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I write indulgent stories about Adolf and Eva. I get lots of lovely mail, and I tend to make little essays out of them. Thank you all for being patient with me. (:
Nazis can fuck off.
She was not a broken toy or an empty doll with no filling. Nor was she made of glass, fragile to the point where the slightest touch would shatter her. She was a woman with a body that was still alive, designed to be embraced and carried away by passion, to be hugged and kissed and loved. A body that missed being the target of his physical, amorous affections.
cyp, wat did u get your degrees in anyway? youre so cool. U can write, you speak german 🥰 you're literally an inspiration. ✨
Political science and urban planning! I originally started out as an English writing major with a German minor. Then I took a break from school during COVID for a variety of reasons. After I returned, I realized that I found my English classes to be terribly boring; and that I don't need a writing degree to be a writer.
Plus, my career aspirations had shifted toward public service. Writing is still my passion and I will always identify first and foremost as a writer. But I'm deeply involved and invested in politics as well. And politics is stressful and frustrating! While the writing process is certainly bittersweet, it usually leaves me feeling emotionally fulfilled at the end; whereas politics feels like a perpetual uphill battle because there will always be another problem to tackle.
Better to have the day job be the stressful one, ya know? That way my passion projects remain untethered to professional demands and goalposts.
As for German, my skills are definitely rusty compared to where they were a few years ago! I'd like to live abroad for a bit to get them back up to par.
This was such a lovely message, thank you for sending it. 💖💖 I promise I haven't abandoned the community or my obsession with these two! Seems like everyone is just lying low for a bit on Tumblr. I'll be finishing my studies soon; then I'll be able to dedicate more time to this passion of ours!
I miss everyone too. I had such a huge load of shit to take care of over the last couple of months. Now that things have calmed down a bit, I see that the community has been culled again. And so the endless cycle repeats...
I hope some of you still out here are like me and just too damn stubborn to die. (:
such a bleak moment...i wish i could have some of your writings to brighten my days a bit
“Do you think about me?” she asked dreamily one night while they were tangled up on a sofa in the back-room of the shop. She was dizzy with romance. Her legs were resting heavy over his lap as he stroked the top of her bare knee with his thumb, the rest of his fingers trapped between her young thighs. The hem of her skirt was bunched up around his wrist from when he’d pushed it up and out of the way, and her silk stockings had been rolled down below her kneecaps. Her lips were shiny and a bit swollen from kissing, the pale, pink shadow of whisker burn falling along the underside of her jaw.
“Of course,” he said.
“When?”
“Whenever I’m afforded a free moment, little one.”
(explicit material beyond the cut)
He was in an unusually soft mood tonight, doughy, romantic, and was a little too willing to act indulgently with her. He’d admittedly been thinking about her with an increasing frequency as of late, entertaining a host of florid fantasies, and had felt a sudden compulsion to treat himself to a spell of such syrupy romance—which is why he had shown up that evening unannounced, catching her off guard.
He’d “caught” her alone (by no stroke of luck. He manufactured his own luck with her) and she had instinctively understood what this meant. What this segregation promised. And she had proceeded without hesitation.
She had taken him by the hand and led him into the back where she’d spun back around on her toes, grabbed him by the lapels, and pulled his mouth to hers. He hadn’t even unbuckled his coat. But he’d smiled against her lips and had held her pretty, finely made-up face in his hands as he’d kissed her with a tender greediness that had made her fingers flex and her lips part. He’d felt the faint rush of her breath on his tongue, and then that recognizable ache had branched out from deep within the torrid core of his body.
She was peering down her nose at him now, her eyes shaded from the cozy lamplight emanating from the table behind her. “Not very often, then,” she said unabashedly, poking at him.
He gave her a permissive smirk before shifting his body, leaning down toward her and kissing the hinge of her jaw. Then he brushed her hair back and hovered his mouth over her ear. “Truthfully,” he murmured, sliding his free hand up the inside of her thigh, the hem of her skirt traveling along with it, “I have been unforgivably distracted lately.”
“Is that so?” she said, laid giddy by both the physical and the sentimental warmth of his confession. She opened her legs for him and arched her back when he flattened the pads of his fingers against her sex. He drew the tip of his middle finger up the length of her slit, the thin, smooth barrier of her panties barely concealing the enviable heat stored inside her body.
“Oh,” she said quietly, a smile in her tone, “of course, I understand now,” still speaking in jest—until he brushed up against the base of her clitoris and he felt the muscles in her legs twitch. He pushed out against the inside of her thigh, giving himself more room to work. He wasn’t feeling mischievous tonight. He was feeling gluttonous, and his confession hadn’t been a lie. He really had been distracted, and by a particular craving. He wanted to do something new to her, something decadently close and intimate, something he was certain would again catch her off guard.
He kissed her on the mouth as he stroked and rubbed at her sex until he felt her breathing deepen and the fabric under his fingers start to dampen. Her lips parted in invitation and she audibly sighed when he met her tongue with his own. She rolled her hips up into his hand, matching his rhythm, holding onto him for purchase as she rocked in his lap, against his growing erection.
