|| ℌ𝔢𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔶 || navré + retrojapan || ᴡᴡɪɪ Germany || ᴛʀɪɢɢᴇʀs: ᴅᴜʙ-ᴄᴏɴ, sᴀᴅɪsᴍ, ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴍᴀsᴏᴄʜɪsᴍ, ᴛʀᴀᴜᴍᴀ

[navré]

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ｈｅｇｅｍｏｎｙ

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"Perhaps they were right putting love into books. Perhaps it could not live anywhere else." ― William Faulkner

The setting: Nazi Germany.
My title is a vaguely cool pun, admit it.

“In individuals, insanity is rare; but in groups, parties, nations and epochs, it is the rule.” ― Friedrich Nietzsche

The violence within its walls had been no small thing, no niche ideal, and its death camps would be nightmarishly remembered decades into the future.





“ʸᵒᵘ ᵐᵘˢᵗ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᶜʰᵃᵒˢ ʷⁱᵗʰⁱⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵒ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ᵇⁱʳᵗʰ ᵗᵒ ᵃ ᵈᵃⁿᶜⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵗᵃʳ.” ― ᶠʳⁱᵉᵈʳⁱᶜʰ ᴺⁱᵉᵗᶻˢᶜʰᵉ

Kurt Sänger: playful, beautiful, brutal. Whip-smart with no heart.

He's a boy with a power fantasy, militaristic, ambitious, and groomed to believe that he's entitled to make the lives of the camp inmates miserable.
Especially for the pretty thing that had just caught his eye.


“ˢʰᵉ ʷᵃˢ ˢᵒ ᵉᵛⁱᵈᵉⁿᵗˡʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᵛⁱᶜᵗⁱᵐ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜⁱᵛⁱˡⁱᶻᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ʷʰⁱᶜʰ ʰᵃᵈ ᵖʳᵒᵈᵘᶜᵉᵈ ʰᵉʳ.” ― ᴱᵈⁱᵗʰ ᵂʰᵃʳᵗᵒⁿ, ᵀʰᵉ ᴴᵒᵘˢᵉ ᵒᶠ ᴹⁱʳᵗʰ

Analiese sticks out right at first sight.

Girls at camps get their heads shaved upon arrival, but hers remains long. That's only because she's an officer's comfort woman.
She'd traded her own freedom for her father's, though certain turns of events might threaten her plans.






​

 

[navré]

Kurt Sänger woke up in a lavish room, in a ruffled but open uniform, beside a girl he just fucked. This is exactly what will happen if you rolled your men into slaughterhouses in France to become sausages and the next thing you know, you have to put 19-year-old boys in corporals' uniforms. Kurt tried to smart-mouth some version of this to a superior in another instance before but it didn't stop him from getting another leg day outside on the marsh. Carrying the full kit. He wasn't even a field soldier, his superior just wanted to torture him. That was life. But his name does also nearly spell curt; Sänger pronounced like 'singa' in Singapore; Japan can have that one. He was part of the Totenkopfverbände, Death's Head Units: the SS organization responsible for administering the Nazi concentration camps. So Japan could have Singapore but Kurt can have fun.

The room -- pristine (or mostly pristine, after his midnight misadventure): bed, blue carpet, empty wood cupboard and dressing table -- wasn't his. He stole the keys from the same superior and brought some naive Hungarian darling in; she was young, the same age as he was; full of life, too, but she didn't budge when the lank boy rolled out of bed with a grunt. Still fatigued from all the rounds, he lazily held up a trim finger to her nose. Dead.
Pity. She was such a delightful, twitching mess last night. Maybe he should've given her water when she asked for it. He never really knew how long they had all previously went without it; the fuck was he supposed to do, keep tabs?

Stretching, he rubbed his hands together to warm them; the room was warmed but still a little chilly. He picked up the girl bridal style, holding his breath under the weight; but he rolled out into the snow like a new tank. His joints were well oiled with youth, his frame was misleadingly thin but all lean muscle from the frequent gruelling marches and all his strength came from the memory of training alone. He felt like he walked to France entirely on foot once, and one of his division buddies moaned that they really did, Sänger, they really did.

Already forgetting her name, he carried her out in the dreary cold, crossing some of the black, straight rows of buildings. Dropped her and watched her roll off the side into the pit of corpses. He snorted when he saw that her face was in someone's ass. That was funny.

The inmates nearby, disappointingly, did not, not once, lift their eyes to watch him. Otherwise he'd get to kick someone in the chin. The pit was closer than he remembered, but he realised that they'd just dug a new one.

​

In the cloudy light, Kurt stood in the same aesthetic as the atmosphere and the death camp. If he wasn't simmering he looked like a dash of smoke. Wispy white hair and wistful eyes that bordered on grey. They're blue! He remembered the time he shouted at the doctor checking them before he was enrolled in school. Look again!

He got in here this young not because he was a Jew but because he volunteered for camp service, and he had been enthusiastic. And the men at recruitment did look at his eyes twice, then three times. Then again, because they were not looking for colour, they were looking for cruelty, and this boy's eyes were not blue. They were vicious, and he blinked them with a smile.

A herd of people were moving past, to go about their round of work; Kurt was new, he couldn't really tell what they were doing yet. Without moving, purposefully standing in the way of a grizzled inmate about to push a cart of corpses past behind him, Kurt casts a lazy, shameless glance at the women.

"Dirty lot, all of them. Polacks, Jews, Russian scum," an older man, camp personnel as well but a superior, came up near him, lighting a cigar. He plucked it from his mouth to shout an order at the guards who seemed to be unnecessarily taunting a small knot of girls. He continued with some choice racist remarks while Kurt laughs appreciatively, before clipping his eyes onto the sight of a particular girl among the others. Just the back of her head, everything about her as dirty and impoverished as the rest, but her movement drew his eye. She made it all happen to him again, blew up a firestorm overhead.

Nearly innocent. She was animated like a spark of fire in the slug of ice that this godforsaken place was. Something stirred in him, his stomach twisting at the same time, a sort of hunger and excitement. He wanted to see her face.

"Don't you go and fuck those roaches," his superior said, giving him the stink eye. Kurt thought, fuck the superior and everything he had to say. He was young, gorgeous, had older noblewomen from Berlin batting their shadowed eyes at him; he was full of vitality, rising in the ranks, driving big tanks. And this girl with the gut to steal his eye really made his blood hot.

He swept over like a saviour and touched her shoulder; the girls around her would jump as he nears. Flitting away in fear. The reflex response to men in uniforms, and they were wise to react like that. To Kurt's girl, though, he touched with what felt like a feather instead of a few fingers.

​

In the back, the older camp guard scoffed and skulked off to beat the shit out of someone else; because he didn't have Kurt's shamelessness to approach a girl in the middle of the day, in front of the inmates, and take her.

Kurt wasn't shameless; it was just that the other inmates and girls might as well be dogs to him. Hanging around all silent, looking at him with bashful gazes. He was tempted to throw a biscuit, and as he slipped an arm around the girl, he did, pulling a crushed pack of dry, army-ration biscuits and tossing it on the ground at them. They can have biscuits to replace a friend they'd probably never see again. Everyone knew food was more useful here than friends. They were really all too stupid to judge; he would try to explain some semblance of this to the older officer later. If everyone could wake up as happy as he did it would really lift the dreary air from here. The goddamned place needed some laughter before he regrets his volunteering. The front line was almost appealing. He needed to fix that. He walked with a bounce in his step; he was on a streak, on his record-breaking row of seven times of fun per week.

