I know the König x secret admirer reader is not gonna be officially continued but I was wondering if you could maybe explore part of it😭 there’s a part that mentioned that König gets laid in the military and I was wondering how angsty it would be if reader found out?🤭
Yes of course! ^^ It would be angsty... and fluffy! These two are the silliest people who ever lived tbh 🩷🐥
König is young in this AU (around his early 20s) and wildly inexperienced compared to some of the other recruits his age.
His first time was with a girl who joined the army when König had been there for about 1.5 years already. Desperate as he was with hiding the fact that he’s still a virgin, he tumbled into bed with this lady after a night out at the bar. She thoroughly seduced him, and König’s instincts told him she was only looking for fun, but he went with her anyway because, well. Loneliness can kill you, you know?!
He tried to woo her a bit after that until it became quite clear that this woman was not planning to settle down anytime soon. If anything, she was looking for a new conquest – and it’s fine, totally fine, except that König had surrendered a tiny piece of his heart to her along with his dick... That’s just how he is, and it took him more than a few months to get over the fact that it was “just a shag” and he “shouldn’t take things so seriously”.
That’s also why he closed off from people again, decided to concentrate on work and training and gym – until our cute little angel stumbled into his life like the prettiest saving grace! König was a goner from the start because this girl's approach was very different, so gentle and sweet compared to grimy shot glasses and smudgy lipstick and raunchy jokes. It’s a given that he was a little shocked when she sent her that pic 🙄 reminding him of promiscuous women who are not looking for a soul but a body, but because he is what he is the first thing he did was crank things up a notch and send her a dick pic back…
Yes, he’s desperate, but he’s also an go hard or go home man and this time, König is relatively sure he’s dealing with a lovely, delicate soul. Someone who wouldn’t just leave him out in the cold after getting what she wants.
And everything is like a fairytale between these two until she finds out he’s not a virgin despite he seemed a bit… like one… (in this scenario I think reader is a virgin and she thought König was one too because of obvious reasons? lol) And it’s fine, totally fine for her as well, except that the image of König having the night of his life with some military babe is haunting her from dusk till dawn.
There’s bound to be some drama when she starts asking timidly whether she’s still there… Whether they see each other every day. If they talk to each other, if he trains with her, etc. What if they test rifles together, or go out again with the sniper crew and get drunk and König feels… a little lonely?
She knows he would never cheat on her, not in a million years, but knowing how much of a wet dog he is she can’t promise that she’ll be all calm and relaxed during weekends, knowing her boyfriend is out there, full of testosterone and heart, his heart somewhat susceptible to female influence… Maybe even good old seduction…
And what’s even worse is the jealousy, the envy.
What if she’s more badass than her? That doesn't take much... She must be fierce if she’s in the military, something completely different, a forbidden apple König might want to taste again. It’s maddening, and when she finally opens up about it to him, spitting it out one night when he asks what’s bugging his sweet angel, there’s a big fat silence that follows.
König can't even believe she has torn her heart to pieces over something like this, alone and upset and ashamed when she's a literal angel. He sits her nice and pretty in his lap and talks her ear off about how he has nothing against this woman, truly, but that she is nothing compared to his first (and hopefully last!) girlfriend. Their love could never be compared to what happened between him and that girl, these things can’t even be spoken together in the same sentence. If he’s completely honest, his first time was... disappointing. Awkward, humbling, a total drunken mess of which he remembers nothing except that the woman wasn’t completely present either and that he was ashamed that his first time had to be like this.
Honestly, he felt like he lost his virginity on the night when he came to see her. She’s everything he’s ever dreamed of, all he thinks about these days... It’s quite annoying, actually, because he’s supposed to concentrate on how the wind blows and that the ammo doesn’t get wet and that he’s properly concealed.
He could be lying in a ditch with dummy rounds whirling past him and all he could think about are her eyes and lips and giggling and tits and, and… that. How warm it is, how nice it is, how he would just want to curl himself next to her when he hops back to his bunk in the evening. Her smile is the last thing he sees before he dreams, her voice is what he hears. All the things she said, all those sweet, silly little things, chime in his ear before he sleeps.
And all the precious moments they’ve already spent together, the times he made love to her under the trees... There’s nothing like that in the whole world and if she thinks something else can top that she's even sillier than he thought. He could comb through all the continents and he would never find a girl like her.
So tell him again... Why would he go to a shot glass of saltwater when he has a jar of wild honey right here at home?
142 notes
·
View notes
Bob in female fight club au. Thoughts
Probably named Marge
Rather than doing a direct inversion (ie making the character the exact opposite, much tits -> no tits, etc) I think sort of an analogue would work better riffing off the motherly role Bob has, in combination with the group being for uterine cancer/ovarian cancer
The women come together, and they cry, cry, cry, over lost husbands, who left them because they got cancer, because overwhelmingly, men leave if their wife gets cancer, over lost relationships with children, who stayed but resent them, over lost Motherhood, that thing you were told was your worth but now you are told you're shit. Remaining Women Together. Despite. Despite despite despite.
What is it, about purposes. Want to see misery, see women fed their own physical oppression as lost salvation.
Marge, whatever her name is, her husband divorced her, left her with the kids and medical bills stacked as high as she is tall. She is thankful she still has her kids, it makes her feel like she's still worth something. She's had to try and get back into the workforce. No one wants to hire dear former stay at home mother Marge. She shows you her kids in her wallet in her purse and there are no pictures of her. There's a picture of her old husband, which she keeps to show her kids if they ask. They're old enough to go to school now, which is good, because it gives her more time to work. Life is hard, but she's doing her best.
