#bundeswehr

[warruins]

[adidas-army]

[soldatenstiefel]

[deutschland-im-krieg]

Post war: 275 victory ace and Ritterkreuz mit Eichenlaub und Schwertern (Knight's Cross with Oak Leaves and Swords) holder Günther Rall, the third highest scoring ace in history, in front of his West German Bundeswehr Lockheed F-104G Starfighter. For more, see my Facebook group - Eagles Of The Reich

[nocternalrandomness]

German Phantoms at RAF Lossiemouth - 2007

[naboman]

Pit.

Chapter Two: the pretext of debt

Synopsis: Perhaps he was too drunk that night, and although he was called crazy, he was still lucid enough to be convinced that the face of that person was familiar. But what guarantee did Dazai have that his waiter was the killer who had been terrorising the dirty alleys of Yokohama? Pairing: PM!Dazai + Fem!Reader. Genres: suspense, investigation and graphic horror (mentions of body horror). Warnings: The content below features graphically descriptive violence, angst for the most part, hints of a sadistic Dazai bent on ‘yandere’. notes: these parallel dialogues in the first chapters will be important for establishing a relationship between the main character and Dazai, so I hope you understand the lack of initial interaction.

[previous] [Next]

The recurring customer who had been pestering her didn't show up for the last week, so her days on the job went without a hitch. [Name] took it as a victory, she wouldn't say it out loud, but Dazai's figure haunted her during her workday. She could have taken it for an early and somewhat unfair judgment, but she felt her stomach grow heavy with the man's presence; he was a threatening and intimidating unknown, like a malevolent being.

Dazai also said he wasn't “that much older”, but judging by his suit jacket and large overcoat, [Name] had doubts as to whether the claim was true, or a very poorly thought-out bluff on his part. She was also avoiding violent people as much as possible, she didn't want to attract even more turmoil and chaos around her for free, and he always showed up with an additional cut on his hand or a purplish redness on his cheek and lips, she wondered where the hell he was getting those severe injuries and undisguised bruises. She felt bad for seeing him in such a diabolical and distorted way, even after he had been kind enough to help her with the text she was writing for class. She wanted to see him in at least a slightly caring way, still an audacious but... sympathetic man, but the reality hit her hard just looking at his bandaged face and his gaze perpetuating the sins of her soul. He looked like a figure at the dark end of her nightmares. “[Name]” rang out, waking her from her trance. She jerked awake, her eyes wide with astonishment, the hand holding her backpack spasming with tension in its locked muscles. He tightened the knot around the bag's strap. It was then that she noticed that she was standing in front of the classroom, when the teacher had opened the door in her moment of unconsciousness, she could have sworn she was on a different plane, blinded by clarity where all she could see was her self from the not too distant past. Something from two weeks ago, to be more specific. “You should sit down, class has already started” He made room, allowing her to enter to attend the class. To which she replied with a nod and a brief “I'm sorry” before hurrying her short, trembling steps to find a seat at the end of the room, tensing up when she came across the only free seat being the one in the center, as well as, of course, the empty desk at the front of the room. With trepidation, she shrank into the chair as if she could, shrinking enough for the floor to swallow her up, making her disappear under the gazes and turbulent murmurs of her classmates. The whispers tingled in her head like a tumor, making her restless. She squinted a little to look at the desk in front of the room, first in line, the chair pulled back but her lap was clear of any presence, a ghost was watching the class and everyone ignored the fact that it was empty. Her chair was there, empty, and everyone was oblivious to its absence. Where she is? “Hey…” [Name] ventured a whisper to the colleague in front of her, touching his shoulder gently, when she got he attention, even if only for a few seconds, she dared to quell the doubt that was sticking to her like a nuisance, like dirt on the edge of her shoe “Where's Kirai?” “Hm? Oh, she didn't come today,” he hissed, scribbling on the corner of the table with his pencil, a little disdainfully, ”not yesterday either.” She swallowed his saliva with some difficulty, biting his lower lip to relieve the eagerness. “Are you serious?” She muttered again, stretching out on the table, just to make sure he wasn't delirious like her had been a few minutes earlier. “Of course I am,” he snorted, turning his attention back to the board as the teacher began to dictate the content, ”you'd know that if you came to school.”