​

"Come with me," he whispered in her ear, his voice sandy and boyish, bright rather than deep and menacing. He was giving an order that pretty girls were sure to have heard in the camp frequently before they became not so pretty any more. And Kurt had whispered it with a smile, as boys in parties often did. He bent slightly to do it, like a soft snow prince, impossibly polite, his gun chivalrously behind his back. Though his smile was something else in itself; close-lipped, sideways.
And absolutely fucking depraved.

 

[Retrojapan]

The story begins on just another agonizing twenty four hours served in the perpetually freezing death camp which proudly boasted enough cremations in any given day that it was actually a little toasty in some parts. Not this part though. It was cold enough to crack your lips a little in these parts. Everyone in this particular hell still had their gold fillings which meant they still had some shred of hope left. If you kept them cold, you kept them frantic, and there wasn't a single numbered soul in that camp who didn't shiver even when they found that toasty spot near the incinerator.

All of this can really boil down to only one thing - control.

It goes back as far as man can go. When early ancestors learned how to control the environment, we began our advance into the modern human and modern humans crave control. In every corner of the world you will find a human exchanged in the power struggles that balance the tides. This dark corner of the earth was no different. Humans are social creatures who use social behaviours to purchase and test control. Perhaps one of the only social species to trade, recognize and control by name.

There is a lot to be said about a name. Name your environment, name the noun and name the verbs. Do you feel powerful now? Informed, even? Do you know what the fuck is going on? Naming gives you control. Your parents named you after something important to them and you were to live up to that expectation. The woman whose ear Kurt whispered was given the name Analiese because in Hebrew it meant grace. The woman's mother was recently gone and perhaps that is why Analiese shortened it now to Ana. Family names, of course, are dictated and such, the eighteen year old had no choice in her family name of Feuer, which poignantly was German for fire.

Kurt wouldn't have known that Ana wasn't just another cocksleeve to roll into the ditch so we'll forgive him this time. This was actually her first day back to the death hell camp she was natural to, having just returned from an assignment as an interpreter for the past week. Assignment was just another word for less than the expected amount of suffering with a little more privacy to lick the wounds after. No salt. She occasionally enjoyed her own quarters which helped her when she smuggled mail in from the outside. The mail room was part of her responsibility and she took it very seriously.

This perhaps is because her mother was a mail clerk in the same office up until she died only a few months prior. Ana knew because she had seen it herself - the body, that is. Her mother's corpse in a pile of others with the neck twisted completely around and practically fused into some poor child's caved in chest. There was nothing to see besides the rot of paper thin skin pulling over bones. A few inmates actually circled the burning pit for warmth but Ana preferred to freeze that day. There weren't enough languages to speak to the grief of watching her mother's body stoked literally like fucking kindling with a shovel.

After all, language was her passion and Ana spoke many just like her mother. Hebrew, German, French and Italian. She was a highly regarded and trusted interpreter with a knack for blending in with the office furniture as a coping mechanism. Oh, how she wished there was some cover from the moment which saw an officer leaning in with the most vile of grins on his stupid face! Ana was so used to being invisible and accepted as an object that it honestly felt surreal to have been spotted so candidly by the blonde officer. As surreal as it could have been given the circumstance of awaiting eventual death in a concentration camp.

By the youth in his face Ana could surmise he must be around her own young age which was surprising in their particular encampment. There was a certain darkness in his steel eyes which nearly tripped her own crystal blues to look away in their intensity. She was normally good at reading people involved in the traumatic bonding in which they all participated. None of the assholes needed to pretend to be anything besides their bastard selves and yet... this one wore a mask. She could not see on the other side of this mask and it did unnerve her.

"I'll go where you take me," Ana responded in a tone that might have suggested she was more than willing to go with him. She wore a star on the lapel of her tattered wool coat which did more than signify her number - 199083 - it also showed him a marking of higher standing among the low lives he so often abused. She was no ordinary cocksleeve and he would have to be aware of that. "And then I will take my leave back to my duties, sir."

 

[navré]

She agrees, just like that. Did she think he'd be nice? She was right, he was. He'd just given her dog friends some food. They were already scrambling for it, and it amused him to see, from the corner of his eye, them reluctantly sharing it among themselves.

"Mm, good," he said. He flicked a finger for her to follow, and turned on his heels, making sure to walk some distance ahead of her. When an officer strides past, he walked briskly ahead of her, playing as if he didn't know her. She stuck out because she still had her hair, unlike the other girls, who'd gotten theirs shaved bald. You couldn't tell them from boys if they didn't wear different clothing.

"You're fluent, I take you're one of the interpreters. You're on a free day, or you wouldn't be hanging out with your little buddies. Or somebody wouldn't let you. You might get a little bit scratched up, yes?" Kurt smirked over his shoulder. "So no, you won't be getting back to your non-existent duties, little girl."

Sir was always nice to hear, though. From all kinds of girls especially, bleeding or not. Usually, Kurt had to call somebody else sir, and that somebody would usually torment him at every opportunity they got. Even now they did: there was only one explanation for her hair - that one of the people Kurt had to address with sir and the right salute had taken her in as a whore. Men liked plenty to pull on, though Kurt would be disappointed at their lack of creativity if pulling was all they thought they could do.

She was one of the inmates with higher standing but seemed too young for it. Whoever fucked her had a heart, which was cute; that there was some officer who wanted her protected around here, but the girl had to be a fucking idiot if she thought a little star would really keep her safe.

In a far end of the camp, he stopped between what she wouldn't know yet are gas chambers, the alley between them eerily quiet. Both were unused today, so the vicinity was secluded. The wind was picking up; good, it would carry any sound away if she made them. Or if he did. Couldn't help it sometimes. He went and leaned back against the long-side wall of the chamber, crossing one leg over the other, languorous. Kurt pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket and poked around for a lighter.

"Who do you work for?"

He cupped a hand over the tip, lighting his cigarette, which jumped in his mouth as he asked her without looking up. The buildings on both sides blocked out most of the wind but even if they didn't boys in this country knew how to light one in the wind, no problem.

​

He trusted her to know what he was talking about -- he needed to know which of his superiors had already laid his claim on Kurt's next game chase. He took a drag from the cigarette, mind already starting to kick into gear to deduce; he had one suspect highest on his list, an officer who was known for not really managing to keep it in his pants. Rasche, the head of the admin department; one of the things he was in charge of was keeping logs on the people who were arrived in the camp or the people who were transferred away. It was a mighty fine position for him too since nobody would bat an eye at assigning female inmates to do this secretarial work. But he was also Kurt's officer, in a way, since Kurt dealt with transfers on top of his other job as a general camp tormentor. In the more physical approach, rather than on paper, but it was all under Rasche. Kurt only knew, because while soldiers were known for being lewd, this officer, especially when officers weren't exactly allowed to copulate with the inmates; had stirred up some scandalous (and often raunchy) gossip.

Kurt smoked for a few minutes, relaxing. Rasche was definitely a softie, and another dumbass. He could manage some fun under his nose, and it wasn't exactly something he's never done before. He waited to hear the girl confirm his suspicion: he just needed to know that, and not much else; not even her name. She could tell him if she wanted, any time later; the Hungarian sure did, spilling it within five minutes, which was adorable. Either way he didn't particularly care, and they'd definitely be spending time together from here on until she died or something. With an officer taking care of her, though, she might last a little longer and he might get a bit more of a thrill.

