after care
Blackmailing (Bonus points: if it’s for sex đź‘€)
sharing a cigarette
Goebbels felt like punching that rat in the face, still in bewilderment that Himmler had the nerve to ask him to share his cigarette, and he still couldn’t believe he obliged to that pest’s soulless pleas.
He immediately regretted his decision as soon as he saw Himmler’s fingers wrap around his cigarette as it floated off his hand like a feather, and how he glanced back at him with a sly grin and flashed his fangs like an awful fox as he puffed his precious cigarette.
It was already unbearable to watch him waste his cigarette, but what really pushed Goebbels over the edge was the fact that Himmler had the guts to skim his tongue on the cigarette’s filter, and the disgustingly horrid smirk he wore as he passed Goebbels cigarette back to him, and Himmler wasn’t surprised when he saw Goebbels’ eyes flash in outrage as he roughly put out the cigarette in the ashtray and stormed off, his face hot and red with anger.
As a jewish person whos grandmother is a holocaudt survivor, i have to say im offended… Fanfiction? About hitler? Are, are you sick?
I’m sorry you are
offended, Nonnie, and I understand that as a 3rd generation
survivor you would be, but this is only fiction. Just like Stalags
were fiction, or 70s Nazisploitation films. Idk, maybe you can
compare this to people wearing SS uniforms to fetish parties: it’s
tasteless and they get off on it, but that doesn’t make them Nazis or
even Nazi sympathizers.
It’s like writing or reading erotica about rape doesn’t mean you condone
rape, obviously. Fiction (and especially erotic fiction) doesn’t
equal political opinions.
That’s why in this
case the old fandom rule “Don’t like, don’t read” applies: If
something fictional offends you, you just don’t look at it. There’s no use trying to argue with people about how sick their preferences are.Â
WĂĽnsche, Peiper, & medfet
sharing body warmth
It was cold outside, not Moscow cold, or Siberia cold but Aachen cold, which was still cold enough when you slept out at night and had only the clothing on your body (a Landser uniform, worn and probably died in before, the holes fixed again, the whole assemble still too big for his teenage body, shoes reappropriated from the corpse of an American found by the side of the road and earmuffs from his mother stuffed under his cap because it too was too big anyway). When he was lucky they found not just a hole in the ground, a crater or a trench, but an abandoned home or at least a barn – no fire of course, so they had only each other for warmth. Each man or not quite man picked himself a mate for the night to share a blanket with and that wasn’t all that bad, not the worst of the war, more like a sliver of home found in the close embrace and sometimes, he didn’t mind, also in hot breath on his neck and fumbling hands.
exhaustion
After three days sustained only by coffee, chocolate and pervitin my dear StandartenfĂĽhrer collapsed right where he was standing, one moment in conversation about strategy with a younger officer, the next his body just dropped like a marionette with its strings cut and his pretty face slapped on the frozen ground and it split his lip open, which I very much blamed on me and my poor reflexes as I was so close that I had nearly caught him mid fall but only nearly. With the assistance of that officer I carried him to the nearest abandoned house, where we laid him down on some straw and I alone watched over him like a keen guard dog remembering all the times he had patted me on the head just like one. And like a good pet I kept restraint for a good hour but when he awoke from his deathlike sleep to one less deep, shaken by dreams and murmurs and occasional moments of clarity, where he called out to me with a husky voice dripping with need, and when he twisted on his bedding like a diseased harlot and tried to tear off his uniform as if the warmth it provided was a great burden for his weak flesh, I could not hold myself back any longer, so finally, greedily, I gave his emaciated body some release, which he thanked me for with fluttering eyelids and soft sighs.
Reichblr Ficathon 