“So?” Dazai was dangling his legs over the iron gurney in Mori's office, a penknife twirling between his fingers tediously, finally slipping out of his fingers and clattering to the floor. Once the silence was broken, the long-haired man made sure to look at his pupil, a smile casually filling his mouth. The room had no windows as it was located in the depths of the mafia headquarters, so no sign of sunlight invaded the room, leaving it as cold as a freezer. The only thing that warmed Osamu up was his enormous overcoat draped over his stooped and withered shoulders. “You look anxious,” Mori commented, pushing himself up and reaching for the things in his cupboard, pulling out a glass jar with water and spongy, swollen silhouettes inside, gloves and tweezers. He placed the materials on the table, the white room hurt Dazai's eyes when the glint of the glass reflected in his dead fish eyes. “I don't have any reason,” he shrugged, getting up from his seat and putting on his gloves, as instructed by Mori. “But maybe it's my longing for death that makes me ecstatic, if you have a better guess, I'm listening.” Osamu didn't want to hear any of Mori's suggestions, but it was better than the agonizing echo of him taking materials from the bottom of his cupboard, the blood samples sliding out with difficulty, and a tuft of dried bloody hair that he kept in a small vial. Osamu felt a twitch in the corner of his eye. It was sickening. “My hypothesis is that your insertion into the case has been tainting your senses,” a hiss arose in the air as Mori finished picking everything up, with satisfaction, he began his operation, inserting the gloves and opening the glass, Dazai covered his nose with the smell of formaldehyde rising to his nostrils like an attack on his respiratory system. “Does it stink, is it rotten?” Osamu asked in a muffled voice, his hand still under his face, while Mori wore a surgical mask to protect himself. “Fortunately it won't rot even if I leave it here all day,” he replied, putting the wet skin under the tray, ”but if it had, I'd have thrown it away, you can't work with putrefied organs, I thought I'd taught you that.” Osamu rolled his eyes and just followed the doctor's movements in silence. “This tissue” Mori lifted the skin and turned it towards the boy, followed by Osamu's agile movement that made him step back instinctively ”it's like plastic, I took a sample and waited for it to dissolve naturally until it rotted…” “So?” “Nothing.” “Nothing?”

“Look, Dazai, this tissue is almost artificial, it's like it's fake, but the blood is real, it's all very clearly real” Mori added, puzzled by his own words ”It's even hard to believe, if I had commissioned anyone to do this I wouldn't have believed the report” “What kind of person can produce that kind of tissue? Do you think it was made in a laboratory?” Dazai took the tweezers and grabbed the end of the fiber, suspending it in the air, the mucus fell apart in the tray and dripped out that soft, transparent gelatinous texture. Dazai doesn't consider himself an easily impressed person, but this made his hand tingle. “That skin…” Dazai searched for words to describe the thing he was holding, looking up at the glutinous skin “does it match the genetic material of any of our men?” “That's the problem” Mori put down the tweezers and took the tuft of hair in his hands "I asked the team to do a DNA test, but it doesn't match any of the victims". Dazai cleared his throat, turning away from the table to hastily wash his hands in the sink away from Mori. To say that he was distressed from holding it in all this time would be an understatement for the revulsion he was feeling. Dazai had already dealt with grotesque things, but playing the “pseudo plastic surgeon” was more than enough for one day. “The best we could do was see that the tissue matched Mako's color and texture” “Who's Mako?” Osamu arched an eyebrow with a puzzled frown. “One of our men who died,” Mori sighed. ”As much as this material copies the color and texture, it can't replicate the genetic code, I found that out after comparing these strands of hair.” “That doesn't rule out the possibility of a traitor, but we'd be wasting a lot of time taking blood samples from everyone who steps inside these buildings,” Dazai said carefully. “We don't even have a suspect yet,” Mori added, ”but we do know where Mako was murdered.” “Is that where you got all this?” He pointed to the gooey droppings on the table. “Exactly” He scratched his thin beard under his chin "I'll print out the address and pass it on to you, it's some kind of "nightclub", or something… Until then, wait, I'll ask Hirotsu to accompany you, you might need… Assistance". Dazai didn't contradict him. “If you think this is worthy of assistance, then I can't let my guard down,” he sighed, already imagining exhaustion. After his silent exchange of glances with Dr. Mori, it didn't take him long to leave at a brisk pace, as if he were in a hurry to meet someone, but he wasn't interested either. His real goal now was to clear his head as much as possible before nightfall, when things would get turbulent. Like sharks looking for blood in the water, the mobsters were preparing to hunt down the mutilating murderer. Perhaps he could pay Odasaku a visit, just supposing he wasn't on duty.

