#if someone has written a fanfiction like this

[cocrante]

Will trying to flirt with Nico, but no one flirts like Nico does, and Will always feels like he's falling in love for the first time.

Believe me, Nico's got skills (and he’s got Dante, Catullus and D'Annunzio as his teachers)

[wildechildwrites]

Run, Rabbit

König/Reader

Wordcount: 3.8k

Warnings: 18+, Violence, Injury, Smut, lightly noncon but in the way that you're fighting it but are down, König being insane

No use of Y/N

Summary: You're on a solo mission in Romania, and König goes hunting

A/N: "Oh look another predator/prey coded Konig fic how original" SHUT UP I KNOW

AO3: Run, Rabbit

18+

You’re in the forests of Romania on a solo mission, snooping around an abandoned military base that’s been the location of some suspicious activity, according to your sources. You find the ghost of the for-hire group Kortac in rat-chewed maps and files, faint footprints in layers of dust, but the trail has long gone cold, the building slowly being reclaimed by nature. The trees show no sign of the changes of autumn, but it's in the air, the late summer whisper of a chill in the breeze. You take your time picking your way along the overgrown roads, enjoying the tranquility of the forest. The extraction point is ten clicks west of your position, but you’re content with your steady pace, the sun still high in the sky, shining brightly through the thick foliage, and the hike is an easy one. Your meager findings are carefully folded in your bag of gear, your gun snug on your hip. Ten meters to your right, a red deer raises its head up, watching you warily, before bolting away into the trees. You smile to yourself and raise your face to better feel the sun. 

You hear the crack of the shot and drop, but not quickly enough. Your ears ring, your shoulder burning agonizingly, like someone’s pushing a hot poker against it. You fight against the nausea and pain, willing yourself to move, scrambling into the brush for cover. The shot came from your six, and you grapple for your binoculars, trying to locate the shooter on the hill above you. You recognize the mask first, the bleached tear tracks down an executioner's hood, the hulking form of the figure wearing it unfortunately familiar. König is standing casually, seemingly unafraid of any return of fire, staring down like he can see you through the trees. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle instinctually as he begins to move, a sauntering pace down the hill like the slow lope of a wolf. You drop down again, ignoring the pain in your shoulder as you crawl through the underbrush. 

Nestled low on a hill, large body half buried in the underbrush, König watches you through the scope of his rifle, toying with the idea of killing you. He recognizes you from the files he’s seen on the 141, but there was nothing left at the base for you to find, no reason to draw suspicion and attention back here. You were harmless like this, and magnetic, head tilted towards the sun, your face lit up in a wash of gold light that plays up the color of your hair. His finger brushes lightly across the trigger as he contemplates his options. He rolls his neck loose before glancing through his scope again.

You stop behind a small boulder, pressing your back to it, breathing heavily, and pull your radio off of your hip. “Bravo Six, this is Bravo Seven Four, over.” 

The crackle of the radio is a relief, Price’s voice faint but firm. “Go ahead Bravo Seven Four, over.” 

“Enemies one; direction east of my grid two hundred meters, injury sustained, six clicks out of extraction point, over.” You peek out from behind the rock, but can't see anything, so you continue your crawl, waiting for a response. The birds have stopped singing, a deadly quiet that warns of danger.

“Stay calm Bravo Seven Four–” Price’s voice is cut off by the sound of another bullet whizzing near you. You can’t have your radio giving away your position, and the squad is too far away to reach you before König could. You grab your radio and quickly press the button. 

“Bravo Six, silence, meet at extraction, over.” You turn it off, not waiting for a response, and tuck it back into your belt. Ignoring the growing burning in your shoulder, you move as quickly through the underbrush as you can. You need to cover more ground if you’re going to make it out of here, so you weigh your options, propping yourself into a low crouch, scanning the woods behind you. You can’t see or hear anything. You inhale deeply, then break into a sprint.

The cracking of branches is faint, but König is listening for it, his rifle slung over his shoulder as he searches for you. He immediately changes directions, moving towards the noise and quickening his pace. If you want to run, he’s more than happy to indulge you, relishing the adrenaline of the chase. Your trail is clear, broken branches like a beacon beckoning him closer. He spots blood on one of the low boulders, and swipes it up on his gloved hand, smiling under the mask. 

You're hyper aware of your disadvantage, the sounds of snapping branches as your pursuer draws closer, the sluggish flow of blood down your shoulder from where the bullet grazed you. Your lungs burn, head woozy as you run hard, branches scraping at your form. You risk a look over your shoulder, searching for König behind you, and your heart drops when you miss a step. 

All of a sudden, you're falling, hands stretched out in front of you as you tumble down a steep hill. You hear and feel the snap of your ankle in your boot, a whimpering sob yanked from your chest as you finally land heavily in some thorn covered bushes, branches scratching your body even through the thick fabric of your uniform. You pull yourself out, ignoring the pain as thorns drag against your face, drawing blood, then scan yourself quickly, the prognosis bleak. You can't run, not with what is definitely a broken ankle, and your shoulder is still oozing freely, but you won’t go down without a fight. You drag yourself through the dirt using your good arm, stopping periodically to listen to the sounds of König moving through the trees. Your entire body burns, and you fight against the growing fatigue that’s threatening to overwhelm you, trying to hold onto your quickly waning adrenaline. 

