#WS's Handwriting-Photos

[miuarchiv]

New pic

2nd from right, white cuff title

Having sent a request to the National Archives of Norway(the actual primary source), awaiting the response.

[cthonicascendant]

🎵 for the song handwriting thing :)

[id: a photo of handwriting. it says:

noises i play within my head touch my own skin and hope that i'm still breathin

-lights ellie goulding

every instandce of S is replaced by a 5 and all Ws are written as two Vs

end id]

[copperbadge]

dbdatvic replied to your photo “Did my first skeleton crossword in a while! No pencils, we die like...”

There's a Dell Pencil Puzzles & Word Games monthly magazine that used to have some of these. Even if it no longer exists, I bet there's a replacement-type mag avaiable? --Dave ps: yeah, they called them 'diagramless'

I knew they were also called Diagramless, but why would you define anything by what it isn’t when you could call it A SKELETON? :D

Also in my experience, diagramless sometimes means normal crosswords but also often means like, crosswords that are of the “super simple” kind, like the kind you see on printed kids’ activity menus in restaurants? Which is not really...fair, or how crosswords were meant to function. 

i-ddpej replied to your photo “Did my first skeleton crossword in a while! No pencils, we die like...”

No Pencils Club solidarity! My dad does puzzles with pen *and* pencil, carefully erasing all of his test stuff and inking in the right answers as he finds them, but I learned to puzzle from my mom and we don't believe in pencils. (Dad hates it, lol, he says it looks diseased and sickly. xD)

I honestly just can’t stand the texture of a pencil on paper. Unless it’s either super sharp or super hard lead, I just cringe. 

delphia2000 replied to your photo “Did my first skeleton crossword in a while! No pencils, we die like...”

My mom used to do those under the name 'diagramless' crosswords. I only do regular crosswords, but yeah, ink rules. (And I usually do the same printing only taught by my comic book artist boyfriend who insisted I print as my cursive was shite.)

Yeah, there’s a strong kinship between comic lettering and draftsman lettering, and my cursive was bullshit anyway, so I feel ya. 

jbk598 replied to your post “rionsanura replied to your photo: Did my first...”

My dad was an engineer who mostly designed filters & valves, and his handwriting, esp. for crosswords, looked like yours.

VALIDATION! And also thank you to the anon who sent me an ask about this. It’s nice that I still look faintly drafts-y :D

rionsanura replied to your post “rionsanura replied to your photo: Did my first...”

she got a degree in botany, so I suppose it's possible? hmm. My uncle is an architect and yours also resembles his, but much more my grandmother's. I wonder if there are different schools of draftsmanship

Or maybe she picked it up from him? Like, sort of picked up a bit of his style but with her own twist! Definitely mine has shifted since I left the arts, my Ns and Ws are a lot softer and I don’t as often drop my verticals anymore.

[captainmarvels]

safe haven

Summary: Eggsy’s safe haven is in the last place he would’ve thought to look.

Pairing: Eggsy Unwin x Reader

Warnings: Language, angst

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: This is somewhat rushed, but I just had to get this out, especially after seeing K:TGC. Hopefully you all enjoy this! | masterlist

Love is a vast universe. One so complex and deep, there exists not a single expert of the entity.

How it came to be. If it will survive for all eternity.

Love is a cosmos; one where happiness and serenity exist, right alongside sadness and fear.

Love is not perfect. If it were, people would not fear it. Humanity would run into its open arms, embracing it in their hearts; their souls.

Love is a backstabber. It lies, convincing you that happiness and peace can exist untainted by the terrors of doubt and pain. It tricks you into thinking you will never again know darkness in your heart.

You take love’s word for it; a promise of eternal bliss, in exchange for your heart. Your vulnerability.

When you least expect it, love will take a knife to your heart, a sly cut barely grazing the surface. You won’t know what’s happened, since the pain is minimal. But that’s what love wants. A slow, agonizing pain that grows with every drop of love that escapes your enamoured heart.

Love is pain that not many experience. It’s pain that many wish to never bear witness to. Why?

