#lower Austrian realness

[fremdwortlexikon]

Oh no, they popped out again ...

[thewriterg]

𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠?

pairing(s); konig x fem!reader, deadbeat!konig x daughter

summary; After a year Konig tries to waltz back into your life flipping it upside down while you tried to keep your daughter right side up —angstober day; 16–

word count; 1.0k

warning(s); arguing, Konigs real name in this is Midas, crying, black coded reader, self berating thoughts, your daughter is around 2-4 months, and language

playlist; dealer by lana del rey

A/n:—GIFs;@villageofshadow & @romeestrvjds—

Whoever said that being a parent was simple lied to your face you realized as you weaned your daughter off your nipple resting her small body over your shoulder her face lying in your neck as you gently shuffled between patting her back and rubbing your palm in a up and down motion until you heard the soft burp erupt from her mouth you pressed a soft kiss on the soft skin of her forehead before lying her in the bedside bassinet you’d got as a gift from your baby shower

It was difficult being a parent in general let alone a single parent with no support from the other party bills were racking up and you were grateful for a retired neighbor who was able to watch your and a semi understanding boss at a temporary job to keep your lives dragging rolling along you stepped into your bathroom connected off your room taking a bit of time to care for yourself that you hadn’t usually had in the past few months as the steam around the bathroom stuck to your skin while you stared at your form in the mirror running hands along your hips and lower stomach that still had a bit of flub to them from baring the life of your daughter

You stalked back to your room your throwing on a random T-shirt that you didn’t realize the impact of it until it was situated on your body falling to your knees the musk clouding over your nose sending your senses haywire at the familiar feeling that you couldn’t say was pleasant you snatch it off your head before throwing it across the room running a hand over your forehead and slightly damp curls

The last time you heard from Konig was when he’d met you at the hospital from your sudden sickness just to find out you were pregnant when you cracked the news to him he swore you would make it work and after a while he said he was going back home to bring you some things when you were released from the hospital a few days later you came home to find majority of his belongings gone and his truck no longer parked on the driveway

If only you would’ve sprung it on him more gently

if only you could go back and remember that damn pill

You perked up at the sound of heavy knocking on your front door your eyebrows furrow and for a brief moment you glance over to your firstborn hurrying to throw on shorts and a army green tank grabbing the hand gun you kept in your nightstand purified water bottle, your breast pump, and a small lamp setting on top of its surface training in SAS didn’t allow your brain to not be prepared for anything especially pounding on your door at god knows what unfaithful hour you inch out of your room inching towards the living space the door staring back at you as the pounding continued and you were spaced out until you felt your hand on the doorknob swinging the door open your hand secure around the forearm your finger a split second away from the trigger meeting its wall until you locked eyes with those sharp blue ones that you’d once loved

“Maus please, please just wait” The Austrians voice seeped from the crack of your door before you had the chance to slam the door in his face he’d set a steel toe boot in the threshold of your house and you shove a shoulder to the surface of the door trying to keep him out

“If you need money, a place to hide out, or whatever I don’t have it” You hissed attempting to keep this intruder out of your home

“Nein it’s, its about the baby” He mumbled his eyes meeting your as you scoff in disbelief with a shake of your head your curls moving with each movement framing your face and a fibbed smile etched on your face

“Oh so now you want to take interest in Solei, ou- no my daughter! Are you drunk Midas!?” The pitch of your voices rises until you hear the wails of your daughter in your home and you don’t waste another second on Konig before going to aid to your babygirl

“Shhh it’s okay Sol mommy’s here” You whispered having picked up her small frame cradling her to your chest for such a little body she had a carrying pitch yet nonetheless settled down when your familiar hum traveled to her ears Midas stood in the doorframe of your room watching you both as you care over his daughter his heart pounded in his ears and before he knew it you were lowering her back down into the bassinet the screaming whales down deducted into tiny whimpers and hefty breaths when you turned around it was your turn to suck in a sharp breath not expecting the 6’10 colonel to be waiting for you but before you could open your mouth he stalked towards you forcing a wide tan envelope in your hands the weight slightly dragging your hand down

“This is what I calculated or tried to, to make up for the last year. Bills, Mechanics, You and… Solei” You noted the sound of your names sounded like a prayer falling from his pink lips that were no longer covered by his sniper hood like before

“You cant walk into our life after you just blatantly left and everything will be handy dandy, it doesn’t work that way”

“I want this to work Mau-, Y/n I want to be there for our daughter and for you I’ll do anything it takes. I was a fool back then and I know that now, but she’s still young and I want to be there before it’s too late… before we’re too late” He pleaded and you shook your head a frown forced on your face

“We are too late Midas, but that doesn’t mean Solei doesn’t deserve a father we take this little at a time… baby step” Konig applauded at your answer going to bring you in a hug before stepping back when you took a step away from him a shocked and somewhat frightened look on your face and he nodded taking one back

“Baby steps”

©2023 thewriterg spooktober do not copy, translate, or modify.

[jugoswolf5678]

Ghost x AFAB!Reader 🔞

Summary: Simon gets jealous of König so he destroys your 😺 as punishment 😈

⚠️CW⚠️: mature/sexual themes

⚠️READ AT YOUR OWN RISK⚠️

---

She seriously irked him.