The sound of breaking branches draws nearer. He’s moving faster, heavy footfalls that make your leg muscles twitch with the urge to run. König whistles, high and loud, and you reach for your gun, cocking it as quietly as you can, turning around to face the direction of the noise, crouching low. Your heart pounds in your chest, fear creeping in, the weight of your situation crashing down on you.

“I heard you cry out,” a voice rings through the trees. There's something light in König’s tone, like this has all been a game of tag. “You can't be too far.”

Then the only sound is the breeze, rustling in the leaves. Blood from a cut on your forehead drips into your eye, and you resist the urge to wipe it away, scanning your surroundings as best you can without moving.

The unwelcome feeling of the muzzle of a gun presses against the side of your head, and your body shudders involuntarily. 

“Drop your weapon, Häschen,” König murmurs. You comply immediately, tossing it at his feet, unwilling to argue with a Beretta at your temple. The large man quickly kicks your gun into the bushes. “Sit up,” he commands, and you move slowly, trying not to aggravate your broken bone. 

The small shack hasn’t been used in a while, the table in the center of the room is covered in dust, and spiders have made their home in the corners, spinning silvery streamers that hang down, brushing against his helmet. König places you lightly on the small bed in the corner, stooping over uncomfortably in the low room. Your hair is full of sticks and leaves, your face scraped and bleeding. He needs to look at your shoulder, and the ankle you’d been hovering over protectively, but work comes first. You’ve thrown him off, his fingers tingling where he held you to him, the phantom pressure of your head on his chest as he carried your unconscious body through the woods haunting him even now. He grabs your gear bag, dumping it unceremoniously onto the table, pulling your medkit to the side before rifling through the papers you’d found. The information was outdated, but he shoves the papers into one of the pockets of his pants for disposal later regardless.

You knew he was large, but kneeling at his feet he feels like a goliath, towering over you, the gun held in his grip looking comically small in his giant hands. He holsters it, and you get a stupid, moronic, brilliant idea. In a quick motion, you’ve ripped your radio off of your belt, pressing down on the button and bringing it to your lips. “MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY–” König slams the heel of his palm into the back of your head, and the world goes dark.

He doesn’t bother stripping you properly, just takes his knife and slices it up through the collar of your shirt, baring your shoulder to him. His eyes, unbidden, trace the line of the now exposed column of your throat, and he swallows loudly in the quiet of the room. König draws his attention back to your injury with some difficulty. He barely even grazed you, the puckered wound bleeding sluggishly, and he quietly gloats at his own aim. When he pours alcohol on it, you awaken with a hiss, throwing your arm out hard in his direction reflexively before your brain catches up with you. He deflects you easily, wrapping large fingers around your wrist, enjoying the feeling of the delicate bones, watching with silent smugness as your confusion reads clear on your face. 

“Guten tag,” he says, pleasantly casual, as though you’ve run into him at the grocery store. Your head is pounding, and you’re thrown, trying to grasp your surroundings. Your shoulder is burning, and you’re suddenly aware of the air on your bare skin. You rip your hand out of his grasp, pulling yourself as far away from him on the small bed as you can manage. He tilts his head, studying you. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, your voice hard. 

König gestures with the alcohol he’s holding. “I’m patching up your injuries.” His voice is low, his accent curling around the syllables of his sentences like smoke. 

You blink at him, utterly disarmed. “Why,” you pause, biting your cheek as a wave of pain radiates through your ankle, “Are you patching up my injuries?” 

“Would you prefer it if I left them?” He volleys back lightly, tilting his head. 

You don’t say anything, staring at him with suspicion. He’s got you cornered, quite literally, and there’s no way you can get away from him with your ankle like this unless you can get your hands on a weapon. There’s a knife tucked in your boot, but you can’t exactly pull it out subtly. His beretta is on his hip, his rifle is leaning against the table, but you’d be lying to yourself if you thought you had a chance in hell of reaching either before he could. 

 König takes your silence for compliance and goes back to dabbing your wound with alcohol. You flinch when he places his hand on you, and he makes a dissatisfied noise in the back of his throat. “Such a nervous little rabbit.” The mask conceals his expression from you, but you can hear the frown in his voice. 

“You shot me,” you respond dryly. “Doesn’t exactly foster trust.” 

 “Just a scratch. I could’ve killed you, if I wanted to.” He shrugs, a casual movement that’s unintentionally intimidating, your eyes on the way his shoulder muscles move beneath the layers of clothing he wears. 

You spend your time with large men, the boys of your team all averaging above six feet, but König is just startlingly gigantic. You scan his torso, eyes tracing across the wide planes of his chest, lingering too long to be decent. You catch yourself and drop your gaze down to your hands. “If you don’t want to kill me, what do you want?”