"Hungry?" He asked her once the cigarette burned down near the end. He chucked it aside. Kurt had a piece of chocolate with him, because they didn't finish the whole bar he stole from the kitchen last night, so it was the proper thing, not the army kind with diesel or whatever unpleasant thing they put in it to make sure you didn't eat it until you absolutely had to. He liked to have sweets when he was with a girl. Put them in a good mood.

Pulling it out, he unwrapped the bar and broke a piece from it; made sure he held it so that she could smell it when he did. On a day without work, she would have had to line up for the thin watery thing they fed the rest of the lot, which meant that she'd be starving. He popped it in his own mouth, chewing slowly, making an appreciative sound in between.

 

[Retrojapan]

​

One day Kurt would learn the distinction and importance in the exchange of a name and not an address, but this was not the day.

The young man possessed only a surface level comprehension of honorifics which was undermined, to Kurt's own detriment, by his unhiding distaste for titles not powering to him. Any high ranking officer understood the panopticon effect of their place in a successful army. Supervision is effective so long as the watchtower is visible, but ever-questioningly present. Think about it - what good are soldiers if they do not possess self-discipline and control? The might of an army does not depend on being reminded of your place. Perhaps in here a suggestion for some character development to the young man hoping one day achieve his Sir. There might be a little detectable doubt, but only because Kurt has yet to prove himself as anything other than an impulsive nineteen year old with a gun. So far in the read, that is.

Analiese did follow him, but not because she had a choice in the matter. It was just as when Rasche had taken a liking to her. Names are important you see because Rasche is German for quick, and quick the head of Administration was to note her perfect German. It went well with the French, Italian and of course, Hebrew. Rasche's notice allowed Analiese and her mother to be useful to the slaughterhouse, but not in the direction Kurt's mind took to. Rasche was an important figure here, certainly to Kurt's ranks, but only in the early days for Analiese. As forever ago as those early days seemed, she was fortunate enough to be in the know, at least, that she did not suffer forever, and that her survival was but four months, three days and, on some days (but not this one) - still counting.

This was one of those days where she questioned the ticking of that count; the bomb that was actually her expendable life dangling just beyond her reach. Through the camp, the charade of separation he mimed to an audience that could care less, the young woman followed him even though he was not the officer who allowed her long blonde hair to flow freely down the back of her wool coat. She was grateful for the alley between them when she took her place against the wall opposite to him; like a rubicon that neither yet dared to cross. Or so she thought no one dared.

When he lit his cigarette and asked the simple question that crossed it - she had two choices. The first choice was to tell the truth and explain why her blonde head in particular shone with a halo brighter than any of David's other stars. This was the choice Kurt undoubtedly expected, and would probably lead to better outcomes in later posts, so to speak (no puns intended). She was an honest person, but her second choice in lying to the soldier's face was also carefully considered. She was perhaps to be the David to his Goliath someday, after all. She wasn't about to out the man who had indeed taken her under his wing if only to get his dick wet.

"Officer Rasche." Ana lied, and her performance might have her up for an Oscar at some point.

Analiese wasn't just looking out for herself anymore. Her poor father also depended on this lie, and she was hopeful that the young Nazi wasn't privy to the communications and intercepts of Abwhr within the Oberkommando der Wehrmacht. She could tell by his insignia that the man wasn't even of the rank to eat in the same mess hall with an Intelligence Officer, let alone run into him regularly. She hoped. She prayed. She kind of assumed, as well. He acted like just another nobody with a gun. But knowing her luck though they were brothers. Warwick Ernst was a man of generousity towards her case, but only because he worked with her father in radio prior to the war, and consequently knew of Analiese herself. Now they were all pseudo-comrades and it wasn't easy to play off that she was nothing more than some Jew licking envelopes and cock in the mail room.

To review: she was, indeed, a Jew licking cock and envelopes in the mail room.

It is worth noting, however, that the mail was of the legal and illegal sorts, smuggled in from outside and between the camps - and this is an important plot detail.

Ana wanted to offer just a bit more to the conversation, if only to cushion the lie and give him something to go to Rasche with, but the sight of the chocolate bar raised a primitiveness in her that she was becoming more and more fluent in. The language of desperate starvation. Despite the higher status, Analiese was still drowning in her own stomach acid constantly. This didn't even compare to the burn which accompanied the intoxicating scent of chocolate invading her senses. The idea of food subduing her pride. Just the thought of nourishment preventing another word from escaping her lips for a few moments. The circumstance overriding all else. He was such a fucker and he knew it, eating the chocolate so slowly because he knew. He knew she was starving.

"A bit hungry these days, yes. No complaints, though. Happy with the service." Ana smiled at him from where she leaned her thin form shrouded in wool against the wall. She didn't want to find herself in that awful role he had demanded earlier - throwing a biscuit to the ground like he was feeding chickens. He may be used to teasing dogs, but she herself was only acting like one. Playing the part until everyone believed it, surprised even, when she brought home a bone of her own.

But ask him for a bone she would not because Analiese knew good dogs are always given to by their master.

 

[navré]

"Knew it," he sighed and pushed his hair out of his eyes with a hand. They immediately fell right back in place in a charming, boyish manner, of course.

In his arrogance, Kurt didn't doubt her at all, almost as if he wanted himself to be right. Whatever. He was always right, most of the time anyway. He didn't come out of his blue-eyes-only school at the top of the top class for nothing. Yes. Top. Sounded like him alright. To him so far she was another piece of eye candy (that he did also happen to want to take a bite out of right now, but that was beside the point, and he prided himself on his restraint) so she probably wasn't going to start getting any Oscars if she did try to lie.

He did let himself think about the girl possibly licking envelopes or cock in a mailroom. For whores who keep their pretty hair, only one of those jobs was more productive than the other. She could be fantastic at paper, but Kurt thought, with a little smile she could see and a look trailing his eyes from her head down her body, that she wouldn't be good for much else other than licking cock.

Did she play any sort of board game? Chess would help sharpen her tiny brain, maybe. He might play with her, she would just lose. Right now she didn't know how easily he could corner her by leaning up against the other wall. And he did, crossing over to stand right in front of her, though still not yet touching her. If she had to run, though, she had to run out from his left or right side, and he could easily stick out one leg or the other to trip her. Kurt was also moderately tall; he had one head on her but he could also kick her legs out and have one boot on her instead. She wouldn't be able to top his reaction time, not if, between the two of them, only one of them had been tortured by lieutenants in military training before (with said torture involving a fake hand grenade that looked very, very real. That fucker).

Kurt cracked a piece of chocolate off with two fingers. His knuckles were pink from the cold, his lithe fingers pale but he didn't shiver, even without gloves. He grew up in the snow, maybe that's why he looked a bit like it too. She seemed tough, not shivering too much either, which was unusual because inmates must have the worst clothing for this weather. He was in something fantastically warm himself. If she started to shiver, though, he'd offer her his coat, obviously.

He bent down a little, moving in closer to her face, and held the chocolate up to her lips. "Ah," he said to her, opening his mouth to a set of perfect teeth if not for the canines on the sharper side; doing the mime that people do to tell children to eat. It was certainly an intimate gesture, and only holding it right outside her mouth, brushing her lower lip with the piece of sweet and his cold fingers, he needed it to be tantalising. He wanted to see her salivate before he put it in her mouth. Once she did, he would press it onto her tongue, with enough force and on the spot right in the middle where, if you pressed down on it any further in, you could make someone gag.

