Tag: adolf hitler
Adolf Hitler/Mimi Reiter, Berchtesgaden 1926: How Mimi was pressured into that first kiss (and more)…
Adolf Hitler/Geli Raubal, first time when her mother got the position of housekeeper at Berchtesgaden, or later on when she moved in with Hitler, or some drama before her suicide.
adolf hitler being tasked with comforting an upset person, despite being very unconfident in his ability to cheer someone up
By some lucky coincidence Hitler doesn’t manage to kill himself in time and he falls into the hands of the Red Army…
My German is perfect. My father was a German, you see. Spoke in German, thought in German, felt in German. Exposed me to the German. I understand German perfectly.
When I speak, I break your language. I break your rules, your etiquette. Du/dir/dein. Exhausted, beaten, bloodied and bruised but still very contemptuous–you still scoff. You flaunt your signature expression of disgust.
And I can sympathize, Führer. It is demeaning to see a sweetheart violated by the wretched tongue of a Bolshevik. Raped by the thick, unwashed accent of the poor countryside. It infuriates you. But it does not surprise you. Only confirms. By nature I am incapable of civilized discourse with the civilized person.
You possess a dirty peasant’s tongue too, though it is quaint German peasantry and so this comparison makes your lip curl. Your teeth show. You would bite my tongue off if you could, like an animal. You believe otherwise. Pure Aryan, not pure animal. But this is the thing about animals, Führer. No awareness of their own stupidity, their own inhumanity. A primitive brain makes for a primitive bearing. And I am certain you agree.
But you consider us beasts so I will behave according to expectation. I will act as beasts do. We will do as animals do.
I lean toward you over the steel table. Yet your empty reaction is much more belligerent. You do not pull back. You do not look away. You do not move. After all, you are a soldier. A Leader. Der Angreifer. So you have surely heard about your women. Maybe even some of your men–strictly a bragging right, of course. Don’t get ahead of yourself.
Retribution is a mixed bag. Lots of variety. All manner of flavors. I hold your chin with gentle, leather-clad fingers, a soft pressure. To be sure you understand. And I see you debating. Should you recoil from my intimate touch; or rob me satisfaction by sitting unfazed?
I tell you it does not matter. You have a very important decision to make now. Do you want this Red’s prick on that clean German tongue or would you prefer it in your arse? This is your performance and I do not care which you choose. But the wife, she might.
And this nudges a reaction. Not much, only in your breath. Though I wonder if you realize how loud the smallest movements become amidst total stillness.
You are smart, Führer. You knew before we grabbed you. Your language is not the only sweetheart we can violate. Your sweetheart is not the only creature we will violate. If only you had moved faster. Been smarter. But now she will be fed your leftovers.
So choose carefully. Reflect a moment. Consider the implications. Then offer up your confession. We are all eager to hear. Will you finally concede yourself a coward or a faggot?
Symmetry.
The real question on her mind was, for how long had he been thinking about the two of them like this? Days? Weeks? Months? When had the language in his mind moved from “her and him” onto “her with him”? The first time he’d taken her fingers in his own and placed his lips against the back of her hand, had he been imagining what it would feel like to place them against her mouth instead? His eyes had certainly left the possibility behind for her to pick up and take home with her that night. A gift that had seemed to be very intentional.
Or perhaps these ruminations had started the day he began to let those kisses linger against her skin just a second too long to be considered typical, to be considered normal. To be considered appropriate. The day he began to permanently dismantle the already impure innocence of their friendship, slowly and carefully, piece by piece by piece. As piece after piece was kicked away and left to fall between the cracks of the floorboards, forever lost, leaving their innocence without a way to ever be rebuilt.
That had seemed to be very intentional too.
The real question on his mind was, for how long had she been thinking about the two of them like this? Since the moment they met? When had the scene in her mind changed from “him and her” into “him with her”? The first time his knee had accidentally found hers under the surface of the table, had she been imagining what it would feel like to have her knees riding his hips as she lay on her back beneath his body instead? Her eyes had certainly offered up the fantasy for him to feast upon when he’d finally grown too hungry for her that night. An offering that had proven to be downright irresistible.
Or perhaps these ruminations had started the day she began to linger in the shop long after the closing hour. He was used to people turning spellbound under his eyes, but she had apparently found herself equally bewitched by how his lips and his tongue worked together as he talked. How he managed to whittle away the sharp edges of their language, and purr from the back of his throat with the gentle sounds of old romance as he promised “Ich werde morgen Abend zurückkommen.”
That had proven to be downright irresistible too.
But how had his thoughts compared to her own? How had his days compared to her own? Hours and hours of her life consumed by a deep red light and the harsh aroma of chemicals, only to finally emerge from the shadows with a colorless facsimile of their most beloved and their most feared client. The lines were all there, inhumanly precise, the angles of his face clear and unmistakable. Yet the photographs never developed faithfully.
They were not perfect. And to her immense frustration she knew they never, ever would be.
But she was determined to fix that. The world would eventually consider him to be made of more than just the black and the white.