Love raises you high above the clouds, leaving you to soar in a world of unknown. When you fall, will love be there to catch you?

When you fall in love, it escapes you. It’s fleeting; never within your grasp. For you, love is Eggsy; not always quite there.

You didn’t want to have this argument. Eggsy certainly didn’t. But it had to happen. For better or for worse.

“How long do you think you’ll be?” You ask, your voice quiet as you dry your hands off with a nearby towel.

“Three weeks, tops. I’m sorry, love. You know I wouldn’t do this if there was any other way.” Eggsy’s voice is anything but reassuring as you grip the countertop, the edge digging into the palms of your hands.

“I know you hate it when I leave. But I swear, I’ll make it up to you when I come back. Just wait ‘til I come home, love.”

“You’re already home, Eggsy. Just stay.” You refuse to turn, even when his arms find their way around your waist, gently pulling you against his chest.

His aftershave engulfs your senses, overwhelming every nerve in your body. He was your home, but you weren’t too sure you were his.

“You know I want to, babe. Don’t do this to me.” His voice is soft in your ear, his lips softly brushing against your skin.

“Don’t do what, Eggsy? Ask you to show some commitment to me?” You don’t know where the words came from, but the truth rang out in the silence, clear as day. He’s pulled away from you now, his back leaning against the kitchen island as you stay put, facing the sink.

“I love you, Y/N. Is that not enough commitment to you? We’re together.”

“Yeah. Dating for three years. Just fucking great, Eggsy.” You head out of the kitchen, rushing to your shared bedroom. Eggsy’s quick to follow, his foot stopping the door from shutting in his face.

“What more do you need, Y/N? Is this not enough for you?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he makes his way into the room. His words seem to just roll of his tongue without a care in the world. Unfortunately for you, they’ve hit your heart like a thousand bullets.

“Get the fuck out, Unwin. Spend the night at the tailors, for fucks sake.” You say, throwing his suit jacket at him as you storm off into the bathroom. You manage to beat him, locking the door just as he reaches for the doorknob.

You hear a dull thud against the wall, and you know he’s slammed his fist. One hell of a way to send him off.

You slide down against the wall, silent tears rolling down your cheeks. Your chest is tightening with every breath you take, but you don’t know what to do. When did love ever feel like this?

Eggsy’s clearly got something on his mind. It’s the thought of you, in his arms, a smile flashing up at him as he presses his forehead against yours, his lips brushing against your own.

It’s the image of you, cuddling with JB on your shared bed, Eggsy’s pillow in your grasp.

His heart feels like it’s aflame; every thought of you igniting another spark, the fire growing ever more fervent in his chest.

He can’t close his eyes, because your eyes, your smile, your everything is all he can see in front of him. When did he get himself so lost in you?

“You alright, Eggsy?” Harry’s voice sounds from behind the bar, the air of concern sitting around his words. Eggsy sighs, the weight on his chest growing heavier with every passing thought of you.

“I think I’ve gone and fucked it all up, Harry. Big time.” He leans against the bar, resting his head against the cool wood. He feels a hand on his shoulder, and reluctantly looks up to meet Harry’s gaze.

“Humble heart, humble mind. That’s not who you are, Eggsy. That’s who she is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know how they say your life flashes before your eyes as you die?” Eggsy nods, his head tilting in confusion.

“I’ve never had anyone. I’ve never experienced companionship; never been in love. When I die, all I’ll see is nothing.” Harry finishes the martinis he was making, placing one in front of Eggsy. He glances between the drink and his mentor, more confused than ever.

“When you die, who do you think will be the first to flash before your eyes?”

“Be mine.” Eggsy’s got cuts littering his chest, his knuckles bruised and bloodier than ever. You’re sitting on his lap, massive strips of gauze in your hand. His words are echoing in your ears, and all he can do is bite back his tongue as he searches your eyes for something. Anything.

“You mean it, Eggy?” He smiles, the nickname warming his heart. He nods, his eyes never looking away from yours.