Despite the relationship going on strong, Simon still felt as if he could not trust his lover 100%.

Still, he could not blame her for being the way she was. Y/N was the type of woman to try to get on the good side of her closest peers, to get them to feel as relaxed as her. Surely some would see her overfriendly aura to be quite stifling. Though that did not deter her mission to spread positivity.

But many would wrongly assume Y/N's manner as rather perverse.

And this is just the case with Simon. He has observed some of the exchanges with her and his fellow comrades, causing an unpleasant twinge in his chest, and he did not want to acknowledge that fact.

But he couldn't avoid it forever.

---

"Bro, are you even listening?" Johnny waved his fork in front of Simon's face. He was staring hard at Y/N exchanging pleasantries with a certain Austrian.

Johnny heaved a sigh of slight irritation. "C'mon mate. You can't be starin' at them forever. Y/N ain't the type to wander astray."

"And how would you know that?" Simon scoffed, turning his head towards him with a twitch in his eye.

"Trust me, I know. It's painfully obvious what's goin' on." Johnny was unable to hide the smirk creeping on his face.

"Go on..."

"I don't have to, man. Don't you trust the poor girl?"

Simon pinched the bridge of his nose. "Tch..."

Johnny pondered for a moment. "Maybe remind her of what she has?"

"What are you on about, Soap?" Simon snapped.

"Teach her a lesson. Put her in her place." Johnny pointed his fork in the other man's face. "You know damn well where I'm goin' with this."

"Fuckin' hell..."

---

Everything came to a head the next day. König and Y/N were heavily engaged in a discussion regarding their childhoods and the struggles they've had to endure. Simon took notice of this, and discovered some intimate details that Y/N refrained from telling him.

It felt like a real slap to the face, to say the least.

"The hell is going on here?" Simon stormed over, placing a protective hand on Y/N's shoulder.

"We're just reminiscing of our pasts is all," König started. "Is that a problem?"

Ouch.

Y/N was snatched away from the table before she was able to register. Simon tossed her over his shoulder as though she weighed nothing, and swiftly carried her away towards his cabin room.

"Scheiße. Hope she can still walk after this." König stifled a snicker.

---

Y/N was shoved into the cabin room. "What the heck's your problem, man?!"

Simon said nothing. He only responded by glaring into her confused yet slightly frightened eyes. Rather than yell, he wanted to show her exactly with whom he had a bone to pick.

"Simon, baby, you're scaring me... What's the matter?" She tried asking him, but was once again met with silence.

He slowly sauntered over to Y/N, backing her into the wall. Caging her with his massive arms, he trapped her like a lion about to pounce on its prey.

Y/N felt a cramp in her throat, and she could feel her eyes stinging. "Simon, I don't understand, why are you so mad at me? König-"

"It's always about that bastard with you, isn't it?! Fuck me, right?!" Simon roared, making her flinch and causing a fresh trail of salty tears to fall.

"What are you-oh!" Y/N began, but was cut off when she felt a sharp sting to her lower backside.

"You don't speak unless I allow you to. Got that?" He whispered in her ear. His hot breath and stubble had sent a shiver down her back.

"But-"

Another fierce slap to the ass shut her up immediately. "What did I just fuckin' say? Shut your goddamn mouth!"

"Why are you-"

Simon grabbed her chin, forcing Y/N to look him directly in his eyes. Not once had she ever seen him this livid before, his anger was near palpable.

"What part of 'do not speak unless spoken to' do you not understand?" He snarled. The grip on Y/N's chin tightened a smidgen, sending a small shock to her chest.

"Since you can't learn to close that mouth of yours on your own, I guess I'll have to do it for you." Simon spouted. Y/N could swear she saw an almost sadistic smirk crawl on his face.

"Kneel."

Not wanting to disobey him, she immediately fell to her knees. Simon's abnormally large tent stared her right in the face, and to say she is terrified would be a massive understatement.

"You're a smart girl. You know what to do, and you know what'll happen if you fuck up." He glared down at her, increasing her fear tenfold.

Y/N shakily reached for Simon's bulge and caressed the outline of his thick shaft. Pulling the zipper down, she let his erection out of the confines of his pants, nearly slapping her in the face. She wrapped her small hand around his girth, and started to gently pump him. The pulsing she felt in her pussy was beginning to become uncomfortable.

She started with a slow, long lick from base to tip, peppering little kisses along the sides of Simon's cock. Leaving out breathy whimpers, Y/N opened wide and swallowed as much of him as she could manage, jerking what she couldn't fit.

Y/N closed her eyes, but snapped them open when Simon lightly popped her left cheek.

"Nope. You close your eyes again and you ain't gettin' a single drop of cum. That's the deal."

She continued to work his cock in her mouth, lidded eyes staring into Simon's. The last thing she needed was being denied one of the things she craved the most.

Her almost inaudible moans sent tiny vibrations through Simon's cock. She sucked and pumped him with gusto, not letting her stare be broken a second time. She almost forgot that her pussy was craving attention too, but as she reached her hand between her plush thighs, he pulled her off his cock with a less than pleased expression.

"Tut tut tut, that won't do either. No touching that pussy of yours unless I say so."