 

[Retrojapan]

Of course the man didn't doubt her. He was practically omnipotent. At least that was the grandiose delusion Analiese couldn't help but notice and take advantage of in almost all of her interactions with Nazi Germany. Besides, it wasn't her place now as a Jew to question the German's self-fulfilling narratives. But still, if every German was as correct as they posited, then shouldn't all the Jews be dead already? You know, if the Germans were so advanced and correct in all of this. What was the hold up? It shouldn't take that long to kill off every last one of the Jews if they were truly as terrible and subservient as suggested. It was practically a mercy killing.

Surely there was someone fighting for them in the world. If the conversation saw just Jews questioning the state of affairs, then of course she wouldn't be alive to ponder it all in the first place. She longed to hear more from the other piece of the conversation which saw the Allies speaking the only language of sanity. She had overheard snippets of it during her previous assignment. There was still some sanity in the world who questioned, who fought against the Truman show that was the German's telling the world Jews were not worth life. She heard proof of the fight herself on the radio with Warwick a week prior.

Thus, the hope was still there, deep, deep down now, that someone else out there did still believe that all of this was wrong. Surely the fact that she was alive to enjoy a chocolate in a concentration camp meant that it wasn't just a delusional German with uncharacteristic of Germans charisma running the show. The concentration camp was hardly a life, but they were still alive. Breathing in gas, eating on shit, pissing on each other. It wasn't much, but it was theirs, and surely it would amount to something more than just a chapter in a history book someday, right?

Oh wait...

That was a regression. After all, the two polar ends of the same damned stick had more in common than either could even begin to imagine. The barbed wire fence bordering the complex did not just cage her and every other Star within in. No - there were Germans in that shit hole too! How was it that they could be so fucking perfect, and still.... the bastards lived there too? It was puzzling really. Germans who thought they were somehow above the shit they shit in and smeared around for the dogs they themselves ran with. German shit wasn't above Jewish shit, and they were all shitting together collaboratively in the same toilet bowl hell - only the Germans thought they were enlightened. This soldier literally believed he wasn't being manipulated, starved to death and fucked in the ass too.

Kurt was yet another sort of caged animal in the camp, only he was a bit lesser off when you really think about it. He still believed he mattered in all of this. Poor man thought he was more than the military registration number stitched into his own slave coat. At least Ana had accepted that she was 199083 and nothing more. The both of them wore a uniform, but for a very different reason. At least she knew the truth about her ball and chain. There were no falsehoods or delusions in her mind. He was a puppet in all this and she couldn't help but ask the audience - Who was really better off?

Regardless, it was obvious that a Jew with chocolate was better than a Jew without chocolate.

She followed the script as she barely had a choice and opened her child mouth for the man whose name she could not curse. A name to control, to manipulate in her mind, and to give to this man who besieged her. Of course the chocolate melted sweetness into the bitter reality that saw Analiese gagging on his deliberation pressing the confection further than necessary into her mouth, jaw literally dropping to accommodate his invasion. She would have stepped back and away from him but there was the wall she was leaning against, trapping her against itself and his cruelty. She turned her face to the side abruptly, away from his hand, and thought about spitting the chocolate out onto the ground. It would have been such a scene for her as a character in this story, but Ana didn't get this far in her short life to be spitting chocolate out at the Nazi's feet. She would not spite herself that way.

He wasn't a hero, but the delusion was certainly there, and perhaps she should have let him watch her be grateful for him. The truth was pride could be swallowed but gratitude was an intentional practice and she would not be grateful to the enemy, even as he fed her. Instead, she turned her face to the side, away from his steel gaze, so that he would not watch her eyes and face enjoy as she sucked to slowly melt and swallow his gift. When it was over, she would turn back to him with an even blue gaze. "Thank you, sir, for your generousity."

Analiese was not proud of their performance together, though who was watching is yet to be seen.

 

[navré]

I frankly do not see why the narrator for Ana's thoughts has taken it upon herself to act uppity. Narrators are supposed to shut the fuck up and narrate because it's her one job, and if she isn't able to figure out that part with that tiny brain of hers then she's asking me to be here, really. Two can play at the tongue game. I would forgive her, but I want to write something that would render that a lie, so maybe that part can come later if she's being good.

Again, very cute for thinking mercy killings are practical. Objectively the narrator here gets it right, but she forgets that only one Nazi had the job of practicality, that was maybe Reinhard Heydrich, or Heinrich Himmler, or more possibly executioner Adolf Eichmann, who was the chief executioner for the Final Solution before it was called that. Himmler was maybe another one with a sadistic streak.

Thereupon he organized the identification, assembly, and transportation of Jews from all over occupied Europe to their final destinations at Auschwitz and other extermination camps in German-occupied Poland.

- Brittanica on Eichmann​

But she doesn't care about these dead men, does she? The narrator might find her mind straying to Sänger, who was very much alive and living in the moment.

This lot of them were in charge of the parts that weren't all that practical, and that meant making the work to build and the camp they would die in. Or it meant slipping a hand around a girl's throat just to feel her swallow, and his hands were coarse but not as far gone as a frontliner's because he slipped to fill a position that didn't require dying. Kurt felt her oesophagus flex under his skin, as she wrenched her head to her side, the rest of the world seemed lost to him. He was holding in his hands an animal body and when the body moved against the mind when the rationale is lost and the lizard kicks in to mindlessly protect the flesh -- this was the change of hands he always loved to see, to think that with a twisting grip on the throat he can reduce a human brain to an animal brain.

The narrator is right, all this in the history books, as I look, had been incredibly excessive: like forcing you to build your own car, in the jungle, from scratch, before you drive to work. And maybe slay an animal for the skin, which you should by the way dry outside unless you like the feeling of slick gore, before stitching into something resembling clothing because you're not about to go to work naked. Unless you're really going to be the fun kind of girl with the play kind of work. The point is, all excessive, but it's there because it makes a few people happy. Why do people act this way? Why do girls put on makeup even if it doesn't really change how it feels to fuck them? The reason evades me as it does for the narrator trying to get all profound. However, in another lens: shops are down, so no work there, manufacturing is to mind-numbingly boring, and turning into sausage at the front lines, either French or Russian, wasn't really Kurt's thing. And my autocorrect didn't ask me to capitalise 'french' at first which I'm going to point out here because it's funny. And don't complain, I write and meander however I like; if you're here just to read sex then porn is better than my trash words.

That left one thing, and that was pushing the girl into the wall right after she thanks him and squeezing hard enough to watch the piece of high energy, high dopamine food, no doubt fucking priceless to her, slip off her tongue, staining her chin and her clothing before hitting the snow, this grievance so wrong in its soundlessness. The wind would have been wholly unnecessary, Kurt realised now. He was only hearing Ana gasping for air, which I will assume she does unless she wants to stop breathing before he makes her stop breathing for whatever suicidal reason. Perhaps a certain narrator's masochism knows no bounds, which would not bide well for little Ana at all.

Kurt leaned very close to her; any closer and she'd be kissing him.
"Really? Thanking me? You're welcome," his voice was low, the curvy smile he had on making the visual of him sensual. "Rasche's little whore, you're going to be friends with me too," he purred with a hint of delight, and in case his platonic language was shrouding his intentions too well, he licked up her earlobe, wanting to make her hairs stand on end. "And I really, really want to be your friend," he whispered, blowing this particular bout of breath under her nose. He had just had a piece of chocolate, and he'd made sure to chew thoroughly and push it around his whole mouth earlier so that she could smell it now. And the piece he put in her mouth earlier must have only made her hungrier because he choked it out of her before she could really have it, poor baby. This time she could smell it again, mixed well with his saliva. She could drool for him, or if she would be overwhelmed enough by animalistic starvation to lunge for his sweet-smelling mouth with a hungry kiss then he would be more than willing to oblige and reward her with something soft before he really started to kick her around.