“I want to know what you are doing here.” His tone is still pleasant, but interrogative. His fingers are deliberate, surprisingly gentle as he bandages your shoulder, but there’s an unspoken thread of tension in the air. 

You’re much more docile when he patches up your ankle, an uneasy truce between the two of you. You sit still as he splints it, legs draped almost intimately over his lap, his large fingers curled around your injured leg, gentle pressure holding you steady as he works. He adjusts his hold, squeezing lightly on the meat of your calf, and your breathing stutters. His eyes flick to yours, something dangerous in their expression, and you hold his gaze as you deliberately drag your uninjured leg closer to you, your boot trailing across König's upper thighs intentionally. His eyes slip close at the sensation, just for a moment, and that's when you act, yanking your knife out of your boot and sinking it into his thigh and launching yourself to the floor. He lets out a snarling cry, and you scramble up, your vision going white from the pain of your ankle, but you push through it, sprinting out of the shack. 

“Chasing shadows.” You respond, your voice equally mild. You know he looked through your pack and probably found the papers. You wonder if he thought it was ironic that you came sniffing after KorTac, just to run right into him. You certainly did.

You can't run properly, reduced to a hobble that's made all the more difficult by the fact that you're on uneven terrain in the quickly growing dark. You need to figure out your location and find a way to contact your team, but you’re disoriented and disarmed. You haven’t made it more than a few meters when you hear the sound of the front door slam open. You pick up the pace, trying to put as much distance between you and the very angry Austrian hot on your trail. 

“Häschen,” König’s voice rings through the trees, and a trickle of fear runs through you. You duck behind a tree, pressing yourself against it firmly, trying to blend in with the darkness. 

“Always trying to run away,” he snarls, shoving his body against yours. He thrusts his uninjured thigh between your legs, pinning you further, and you let out an unintentional gasp at the sudden pressure of hard muscle against your core. König instantly pulls away, his eyes shooting down to your ankle with concern, before dragging slowly up your body, his gaze accusatory.  

He can hear you breathing, light and quick, and he doesn’t even try to disguise the heavy sound of his footsteps as he closes in on you. He whips around the tree you’re cowering against, and you try to bolt, but he wraps his fingers around your bicep, yanking you back, slamming his hands above your head, trapping you against the tree. 

“You like this,” he says, and you shake your head desperately. 

“I don’t–” he interrupts any denials you might have, deliberately grinding his thigh in between your legs. You clench your teeth against the noise it draws from your throat. 

He leans impossibly closer, your noses almost brushing through the hood he wears. “Did you like the chase as well?” His voice is a husky rumble, full of heat, and you have to bite back a whine. “I liked the chase.” You realize the hard length against your stomach isn't his Beretta, and an unwanted spike of arousal shoots through you in response.

“You’re insane,” you snap, grappling for some semblance of control over the building pleasure in your core. König pulls away from you abruptly, and you flush at how wet you are, soaking through your underwear. 

“How about a game, Häschen?” his voice has lost its edge, back to the pleasant tone he used in the shack, and your head spins at the sudden change.  “I'll give you five minutes to run or hide, and if you can make it ten minutes without me finding you, I’ll take you to your extraction point myself, safe and sound.”

Your heart races. You don’t trust him, but there's no way you'll get another chance to get away from him. “And if I can’t?” You ask. 

You know you’re fucked, but you scramble through the darkness as quickly as you can, trying to find a good place to hide. If your ankle wasn’t broken, you’d climb a tree, but you’re stuck searching for ground cover, listening with mounting paranoia to the quiet noises of the forest. You’re a celestial body pulled unwillingly into König’s orbit; collision unavoidable.

He says nothing, just purposefully presses his hard cock against your center. Traitorous want flows through you.

You hear him coming, branches breaking as he stalks towards you. You stand as straight as you can, letting him approach you, his eyes bright in the dim of twilight. When he comes within range, you lunge for his gun, almost succeeding in yanking it out of the holster before he grabs you around the waist and pulls you to the ground, pinning you roughly beneath him. 

Even as he manhandles you, you're hyper aware of the delicate way he avoids putting any weight near your injured shoulder. He's got your legs splayed around him, but he's careful, adjusting you just so, keeping your ankle tucked safely away, angled so he won't jostle it. His hips press obscenely against your ass, and you can't help arching your back into him, begging for his cock even as you swear at him.

“Get the fuck off of me,” you spit, and he just laughs, an off-putting, mean sound, before reaching around and ripping open your pants. The button pops off, and the zipper teeth split forcefully apart as he shoves a hand into your underwear. 

“Complain all you want, Häschen, but you're soaked for me,” he coos into your ear, roughly rubbing your clit. You moan at the contact, and he moves his hand lower, pressing his palm against your clit before shoving a finger into your wet center, roughly splitting you open. You gasp at the sudden stretch, König giving you no time to adjust as he pulls his finger out for a moment and plunges it back in, moving in and out at a punishing pace.