It never failed to delight and amuse him how singularly responsive her virginal body was; how she never let him leave without a well fed ego. She was more and more proving to be such a promising little creature. Excitable and eager to please. Nakedly excited to be pleased.
In bed, in the dark—and suddenly the blood is rushing, the heart is swelling, and the gears begin to turn as the imagination comes brilliantly back online.
What do you think would have happened had Eva survived the war and then, say, lived throughout the '60s-70s?
Unfortunately, nothing would have happened. This scenario isn't possible. It wasn't that she simply "did not survive." That suggests she had any desire to continue on in her life without Hitler. But that wasn't the case. She intentionally ended her own life not because the war was lost, but specifically because she did not want to live beyond Hitler's death.
Had she been forced to live past the end of the war, past Hitler's death, she would've committed suicide as soon as she was given the opportunity and the means to do so. She wouldn't have made it into the 60s-70s.
I don't think she ever planned to outlive him, at least for very long. I personally suspect she'd come to accept early on that her life likely wouldn't end by natural causes regardless of the outcome of the war. Had they had a normal life together, I imagine she probably would've overdosed on sleeping pills or something similar shortly after his natural death (which was obviously destined to come much sooner than hers due to him being 23 years older).
This is something that, in my opinion, she and Hitler had in common: that one could not escape the fate they had been destined for. I think they both possessed a similar fatalistic spirituality. They were both drawn to the concept of predestination, and they both approached it with dramatic sincerity. They both viewed their lives through a cinematic lens.
As promised, here's what was cut early on from my story Let Him Sense a Rival. Messy, unedited, unfinished. Hope y'all can still enjoy it. I've never done something like this before. It is an exercise in vulnerability for me. (:
(Explicit material beyond the cut.)
“Have any of them ever touched you down here?” he asked as he submerged his hand below the water, sliding it between her thighs. His fingers skimmed down over her clitoris as they moved through her folds, seeking out her opening.
She bit her lip and shook her head, a low note of denial humming in her throat as she attempted to spread her legs wider with invitation. The walls of the bathtub prevented her from going as far as she wanted.
“Have you ever wanted them to?” he murmured hotly against her ear.
“Never,” she whispered, shaking her head again as her body reclined against the wall of the tub.
“Not once?”
“Not once.”
“I’m not sure I believe you,” he said measuredly as he pressed two fingers against her. Not yet penetrating, merely threatening.
“And what if I did?” she asked, eyes half-lidded and unfocused, breathing harder. “What would you do?” She wrapped her fingers around his wrist but didn't try to move him. Her voice weighed hardly more than the smokey wisp of a dead candle.
He pulled back a bit and smiled at her, showing his teeth. “I would move to congratulate him, of course,” he said, adding with a tilt of his head, “once I had his name.”
He heard the hitch in her breath, felt her fingers tighten, saw the insides of her thighs flex. He knew what kinds of pictures were developing behind her misting eyes. Images of him touching her all over with someone else’s blood staining the webbing between his fingers, caked deep into the gutters of his nail beds and the creases of his knuckles as he threw that same brutality into fucking her.
Wild, out of control, unable to stop himself. Driven to violence and destruction by a desperate need to keep her.
He steadily pushed his fingers halfway inside her without pause or hesitation and her hips twisted, pushing a sleepy wave through the water. A little, padded noise of discomfort tapped at the back of her throat as she bit into her lip again. Despite the natural lubrication provided by her own body, the water around her acted as a diluting agent and dimmed its power.
"Does this hurt?"
Her eyelids fluttered. "Only a little."
"Do you want me to stop?" he asked before then driving them in deeper, abrupt and unforgiving, until his palm was flush with the curve of her sex.
She gasped, arched her back. One of her hands flew up to clutch at the front of his shirt, pulling it taut over his shoulders as the white fabric greyed beneath wet fingers. She shook her head and closed her eyes, breathing deeply, the slim rods of her ribs stretching as her toes curled.
He watched her tongue work over her bottom teeth with tiny, tense movements, and swallowed against a thick surge of choking arousal. He leaned in and nosed at the corner of her jaw to tip her head askew, pressed his lips to the hollow beneath her ear. "They wouldn't dare touch any part of you if they knew who you were," he said quietly, tone sliding along the thin, slippery border between teasing and scathing.
She laughed on a crumbling exhale, her shoulder lifting at the tickle trailing close behind his breath. "Are you so sure about that?"
A barb of doubt found an exposed nerve hiding behind the wall of his ego, scraping it raw. Truthfully, he wasn't. Not entirely. Among those who knew, there had still spawned a small but audacious few whose boldness made them reckless with their footsteps. She was a fine line to walk, a line drawn upon his daily moods. Comments eaten up by his ego could the next day be spat out as grounds for distance or dismissal.