Her empty stomach was beginning to throb, begging her to swallow anything that would satisfy her hunger. But [Name] continued on the school steps, her backpack between her legs and a list of tasks in hand. The last year of high school demanded a certain amount of attention, an attitude that might sound hypocritical coming from someone who misses school two or three times in a week. But, despite all the turbulence, she tried to rush through her routine, (failing in her attempt). It was simply impossible to maintain the life she had and reconcile it with school. She allowed herself to think about Kirai for a brief moment. Where would she be now? Had she eaten? [Name] had an idea that the girl's father was a policeman, but had no love for the profession, or was even a good father. She also knew that Kirai had her "own shady" ways of making a quick buck, and the thought sent her into the most disingenuous daydreams she could think of. 'No, nothing bad must have happened, I'm just being too pessimistic…' She tried to convince herself, breathing out deeply, her breath weak in her small lungs, “Hey, don't stand on the stairs, someone might trip over you!” She received the warning as a grunt, something that made her stumble to her feet. A girl in a red tie, accompanied by two others and a teacher, holding heavy cardboard boxes, as far as she could tell. “Oh, I'm sorry!” She stammered as she picked up the rest of her belongings to leave. “She really no there solution…” The girl in the red tie grumbled, shaking her head in disapproval, her breathing labored with irritation. “Do you know her, president?” One of the two girls asked curiously, “Of course I know her! It's not the first time she's caused trouble because she's such a misfit, it probably won't be the last, either,” she huffed. “Miss [Name] already has enough to worry about” The teacher said softly, sweeping her gaze over where [Name] passed "her mother indeed… What a situation".

A twinge of pity passed through the teacher's doe eyes. “I still think she needs to mind her manners” They continued walking where they were going ‘The outside world won't forgive every stumble she makes while dragging her feet’ Exclaimed the one with the red tie, spitting out her words with real cruelty. [Name] swept her tracks onto the benches at the front of the school, the air short from the speed with which she ran, sweat beading on her forehead and neck. Tense. She pressed her hand to her chest, the lack of air settling in like an iron press, at this point the wind seemed strong enough to blow her away, and maybe she wanted that.

Hearing all this brought her back to reality, the harsh reality. And it was a garbage She held onto her arms, looking for a consolation that would never come. “It's okay, it's okay…” She shivered, her voice scratchy, trying to concentrate on the sound of her own words “that's me, real me…” Her hands were sweating coldly, but she held herself together enough to stand up; it would be terrible if someone caught her having a attack. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so unstable and corrupted. The phone rings. She picked it up. “Listen, I've got a new job for you”. [Name] felt the ground beneath her feet crumble. She squeezed the phone a little, coming out of her deafness when she felt it click under her fingers. She fell back onto the bench. “What?” she asked in a daze. “A service, I won't repeat it again,” the voice was hoarse, its tone low and calm, but still deep. It made the girl's bones shake inside her flabby flesh. “Look, I…” Her lips were dry. “You remember the mafia, don't you?” “I-I do, but…” “Some of the mafia agents are going to be in that nightclub again” the voice kept running over her, cutting off her sentences in the middle ‘these are low-ranking members, it won't be difficult at all’. A sigh was heard on the other end, followed by the sound of a can opening in the depths of the audio “you can do it, can't you?” He swallowed the saliva that had accumulated in his mouth. A bead of sweat accumulated on his temple. “Look, boss, I…” She mustered the strength to speak, her cold hand drumming her fingers on her knees. Nervous. “I don't know if I… I should continue…”. Silence followed. She bit her lower lip anxiously. “[Name]… You don't want to talk about it.“ Another sigh, this one of irritation.” Remember what I said?”. “Yes, I remember…” Her eyebrows bore the weight of her frustration. "But...!" “Great, be there at 10pm, I'll send the faces of the targets by email.” The call ended. [Name] buried herself in her knees once more.

"I have no choice. I have no choice."

[jandammenhain1]

How do I look 😊🏅

[uniformbdg]

[mirkokosmos]

Irina Krieger-Fuchs [KSK]

[warruins]

[adidas-army]

[soldatenstiefel]

[ereshckigal]

[bootsorthossneaks]

Always...

...getting hot and wanna play with soldiers 🙄🔥

[masonjarhead]

[der-einsame-abenteurer]