“Tell the truth.” He orders, adding a second finger. He curls them, stroking your inner walls, bullying you open until he finds the spot that makes you see stars.  “Say you want me to fuck you.” 

You're beyond words, making a derisive noise that transforms into a whine as you move your hips back, driving König's fingers deeper, your ass rubbing against his clothed erection. All you can focus on is the press of his body against yours, his fingers unspooling you, pulling you apart as he pants along with you. The tension is building, the knot in your stomach tightening as König forces you closer to the edge. 

He pulls his fingers out abruptly, leaving you devastatingly empty and unsatisfied, and you let out an anguished whimper despite yourself. He pushes your pants roughly down around your thighs, and the purr of his zipper opening makes you clench reflexively around nothing. 

He presses right against your entrance, a breath away from splitting you open on his cock. You shove your hips back, trying to fuck yourself onto him, and he pulls back. “Say you want this,” he demands. 

“Fuck. You.” You snarl, even as your thighs tremble. He drags the head of his cock up through your folds, coating himself in your wetness, and you gasp. 

“Such spirit,” he murmurs. In a single motion, he sinks into you, splitting you in open, pulling the air from your lungs. 

He thrusts into you fast and hard, like he wants to tear you open, and it hurts, even with how soaked you are. You cry out, trying to squirm away from the pain. His fingers find your clit again, his breath hot in your ear. He dwarfs you, your legs shaking from pleasure and the weight of him on top of you, pressing you into the dirt. 

“You wanted this.” His voice is a panting snarl, his talented fingers stealing your senses as he forces you closer to your orgasm. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the forest air as he pounds into you without mercy. “Say it.” 

“I want this,” you whimper. You feel the shocking whisper of his lips against the junction of your neck and shoulder and realize with a start that means he’s not wearing his hood. All thoughts are shoved out of your head as he sinks his teeth into your skin, and you wail as you snap, the sensation dragging you over the edge, your body trembling as you cum. His thrusts become sloppy, his cock twitching inside you as he shoves his hips against yours, filling you up. He stays like that, flush against you, as his dick softens, keeping you full and trapped under him. 

You lay in the dirt panting, hollowed out and raw. There are pine needles prickling against your skin, soreness awakening in your limbs as you come back to yourself. König climbs off of you, still cognizant of your injuries, and pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you like a lover, the brutality melting into tenderness like watercolor. His hood is back in place, and the world comes crashing down around you as your senses return, the weight of your actions pulling you down as regret and shame bubble under your skin. 

The walk to the extraction point is silent. König holds you cradled against his chest; your hand fisted in the front of the vest he wears. His thigh burns, his entire body consumed with exhaustion, but he clenches his jaw against the pain, focusing instead on your face, turnt up towards him, open and vulnerable, eyes rimmed with red. If he was a better man, he'd be sorry. 

König notices your eyes glazing over, the warble of your chin, and reaches up a large hand to cradle your face, wiping away tears you didn't realize were threatening to fall. “Hush bunny, you did so well,” he croons down at you, his saccharine actions thrown in high relief against how violently he handled you before. “Such a good girl for me.”

He sets you down gently on a large rock, and pulls your knife out of a hidden pocket, his hand raised in a placating gesture as he slowly places it beside you. It’s still got his blood on it, dried to rust on the tip. You don’t reach for it, pulling your uninjured leg up and wrapping your arms around yourself. You look even smaller than you did before. 

He straightens his spine against the odd sensation in his chest. “Tell your captain to keep a closer eye on his men,” He orders, then reaches out a hand, hovering just above your cheek bone. Neither of you bridge the gap.  

You watch him disappear into the trees, the shadows swallowing him whole, the sound of a helicopter in the distance.

[wearespecialuniqueandimportant]

THIS IS WHAT THE AFFINI WANT.

THIS IS THE PLOT OF HUMAN DOMESTICATION GUIDE.

THIS IS WHAT THEIR BIGOTED AUDIENCE BELIEVE.

THIS IS WHAT HUMAN DOMESTICATION GUIDE IS TRYING TO JUSTIFY.

HUMAN DOMESTICATION GUIDE ABUSER WASTE THREATENED THIS ON US. THEY BEHAVE LIKE WE'RE OPPRESSORS LIKE THE DOCTORS IN THESE HOSPITALS. EVERYTHING IS BASED IN SANISM IN CAPITALISM HUMAN DOMESTICATION GUIDE CAN'T BE FREE FROM TO BE LIKE THIS.

PARAPHILIA PEOPLE EXPERIENCE THIS EVERY SINGLE DAY. CRAZY PEOPLE EXPERIENCE THIS EVERY SINGLE DAY.

THE AFFINI ARE COMING. THEY'RE REAL. WE MUST PREVENT THIS. A TRUE NIGHTMARE.

A REAL NIGHTMARE. THIS ISN'T FICTION. THIS IS REAL.

IGNORANCE TO... BE ONE OF THEM.

TO BE LGBT AND HURT CRAZY PEOPLE.