Y/N only responded with more tears falling and another pained whine.

"Aw, did I hurt your precious feelings?" Simon sneered. "Imagine how I felt when I saw you with König all those times..."

His mischievous grin grew wider as he violently rocked his hips into Y/N's face, forcing his entire length down her throat. She held on tight to Simon's thighs as she gagged, struggling to take him in her mouth.

"Tell you what," Simon began. "If you can hold my dick in your throat for 30 seconds, then MAYBE I'll allow you to speak..."

The pain between Y/N's legs was next to unbearable. If Simon didn't allow her to touch herself for another second, she was certain she'd die.

Thirty seconds had passed, and thankfully Y/N has been able to take Simon's cock with no trouble. When the time was up, he slowly removed her head, his length completely soaked with her saliva.

"You did so well this time." He caressed Y/N's face, wiping a few tears away. At this point, he expected her to speak up and ask for forgiveness, but she refused to utter a word.

"You can talk now." Simon lifted Y/N's head up, her glossy eyes staring back at him.

"I'm..."

"You're what? Use your words." He cocked his head to the side.

"I'm sorry..." She hung her head, facing away from Simon in shame.

"Hmmm...Maybe I'll forgive you, on one condition." He replied.

"What do you want me to do?" Her voice got quieter with each word.

"Prepare yourself, darling. Like I said earlier, you're a smart girl. And you know what'll happen if you fuck up."

---

The room was filled with the sounds of wet slaps and Y/N's pitiful cries. Her pussy was overwhelmed with pleasure, she felt like every thrust would send her over the edge.

Simon had her bent over the edge of his bed, holding her arms behind her as he brutally fucked her senseless. Touching every sensitive spot deep inside her, he wanted to hear her cry out his name and beg for his release.

"Tell me, princess. Can König make you feel this good?"

"N-No..." She breathed.

"It's a damn shame he'll never get to feel how wet and tight your cunt is. A goddamn shame..." Simon's thrusts began to quicken, becoming more fierce and rough.

"Simon, I'm close-! W-Wanna cum!"

At her words, he immediately pulled out, keeping Y/N from her prize.

"I don't think you deserve my cum, sweetie. Have you learned your lesson tonight?" He lightly soothed the tender skin of her pussy, coating his fingers with her arousal.

"Yes I have! Please, I beg you! I want you!"

"What about König?" He whispered in her ear again.

"Never! I only want you! Please let me cum!"

Simon clutched both sides of her ass cheeks and plunged deep into her sopping cunt. Shrieking, Y/N swore her cervix had been breached. She had far underestimated his size, but she did not care one bit. All she wanted was for Simon to paint her cunt white with his seed.

"Fuck-!"

The dam inside Simon finally bursts, shooting ropes of his warm, thick cum into her pussy. Y/N wailed in response, a far away look of satisfaction plastered on her face. She breathed out a sigh of relief, not only because he forgave her, but for also being left a cum filled husk in the process.

"And the next time I catch you pulling some shit like that, I'm gonna tie his ass up and fuck you in front of him. Got that?"

[thekingofwinterblog]

Tolkien's crowns.

You know something that really annoys me about the Tolkien movie adaptions?

Crowns.

Like a lot of things Jackson did, he basically crafted something completely new out of the bare bones we get from some descriptions, for better or worse, but the Crowns are another matter, because not only did Tolkien give very clear descriptions, and even drew the two most notable ones(the crowns of the dwarves and gondor)that appeared over the course of Lotr and the Hobbit, both had very, very clear cut meanings and symbolism behind them, that tied them to their real life origins.

The crowns of the dwarves of Erebor and Moria look like someone took their helmets and filed down the sides so only the skeleton remained, to varying degrees of success.

But you know what tolkien used?

In the books, Tolkien's dwarves uses crowns speciffically modeled after the crown of the Austrian-Hungarian Empire.

Why?

Well if you know anything about said empire, and the actual inspiration for Tolkien's dwarves, the picture is a bit clearer.

See Tolkien specifically modeled his dwarfs, their history of losing a homeland, desire for a new one, and their proud, industrious culture of craftsmen and skills of making money on a mixture between the Norse mythical dwarves, and the Jews in the long centuries after the Romans kicked them out of their original homeland.

Now with this in mind, Tolkien choosing to model the Dwarves crown on the Austrian one is him specifficaly choosing a real, Germanic crown as the inspiration... As well as a nod to the fact that the Austria-Hungarian empire was legendary for his time(The time Tolkien grew up in) as a progressive haven for jews, probably the best in Europe.

An empire, that was also destroyed by fires of war, just Moria and Erebor.

In other words, there is so much symbolism here that is completely and totally stripped away by the helmet crowns the movies gave them.

Hell, even the original hobbit animated movie got this right, while Jackson did not, as they basically just made the crown the austrian one, just a bit more exagerated.

Meanwhile, there is the crown of gondor, which completely missed absolutely everything tolkien tried to do with the Gondor crown.

It's a crown that fits perfectly with the rest of the city, this is truly a crown of the Gondor that the movies portrayed.

Meanwhile, Tolkiens Winged silver crown... Does not.