Kurt was a puppet all right, but the puppet master was pulling his strings in a fashion he loved so much that oh, he danced with it, and he would do it with a marionette's smile. I hope my co-narrator watches enough horror flicks to know that particular smile.

 

[Retrojapan]

Soundtrack: Every You Every Me- Placebo​

Analiese was trying her hardest to not be the quivering leaf she was standing before a man who could have simply killed her and saved them both the trouble. Instead he painstakingly drew closer and closer still until she was smelling that damned chocolate on his breath like a mirage. Shamelessly, a wave of saliva did fill her mouth because of this, and she swore from that moment onward she would never eat chocolate again because of him. There was not even yet a name for this man. So close now they were in a hot carbon dioxide exchange across each other's lips, yet enough space between them to somehow still feel the cold winter air. This wasn't what she did with the other officer. They did not touch lips or exchange a slow ache in their exchanges of this sort. This sort was so, so different.

It must have been because it was him.

Who else could go through such planning and process to torment and draw out an experience of suffering like this? What starving man procured these events like someone who could afford to not eat the chocolate himself? The handsome blonde took himself far too seriously, but no one was telling him to lighten up. Not even Ana could as she felt his wet tongue slowly dragging across her earlobe. There was a chill that snaked down her spine from her neck, but Analiese wasn't sure if the goosebumps were from a thrill or the cold wind blowing around them and cooling the saliva too soon yet not soon enough. It was completely unfamiliar that a Nazi soldier would be so languorous and effortful when feeding the dogs. Especially when it was so often stated that they had much more important things to do apparently. Of all the men she had to please in her life now, none tormented her so intently, acting without another responsibility in the world, and with a smile on his snow face, as the man who breathed the only heat she had truly felt since arriving in that camp, onto her skin like lashes.

All of this only begs the question: Is it really so uppity to challenge the narrative - or is it only when it's done so out of character? Ana's thoughts were for her and absolutely not the man whose hands were suddenly around her neck. These thoughts weren't for anyone else, on that matter. Many might consider themselves lucky to have insight into the mind of such a woman. To note, the narration hence forth will be respectable and third-person. After all, there was also a third person actually at the scene. It was Officer Warwick Ernst coming to Ana's rescue just as the chocolate choked out of her mouth.

Warwick was only just arriving on a day pass himself to visit the struggling woman. Remember that alley Kurt had led them to so carefully (he's done this before...) - the one adjacent to the bran spanking new gas chambers at the camp? Well, it just so happens the group of Officers that all collectively outranked Kurt were on their way to that exact building to complete a ritualistic circlejerk over it. All having noticed the striking woman still with her long blonde hair as they drove by, the Chief Officer Ernst was now on the ground, having hopped off the slowly moving vehicle (they had to get a better look at the woman being roughed up by the younger soldier before Warwick realized who it was), and approaching them quite quickly for a man who had no business saving a Jew.

"Analiese? What is going on here?" Warwick could obviously tell something was going on, and it was now his job as the Intelligence Officer to figure it out. He knew he couldn't simply run to her defense in this situation despite the fact that he outranked Sänger by decades. Truthfully, he himself was caught between a rock and a hard place of wanting to wipe the chocolate off Analiese's lips and rescue her, or help the young private hold her down to finish the job. Out of respect for her still living father, and the fact that she was at least acting pleasant about their sexual escapades, the senior officer would give them the benefit of the doubt here. Though really they were both very suspicious and the fact that he had just watched the young blonde man basically strangle Ana a moment before did not go well with his possessive nature.

Analiese knew that as well. Part of her deal with Warwick Ernst was that she wouldn't be licking anyone else's envelopes so long as she lived to lick anything in that hell camp. It seemed like a good deal at the time, but now there were too many fires to put out for the young woman whose last name also meant fire. She was scrambling inside. There was nothing to put on the flames and the lie she told earlier was compromised by the situation now. Kurt was not supposed to know about her time in Abwhr, let alone her business with Warwick in the first place - let alone the man revealing her own name to the lower ranking sadist. Everyone was being outed now. Kurt was supposed to think she was just a nameless whore sucking off Rasche over in Administration until she could figure out something else.

Now the men were both here staring at each other and all she could do was lick her bottom lip (what else was she good for besides licking around these parts anyways), straightening herself proper and tucking her hair behind her ears as if that was anymore respectable. What was she supposed to say? This younger soldier wanted to get lucky, she wanted chocolate, and it probably would have been a good exchange had Warwick not shown up? The chocolate was on the ground near the older man’s boot and she almost thought about explaining it as it were. Clearly the theme today was deceit because the words came out before she could stop them.

"Warwick," She was surprised by his presence in the camp and addressed him by name at first, even though she shouldn't have. It was too late anyways. "I was choking and he saved me, Officer Ernst. I owe him my life..." As worthless as it was to the two Nazi soldiers, she stared back at the older man's eyes and convinced him it was true. She didn't want any trouble with either of them - but that was probably unavoidable at this point now wasn't it?

 

[navré]

​

Before Kurt could unscramble the lies she'd fed him he was grabbed by the collar.
Warwick Ernst was studded with medals like a lower-rank soldier would be with bruises. Analiese, he thought as Ernst held him up by the collar. Kurt was sputtering and kicking lank legs that did nothing more than shake the bigger man a little. When he glared at Ana he had black under his eyes. Not like someone who hasn't slept, more like someone crazy.

Ernst was ignoring Ana's blatant lie, and he couldn't talk to her, in case he betrayed a weakness for it. She had much more in her head than even some officers and on top of sex she was a delight in maintaining a conversation. He'd thought they were getting along but she appeared to be defending the scoundrel, as if he didn't see, with his own eyes, Sänger's hand around her throat. No doubt Kurt had been as much of an ace at first aid as he was in school; the boy wasn't about to forget basic manoeuvres around even very pretty girls.

"I can have you transferred," he hissed at the boy, knocking him further into the wall. He was slipping into his shirt under his grip on the collar and glared back at Ernst with a wounded fury. Ernst needed to stick more work into Kurt's schedule. Maybe that'd keep her safer, and negligence of duty, if he snuck off to play, was something he could actually transfer Kurt for. If they started prosecuting murder and following around here even all their officers would be gone.

"I'll be talking to Rasche to shift the roster around. You don't look busy enough and the Führer does not need any more dallying especially as the Reich plots to move into France."

Ernst dropped Kurt, who stumbled and gasped.

"And the camp must be fully constructed and cleared by then," he finished. Looked at Kurt as Kurt would at the inmates or his peers -- with disdain and a hint of threat. They were all the same here, really. Layers of unhappiness on top of everyone trying to make everyone else miserable.

That was why her breath must have smelled like fresh air to him when he stood right in front of her -- this girl didn't seem to want to make him miserable. Kurt was often nearly magnetically drawn to the girls who looked like they'd be fun, though Ana wasn't just fun, she was a skilled entertainer and an awfully sweet one. Like that, she had at least two soldiers vying to take a bite of her, and who knows how many of the inmates enjoyed drinking in the sight of her too. Kurt noticed their gazes. This was as alike those animals as he'd let himself be, but her tight, nimble body made his fantasies very, very enjoyable.

