By the side of the road, just a few feet away, like an animal that had been run over, picked up and thrown aside to make way, lies the body of a soldier. When he froze to death, in the madness where the cold was burning him like fire, he must have taken off his clothing, piece by piece, as he walked and stumbled and then laid down to sleep and he still lay there as if only sleeping, beautiful like the dead look only in paintings, his skin more brilliant than the snow, his body without a scar, velvety soft, and his hair crowned by ice crystals. No one could be moved to bury him and day after day the men passing by had to see him there and not one could avert his eyes from the promise in his faint smile, to one day die no more.
Cannibalism
puppy play
Find a realistic sex position in, on or around a Messerschmidt Bf-109
When Galland lands his Emil two men come running and climb on the Messerschmitt to help him out of the cockpit, or so he thinks exhausted as he is, sweating, sometimes hot and sometimes cold and still riding the end of that wave of ecstasy he could only get from the chase; actually the two men have no intention of letting him out of his little prison box just yet, but they do open the top of the cockpit and in front of him Galland recognises Hans, one of his mechanics, sitting on the plane in only a pair of shorts, one fuzzy leg on each side of the bird. Before Galland can even strike a charming smile and compliment his mechanic’s good work the man behind him puts a sole on the back of his neck with enough force to push him forward and he only doesn’t hit the plane’s control panel because Hans stops him by planting his foot – his naked foot, sweat and oil and bits of grass between his toes – on Galland’s chest and then without any further hesitation puts his foot on Galland’s face, rubs the dirty sole over his cheeks and lovingly strokes his moustache before he rests his toes on Galland’s tight lips. The man behind him laughs and Galland recognises him without a doubt: Mölders, that snappy little terrier – it’s all just one of his pranks then, another hilarious joke that Galland has to take because Vati Werner is also his Vati, and Galland tries to smile when Mölders, giggling like a little boy, tells him to suck Hans off nice and wet, and it almost looks genuinely jolly the way his lips curl around the dirty toes shoved in his mouth.
Spit in my mouth.
Hello children I have returned once more
“Do it. Spit in my mouth. I dare you.” Phillip grinned deviously, his grip on the chair arms tight enough to make his knuckles flush white, eyeing Karl dead in the eyes, knowing that a germaphobe like him wouldn’t dare to do such a disgusting task, but he just loved teasing him; especially when it came to sexual activity.
The physician visibly struggled, tightly gripping his sleeves as he shifted uncomfortably, knowing well his lover was teasing him, but he wanted to have shock running through the man’s veins, and Karl couldn’t help but take this one risk, even if it would go against his clean-freak odds.
He seized his lover by the hair, prying his jaws open with his thumb until his mouth was wide and his head was bent back, gargling all the saliva he could manage in the back of his throat for a full 30 seconds until he jerked his head down, spitting into the man’s mouth, watching the liquid go straight into Philipp’s throat; gone and out of sight when the dark haired man realized what had happened, pulling out of the physician’s grip to gag, and Karl didn’t feel any more proud of himself at that moment; watching the reichsleiter gag and cry, whining over the fact the man went through with his teasing.
abandonment issues
“M-Martin! Please don’t go!” Otto gasped, seizing the secretary’s sleeve, pulling him back, having the stockier man fall into him, trapped when the taller blonde wrapped his arms around him, and the shorter of the two could feel the other being tremble, his breath quivering.
“Otto?” He asked quietly, breaking from his grasp, only making the man begin to whimper, fearing Martin will leave, but was surprised when his shaking hands were carefully held in the secretary’s gloved ones, locking eyes with the other, who tightened his grip slightly, asking, “Why are you acting like this?”
Otto felt himself tear up, spilling everything: his childhood loses, watching close friends through his teen years betray him, seeing soldiers he’d come to love die, and finally, his own parents death, and by the time he had finished, his cheeks were damp with tears, explaining how he couldn’t handle loss again, and Martin sighed, embracing the younger man, reassuring in a soothing voice, “I won’t leave you, I won’t harm you, I won’t break you”
every rose has its thorns
Fritz felt like he had put up his act far too long- acting like a drunken moron with no sense of control, a harmless creature reeking with alcohol- and he refused to tolerate it any longer, knowing well he couldn’t put up such an act forever; especially the terrible one he had portrayed himself as for as long as he could remember.
He had heard this insults thrown at him behind his back, and he knew holding in his own anger wouldnt solve anything, only making his arms, knuckles, and legs scarred, bandaged, and bruised.
Fritz entered the ranting room sober, apathetic, and furious, watching the others turn to him, cocking their eyebrows as they murmured, occasionally chuckling too, but they ceased; staring at what the man held in his hand- a pistol- and it was aimed towards his first planned victim: himself.
Petrified but comforted
Telephone call
Starving
@reichblr-ficathon (what’s up bitches I’m not done yet)
Rudolf stared down at his food, his stomach no longer biting at the tissue of its own organ, no longer feeling pain and misery when he looked down, he felt nothing, nothing at all as he scraped the food into the envelope, sealing it with his red seal before slipping it away, away from the guards’ views.
He wasn’t sneaking food to eat later, like most prisoners did, he didn’t even trust the food in the first place, so he snuck his rations away and slipped them into envelopes before sealing them shut and hiding them away, thinking that if he was too careless, he’d be beaten, and he’d be beaten hard, but that wasn’t true, that was his skittering mind fooling him, like it fooled him every second, every minute, every hour, every day, every week, every month, and every year.
His clothes draped over his thin frame, which had continued to decrease in mass by the week, a body once healthy, plenty of meat protecting his bones, has now been destroyed, the only thing being his body that he hadn’t completely destroyed yet being his frail skeleton and his paper thin skin, and at this rate, a simple nudge will hurt him, hurt him more than he could ever hurt himself.
Reichblr Ficathon 