Even within the context of the fact that the books gondor is an early medieval(as it does not have plate armor at all) styled kingdom in terms of armor and clothing design, the crown does NOT fit in the slightest.

And that's the point.

The original crown of Gondor was a simple war Helm of the day that Elendil wore, and the later one that Aragorn wore was a more fancy replica of that helmet.

It is outdated by thousands of years, a relic of an elder time that was long lost even when Gondor's lost it's Kings in the first place. It's not supposed to fit in.

Also the fact that Elendil wore this, and it was considered just fine, tells us a lot about Gondor's fashion and style of arms during the closing days of the second age.

However, then we get into the deeper meaning behind the crown and where it was inspired from.

Gondor's winged crown was very deliberately inspired and based on the crowns of ancienct egypt, which was one of the main inspirations for Gondor and(to a lesser extent) arnor.

Just like Egyot there were two kingdom, an upper and a lower one, though in middle earth it was instead called the northern and southern ones.

Just like egypt, Gondor's entire socity and political and economic strength was based around their massive river that ran through the realm.

Just like Egypt, one of the biggest problems the gondorian elites had was their obsession with grand mousoleums and graves for their elites, focusing far more on the dead rather than their living children, and wasting who knows how much coin, manpower, energy and resources on such rather than just burying them in thr ground.

Basically the same problem egypt had building stupidly expensive superstructures for their dead in the form of pyramids, rather than something actually useful.

Then there is the fact that just like how lower and upper egypt combined their regalia together(as in they fused the two crowns into one, bigger one), Aragorn very deliberately made the royal regalia of the reunited Kingship BOTH his ancient and out of place winged crown, and the Silver scepter of Annuminas, the royal symbol of Arnor, combining the two of them together into one office.

[dailyanarchistposts]

F.3.2 Can there be harmony of interests in an unequal society?

Like the right-liberalism it is derived from, “anarcho”-capitalism is based on the concept of “harmony of interests” which was advanced by the likes of Frédéric Bastiat in the 19th century and Rothbard’s mentor Ludwig von Mises in the 20th. For Rothbard, “all classes live in harmony through the voluntary exchange of goods and services that mutually benefits them all.” This meant that capitalists and workers have no antagonistic class interests [Classical Economics: An Austrian Perspective on the History of Economic Thought, Vol. 2, p. 380 and p. 382]

For Rothbard, class interest and conflict does not exist within capitalism, except when it is supported by state power. It was, he asserted, “fallacious to employ such terms as ‘class interests’ or ‘class conflict’ in discussing the market economy.” This was because of two things: “harmony of interests of different groups” and “lack of homogeneity among the interests of any one social class.” It is only in “relation to state action that the interests of different men become welded into ‘classes’.” This means that the “homogeneity emerges from the interventions of the government into society.” [Conceived in Liberty, vol. 1, p. 261] So, in other words, class conflict is impossible under capitalism because of the wonderful coincidence that there are, simultaneously, both common interests between individuals and classes and lack of any!

You do not need to be an anarchist or other socialist to see that this argument is nonsense. Adam Smith, for example, simply recorded reality when he noted that workers and bosses have “interests [which] are by no means the same. The workmen desire to get as much, the masters to give as little as possible. The former are disposed to combine in order to raise, the latter to lower the wages of labour.” [The Wealth of Nations, p. 58] The state, Smith recognised, was a key means by which the property owning class maintained their position in society. As such, it reflects economic class conflict and interests and does not create it (this is not to suggest that economic class is the only form of social hierarchy of course, just an extremely important one). American workers, unlike Rothbard, were all too aware of the truth in Smith’s analysis. For example, one group argued in 1840 that the bosses “hold us then at their mercy, and make us work solely for their profit … The capitalist has no other interest in us, than to get as much labour out of us as possible. We are hired men, and hired men, like hired horses, have no souls.” Thus “their interests as capitalist, and ours as labourers, are directly opposite” and “in the nature of things, hostile, and irreconcilable.” [quoted by Christopher L. Tomlins, Law, Labor, and Ideology in the Early American Republic, p. 10] Then there is Alexander Berkman’s analysis:

“It is easy to understand why the masters don’t want you to be organised, why they are afraid of a real labour union. They know very well that a strong, fighting union can compel higher wages and better conditions, which means less profit for the plutocrats. That is why they do everything in their power to stop labour from organising … “The masters have found a very effective way to paralyse the strength of organised labour. They have persuaded the workers that they have the same interests as the employers … and what is good for the employer is also good for his employees … If your interests are the same as those of your boss, then why should you fight him? That is what they tell you … It is good for the industrial magnates to have their workers believe [this] … [as they] will not think of fighting their masters for better conditions, but they will be patient and wait till the employer can ‘share his prosperity’ with them … If you listen to your exploiters and their mouthpieces you will be ‘good’ and consider only the interests of your masters … but no one cares about your interests … ‘Don’t be selfish,’ they admonish you, while the boss is getting rich by your being good and unselfish. And they laugh in their sleeves and thank the Lord that you are such an idiot. “But … the interests of capital and labour are not the same. No greater lie was ever invented than the so-called ‘identity of interests’ … It is clear that … they are entirely opposite, in fact antagonistic to each other.” [What is Anarchism?, pp. 74–5]

That Rothbard denies this says a lot about the power of ideology.