“Be mine. And only mine. Please.” Your hands find themselves in his hair, your forehead pressed against his. Your eyes dart between his lips and his gaze, and he can’t help the laugh that escapes him as he darts his tongue out at your lips. You giggle, smiling as he finally kisses you.

At long last.

“The look in your eyes answers that question, Eggsy. You know what you have to do.”

The mission wrapped sooner than planned, but Eggsy decided it was better you didn’t know. He got a new suit fitted, while Merlin went and picked up your favorite flowers. Roxy made sure Eggsy wouldn’t fuck up his speech - “If you say that, I hope she kicks you in the dick, you idiot.” - all while you sat at home, JB curled up on your chest.

You hadn’t been able to sleep much since Eggsy left, but you never did when he was gone.

You spent most of your time sifting through memories - old photos from when you first met, to last year’s Christmas card, starring the only dog who would let you dress him up.

Eggsy was the best thing to ever happen to you, and you couldn’t stand to be apart from him any longer. You reached for your phone, pulling up his number when you heard the lock click. JB perked up, jumping off the bed and scrambling out of the room. You sighed, following the pug out into the once-empty living room. You stopped breathing the moment you stepped out of the room.

Flowers adorned every open space throughout the room, red hearts sitting in every bouquet. You followed JB, picking up every card along the way. Eggsy’s handwriting was scrawled on each one, a different thing written across the heart.

Your smile.

Your laugh.

Your heart.

My home.

Mine.

You read that last card, a tear slipping down your cheek as you smiled at the lone word.

“If you start crying now, I’m going to be one helluva mess, love. Gotta give me a chance here, darling.” His voice comes from the kitchen, and you can’t stop yourself from running into his arms. Running home.

He hugs you tight against his chest, his lips pressing chaste kisses atop your head, muffled confessions of love tumbling out, as if he was running out of time. You pull away, dropping the hearts on the counter as you cup his face in your hands. His emerald eyes are shining bright with bliss, and you can’t stop staring.

“Hey bug. Want to know why I love you?” He whispers, his hands resting on your waist.

“I think the cards told me, Eggy.”

“Well, I think you missed one.” He grins.

“Where is it?” He takes one of your hands from his face, resting it right above his heart. You tear your eyes away from him, confused.

“Your heart?”

“I love you because you are my heart, Y/N. You have been since the moment I first saw you. You always will be, if you’ll have me. Be mine, forever.” You gasp, your gaze meeting his as you take in his words.

“Is that a proposal, Eggy?” He bites his lip, shrugging his shoulders as you stare at him in disbelief.

“A shit one, I know. But I swear, I’ll do better. For you.”

“I love you, idiot. This is better than anything I could’ve hoped for.”

“So is that a yes, love?” You roll your eyes, stroking your thumb across his lips as he watched you.

“I’ll take it back if you don’t kiss me right now, bruv.” You cooed, giggling as he picked you up, setting you on the counter. His lips find yours in seconds, his love dripping from them as he holds you close. Once you finally pull away, he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“Never let me go.” Your words draw him out, his lips brushing along the skin of your jaw. As he finds his way to your lips, he meets your gaze.

“On my life, darling. Never.”

Sometimes, love finds its way home. Eggsy was finally home.

tags: @retroasgardian, @roamingharlem, @thesaraaaaahpfan, @avengershavethetardis, @buenostardissherlock, @storyofavengers, @imsecretlyromanburki, @cassandras-musings, @nottheopera, @coltcas, @thefridgeismybestie, @callamint, @kaaatniss, @seb-ass-tian-stan-ws, @bootypoppinbarnes, @hollycornish, @h4izel, @charliexowrite, @stevnsbucks, @thewinterswimmer, @damnlokifangirl, @barnesvogue, @sebastian-stans-thighs, @capsheadquaters, @jobean12-blog, @theassetseyeliner, @buckys-fossil @worldsroses@yikesbuckster @mjuikoli @rotisserierogers @buckyappreciationsociety @supernaturaldean67@milychetto @shhhs3cret @avengedqueen26, @this-is-angela-blog, @ohwhatamessiam, @captain-amelia-bradley, @tasting-writers-block @raindancer2004@redgillan @minervaem @buckyywiththegoodhair @barnres @everyrosehasitsthornton @justasunflower@aelin-blackstairs @pillarsofelmundo @lovelynemesis @themanwithovtfear @buchananbarnestrash @a-splash-of-stucky @avengersandlovers