Marge, who is on hormone therapy so she doesn't get those "side effects" she's heard about from other total hysterectomy patients, the future of early dementia and degeneration and horror. Who does pelvic floor exercises in hopes it will minimise the fallout of the surgery. Who carefully rips every hair out of her upper lip and chin because even if it would be normal for a woman, a woman whose gone through menopause, a woman at all — she knows, it's probably the estrogen tipping back over into testosterone, and she can't handle any more losses. She compensates. They all do.
The support group is her Me Time. It is the single hour plus half hour commute she can afford once a week for herself. So she gets here, and she cries, cries, cries, and the others cry with her, all over how their lives have fallen apart since they got ovarian cancer, got breast cancer, and their lives derailed because they can't be proper women anymore.
They cry in their waterproof makeup. Another product to promise womanhood. Identify yourself via consumption. Identify yourself by covering yourself up.
And when she finds fight club. When she finds something that says, jesus fuck. You are more than your children. You are more than your ability to have kids. You aren't a failed woman, that's a sack of shit you've been sold wholesale. When she finds something that promises her she will grow, achieve personhood, not because she was the ultimate martyr mother, not because she played the game of human or woman, but because it promises a freedom from all that, identification and repulsion of such sickening chains. When she stops worrying about her slightly deepened voice, and works to keep her dose even keel for her health, to avoid the toxic highs of accidentally juicing, rather than the lesser effects of a black lip hair or two. When she has a photo, not of herself in her wallet, but of the things she makes with other women from fight club, of the one view of the sunset from that one parking lot that she always thought was wonderful, when she has things in her wallet for her and her enjoyment. When she has corded muscle and a built up spine, when she sits her kids down and explains why they only see dad one weekend every other month, all the fun holidays, because dad decided staying with her through cancer was too hard even when she stayed with him through four lost jobs pissed away in alcohol and lottery tickets.
And Marge, who gets shot by the police on a regulation chill-and-drill assignment for Project Mayhem. Whose obituary in the newspaper talks about the children she left behind, how she battled cancer and kept caring for them, how she was such a strong mother, whose kids would now be shipped off to their grieving father who is so, so brave and stunning for standing up and taking care of the kids he made and dropped as soon as his live-in servant had a few issues. Her name is Marge Paulson, and she was forty-eight years old. She was a person. She will be remembered in the annals of Project Mayhem, lest what little there was of her be stolen from the world. She was killed by Project Mayhem, but they're the only ones who will remember Marge Paulson.
77 notes
·
View notes
You know.
At school I had a game with my friend
I would write down names of characters from different media (TV shows, books etc) that she hadn't watched and she would match them
Usually I put the girls and the boys on each side of the page (non binary characters were either at the top or bottom)
And then she drew lines and made ships
Now the thing is. She hardly ever got canon ships right
Her worst cases were close to pedophilia and incest
So at some point she gave up trying to get them right and was more happy when she was creating monstrosities cause it was funny
And I think, the writers of Elite are playing the very same game
They started by making fun ships "hoho look at these characters they look good together" then they messed up "hehe these 2 are awful" and then they went bullshit and thought "YEAH MAKE THE MOM KISS HER SON MUAHAHA"
And yeah. I don't think you should make canon ships of the matching game me and my friend played in class yknow Mr elite writes
9 notes
·
View notes
(If she ever gets patrons who tend to make frequent 'appearances' on the news, how often does she recognize them, and how awkward are those interactions? Does she ever report them to the GCPD or feel tempted to do so?)
send me questions you have about my character!
You'd think a waitress in a demanding job would at least have a somewhat decent memory when it comes to recognizing faces but honestly? Khare has a horrible memory and isn't likely to start remembering faces unless they are REALLY distinct (or have visited enough times for their appearance to register in her brain). Seeing the Joker himself strolling in and ordering up some pancakes is the most you can expect for her to acknowledge there's a serious fucking situation on hand but after that? Forget it, she's not likely to make the connection.
However, this is Gotham so chances are that at least somebody's going to rock up at the diner in their costume. Khare may be so preoccupied about getting their order right that... you know, it's going to take a minute or two to catch on that something's not right about their appearance, but she can't quite put a finger on it. Alexa, play the Jeopardy! Think Music!
It's probably more awkward for the patron visiting that everything is so calm - The waitress isn't screaming bloody murder or jamming the silent call button beneath the counter to alarm the police that trouble is there, she's just smiling and doing her best to remember their order, just as they want it but on the off chance she does recognize somebody... she really, really doesn't want to call the GCPD and cause a scene, because really, nothing's happened.... yet, and the thought of police taking her statement and asking awkward questions is a far more frightening prospect than the Mad Hatter asking for a pot of tea, because... you know, she's an illegal immigrant at this point, and if she calls the police, who's to say she's not joining them in jail after her shift ends?
Having a bad memory makes life difficult but in Khare's case, it might have saved more than a few potentially dangerous situations from blowing up as a hungry rogue gets a tasty meal without any screaming or overhearing any hushed calls begging the GCPD to arrive, because even criminals need to eat and boy, do most people feel a lot better after getting a proper meal inside them!
8 notes
·
View notes