⊱⊰​

After getting stepped on by Ernst some more in the evening, and getting essentially blackmailed into helping Ernst arrange his own additional work, Kurt was in a foul mood while he rested that night. In bed, Analiese crept into his mind, redirecting the blood that was pumping around his head out of anger to rush down and fill his cock instead, threatening to drastically improve his mood. Under the sheets, Kurt reached down and stroked his frustration out, sighing in the night air, his thick mop of hair flopping into his face as he turned and bit back a soft sound and finished quickly with a ragged breath. Careful not to disturb the rest of his peers as they all slept and he daydreamed for the rest of the night. In the morning, he was bitch tired but it got a bit better, when the boys Tjaden, Erik, and Leo invited him for football. This was the day before he officially lost all his free time for good.

The boys were older than Kurt; Tjaden was half a head shorter than Kurt and stocky; Leo was very pale, but his meeker disposition made him look as if he could be on the brink of fading; Erik was the tallest among them, lean and handsome, although the country's beauty standard wouldn't say so because of his brown hair. They still followed him around because they were bloodthirsty with no creativity. Creativity allowed Kurt to be king. They were more than willing to do what he said because they loved what he did, all of the time.

Today, they've managed to find a couple of scrawny camp boys to play with them, much younger than the group, maybe about 15. Tjaden has his football with him, a brown, patchy thing but the best one on the camp, and it was the same one officers used when they wanted matches with the inmates on Christmas or any other festive season where they wanted to, I admit, unnecessarily humiliate the inmates' weaknesses some more. Anyway, it was the best football and Kurt found it a little funny how much Tjaden took pride in it.

They'd heard about Ernst while Kurt whined throughout the game; his superiority would keep him from getting physically hurt but in the back of Kurt's head was already getting creative with where he'd like to stick his pins. During the match, Kurt riles up one of the smaller boys into playing more aggressively, lazily purring insults as he stumbles when Kurt runs into him too hard or when Erik decides to grow a funny bone for once and stick a leg out to trip him. Teen boys only took so much indignity. This one played like a beast the more they knocked him around. Completely owned Tjaden, scoring three goals while he guarded and made the proud boy so mad that he just tackled him the moment he got close to Tjaden's goalpost. Kicked him onto the ground. And kicked him again. His friends were horrified, and Kurt gave them a look before descending onto Tjaden's. They gave each other a pained look before they ran off.
Tjaden was swearing the whole time; Erik and Leo went over even if they were completely used to the short-tempered man's antics. On the other hand, they had a feeling since morning that Kurt was seething too, but it was harder to tell because he did so much more coldly than Tjaden. It was only evident in his face -- looking like the game just started. It made him look almost bored before, with the amount of delight he had in his eyes from looking down at the kid.

"Take his shirt off."

​

Tjaden grew excited, and he continued to pin the kid with his boot while Leo made a move to cut the rag off the boy, flicking a blade out that glinted and made a sound that caused the kid to begin to scream and struggle.

"Kurt, you're wasting clothing," Erik warned. Right. He needed to keep his head screwed on.
"Just pull it up," Kurt said instead.

They had marvelled at how sharp their stiff boots managed to stay in the past, and Kurt wanted to see today if he could saw through actual skin with the heel of his boot. It took a few rough kicks, the kid fucking howling all the way through, but on about the tenth the skin broke and Kurt nearly slipped from a hard jerk of his leg. Caught his footing stepping over the body and smeared the snow with red, skidding a bit on that too.

And the most amusing thing was this section of the camp, at this time of the day, where the soldiers either rested or played sports, was so full of howling that one of a boy dying got drowned out in the wind of all the others.

At this point, his friends had watched Kurt change, watched his head, through his eyes, turn from anger to interest; which meant his mood had already improved drastically. Kurt ran his fingers up the kid's neck into his ratty short hair, shushing him as he rolled his head into the snow. And held him there until he thrashed and he had to put a leg back on his bloodied back until he fell still.

"The ball's gone," Leo, quiet until now, speaks.

"Oh," Kurt looked up, a little annoyed as he looked up to scan the field.

"Those inbreds fucking stole it!" Tjaden hisses. "Fuck. That was my best one."

"We know it's your best one, Tjaden, you won't let us fucking forget that." Erik rolled his eyes.

Tjaden cursed and was about to kick at the corpse's head but Kurt caught him by the ankle. It was a good kick, it knocked Kurt over so that his back was on top of the dead boy's head. Tjaden widened his eyes, horrified, instantly making a move to try and pull his foot back. Kicking Kurt would always mean you could get scalped, even if by accident. He'd probably scalp someone 'by accident' as well, come to think about it.

Kurt held on to for a bit more, but not hard, and shook his head slowly before a small smile growing on his face. Tjaden was chilled. Maybe because it was him that Kurt was looking at. He was never sure if the placid, gentle grey gaze was on the brink of an outburst.

"I'll make us one, for now, then we can go take it back after, okay?" Kurt said. Tjaden nodded but knitted his eyebrows sceptically. Kurt let go of his leg and got up, drawing a knife from his pocket while he did. Instead of the smooth one Leo had out, Kurt's had a serrated edge. He got on one knee and started to saw the unmoving boy's head off. When the knife hit the bone it made a grating sound that made the hairs on his friends' necks stand on end. As far as they knew Kurt's goosebumps were only from the cold.

​

He picked it up when he was done carrying it under one arm. The jugular was pumping out a few ropes of gore, albeit weakly. It went on the snow and some on his clothes, but the blood didn't stain his dark uniform; they were made darker in the camp to look reasonably dapper after murders. He turned it sideways and held it by the ear with the stump of the neck facing outwards, the skin pulling over his face giving the head a funny expression, a tongue lolled to one side in its mouth.

This feels strange to write, frankly. To have to change pronouns for a character from 'he' to 'it'.

Tjaden whistled. "Well I can't use that one with the officers, surely," he chuckled. Leo grinned. Erik tried to force a smile but he was a little nauseated -- this had progressed into the worst ever. Usually, he was happy with regular street violence, good kicking or the imaginative, uncomfortable way Kurt tied people up sometimes.

A knot of girls was nearby and appeared to have spectated the whole event. The four turned to them like hyenas looking up from a meal.

Kurt recognised them as Ana's friends. They do needed players, Tjaden said with a twisted grin and called a girl over. She came incredibly reluctantly but was afraid of refusing not one, but four soldiers. As she neared, Kurt dropped the head to the ground with a thud. She hadn't seen it earlier and was violently shocked; she yelped sharply and tried to jump back but Kurt caught her by the shoulder.

"Erik, go goalkeep. What's your name, girl?" He looked at her, letting his arm hang off her shoulder by his fingers. She stared at his hand, then him. He locked her gaze with his so she wouldn't see him put his foot on the head.

"Sara," she whispered.

"Score a goal for us, Sara, and I'll treat you to three meals a day for two weeks. Proper meals. Like ours," he smiled, a pretty face with teeth, and nudged it over with his foot. She jumped when she felt a tuft of hair brush past her ankle, and her brown eyes went big. If she hadn't had her head shaved Kurt might have given her a second look in passing.