[miuarchiv]

2 versions of WS's handwritten CV

Am 16.1.1910 wurde ich als siebtes Kind des Klavierfabrikanten Guido Schellenberg und seiner Ehefrau Lydia geb. Riedel zu Saarbrücken geboren. Mit sechs Jahren begann meine Schulausbildung. Ich besuchte 4 Jahre die Volksschule u. 9 Jahre lang die Oberrealschule in Saarbrücken.

Im Jahre 1929 bestand ich das Abiturientenexamen. Anschliessend studierte ich 5 Semester Rechts- u. Staatswissenschaften in Marburg a./L. Zu Beginn des 1. Semesters trat ich in das Corps Guestphalia ein. Weitere 3 Semester studierte ich in Bonn.

Am 18.3.1933 bestand ich am Oberlandesgericht in Düsseldorf das Referendarexamen.

Im März 1933 trat ich in die SS u. im April in die Partei ein.

Meine Referendarausbildung erhielt ich am Amtsgericht in Sinzig a./Ahr, am Land. u. Amtsgericht sowie bei der Staatsanwaltschaft in Bonn, bei der Staatspolizeistelle Frankfurt a/M, dem Geheimen-Staatspolizeiamt u. beim Oberlandesgericht in Düsseldorf.

Am 8. XII. 1936 bestand ich die grosse juristische Staatsprüfung mit ‘befriedigend’.

Nach dem Examen wurde ich als Assessor vom Gestapa übernommen sind sehe z. zt. meine im Jahre 1935 beim SD begonnene - ???? hauptamtliche arbeit fort.

Am 16.1.1910 wurde ich als siebtes Kind des Eheleute Guido Schellenberg u. Lydia geb. Riedel zu Saarbrücken geboren.

Ich besuchte 4 Jahre die Volksschule u. 9 Jahre des Reformgymnasium bei Saarbrücken.

Nach Ablegung die Reifeprüfung studierte ich Rechts u. Staatswissenschaften an den Universitäten Marburg u. Bonn. Nach 8 Semesters bestand ich die Referendarprüfung, nach weiterer? 3 Jahrige ????? Zeit im Gerichts ???  am 18.12 1936 am Oberlandesgericht bei Düsseldorf die grosse juristische Staatsprüfung.

Seit September 1935 bin ich im Sicherheitsdienst ????.

[miuarchiv]

Super high-res

[miuarchiv]

Hello! I wanted to ask is it known how relationship between Walter Schellenberg and his second wife Irene looked like? Did they have any kids? Was Irene polish or had some polish family members? Is it known how they met? Thank you for your answers ☺️

1. Relationship

WS's secretary Schienke said their marriage was happy in her 1945 and 1948 interrogations, and he never allowed Irene into the office. (I'll post it later, the text is long)

WS put her photos on the desk of his Nuremberg cell.

WS's letters to her grandfather, brother and sister may shed some light.

Link: https://miuarchiv.tumblr.com/post/721080719767748608/ws-irenes-family-the-lawyerspdf

Wilhelm Hoettl revealed that WS didn't even visit her in the hospital during her difficult labour until Kaltenbrunner ordered him to go.

(Personally I can never agree that a marriage in which a woman had to give birth 4 times in 5 years could be happy, I'd call it torture. Anyway they had a different sense of "love", like Eichmann happily expecting his 4th child regardless of his wife's age and poor health.)

2.Kids

They had at least 4 kids. The 4th kid was born a few months after WS surrendered to the Allies, name unknown.

A 5th child might have been born or adopted between 1947-1950.

See:

3.Irene's mother was Polish. Her maiden name looks like "Wrzaiwska "(??).

4.It is not known how they met.