"OUR BIGGEST NIGHTMARE IS A MOVIE ABOUT THE STORY THAT'S WRITTEN BY... WOKE MARVEL 😰😰😰😰!!!!" WHY IS THAT "VALID" WHEN THAT HASN'T HAPPENED AND NEVER WILL UNLIKE THIS REALITY.

Meanwhile Marvel Has Strong Woman And Lesbians. That Wouldn't Be Actually So Horrible If Real. Craziest Part.

Ridiculous...

This Is What Anyone Against Me Looks Like. This Is What They All Reinforce. What Affini Represent. Only Someone Evil And Cruel Would Feel That Is WISH FULFILLMENT And FANTASY. As This Is Nothing Else Than A Real Nightmare That Happens.

Being Against Sanism Being Against Paraphobia Are Necessarry. Morality Is Necessarry.

If They're Allowed... THIS. WILL NEVER BE PREVENTED. THEIR SUBMISSION SIGN OF OUR PROGRESSIVE VICTORY.

Only A Sanist Bigot Would Oppose Us. And Fascism Is Never Justified. Everything Is Political. Fiction Is Politics.

They're Anti Sjw. They're Against Woke Things. They Create Tradwife Eugenics Lobotomy Propaganda. Support The Capitalist System.

Crazy People Disabled People Don't Want To Be Different. Lgbt Woman Skin Paraphilia. This Is Identity. That Is Fascist To Believe Otherwise. That Is Horrible And PROBLEMATIC To Believe Otherwise.

This Is What I Am Abused For Being Against. That Is Victim Blame Nothing Else. Anyone Against Me Doesn't Actually Care That Is That. Nobody Like Me Would Like Human Domestication Guide Or Write Fanfiction And Propaganda Posts Reinforcing These Imperialist Narratives.

That Isn't No Capitalism To Believe In This. What You See Is Nothing Else Than Capitalism. Only A Conservative Would Deny That. Claim Otherwise. They're Imperialist In Real Life. They're Afraid. They Aren't Woke And They're Scared!!!! JEALOUS. They Can't Be Like Us.

Their True Wish Fulfillment And Fantasy Is To Be Like Me. They Attack Me Because They're In Love With Me. They're Abusive. As I Don't Want To Love Them. This Is AWFULL And HORRIBLE.

And All Doctors Are Bastard.

you really have to dehumanize someone to believe that stripping them of all rights to autonomy, agency, dignity, and privacy is therapeutic. When you’re in intense emotional distress, I bet you’re wishing you could be abducted, violently restrained, and held against your will for an indefinite period of time that depends primarily on how long it takes you to stop crying about what happened to you and accept that you have no power. Then they might let you call your loved ones.

You may be there a few days, or a few weeks. You can’t leave until you’re better. There is no treatment. Getting better means pretending that this situation doesn’t bother you. If you can convince them you’re glad they did this to you, they’ll have you see the psychiatrist for the first and only time, who will say, “oh yeah, you’re better now.” Then he will begin your discharge, you can put your clothes back on (if they didn’t get lost) and they will unlock the big doors so you can head towards the front, where someone will stop you to make sure you pay your copay before you leave - probably around $150 a day, for 5 days, 10 days, 16 days… Got that on you? They’re gonna be pissed if you don’t. Don’t be a deadbeat now. They did help you with your mental illness, after all.

[robotsafari]

i had a dream where something was off with riku’s shadow…

(this art is so sucks i made this when i was tired and less experienced which ended up making riku look so much skinnier than how i normally draw him post-kh2 can you stop engaging it with pretty pweeease)

[youregonnabeokay-kid]

ADHD information for fanfic writers:

Diagnostic Process:

the diagnostic process is different in every country, but this is a basic overview

- an ADHD referral can come from any type of doctor, unlike referrals for other neurodivergences

- the wait list depends on where you live and how old you are. typically the younger you are, the shorter the wait

- ADHD has to be diagnosed by a psychiatrist or by a doctor who has taken a specialized course to be certified in diagnosing and handling ADHD

- most doctors will make you fill out a questionnaire about your mental health. these questionnaires involves sections about family history, personal history, and statements that you have to agree or disagree with

- a good psychiatrist won’t diagnose you with ADHD during your first visit. they will instead spend the first few visits getting to know you and the state of your mental health

- most people are assessed for depression when being assessed for ADHD. this is because depression can present itself in similar ways. if diagnosed with depression and open to medication, the psychiatrist will first prescribe antidepressants and see how those affect you before moving on with the ADHD assessment

Meds:

- most ADHD meds are taken in the morning since they normally wear off after 8-12 hours

- when meds wear off we go through what’s known as a “crash” or “medication rebound”

- ADHD crashes are pure hell which is why some people with ADHD choose to only take meds during the week or they do nothing on the weekend as a reset of sorts

- basically, when our meds wear off all of our symptoms come back at the same time and we get overstimulated to the point of exhaustion

- some people have smaller doses of their meds that they take at the beginning of the crash. this means they can prolong the crash by a couple hours