Rothbard was clear what unions do, namely limit the authority of the boss and ensure that workers keep more of the surplus value they produce. As he put it, unions “attempt to persuade workers that they can better their lot at the expense of the employer. Consequently, they invariably attempt as much as possible to establish work rules that hinder management’s directives … In other words, instead of agreeing to submit to the work orders of management in exchange for his pay, the worker now set up not only minimum wages, but also work rules without which they refuse to work.” This will “lower output.” [The Logic of Action II, p. 40 and p. 41] Notice the assumption, that the income of and authority of the boss are sacrosanct.

For Rothbard, unions lower productivity and harm profits because they contest the authority of the boss to do what they like on their property (apparently, laissez-faire was not applicable for working class people during working hours). Yet this implicitly acknowledges that there are conflicts of interests between workers and bosses. It does not take too much thought to discover possible conflicts of interests which could arise between workers who seek to maximise their wages and minimise their labour and bosses who seek to minimise their wage costs and maximise the output their workers produce. It could be argued that if workers do win this conflict of interests then their bosses will go out of business and so they harm themselves by not obeying their industrial masters. The rational worker, in this perspective, would be the one who best understood that his or her interests have become the same as the interests of the boss because his or her prosperity will depend on how well their firm is doing. In such cases, they will put the interest of the firm before their own and not hinder the boss by questioning their authority. If that is the case, then “harmony of interests” simply translates as “bosses know best” and “do what you are told” — and such obedience is a fine “harmony” for the order giver we are sure!

So the interesting thing is that Rothbard’s perspective produces a distinctly servile conclusion. If workers do not have a conflict of interests with their bosses then, obviously, the logical thing for the employee is to do whatever their boss orders them to do. By serving their master, they automatically benefit themselves. In contrast, anarchists have rejected such a position. For example, William Godwin rejected capitalist private property precisely because of the “spirit of oppression, the spirit of servility, and the spirit of fraud” it produced. [An Enquiry into Political Justice, p. 732]

Moreover, we should note that Rothbard’s diatribe against unions also implicitly acknowledges the socialist critique of capitalism which stresses that it is being subject to the authority of boss during work hours which makes exploitation possible (see section C.2). If wages represented the workers’ “marginal” contribution to production, bosses would not need to ensure their orders were followed. So any real boss fights unions precisely because they limit their ability to extract as much product as possible from the worker for the agreed wage. As such, the hierarchical social relations within the workplace ensure that there are no “harmony of interests” as the key to a successful capitalist firm is to minimise wage costs in order to maximise profits. It should also be noted that Rothbard has recourse to another concept “Austrian” economists claims to reject during his anti-union comments. Somewhat ironically, he appeals to equilibrium analysis as, apparently, “wage rates on the non-union labour market will always tend toward equilibrium in a smooth and harmonious manner” (in another essay, he opines that “in the Austrian tradition … the entrepreneur harmoniously adjusts the economy in the direction of equilibrium”). [Op. Cit., p. 41 and p. 234] True, he does not say that the wages will reach equilibrium (and what stops them, unless, in part, it is the actions of entrepreneurs disrupting the economy?) however, it is strange that the labour market can approximate a situation which Austrian economists claim does not exist! However, as noted in section C.1.6 this fiction is required to hide the obvious economic power of the boss class under capitalism.

Somewhat ironically, given his claims of “harmony of interests,” Rothbard was well aware that landlords and capitalists have always used the state to further their interests. However, he preferred to call this “mercentilism” rather than capitalism. As such, it is amusing to read his short article “Mercentilism: A Lesson for Our Times?” as it closely parallels Marx’s classic account of “Primitive Accumulation” contained in volume 1 of Capital. [Rothbard, Op. Cit., pp. 43–55] The key difference is that Rothbard simply refused to see this state action as creating the necessary preconditions for his beloved capitalism nor does it seem to impact on his mantra of “harmony of interests” between classes. In spite of documenting exactly how the capitalist and landlord class used the state to enrich themselves at the expense of the working class, he refuses to consider how this refutes any claim of “harmony of interests” between exploiter and exploited.

Rothbard rightly notes that mercantilism involved the “use of the state to cripple or prohibit one’s competition.” This applies to both foreign capitalists and to the working class who are, of course, competitors in terms of how income is divided. Unlike Marx, he simply failed to see how mercantilist policies were instrumental for building an industrial economy and creating a proletariat. Thus he thunders against mercantilism for “lowering interest rates artificially” and promoting inflation which “did not benefit the poor” as “wages habitually lagged behind the rise in prices.” He describes the “desperate attempts by the ruling classes to coerce wages below their market rates.” Somewhat ironically, given the “anarcho”-capitalist opposition to legal holidays, he noted the mercantilists “dislike of holidays, by which the ‘nation’ was deprived of certain amounts of labour; the desire of the individual worker for leisure was never considered worthy of note.” So why were such “bad” economic laws imposed? Simply because the landlords and capitalists were in charge of the state. As Rothbard notes, “this was clearly legislation for the benefit of the feudal landlords and to the detriment of the workers” while Parliament “was heavily landlord-dominated.” In Massachusetts the upper house consisted “of the wealthiest merchants and landowners.” The mercantilists, he notes but does not ponder, “were frankly interested in exploiting [the workers’] labour to the utmost.” [Op. Cit., p. 44, p. 46, p. 47, p. 51, p. 48, p. 51, p. 47, p. 54 and p. 47] Yet these policies made perfect sense from their class perspective, they were essential for maximising a surplus (profits) which was subsequently invested in developing industry. As such, they were very successful and laid the foundation for the industrial capitalism of the 19th century. The key change between mercantilism and capitalism proper is that economic power is greater as the working class has been successfully dispossessed from the means of life and, as such, political power need not be appealed to as often and can appear, in rhetoric at least, defensive.