I have some random guesses. Seems Irene's grandfather Ferdinand Grosse-Schönepauk ran a hotel. WS had some friends in the hotel business. And this 1941 letter, I'm wondering if it indicates that Irene was a friend of Neumann's wife Helga Daitz before she met WS.

[cthonicascendant]

♪!

[id: a photo of handwriting. it says:

and now its near midnight a few more minutes and i return to get back to my former life -unhappy anniversary vitamin c all single Vs are capitalized, all Ws are two lowercase Vs, and all Ss are 5s. end ID]

[miuarchiv]

Merely speculation of personalities in this alleged Walter Schellenberg photograph. Personally I think No.15 was too tall to be WS.

The scene was similar to part of Eva Braun’s home movies. Heinrich Hoffmann, the claimed-to-be photographer of p1, could be seen in this footage. He walked off, followed by a view switching, and then a woman in dress holding a camera shortly appeared in the background. Seemingly it was Eva Braun.

1 Joachim Peiper 2 Hermann Esser 3 Max Wünsche 4 Karl-Jesko von Puttkamer? Fritz Darges? 5 Karl Brandt 6 Reinhard Heydrich 7 Julius Schaub 8 Rudolf Schmundt? 9 Wilhelm Brückner? 10 Heinrich Himmler 11 Martin Bormann 12 Karl Wolff 13 ? 14 Theodor Morell 15 ?

White question mark and p8: Unknown, could he be No.15?

Hans-Hendrik Neumann, RH’s adjutant.(P7, behind RH)

[miuarchiv]

Aufzeichnungen: die Memoiren des letzten Geheimdienstchefs unter Hitler

Walter Schellenberg

Updated with better scan quality. Tumblr has a size restriction for image upload. Original 600 dpi scans are in the link below:

https://drive.google.com/file/d/149JNBSInYlFAXFq6XGGwKIAgXBqCgorl/view?usp=sharing

[miuarchiv]

https://docplayer.org/180379304-Eine-welt-sucht-diesen-mann.html

Letters from WS to Wilhelm Hoettl, aka Walter Hagen, May 1950 - Aug 1950.

Originally WS was keen on the writing project of Hoettl but quickly dropped it in 3 months, due to his deteriorating health and other concerns.

The second letter is also a source mentioning WS’s 5th child but the text was rather vaguely written.(A friend pointed out the first one could be ”Frau und Kindern”, instead of “Frau u. 5 Kindern” ) If this was true, the child must be born (Oh how on earth??? How on earth were the Allies running the Nuremberg custody???)  or adopted between Feb 1947 and May 1950. 

It also hinted that WS’s family was living in Iburg at that time, in harsh conditions and under the threat of being kicked out. (Supported by a CIC source.)

And please note that this alleged “last photo” by Hoettl bears the same background as another photo from the Limes edition memoir, which was annotated as 1948.

[miuarchiv]

Four photos from previous posts are updated with higher resolution and smaller watermark. Both passports of Waler Schellenberg and “Friedrich Schaemmel”.

[miuarchiv]

山下英一郎『ナチ・ドイツ軍装読本 SS・警察・ナチ党の組織と制服』彩流社、2006年、ISBN 4-7791-1212-5

Private collection of the author.

[miuarchiv]

Just realized that Tumblr has a 1280px size restriction for image upload...

FINE.

[miuarchiv]

p1: An illustration from Dr. Francis Lang's memoir, Mémoires d'un médecin de campagne 1940-1990, 1991. No caption was given. We deemed the location as Piazza del Duomo, see p2-3, the details of columns, streetlamp, and the "Motta" pattern on curtains. The Motta Milano 1928 Bar is still in Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II now.

P4: The position of the visual horizon (marked as dark-red dotted line) was determined by extending horizontal parallel lines on the streetlamp base and the facade of Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II. If the camera's lens were held at eye level, then the photographer's height was about 165cm (since WS's height was 175cm according to his SS documents). However, the possibility of Chest-Level Shot cannot be excluded. We can only assume it was a trip to Milan during his treatment in Pallanza.