But how had her thoughts compared to his own? How had her nights compared to his own? Hours and hours of his life consumed by a growing collection of little pink slips of paper covered in lines of soft, feminine words he’d already read a hundred times over, likely more. At first, the prurient intimacy he’d quickly developed with these notes was enough. The reveries were fresh and bright, and they were colorful enough to keep his attentions shackled to himself. But then they began to dull. And fade. And he needed them to be rawer, so much rawer, so he recklessly went at them with a knife, cutting and cutting and cutting until there was no more color left to bleed.
Suddenly, they were not enough. And to his immense frustration, he knew they never, ever would be.
But he was determined to fix that. The dimensions and the details of this woman who freely and skillfully manipulated the shape of his desires would eventually be rooted not in opinion, but in irrefutable fact.
Reich: Become Human (Detroit: Become Human AU)
The deviant had been firing his gun wildly, blue blood leaking from Adolf’s arm; having been shot by the left behind Android, who had been hiding until the deviant hunter found him, which resulted in him firing at every moving object he gazed upon.
When Adolf has finally reached him, he was pinned against the wall, his hand on the deviant’s wrist, a faint memory appearing in his memory: “Hindenburg” it said, and he heard the deviant being called Rudolf in the background; the source unknown, but at least Adolf knew the spazzing Android’s name.
The Android had pointed the gun to his own chin, firing and sliding down out of Adolf’s grip, resulting in the deviant hunter standing and trembling as he stared at the corpse, having felt the Android known as Rudolf die as his lip quivered, hearing questions like, “Are you okay?” being repeated, and all he could reply with was simple: “I’m okay.”
(Not the best but yknow I’m trying fam)
The Führer being caught eating cake in the middle of the night.
It was generally known amongst the iner circle of Hitler’s love of cake and sweets, whenever it was offered to him he would take it immediately and wolf it down to the amusement (or surprise) of everyone around him, but the day came when his favorite blue suit only just fit around him and his belly could be seen straining against the fabric, it was then that Adolf decided that he needed to go on a diet and lay off the sugar, “the fuhrer cannot be fat! I would look stupid, like goring.” And Knowing his iron will, everyone asumed that loosing the weight would be easy for the mighty fuhrer, and at first it was, the numbers on the scale began to go down and his blue suit fit well again, but as time went on, it became harder and harder to go without the sugar.
Adolf tossed and turned in his bed, it had only been a few months, and he was only ¾ of the way there, but he missed his cake, it was all he could think about, sweet, soft, creamy cake, he could almost taste it, he licked his lips, no! he couldn’t have any sweets! He would get fat again, but a little taste wouldn’t hurt would it? No it couldn’t, he got up and put his bathrobe over his pajamas before feeling his way downstairs and into the kitchen, and opening up the pantry and pulling out a nice fluffy vanilla cake “just a little won’t hurt” he told himself as he cut a slice, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy his craving for cake, so he cut another, and another, until there was no more cake left but the stray frosting clinging to his mustache.
He licked his lips in satisfaction, getting the last of the frosting off his lips, but after it was gone, he regretted his decision, had he really eaten an entire cake? Well there wasn’t a cake anymore, and he felt very, very full, he stood up with some difficulty, and turned around to realize that to his horror, a maid had been watching him, eyes wide the entire time, he walked toward her and she shrank back, fearing punishment, Adolf grabbed her by the arm and looked her in the eyes “you are not to tell anyone about this, do you understand?” She nodded fearfully before watching him walk back into the shadows and up the stairs to his room, one hand on his stomach, heavily regretting his decision.
Teeth bared in a snarl
Hermann’s drunken state stood on his hands and knees, vomit staining the cold floor as he heaved heavily, his usually neat blonde hair ruffled and ripped out, clumps of his own hair in his clutched hands.
Adolf stared apatheticly, his hand barely grazing the doorframe as his former colleague panted, stopping for a moment before beginning to sob loudly, rubbing his nose with his sleeve, still clutching the hair he pulled out as he looked up at his führer, his browed knitted together with rage, though his eyes showed intoxicated sadness and fear.
The führer bared his teeth into a snarl, jolting forward at the trembling man, making him flinch and sob, releasing the hair he held in his grip to cover his face, standing on his knees, revealing his urine soaked trousers, which had been that way for hours now, knowing this man would plan his death, and was smiling as he thought of it, smirking down at the former gruppenführer, whispering, “April 28th, get ready.”
spanking
“M-Mein führer, please stop!” Rudolf cried out, forced to his führer’s desk, his hands held tightly behind his back with strong, firm hands, his trousers at his knees as Adolf brought the paddle back to the deputy’s rear, the sound firm, echoing through the room.
“I can’t stand you and your nonsense, Rudolf, and you know this well, but I wanted to drill it through your thick skull.” The man replied, moving down to the weak man’s trembling thighs, swatting them violently, making the deputy sob out, his knees buckling.
Adolf set the paddle aside, gently pulling Rudolf’s trousers back up, buckling them back into position, hiding the red marks that stained the crying man, who managed to utter out, “I-I’m so sorry me-ein führer, I won’t misbehave again, and I promise!”
Reichblr Ficathon 