- for some people, the first time taking meds is hell. the change is very noticeable and abrupt. i wouldn’t stop talking because it was “too quiet” (it being my mind)

- your dosage is not based on body type or weight and just because you take a high dose in one drug doesn’t mean you take a high dose in all others (my ADHD meds are 10mg higher than the highest prescribed amount but my antipsychotics are .5mg lower than the lowest prescribed dose)

- vyvanse is most often prescribed to people with combo ADHD, ritalin to those with hyperactive ADHD (especially those with impulsivity issues), and adderall for inattentive (no, this is not something that is typically disclosed or well-known but if you’ve talked to enough people w/ ADHD you begin to see a pattern) other ADHD meds are available but less likely to be prescribed

- other meds are also taken into account when getting a prescription for ADHD. vyvanse is the most versatile and is usually the one prescribed if you’re on other medications

- ADHD meds are stimulants which means doctors will never give you refills (if they do, they could lose their license)

- since they’re stimulants, for the first year you have to go to the psychiatrist’s bi-weekly for the first few months, then monthly after that so they can see how you are doing

- ADHD meds are known for lowering sex drives and increasing hunger (sometimes the opposite may happen, as with most drugs, but these are most common)

- it takes about 1/2 hour to an hour for meds to kick in and many of us are able to tell the exact moment they start working

Other Substances:

- the neurons and chemicals in the body of an ADHD person are fucked. this means that many substances and medications have either no effect on us, or the opposite effect of what they are intended for

speaking from personal experience:

- caffeine makes me tired

- melatonin and other sleeping aids like dextromethorphan, which can be found in many cough syrups, make me hyper

- weed makes me feel lighter, but it never affects me more than that. i never get a “proper high” like other people (ie; i find no more joy or fascination in bright colours or moving objects than i usually do)

- while “sugar highs” in general are a myth, they’re real for people with ADHD! they stimulate our dopamine and opioid receptors which gives us a burst of energy

- additionally, people with ADHD are more likely to be addicted to illegal stimulants like cocaine because it calms them down (yup, you read that right. when someone with ADHD does cocaine their mind quiets and they mellow down instead of the usual hyper-active high that neurotypicals get)

Additional Information:

- we’re lacking some of the neurotransmitters in our brains so it takes us longer to process information, and we have “more” thoughts than neurotypicals since our additional thoughts aren’t processed out

- we get what’s called “executive dysfunction” or “ADHD paralysis” where we are physically unable to do things despite no real physical limitations (for non-ADHD folks: try putting your hand in fire. you’ll notice that you are either physically unable to or that your body somewhat restrains you from doing it. this is what executive dysfunction is like. for ADHD folks: do not try this since we’re also less likely to have self-preservation instincts)

- basically, i can sit for hours thinking about doing the dishes, screaming at myself in my head to just do them, but i’m still unable to

- we leave trails! we have so many thoughts going through our head that we forget them all the time, so when we get a thought like “i think the printer is low on paper, i should check” we abandon all tasks in favour of the new thought. however, the remains of those tasks stay where we left them, and thus, an ADHD trail is made

- we have both the worst and best memory of anyone you will ever meet. i might be able to tell you the exact outfit you wore on a specific day five years ago but i won’t remember what i ate for breakfast

- when we get bored, we get depressed. like, life is meaningless and i want to curl up in a ball and die depressed. sometimes we need someone to physically force us out of bed to get us out of our funk (and sometimes all it takes to get out of the funk is doing something fun which makes us feel ridiculous when we think about how depressed we were prior)

- since boredom is detrimental to us, we have to constantly be having fun which, in and of itself, is not fun. this is also why a lot of us end up doing shift work or working dangerous jobs

- we’re adrenaline junkies. this isn’t even a “most of us” situation, it’s all of us. the only difference is how we get that adrenaline. (some get it by jumping out of a plane, others get it by working on assignments in a time crunch)

- we’re social beings. even if we’re introverts, we thrive on social interactions. without them our dopamine plummets and we, once again, get depressed

- all silences are awkward to us. it doesn’t matter if you’re the person we’re most comfortable with in the world, silence is always awkward. or, more specifically, we feel like we need to fill it which is why we often ramble

obviously there’s far more to ADHD than just this and everything can change person by person but i hope this helps to gain a bit more of a general understanding on ADHD

[onhajoon]

An extract from kbizoom.com

Regarding the news of Season 3 production, Shin Jae Ha said, “Since Ha Joon is already dead in the drama, it is highly likely that I would not appear the next season, but I’m still cautiously hoping to join the team in Season 3”, adding “I had so much fun filming the drama with the seniors so I want to work with them again. I’m upset that my character has killed so many people, so I personally want On Ha Joon to return alive as a member of Rainbow Taxi Company. If not, I really want to come out as Ha Joon’s twin brother”.

JUST GIVE HIM WHAT HE WANTS 😭

[ryin-silverfish]

Sorry for the very late reply: I stayed off Tumblr for like, a month or so. But this is a long reblog with a lot of interesting points I wanna respond to.

