THISSSSSSS!!!!!!! curate your own internet experience. block them because they’re allergic to peanut butter, block them because they have what you don’t, block them because they dislike your favorite food, block them because you don’t like their layout, block them because you can.
blocking is NOT a personal attack against someone. it’s you curating your own internet experience and catering for your comfort, and you have every right to do that.
you, yes, you!!! you CANNOT tell other people to censor themselves for your own comfort and personal likings. you CANNOT tell them what they can or can’t post. you CANNOT tell them what they can or can’t write. you CANNOT tell them what they can or can’t draw. BUT you CAN block them for whatever reason.
that block button is offered to you for free. use. it.
btw you’re a pathetic bully with mean girl attitude if you screenshot other people’s fics to repost and mock them and the authors. you’re the reason fandoms become toxic when they’re supposed to be a comfort zone and a safe space for people. and you have the audacity to say it’s a shame more and more writers decided to no longer share their works. you’re harming fanfic community and you’re driving writers and fan artists—whose works you’re privileged enough to consume for free—away until the ones that are left are bullies like you. just because a fanfic is not for you doesn’t mean you have the rights to mock or shame it. not everything is made specifically to tailor to your personal liking. so disrespectfully, if you do this, grow tf up.
either respect fanfic writers and fan artists or be quiet.
I know König would never let his girl starve, physically, mentally, and even when it comes to material stuff, I know he would take care of everything, so she doesn’t have to worry about money. I know this man just couldn’t stand the idea of not providing enough for his girl.
The very thought would make him sick. His precious Schatzi should never been worried about that, he would be hurt if she doubted of him.
Because it wouldn’t leave me tf alone. They’re all bastards. König is in a grumpy mood.
König gazes at the grimy windows letting wintery light filter into his office, weak and watery rays barely touching his desk, baby blue orbs faintly unfocused. Ostensibly he’s in here doing paperwork, but the reality of it is somewhat different.
He’s never been any good at box ticking, infinitely preferring action above and beyond tedious reports. When he was a child, he frequently received raps on the knuckles from his teachers for day dreaming, watching little birds building nests in the trees around the school yard, or a squirrel collecting shining acorns to store away. It was always a shock, the sharp pain of a ruler slapped against his unclenched hands.
He was teased for being himself, so König hid that wistful quality away under layers of mercurial violence. Yet still, he finds nature superior in every conceivable sense. The silence of being alone with his thoughts is the only peace he’s ever really known, so much of his life devoted to conflict and maiming.
Often misunderstood, his height and breadth alone paint a ruthless portrait of a man spoiling for a fight. More times than he can count on two broad hands, König has ended up in bar brawls purely because he was the biggest in the room and someone wanted to test their metal.
Not that he doesn’t enjoy it, the squaring up, blood staining his teeth from a punch or two, the scent of iron drying on his skin when he leaves them pathetically unconscious. It has it’s place, as everything does. The rush he gets from inflicting pain on an unworthy foe is an addiction long since accepted as part of his personality. König still remembers the first time he felt bones cracking beneath his punch. Satisfying in the extreme, but not in the same way a clear autumn sky is. Cool air in his lungs and utter quietness is preferable.
Perhaps he should have led a simple life. Though trouble seems to find him at every opportunity, scenting him as a bloodhound would in even the most remote corners of the world . Also he’s very good at killing, it’s earned him respect, food on the table for his Oma and several concealed bank accounts stuffed with dirty money. She never has to suffer again through the winter, though he rarely visits home to see her these days.
Mainly because there is always infernal paperwork to do.
The rank of Colonel was hard won. Not through Jagdkommando, which honestly would have been a more noble way of making a living. But why should he serve countryman that never gifted him an ounce of charity. It was him stepping up to be the man of the house aged eight when his drunk of a father never returned home one day. His labour and toil that kept the heating on in the deadest of winters in his little mountain town. Frost inside of the window panes while others his age sung carols and ate soft sugary cookies. König grew up very fast, before his height caught up with his bulk. Supported the family to the detriment of study. No kindness for their threadbare family was offered by his school mates, while his mother sobbed ice laden tears of grief and couldn’t work.
Why she mourned his sire, König had no idea. Still doesn’t to this day, though his Oma told him affairs of the heart are difficult for others to understand. He wouldn’t know of that, fleeting girlfriends through the years he can barely recollect. None of his relationships ever lasted long, his stunted personality and anxiety snuffing out the kindling affections smouldering within their eyes. König never had time to socialise properly, stammered when he spoke to girls even as a young and vaguely attractive serviceman, with less scars and more enthusiasm for it all. Eventually it didn’t matter, work took priority and money can buy you company if you know the right people.