Three meals -- it was a lot of food for one day, not to mention a week. She could share it with many other girls too, no doubt. The boy was dead, it didn't matter. Shuddering, she closed her eyes, held her breath and managed a kick. It was still warm; she could feel the skin on the cheek; all that hair; and for a split second, a wet eye against the grimy skin of her maked foot. It made a heavy thud like there was a rock on the inside and it smeared and stamped blood on the snow as tumbled away from her in odd directions. I am really, really disrespecting the dead, she thought in horror. It rolled sideways even though she kicked straight due to its, I'd say, unusual shape. Kurt laughed, Tjaden snickered, Leo was quiet but the head hit Erik in the shin and he looked chilled.

If it was lunch break by now, and it should be. Kurt was sure Ana was with the group of girls and definitely watching all this. Wondering if he would hurt her friend, maybe.

"Hm. Not very good," he remarked.

Her attention snapped back to him. So attentive.

"I'll still hold up the deal though, if you play with us. Don't have to win." He signalled for Erik, who tried to swallow the saliva coating his mouth in preparation for throwing up and kicked the head back.

Sara shook her head. "No thanks."

"Don't like sports?"

"Not really."

She was evidently looking for a way out. It excited him.

"Okay. I'll make sure other people don't ask you to play, would you like that?" His tone turned gentle, bending down slightly. Level with his gaze, she saw her scuffed, grimy self reflected in his clean eyes.

"T-That would be nice."

Kurt closed his eyes, sombre, nodded and pushed himself back up, then brushed her off. "Okay, off you go then."

As she turned, he slipped his pistol into his hand and shot her in the ankle. Sara crumpled to the ground with a shrill cry muffled by the snow as she fell face down. Tjaden snickered, and Leo grinned. Erik tried to push himself to smile as he walked back towards Kurt, who waved his gun around for it to cool down, a strangely childlike move before he clicked the safety lock back on and stuck it into the holster. She can die. And he shot her in the ankle so he wouldn't ruin her clothes, too. It still had to be worn by the new ones who came in.

​

If he took out Ana's friend would she start looking for another? When the violence and lunch break was over he started seeking other sources of fast joy and comfort. He entertained the thought of her asking him for favours and it made him grin. She had to come to him, really, if she wanted to save her friend. Her boyfriend (or old manfriend, judging by the size of his moustache) Ernst did not have a way to get medicine. He could request Sara be transferred to the sickbay at most but being a regular inmate the overworked medics wouldn't care less about. Ana would know Kurt was a thief and a good one. Transfer boy would never get his hands on a whole bar of proper chocolate. Godamn, if she had even a smidge of cultural knowledge in her haughty head, she'd know it was Swiss too.

If she didn't want to save Sara though, Kurt completely understood. Then they were more alike than he thought; Ana only wanting to save her own skin even if she was tied down and unable to move from this place. Her neck like a bar slowly but surely getting choked by creeper vines or ivy. Though everyone was trying to live here, and Kurt would like to think he was suffering but that was melodramatic of him, perhaps in comparison to the millions of others who had it worse. Like the other girls like Ana. All freshly cut flowers trying to survive after they're placed on a grave.

 

[Retrojapan]

Unsurprisingly Ernst is a German surname for "earnest", which was his honest approach in making both parties realize they fucked up over a piece of chocolate. Fucking idiots. Luckily Officer Warwick didn't appear out of place shitting on Kurt in his ranks before making to further abuse his position of authority to sniff out Analiese. She was scheduled to live her disgusting subservient life compiling death tolls and licking postage stamps in his office. It was supposed to keep her out of trouble. It was for her own good. He was deep down a good man who wanted her to keep her long, blonde hair and be the brightest star to Germans and Jews alike. Instead she was caught running with the hens whoring for scraps from a low rank like she didn't hear his rooster. There was a price to pay. He didn't fight for her father's life to have a boy put them all under fire without knowing any better. The lower rank had gotten himself involved in the wrong cuck. And so Kurt wasn't the only one Officer Warwick Ernst stepped on that evening.

​

As the sun raised noon in the sky, the young blonde watched it through the only window she had access to. The view was onto the field where Kurt and the boys were playing nicely still with heads all firmly attached. The Abwehr intelligence office was the exact sort of Stockholm Syndrome oasis every Jew needed to appreciate the silver lining in life. It was the small things that mattered most, like pretending to watch boys her age be boys her age (it was almost normal). Finishing up in the office and feigning a sense of pride or satisfaction in her work (for the death of her own people). All of it helped look beyond the smell of decay and piss surrounding them. The barbed wire fence. The crying. Oh God, the crying. The dead bodies just a blink to the left. A rolling head for the goal in another ten minutes. Really just another day in paradise. Analiese was sitting on the chair in the middle of the office praying the young Nazi hadn't just ruined her chances with the older Nazi because it would cost her more than he could ever imagine. This is when things got macabre on the field and Analiese turned her head as if on cue, sighing over the letter she had just received from her father. She held it in her lap and wondered if it was the last time she would receive word from him.

Kurt wouldn't have known of all the over arching and sub plots happening around him, but this just in: he was fucking with one that was almost realized if only he could hold off for a week. Analiese knew by the calendar on the wall that in seven days her father was being transported out with Warwick on a radio intelligence favour which was actually an infinite sexual favour in exchange for her father's freedom. She didn't have the heart to tell her father the man he had worked with for forty years was actually no better than the rest of them. Nazi scum. Especially now as her blue eyes saw to Officer Warwick slamming the door shut behind him. Not happy. Who actually was at the camp, though? She couldn't tell what came first - the hand across her face, the sting, or the chair rolling back across the room. She couldn't tell the four times it happened until she threw her hands up to cover herself and stop the older man from beating her into the bookshelf.

"Your father first. You'll watch it just like your mother, Ana. I swear it." Warwick hissed and she could feet his hot breath then too, now holding her up by the white collar of her button up like he had Kurt in some strange deja vu. She was pinned between the officer and the bookshelf with the chair then rolling back across the room at his attack. She knew Warwick was a Nazi no better than the rest, but she had never seen this side of him before. It was normally a cordial favour that she didn't feel so conflicted about. A favour which was providing sexual service to the man even though he just slapped her across the room. All she could hear was gasping and shouting from the open window mixed with Warwick's heavy nostril breathing across her face. Outside Kurt was taking out his frustration in a very different way. Fucking Nazi's. "Then I will have you killed. If you ever do that again. Versteht du mich?"

"Yes. I understand you." Ana replied, blue eyes on the floor because she couldn't even look at him. She was to fall to her knees and perform the blowjob that Wednesday's expected. Thursday's was just sex, which was tolerable. Friday's he always wanted to do something with her ass, but sometimes she had to rim him instead. Saturday's he brought another woman in, but Ana hadn't seen her in weeks now. She was probably dead. Now who was she supposed to sit naked with against the filing cabinet while Warwick angrily jacked off in the corner like the boring man he was? She didn't swallow just to prove a point. He slapped her across the face again.

She was still holding her red cheek as she stormed out of the building and into the football game from hell. Sara was splayed out on the ground clutching her ankle after having just been shot, and Analiese was just trying to fathom anything worse than being the literal jizzsock Warwick used to wipe his semen and her spit off the office floor. She had the stains on her skirt to prove it. The bullet was a complete waste. Sara was on her way to getting herself killed anyways. Analiese wasn't going to say anything though. The crimson slowly saturating the snow was easily the most beautiful, vivid colour she had seen in months. It was like art.

As if completely casual and asking a group of friends, she smiled. "Who won the game?"