Honestly, the most common form of JCT doesn't stem from A Chinese Odyssey. It's inspired by the webnovel that's kinda a fanfiction to said movie, Biography of Wukong.

The predecessor to BMW, Asura Online, takes a lot more inspiration from the webnovel than its spiritual successor, and even tho BMW isn't trying to be a direct continuation of AO, I would argue that some of its themes and worldbuilding still slipped into BMW.

You mentioned not seeing JCT in the game according to my definition, and I feel like it's a matter of exposure. For someone who has Chinese as their first language, they are gonna to be 1) exposed to a shit ton of JTTW media, and 2) see a lot of interpretation about the novel proliferate that an English audience is completely unaware of.

BMW is not the most extreme or common form of JCT, but the general ideas are still recognizable. Like, just because it doesn't make all the gods evil, or all the yaoguais innocent victims, doesn't change the fact that the main narrative is still one of Oppressive, Conspiring Pantheon vs. Oppressed Yaoguais.

(Example: the lore entries' implication about Lingji and the Yellow Wind storyline is that Lingji is creating the weird stone Buddha heads and the Fuban yaoguai to 1) collect Lingyun, the "soul" equivalent, and 2) artificially create a threat so that he can rescue the Flowing Sands kingdom from it and convert them to Buddhism.)

(Instead, the Yellow Wind Demon became the rescuer and the kingdom started worshipping rats, which was why its people were all turned into rats.)

(Or, the most obvious one: the Western Heaven's genocide of the Yakshas in the Bull King family backstory.)

(As for Erlang: why do you think you find him inside a painting, which, according to the lore entries, is implied to be the result of him asking Maitreya for refuge from the Celestial Realm?)

And it's made even more jarring by the fact that the game wants to create a facsimile of the original novel through quoting its poetry and imitating the vernacular novel dialogue style, and make allusions to SWK's role as the Mind Monkey, without realizing how it conflicts with the Biography of Wukong-style interpretation.

You mention the lore entries, and that's actually my favorite part! Both the Ming-print style illustrations, and their simulation of the Zhiguai short story style.

But, again, there is a dissonance. The funny and strange Zhiguai-style entries are noticeably different in tone compared to the "main storyline" entries about major characters and backgrounds, which is written like modern short stories instead of a classical Chinese text translated into Mandarin.

And my problem is not that the adaptation is different, that it may want to change the allegory or reinterpret the themes for a modern audience.

It's the feeling that they want to have it both ways——be faithful to the novel (or at least create a facsimile of faithfulness), yet also stick to the Bio of Wukong style popular reading that proliferates in modern JTTW media for mass appeal.

And to me, the dissonance in the two narratives weakened the thematic coherence. Frankly, if it sticks to one or the other, I wouldn't have been writing these critiques: if it's a proper exploration of the original novel's allegorical themes, I'd be praising and loving it, and if it's JCT thorough and thorough, I'm just going to be like "Yeah, not for me" and leave it at that.

But it's this mixture of things I love and things that frustrate me that drives me to write and get down to the bottom of those conflicting feelings, which has little to do with JTTWR's original posts and his attitude towards adaptations.

Lastly: I'm very much coming from the perspective of a native speaker complaining about Chinese JTTW media and popular interpretations. My own opinions are not mainstream in the Chinese JTTW fandom either——JCT is so popular precisely bc it has mass appeal.

Just a thing to keep in mind.

I'm a Theravada Buddhist. I saw many people interpreting the story and meaning behind Black Myth Wukong, differently. But I hope the devs team didn't intend to insult Buddha Dhamma by recreating this new story and distort the meaning of Buddhahood or Enlightenment itself..

I don't know if they intended to insult Buddhism, but I can say that their presentation of Buddhism in the game is disrespectful.

@ryin-silverfish recently posted a wonderful essay on what's known as the "JTTW Conspiracy Theory," which is a method of interpreting the story by twisting details, making the heavenly hierarchy look evil. The game follows this method. I recommend that you read the essay:

I unknowingly ran into the JTTW Conspiracy Theory a couple of years ago. A Chinese article claimed that the Buddha lies in the novel. This is my rebuttal.

[akuma-tenshi]

working on a submission for a discord rp and i want you guys to see her i'm so proud of this so far

[cowboy-robooty]

okay. calling all yandereheads. does anyone know any stories that has a yandere but like they have a sidekick (that doesnt really want to be their sidekick but is forced into it and decides to make the most of their situation and ends up acting like a silly friend to them) and at first they hate their sidekick and want their ass dead but keep em around bc their sidekick helps them stalk their crush but then the story does a switcharoo where the yandere realizes sidekick is their #truelove and goes yandere for sidekick

[potatoobsessed999]

HELLO everyone I am hyperfixating simultaneously on Astarion Baldursgate3 and the ballad Tam Lin, so have a fic about it! In which pre-canon Astarion is very upset about the concept of heroic rescues, and Yousen has to deal with that.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Astarion & Yousen (Baldur's Gate), Astarion & Cazador Szarr Characters: Astarion (Baldur's Gate), Yousen (Baldur's Gate)

Yousen was singing. He was doing it quietly, just letting the tune fall hoarsely over his ruined hands where he cradled them in his lap, as if he were chanting a healing spell. It would have been worse had he been trying to make it a performance, of course, but Astarion was not particularly inclined to count his blessings at the moment.