But such acknowledgments were out of the question. Even within the confines of a game where words could be as weightless as the air. Even if the threat of another man's fingers slipping between her thighs affected him in physical ways he would rather not admit.
He bit into the soft muscle of her shoulder, hard enough to bruise, with the intention of bruising and nothing else, and she drew him closer, nuzzled her cheek against his hair. She used her other hand to level his face to hers and kiss him, lips clinging from the humidity. The top buttons of his shirt were opened and then her fingers were spreading out across the bare skin of his throat and shoulders, hot and possessing, demanding proper contact.
A drop of water ran down the center of his chest and abdomen and one of her hands followed unknowingly in its wake over his shirt before it skipped past the waistband of his trousers. Two fingers traced down the hard line of his erection where they paused, until he felt the simultaneously relieving yet inflaming pressure of her palm flat against him, the heat bleeding steadily through the fabric.
She gave him a firm squeeze, and desire flashed out across his groin in a painfully zealous appeal. "You know what a temptation breaking the rules can be," she said into his mouth, breathless, and still smug.
He nipped at her bottom lip while his fingers ran up the back of her skull, disappearing into her hair. He tipped her head back to get at the smooth flesh of her throat with his mouth. She whined when he sucked at a particularly soft spot nestled into the dip of her collarbone, bringing her skin to a bright pink. The sound broke against the tiled walls and then scattered out.
Yes, because every intimate moment with her was breaking the rules. Every kiss and every indecent touch. Every late night with her legs wrapped around his waist and her fingers in his mouth.
He straightened and said calmly, “Sit up.”
She did as she was told, fingers curling around the edge of the tub as she hauled herself into position. Water tumbled noisily from the edges of her body while rivulets snaked their way silently down along the curves. She eyed his hands as they grabbed for his bar of soap. They followed his movements as he briefly dipped them into the water, coated his palms with a cloudy layer of minuscule suds, then set the bar off to the side.
He placed a slick hand between her shoulder blades, her skin shiny and flushed, slightly tacky from the warm water. “More,” he said as he gently pressed her forward. Her body folded into itself at his insistence. She drew her knees up against her chest and wrapped her arms around them, tucking her chin between her kneecaps as her breasts flattened against her thighs.
His hands swept over the gentle swell of her shoulders and down her arms, all the way down to her fingers. They wandered up the sides of her neck, sneaking behind her earlobes where he was able to press his fingertips against the hinges of her jaw.
His thumbs brushed ominously along the hairline at the back of her neck.
She tried to nudge him off with a quick roll of her shoulders. “Not the hair,” she mumbled almost sleepily through her teeth, the movement of her jaw obstructed by the cradle of her knees.
“You would have only yourself to blame,” he said. He pressed his thumbs farther up, half an inch, the fine strands of her hair scratching at him softly. He felt her back stiffen and noticed the sudden absence of her breath.
Her hair had never been fair game. She had drawn those lines early on. But he suddenly had a want to change that. He bent closer until he could lay his lips at the crown of her skull, and buried his words among the roots of her precious hair, “Perhaps you should have been more careful and shown some restraint.”
Her toes curled beneath the water as her fists swallowed her thumbs. He slid his fingers down under the ridge of her jaw, around the front of her neck. He tipped her head all the way back until she was looking up at him with wide, round eyes, torn through with conflict.
“Please don’t ask,” she said.
He smiled. "Is that what I’m doing?”
“That’s not fair. You know I hate to say no.”
"I do," he nodded. His heart felt solid and heavy, pushing blood through his veins with such force that he feared it might throw him off balance. Arousal tugged at his groin hot and sharp, exacerbating a deeply entrenched and serrating ache.
Her eyes flickered away as she sucked on her lower lip. And when they returned, they returned with a glare. "You will have to fix it.”
"Of course."
"I mean it. I won't leave here until it's done properly."
Can we have a little something something from your drafts as a treat? 🧎♀️
Here's my offer: I'll hand over what was cut from my initial outline for Let Him Sense a Rival before I changed course, providing you don't hold its rough and incomplete quality against me. It is rather unpolished since I scrapped it early on in favor of the alternative direction I decided to take with that story.
And you mustn't call me out or think less of me if/when I wind up recycling the scene for a future story; because I do still like it, I'm simply more invested in other stories at the moment.
Он сверлил её взглядом с каким-то незнакомым чувством: не то злорадством, не то жалостью к её отцу и тайным желанием рассорить их окончательно.
Чувствуя, что Ева вся обращена в слух, Адольф молился всем богам, чтобы голос не выдал его, не звучал уж слишком просяще, с надеждой.
Once again, showing how masterful you are in stepping into the mind of just about any character and bestowing upon them such substance! Your penchant for Russian epics with large casts of characters is on full display. I love your inclination and ability to tell their story through the eyes of others since it's not one that I myself possess.
Also, more of the "I'm going to steal you away from your family because I love of you" from above, please. I'm such a sucker for it. ❤️🔥