So that’s what he did. Bought company when it was needed. Shameful he admits, but he’s hardly the first. They were always paid well for their trouble, even the times crushing loneliness meant he just wanted to hold their hands and watch tv. Pretend for a minute he was normal, not some odd assortment of different personalities blended into one no one actually likes. Sharp edges jagged where he’s attempted to mould them through the years to fit in, until he gave up entirely and decided others would have to tolerate him instead of being more amenable.
Ruefully, he runs his hands over his buzzed hair, glancing at the stacks of forms neatly lined up on the edge of the table. He really should get to it, though there is nothing he would like to do more than sweep the entire lot into the bin. Heavily lidded orbs skim over the first couple of pages, an internal groan at the number of questions on it for him to contemplate. At times he regrets the superiority, wishing he was still just some contractor hired between battles to fill out the ranks. Unfortunately though, he’s never been inconspicuous enough for canon fodder, making a name for himself by virtue of sheer boldness and natural tactical finesse. At times he still can’t believe he’s reached these heights, it seems odd given the fact he never showed a single shred of physical prowess before he signed up at eighteen.
The name of König is rightly feared in the circles KorTac runs in. So it should be, much blood has been spilt to ensure that his reputation precedes him, standing taller than he does in the field. That doesn’t really lend itself to friendships however. König can only count four people who willingly spend time with him, three of which are paid to do so. He’s invited to poker nights, though he suspects that has more to do with the plentiful amounts of bank notes he brings, as opposed to the virtues of his company.
As a direct result, he doesn’t trust kindness in any form that takes. Smiles are weapons to be wielded against him, especially by pretty things, hidden meanings behind the curve of lips he doesn’t understand. Soft touches aren’t meant for men like König, not unless they come after a fat wad of cash. It was a lesson he learnt early, flirtatious looks always ceasing when he opened his mouth and they listened to him ramble. He can speak dozens of languages seamlessly, but the truth of communication remains a mystery to him, barked orders and shouts the only things he understands. It’s impossible to miss the layers and undertones within those.
While König is scrutinising the tiny font in the corner of one briefing note, irrationally annoyed by the fact the incorrect date has been written next to it, there’s a knock at the door.
Horangi pokes his head around it, a huge and smug grin plastered across his face. König blinks lazily in response, not in any frame of mind for another distraction.
“What?” He grunts, while Horangi stands there beaming, as if he’s won some sort of lottery and is about to inform König of the prize.
“Your new secretary is here…you lucky fucking fucker.”
König’s eyebrow rises, offset against his dower expression.
“I have told them one million times.” He snaps, clambering laboriously to his feet, aching from sitting still for an hour or more. “I do not need one.”
“Too late, she’s already on base. Be nice to her eh?! Break the habit of a lifetime Colonel.”
The reality is that König does need a secretary, badly. Drowning in administrative tasks leaves him sullen because he’s not able to get out in the thick of it, performing as he does best. The decision to hire someone was made over his head, leading to mutinous disdain clouding his office since. He sees it as failure, requiring help with his role. Even if typing does take him an age because keyboards aren’t meant for thick fingers like his.
In truth he didn’t expect a woman. Vaguely he wonders how long you’ll last in the pack of barely civilised men he calls colleagues. Most likely less than a week, they are all dogs like he is, starved of affection and happy to snap their jaws over a tasty meal. It would be gravely inconvenient for you to lose your head over it, more paper to sign. He huffs irritably at the thought of a telling off from his superiors, because Krueger has made a pass at you.
“I will be nice. Whatever that means.”
“Don’t shout at her. Or attempt to flirt. It is unnerving.” Behind Horangi’s departing back, König scowls.
“You have never seen me flirt.”
“I have, Moscow in 2013. It still haunts my nightmares.”
König grits his teeth. The memory of that still haunts him also. He drank too much, a surprising lightweight when it comes to vodka. The sweet and comely barmaid was in his lap for less than two minutes, during which he drunkenly hiccuped into her ear, before she scurried away. Krueger cuffed him shortly afterwards around the back of the head and took her home instead. A dismal display of his masculine prowess, but totally in character unfortunately.
“I will not flirt.” He responds mulishly. “Besides, they would be foolish to send anyone but an old battle-axe out here anyway.”
At that exact moment, they round a corner and you come into view, fully within earshot of his grumblings. His footsteps falter, coming to a sudden and rather abrupt stop, so he stumbles slightly trying not to crash into Horangi.
“Good morning Colonel, nice to meet you.” You hold out a hand politely, though your pretty eyes are glittering with a quiet mirth that makes his chest tighten. “I’m your new battle-axe - I mean secretary.”
modern social media should stop offering "sync with your phone contacts to follow them" options and start offering "block all your phone contacts so they never see your account" options
captain faye to the rescue ! @sivalgyz - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