 

[navré]

​

The skipped heartbeat is the first sign of no return, and the shock is the hammer driving the nail in. Analiese walked over with a placid smile, slim feet on bloodied snow, and if Kurt could make up the perfect girl in his head it would be her: stained and filthy with sex. He hated the fuck out of the thought of Warwick using her. Maybe he'd get the officer transferred instead, wouldn't that be the funniest. She looked amicable, though. That tickled his arousal. A lazy grin flowed to the corners of his face spattered with blood.

In a twist, her casual indifference wiped his dirty smile clean off, the question completely catching him off guard.

"We won, of course,” Kurt answered her plainly, though the evident victor was losing his mind.

He was knitting his nearly invisible eyebrows. As annoyed at her as he was at himself. Still reeling from her surprising calmness, Kurt had on a more frustrated expression that he should have worn. A feeling changed in a way that rendered him so that everything he knew about her had to be learned again. Or maybe he had only thought he knew her.

The others seemed to be caught off guard too, not because they were not guarding the posts they were supposed to guard, even if their superiors would be coming over to catch them for that soon too. But in that moment, not even Kurt had scared his friends the way Analiese did then. It could be because they were used to violence of the physical kind. Kurt’s kind. Analiese had a different sort of violence in the mind. Not the most scientific hypothesis but this violence must live in the pink brain’s dark curls, the only apt spot for this jumbled restlessness.

The young soldiers looked at the girl in fear. It was a perversely reversed scenario – in the conventional way, inmates looked at them in fear instead.

Tjaden quickly regains his composure, though, when he sees the star on her shirt and scoffed.

“Fuck off, inbred whore. The fuck are you doing here?”

Kurt rubbed his brow and pinched his nose, growing an incredibly strong desire to be rid of the idiot of the group.

“She’s an officer’s bitch that I also fuck. Go get rid of the corpse you wanted to make,” Kurt snapped at Tjaden, who was about to open his mouth to make a retort, probably like ‘clean up your own mess’, before Erik chipped in.

“Tjaden’s jealous.” His eyes crinkled as he grinned. With his good looks and this smile, Erik had been able to pick up a girl too, and knew what that was like. They followed you around like pets, especially if you gave them food.

Tjaden growled and punched Erik in the gut, before his superior came over and barked the same order at him that Kurt had given. Leo went to help with cleanup. Erik went off, back to guarding. Kurt was supposed to be at construction but that could wait. He was only there as an extra; they didn’t need more hands, and the transfer was really only out of Ernst’s spite.

The red mark on her face... Swear to god, Ernst was trying to make him see red every opportunity he got, in every sense possible. Whatever feeling that stirred in his heart and scrambled his head earlier shrivelled and died and he was in the snow again.

“Hello, Analiese,” he slid her name off his tongue like a gob of spit. “Enjoyed your lunch?”

From the familiar kind of stains on her skirt – oh, he’s definitely made it show up on other girls’ skirts before – Kurt knew that it consisted of nothing but Ernst’s cum. He asked to make her think about it. She had been so haughty before, and he relished in every chance he got to remind her that she was just any man’s honeypot. Easily taken by just anyone who wanted to use her, from an officer to a corporal, she was below them all (in multiple senses. We are in a mood for double meanings today). It was a subtle question, friendly, so that he was still acting like he did with her earlier, trying to befriend her, but its undertone served Kurt’s purpose nicely.

“I get off at seven today,” he continued whether she answered or not. “Meet me at the execution site near the SS camps."

Kurt realised how that sounded, and quickly added, "I'm not going to kill you, just treat you to dinner.”

He grinned when he said it. 'Dinner' was in the same context as 'lunch'. She would understand. He didn’t have anything to threaten her with otherwise yet, make her cling to him, but he was sure there would be something to find later on. He didn't get to her with hurting a friend and wanted to start looking to see if she had family around.
Kurt wanted to fuck the girl who was looking filthy and still smiling that sweet, sweet smile. He bit down on his tongue to stop himself from losing his composure around her. Goddamn, she was making him want to cut himself. Not only that, he wanted away from the crowd, a quiet place to talk. He was drawn to her; he might have seen a hint of similarity between them and the thought brought a shiver back into his chest, like the one from earlier. The thought of how he wasn't the only one who was like this seemed foreign and threatening.

For the rest of the day Kurt had to work on construction (more accurately, stand there and make sure that the inmates worked on construction). That meant a lot of running around and shouting. He was metaphorically breaking his own back to literally break the backs of too many inmates. The fuck. He never found white violence so dull before.
In the evening, he was told to add and file his name onto a new roster. At Ernst's office, he took a few more threats. Transfer you to the front line. Revoke your scholarship for further study after the final solution. Send you back to your family. God, no. Ernst would be difficult. He felt like a pawn trying to take out a queen in a chess game.

map

 

[Retrojapan]

Soundtrack: Metric - Grow Up and Blow Away​

They were all so desensitized to violence that nothing seemed off about the scene panning out at the concentration camp. Boys and girls gathering socially on the field after a game. Completely normal day in hell. Jewish girls have cooties and German boys are the cruelest. No surprise. They flirt deathcamp style back and forth over the decapitated head. All of their eyes are twinkling. It's the kind of cold air that wakes you up if you let it. The blood on snow like ink in water then mirrored on Kurt's face as it did at their feet. Sara crying softly to herself in pain, but if no one said anything then it might as well of been laughter. It practically was. They reacted all the same. Nothing hurt anymore. Nothing got anyone off either. A slap felt better than nothing. The sun was at its highest point in the sky to begin it's descent, and the woman stood her ground, unmoving. She could stone them all she was so fucking still. Any movement would have given her away and called her bluff. She would be colder and more casual than them until she died. The red snow melted. The white snow didn't.

It was like yin and yang now. Warwick had grabbed Kurt by the collar and then did the same to Analiese the next day. Analiese's lips turned to smile when Kurt's lips lost his. The balance between them never wavering. The boys went off on her dripping Jew whore stench, and she just looked at Kurt. The blood on his boyish face somehow so natural she didn't even notice it. War paint or mask, she wondered when she did. Sometimes she felt like him. Only for her it felt like her blood was simmering and needed to get out. The steam whistling for days because she was a boiling pot disguised as a Nazi cumrag. Only Kurt heard it. He must have been waiting for the kettle. All around them blood spilled in how many ways to relieve the tension, but never hers. It was never her turn. Why? She wanted to tell him that her crimson spilled just as pretty should he need it. She hated him for making her want to see red.

"Of course you won. I just asked because I wanted to come talk to you. After I had my lunch." Analiese caught the nomenclature. Her skirt was dripping in it, incidentally. She dared him to sit at her table for a game of chess sometime. Her blue eyes searched his face for anything, but all she saw was a map to her next meal. Or her next beating. Some new opportunity to get off until it doesn’t work anymore. There was once a time that Warwick using her like a whore actually excited her. She wanted it.

"Seven at the execution site near the SS camps. Dinner." She repeated him like the Last Rites they tasted of. Her mouth literally salivated. Why did it feel so good to taste it like that? It wasn't right. But it gave her a few more beats per minute to carry her quicker to him and whatever was on his menu. The last time they were together he fed her chocolate and then strangled it out of her before she could even swallow. If he wanted to give her dinner, she was starving. Her stomach was so empty she was going to swallow whatever he had.

When Kurt arrived, he would see Analiese waiting for him. She only had one chance to put a spell on the soldier's undivided attention. Her father only had one chance to escape. She paced the execution site and made herself the bait.