new cryptid! (shinigami)

And learn about the main event: The etymology of Elysium's alternate history version of pogs

[wordpress-blaze-157764418]

numb little bug

I want to start this off by saying—loud and proud—I am a BIG believer in mental health treatment, medication, therapy, Reiki, moon water, yelling into the void... whatever it takes to feel okay again when you’re not.

That said, this is not a post about bashing meds. This is a post about finding the right ones—and the very real hell of wandering through the wrong ones like you're in the world's most depressing pharmacy-themed escape room.

For years, I was in and out of medication. I always had this mental image of the version of me I wanted to be—happy, light, energetic, sarcastic in a charming way (not the burnt-out feral goblin flavor). And for a while, I was that person. I was active, smiling, fun, present. A good mom, a good friend, a good me.

Then life did that thing it does. You know, where it sucker punches you and then asks why you’re crying.

Between COVID, burnout, isolation, and the thousand papercuts of adulthood, I slowly became a version of myself I didn’t recognize. Introverted became full-on hermit. I hated leaving the house. Hated even thinking about it. I was trapped in a cycle: Work. Home. Despair. Insomnia. Repeat.

And because life wasn’t spicy enough, I started drinking way too much and mentally berating myself for not “getting it together.” I thought, I used to be strong. I used to be fun. I used to laugh more. So, like any exhausted, overwhelmed, emotionally constipated healthcare worker, I went to the doctor.

We ran through the Greatest Hits: insomnia, panic attacks, depression, that “everything is wrong but I’m still somehow functioning” vibe. I’d always been high-strung, perfectionistic, a bit of a control freak (Type A, but make it spicy). Eventually I was tested for ADHD and autism—and surprise! My brain’s just a limited-edition collector’s item.

I left with a pile of prescriptions and a flicker of hope that maybe this was the start of getting myself back.

At first? Magic. I was sleeping. I wasn’t panicking. I didn’t care so much if the towels weren’t folded the “correct” way (and that’s saying something). But… I still wasn’t happy. I didn’t feel like me. I felt numb. And yeah, numb can feel like “better” compared to raw despair—but eventually, it’s just another prison.

New meds, new hope, same result.

I was exhausted no matter how long I slept. I was hiding in bed from my own life. I watched my dogs—who just wanted to play with me—lay by my bed like little furry emotional support sentinels. My kids needed me, and I couldn’t reach them from whatever fog I was buried in.

It got dark. Really dark. Like “do I even want to keep doing this?” dark.

I finally sat with my little cocktail of pills and wondered: what if part of what’s wrong is right here in this pile? SSRI after SSRI, they numbed me, but never healed me.

So I did what you’re not supposed to do (don’t be like me, seriously), and I stopped everything except my sleeping meds. Withdrawal was like fighting a demon in a Walmart parking lot with flip-flops on—but eventually, I surfaced. And something weird happened.

I started to feel… better.

But of course, life tossed another curveball and my anxiety and panic attacks came storming back in like they were late for a meeting. So I went back to the doctor, hat in hand, feeling like an idiot. Another SSRI. Round four. Spoiler: it did not fix me. I was back to dragging myself out of bed, missing out on life, watching time with my kids and dogs vanish into a medicated haze.

So yeah, I finally said, enough. We tried a different class—an SNRI this time, with Wellbutrin in the mix.

And then…

I. Woke. Up.

Like really woke up.

I felt rested without a pharmacy’s worth of pills. I cleaned my kitchen at 10 p.m. because I wanted to. I started talking with my kids again, asking questions about their lives and actually being present. I didn’t cancel plans last-minute. I walked the dogs. I got up the first time my alarm rang. I didn't feel like I was existing in some doomsday fog. I started living again.

The worst part of feeling good again is realizing how long you didn’t. How much you missed. How much of yourself you lost—and how alone you felt in that hollow space.

And I’ll be honest, I still wake up wondering if it’ll slip away again. If it’ll all fade back into the haze of too-much-and-not-enough.

Because here’s the truth people don’t talk about enough: not all meds work the same for everyone. SSRIs, SNRIs, tricyclics… it’s all trial and error. And error. And another error. And then maybe a win.

You think you’re doing everything right—taking your meds, seeing your doctor, checking all the boxes—and you still feel like a ghost in your own life. And worse, no one gets it. They don’t understand why you can’t just “come out,” or “go for a walk,” or “snap out of it.” They don’t understand the bone-deep shame of missing your kid’s milestones because you were too tired or anxious to get off the couch. They don’t get that you want to do things, but your brain has other plans—usually involving doom spirals or hiding under weighted blankets.

But if you’re in that space right now, let me say this: Don’t settle for half of you.

Keep going. Try the next thing. Advocate for yourself like your life depends on it—because sometimes, it really does.

I’m still on medication. I’ll likely always be. But now, I’m on the right ones. And for the first time in years, I feel like myself again.

Not numb. Not empty. Not just surviving.

Me. Whole. Here. Living.

And that… makes all the difference.

Source: numb little bug

[plipple]