Discussing attempts by employers in Massachusetts in 1670 and 1672 to get the state to enforce a maximum wage Rothbard opined that there “seemed to be no understanding of how wages are set in an unhampered market.” [Conceived in Liberty, vol. 2, p. 18] On the contrary, dear professor, the employers were perfectly aware of how wages were set in a market where workers have the upper hand and, consequently, sought to use the state to hamper the market. As they have constantly done since the dawn of capitalism as, unlike certain economists, they are fully aware of the truth of “harmony of interests” and acted accordingly. As we document in section F.8, the history of capitalism is filled with the capitalist class using the state to enforce the kind of “harmony of interests” which masters have always sought — obedience. This statist intervention has continued to this day as, in practice, the capitalist class has never totally relied on economic power to enforce its rule due to the instability of the capitalist market — see section C.7 — as well as the destructive effects of market forces on society and the desire to bolster its position in the economy at the expense of the working class — see section D.1. That the history and current practice of capitalism was not sufficient to dispel Rothbard of his “harmony of interests” position is significant. But, as Rothbard was always at pains to stress as a good “Austrian” economist, empirical testing does not prove or disprove a theory and so the history and practice of capitalism matters little when evaluating the pros and cons of that system (unless its history confirms Rothbard’s ideology then he does make numerous empirical statements).

For Rothbard, the obvious class based need for such policies is missing. Instead, we get the pathetic comment that only “certain” merchants and manufacturers “benefited from these mercantilist laws.” [The Logic of Action II, p. 44] He applied this same myopic perspective to “actually existing” capitalism as well, of course, lamenting the use of the state by certain capitalists as the product of economic ignorance and/or special interests specific to the capitalists in question. He simply could not see the forest for the trees. This is hardly a myopia limited to Rothbard. Bastiat formulated his “harmony of interests” theory precisely when the class struggle between workers and capitalists had become a threat to the social order, when socialist ideas of all kinds (including anarchism, which Bastiat explicitly opposed) were spreading and the labour movement was organising illegally due to state bans in most countries. As such, he was propagating the notion that workers and bosses had interests in common when, in practice, it was most obviously the case they had not. What “harmony” that did exist was due to state repression of the labour movement, itself a strange necessity if labour and capital did share interests.

The history of capitalism causes problems within “anarcho”-capitalism as it claims that everyone benefits from market exchanges and that this, not coercion, produces faster economic growth. If this is the case, then why did some individuals reject the market in order to enrich themselves by political means and, logically, impoverish themselves in the long run (and it has been an extremely long run)? And why have the economically dominant class generally also been the ones to control the state? After all, if there are no class interests or conflict then why has the property owning classes always sought state aid to skew the economy in its interests? If the classes did have harmonious interests then they would have no need to bolster their position nor would they seek to. Yet state policy has always reflected the needs of the property-owning elite — subject to pressures from below, of course (as Rothbard rather lamely notes, without pondering the obvious implications, the “peasantry and the urban labourers and artisans were never able to control the state apparatus and were therefore at the bottom of the state-organised pyramid and exploited by the ruling groups.” [Conceived in Liberty, vol. 1, p. 260]). It is no coincidence that the working classes have not been able to control the state nor that legislation is “grossly the favourer of the rich against the poor.” [William Godwin, Op. Cit., p. 93] They are the ones passing the laws, after all. This long and continuing anti-labour intervention in the market does, though, place Rothbard’s opinion that government is a conspiracy against the superior man in a new light!

So when right-“libertarians” assert that there are “harmony of interests” between classes in an unhampered market, anarchists simply reply by pointing out that the very fact we have a “hampered” market shows that no such thing exists within capitalism. It will be argued, of course, that the right-“libertarian” is against state intervention for the capitalists (beyond defending their property which is a significant use of state power in and of itself) and that their political ideas aim to stop it. Which is true (and why a revolution would be needed to implement it!). However, the very fact that the capitalist class has habitually turned to the state to bolster its economic power is precisely the issue as it shows that the right-“libertarian” harmony of interests (on which they place so much stress as the foundation of their new order) simply does not exist. If it did, then the property owning class would never have turned to the state in the first place nor would it have tolerated “certain” of its members doing so.