WS's story occupied one chapter in Dr. Lang's memoir. Lang was contacted by Roger Masson in May 1951, through a mutual friend in Swiss Police, Georges Ducry, to give treatment to WS. He generously covered WS's 20000 francs expenses until he left for Pallanza and received 30000 francs from Coco Chanel:

“W. Schellenberg contacted Coco Chanel, the most famous woman in Parisian Haute Couture. He told her about his financial problems. Coco Chanel arrived in her black Mercedes, curtains drawn. She handed him around 30,000 francs. During the war, in Paris, W. Schellenberg had helped Coco Chanel a great deal, just as he had rendered many services to other people in this milieu, such as Schiaparelli and Mrs. Simpson.”

His attitude towards WS was totally positive. Truly believing in the friendship shared by WS, Masson, and himself, He described WS in such a way:

"Walter Schellenberg was a handsome, friendly, intelligent man, a musician and a lawyer by training."

"Every second or third evening, when I had time, even at late hours, I would go and talk to my patient. He had fought in the Balkans, and he told me what he had experienced in Romania, Yugoslavia and Czechoslovakia. I thought very highly of him. We were about the same age, we got along very well. Schellenberg was a devout Catholic, he took communion every day."

In conclusion, he asserted that 

"Even today, I affirm that I acted in good faith and that I believed in Walter Schellenberg's sincerity (cf. Document annex 2). I do not regret anything."

As Doerries already pointed out, there are some conflicts between Lang's personal discourse and that of other people, Klaus Harrprecht for example. His book had covered most aspects of this chapter about WS. A few details he trimmed off are as follows:

• A Swiss passport office staff named Marcus Waeber made a fake Swiss passport for WS under the name "Louis Kowalki" - a character from detective novels he wrote.

• Masson's confidant Sven Hinnen accompanied WS to Pallanza through the custom of Brigue on Easter day in 1952. This "very cheeky guy" stole a stamp from the customs officer's bag on the luggage rack and stamped WS's fake passport.

• The priest from Rome who administrated WS's last sacraments, Franz Emmeneger, purchased a tombstone for him in the Turin cemetery as well. (Another account about the one who paid for WS's funeral.)

• In the early 1960s, Lang categorically rejected the demand for files in his possession from the Swiss Police and Masson's successor Dupasquier. He only agreed to hand over these dossiers consisting of letters from various personalities and WS's microfilms to Masson. At that time he occasionally wrote to Irene. Although Irene asked him to keep in touch, he "had no more time and was no longer interested".

Lang passed away in 1992. His son Thierry Lang, a jazz pianist, remembered him as "fully devoted to his patients, worked 14 hours a day". Sylvia Lang, born in Buenos Aires in 1924, has turned 97 this year. She can speak 7 languages, the fact that she talked to WS in English while Francis Lang talked to him in German was a bit confusing.

Although Francis Lang was confident of his memory, there are some factual inaccuracies in this chapter, such as "In 1929, the young Walter began studying medicine in Bonn"(this may be the result of WS's own simplification, just as his own memoir), "(In Nuremberg)He was sentenced to 4 years in prison", "unlike other Nazi leaders, Schellenberg left his family in dire straits in Nuremberg, where his wife lived in a miserable two-room apartment with her 5 children" (indeed, it was possible that the Schellenbergs adopted the 5th child). After all, this memoir was written almost 40 years after their encounter. Thierry Lang also mentioned a fire at their home in 1962, which might cause damage to some documents that could have served as references for Francis Lang's writing.

Annex 2（FR&DE）:

https://drive.google.com/file/d/101AU3GjeKb9vaF9RsiqQAdAIkIuX7__R/view?usp=sharing

Thierry Lang talks about his family:

https://www.generations-plus.ch/?q=magazine/actualit%C3%A9s/personnalit%C3%A9s/thierry-lang-un-talent-qui-ne-vient-pas-de-nulle-part

French text translated to English by deepl.

The perspective analysis was done on another scan of this page without distortion but with lower quality.

[miuarchiv]

Photos and Lebenslauf