[cicadaknight]

burning shores thoughts below

things i liked:

The companion combat! Seyka felt genuinely helpful without taking away from the challenge. I’m excited for what that means for H3’s combat style for various companions.

The side mission where you rescue imprisoned Quen and they help you fight waves of Walter’s cronies. If I had to guess, they wanted to have more complex battles in FW (Wings of the Ten/Singularity) but were limited by the ps4 and/or pandemic. Being able to fight alongside a larger group of allies in H3 would be stellar.

It seemed like Aloy didn't immediately over-narrate the solution to puzzles? Hated that in FW.

Once you get the sunwing in FW you’re less incentivized to run around or use other mounts. But Burning Shores compensated for that nicely with the verticality of the map and introduction of mount-specific actions. Overall, I feel like I had more fun looking for things to explore.

Gildun's mission was perfection. No notes.

Ashly and Kylie’s performances were beautiful. The facial/body animations seemed so much more subtle and detailed than the base game.

Personally, I really enjoyed Aloy and Seyka’s dynamic. The banter, the curiosity, the admiration, Aloy getting to be nervous and goofy. Mmm. Good soup. Love that flashpoints might be more significant to the plot in H3.

things i didn’t love

Walter's arc overall? He just felt like a stereotypical caricature to me. No depth, no charm, no intrigue. Honestly, we already had that with the majority of the other Zeniths, I was expecting something to set him apart more than his unparalleled narcissism. I don’t understand why Tilda wouldn’t have mentioned him. Nor do I fully understand why he wouldn't need GAIA.

Kina's character as a whole felt uncharacteristically one-dimensional for a Guerrilla game. She's supposedly the Quen's most notorious and talented navigator, she's beloved by her people, and yet the most we get from her character on screen is this starstruck, damsel in distress. I wish there'd been some sort of side quest after we deal with the Horus where we could have gotten to know her.

I was expecting more underwater exploration, especially with the Waterwing.

Part of me enjoyed stumbling across things like Brin's painting, the toy bow, and brimstone caches. But I wish all the required collectibles and aerial captures were marked.

I didn't dislike what we learned about the Quen, but I wanted more. They've got a wealth of rigid traditions, power dynamics, and boiling tension. But it feels like Aloy and Seyka manage to skirt around everything without consequence.

I expected more new machines given the new region and Hephaestus's newfound freedom and chaos.

Lastly, it feels so fucking sad that the rest of the companions didn't make an appearance. A team debrief at the base before they all go on their new missions? A focus call where they let Aloy know what they're up to rather than leaving a data point behind? (Also the fact that Aloy personally gave Gildun a focus but not Talanah. Side eye, Guerilla, SIDE EYE.)

[bluesey-182]

the book I'm reading right now is objectively So Bad but I'm having so much fun and i have no idea how I'm going to rate this thing

[sparkymalone]

No context

(⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)

[streets-in-paradise]

I googled the book in the post I just reblogged because I was super curious.

Currently outranged to find out there is a Rick x Evelyn knockoff YA fantasy romance written where the Evy replacement character is argentinian, but it's actually crap cause they are written so badly.

[myfandomrealitea]

"Why can't the freaks on AO3 just go and make a site for all the gross stuff and leave AO3 alone."

Because AO3 is that site. Because AO3 was that site long before you decided AO3 was better than the sites you bullied us off of before, and I can promise you if someone somehow comes up with a fanfic site you like better specifically for the 'gross stuff' you'll try to bully us off that too so you can benefit from it.

AO3's specific core purpose is to preserve fanfiction, yes, but it was also instigated as a host site for the fanfiction that kept getting yeeted off other platforms like Wattpad. Its designed to preserve all fanfiction, not just the fanfiction you, personally, think is 'allowed' to be written.

AO3 is the site for all the gross stuff the freaks make. We've been there just as long as you. We've been funding it just as long as you have. AO3 has specifically said you have a place here. The timeline was literally:

Wattpad/FF.net/LiveJournal purge fanfics > AO3 is born > The people who's fics got purged moved over to AO3 > AO3 gains popularity as the best functioning site > The people who pushed for the fics to be purged off Wattpad move to AO3 > The same people try to push for AO3 to purge fics.

AO3's source coding is open-access. You go make a polished, strict, rigid site where nothing 'icky' is allowed. You go make a site where you can control what is hosted. We already have our space.

[turtleofthehollow]

I need someone to write fanfiction of Lucifer and Alastor making a deal, but Luci botches the wording of the deal so bad that they end up married instead, and neither of them know how to break the deal, so they're just stuck like this until further notice

You can't tell me it wouldn't be in character for him!

UPDATE: It has been written! Check out the reblogs for the link!