If there were harmony of interests between classes, then the bosses would not turn to death squads to kill rebel workers as they have habitually done (and it should be stressed that libertarian union organisers have been assassinated by bosses and their vigilantes, including the lynching of IWW members and business organised death squads against CNT members in Barcelona). This use of private and public violence should not be surprising, for, at the very least, as Mexican anarchist Ricardo Flores Magon noted, there can be no real fraternity between classes “because the possessing class is always disposed to perpetuate the economic, political, and social system that guarantees it the tranquil enjoyment of its plunders, while the working class makes efforts to destroy this iniquitous system.” [Dreams of Freedom, p. 139]

Rothbard’s obvious hatred of unions and strikes can be explained by his ideological commitment to the “harmony of interests.” This is because strikes and the need of working class people to organise gives the lie to the doctrine of “harmony of interests” between masters and workers that apologists for capitalism like Rothbard suggested underlay industrial relations. Worse, they give credibility to the notion that there exists opposed interests between classes. Strangely, Rothbard himself provides more than enough evidence to refute his own dogmas when he investigates state intervention on the market.

Every ruling class seeks to deny that it has interests separate from the people under it. Significantly those who deny class struggle the most are usually those who practice it the most (for example, Mussolini, Pinochet and Thatcher all proclaimed the end of class struggle while, in America, the Republican-right denounces anyone who points out the results of their class war on the working class as advocating “class war”). The elite has long been aware, as Black Nationalist Steve Biko put it, that the “most potent weapon in the hands of the oppressor is the mind of the oppressed.” Defenders of slavery and serfdom presented it as god’s will and that the master’s duty was to treat the slave well just as the slave’s duty was to obey (while, of course, blaming the slave if the master did not hold up his side of the covenant). So every hierarchical system has its own version of the “harmony of interests” position and each hierarchical society which replaces the last mocks the previous incarnations of it while, at the same time, solemnly announcing that this society truly does have harmony of interests as its founding principle. Capitalism is no exception, with many economists repeating the mantra that every boss has proclaimed from the dawn of time, namely that workers and their masters have common interests. As usual, it is worthwhile to quote Rothbard on this matter. He (rightly) takes to task a defender of the slave master’s version of “harmony of interests” and, in so doing, exposes the role of economics under capitalism. To quote Rothbard:

“The increasing alienation of the slaves and the servants led … the oligarchy to try to win their allegiance by rationalising their ordeal as somehow natural, righteous, and divine. So have tyrants always tried to dupe their subjects into approving — or at least remaining resigned to — their fate … Servants, according to the emphatically non-servant [Reverend Samuel] Willard, were duty-bound to revere and obey their masters, to serve them diligently and cheerfully, and to be patient and submissive even to the cruellest master. A convenient ideology indeed for the masters! … All the subjects must do, in short, was to surrender their natural born gift of freedom and independence, to subject themselves completely to the whims and commands of others, who could then be blindly trusted to ‘take care’ of them permanently … “Despite the myths of ideology and the threats of the whip, servants and slaves found many ways of protest and rebellion. Masters were continually denouncing servants for being disobedient, sullen, and lazy.” [Conceived in Liberty, vol. 2, pp. 18–19]

Change Reverend Samuel Willard to the emphatically non-worker Professor Murray Rothbard and we have a very succinct definition of the role his economics plays within capitalism. There are differences. The key one was that while Willard wanted permanent servitude, Rothbard sought a temporary form and allowed the worker to change masters. While Willard turned to the whip and the state, Rothbard turned to absolute private property and the capitalist market to ensure that workers had to sell their liberty to the boss class (unsurprisingly, as Willard lived in an economy whose workers had access to land and tools while in Rothbard’s time the class monopolisation of the means of life was complete and workers have little alternative but to sell their liberty to the owning class).

Rothbard did not seek to ban unions and strikes. He argued that his system of absolute property rights would simply make it nearly impossible for unions to organise or for any form of collective action to succeed. Even basic picketing would be impossible for, as Rothbard noted many a time, the pavement outside the workplace would be owned by the boss who would be as unlikely to allow picketing as he would allow a union. Thus we would have private property and economic power making collective struggle de facto illegal rather than the de jure illegality which the state has so enacted on behalf of the capitalists. As he put it, while unions were “theoretically compatible with the existence of a purely free market” he doubted that it would be possible as unions relied on the state to be “neutral” and tolerate their activities as they “acquire almost all their power through the wielding of force, specifically force against strike-beakers and against the property of employers.” [The Logic of Action II, p. 41] Thus we find right-“libertarians” in favour of “defensive” violence (i.e., that limited to defending the property and power of the capitalists and landlords) while denouncing as violence any action of those subjected to it.

Rothbard, of course, allowed workers to leave their employment in order to seek another job if they felt exploited. Yet for all his obvious hatred of unions and strikes, Rothbard does not ask the most basic question — if there is not clash of interests between labour and capital then why do unions even exist and why do bosses always resist them (often brutally)? And why has capital always turned to the state to bolster its position in the labour market? If there were really harmony of interests between classes then capital would not have turned repeatedly to the state to crush the labour movement. For anarchists, the reasons are obvious as is why the bosses always deny any clash of interests for “it is to the interests of capital to keep the workers from understanding that they are wage slaves. The ‘identity of interest’; swindle is one of the means of doing it … All those who profit from wage slavery are interested in keeping up the system, and all of them naturally try to prevent the workers from understanding the situation.” [Berkman, Op. Cit., p. 77]

Rothbard’s vociferous anti-unionism and his obvious desire to make any form of collective action by workers impossible in practice if not in law shows how economics has replaced religion as a control mechanism. In any hierarchical system it makes sense for the masters to indoctrinate the servant class with such self-serving nonsense but only capitalists have the advantage that it is proclaimed a “science” rather than, say, a religion. Yet even here, the parallels are close. As Colin Ward noted in passing, the “so-called Libertarianism of the political Right” is simply “the worship of the market economy.” [Talking Anarchy, p. 76] So while Willard appealed to god as the basis of his natural order, Rothbard appeal to “science” was nothing of the kind given the ideological apriorism of “Austrian” economics. As a particularly scathing reviewer of one of his economics books rightly put it, the “main point of the book is to show that the never-never land of the perfectly free market economy represents the best of all conceivable worlds giving maximum satisfaction to all participants. Whatever is, is right in the free market … It would appear that Professor Rothbard’s book is more akin to systematic theology than economics … its real interest belongs to the student of the sociology of religion.” [D.N. Winch, The Economic Journal, vol. 74, No. 294, pp. 481–2]

To conclude, it is best to quote Emma Goldman’s biting dismissal of the right-liberal individualism that Rothbard’s ideology is just another form of. She rightly attacked that ”‘rugged individualism’ which is only a masked attempt to repress and defeat the individual and his individuality. So-called Individualism is the social and economic laissez-faire: the exploitation of the masses by classes by means of trickery, spiritual debasement and systematic indoctrination of the servile spirit … That corrupt and perverse ‘individualism’ is the strait-jacket of individuality … This ‘rugged individualism’ has inevitably resulted in the greatest modern slavery, the crassest class distinctions … ‘Rugged individualism’ has meant all the ‘individualism’ for the masters, while the people are regimented into a slave caste to serve a handful of self-seeking ‘supermen’ … [and] in whose name political tyranny and social oppression are defended and held up as virtues while every aspiration and attempt of man to gain freedom and social opportunity to live is denounced as … evil in the name of that same individualism.” [Red Emma Speaks, p. 112]

So, to conclude. Both the history and current practice of capitalism shows that there can be no harmony of interests in an unequal society. Anyone who claims otherwise has not been paying attention.

[darth-mortem]

Finally the next fic!

I didn’t plan to combine these lil fics into one story, but this one will be about König’s daughter, whom I wrote about in this fic. Ghost and König’s relationship has a bro vibe in my headcanons. And I think that ‘König’ could be his surname.

Lil Margaret gets a bad grade at school, and she’s afraid to tell her dad about it. 1758 words.

König left his house as usual to meet Margaret, who was returning home on the school bus. Now it was his turn to take care of the little girl, while her mother, who lived nearby, went to another city on a business trip. This time the Austrian wasn’t alone; Horangi also took a leave, and they spent time together. Margaret loved Hong Jin, and the Korean seemed to like taking care of her. He was currently at the store buying food for the week, so König met his daughter by himself.

Usually the girl ran to her dad from the bus, but today something was wrong. She walked slowly with her head down, so König himself went to meet her, crouched down, and gently hugged Margaret to his chest.

“What happened, meine kleine Blume?” He asked. “Did someone offend you?”

“No, daddy,” the girl answered, looking into his eyes. “You won’t be angry if I tell you?”

“Of course I won’t!” König said it firmly. “But first, let’s go inside, okay?”

Margaret nodded and wrapped her little arms around the Austrian’s neck. He lifted the girl in his arms and went into the house.

König had a lot of mental problems, including anger management. His comrades-in-arms tried not to annoy him once more, and on the field, he often turned into a real berserker, sweeping away everyone and everything in his path. There were unpleasant incidents with both Horangi and Ghost, until these two people close to König learned to cope with his explosive nature. But he never snapped at his little daughter, even when she really did something bad or wrong.

“Well,” the Austrian said when Margaret had washed her hands and changed from her school uniform into home shorts and a T-shirt with kittens. “Now tell me, what happened.”

“I got ‘2’ in maths class,” the girl answered quietly, lowering her eyes. “It was a very difficult task!”

“What task?” König asked in surprise, because he knew that his daughter was a good pupil.

“There are three people and two apples,” Margaret started to explain. “You have a knife, and you have to divide the apples equally.”

“Do you know these people?” The Austrian asked, and the girl shook her head. “So you can slaughter one of them, and the others will get one apple each!”

“I said so,” Margaret sighed, “and got ‘2’. And then Ms. Hamilton took me to Mrs. Tailor, and she was asking stupid questions!” 

König knew that Emma Hamilton was his daughter’s teacher, but he heard about Mrs. Tailor for the first time. As for the task, he couldn’t think of any other solution and decided to call Ghost while Margaret was having dinner. König warmed up some soup for his daughter, then left the kitchen and dialed his friend’s number.

TF 141 was on the mission. Ghost and Soap were sitting in the ambush as a sniper couple, while Price and Gaz were making their way through the enemy base to get the necessary information. However, seeing who was calling him, Lieutenant Riley answered it, turning the speakerphone so that the phone in his hands wouldn’t interfere him observing the events through binoculars.

“What’s up, bro?” Ghost asked. “We’re working. Don’t have much time.”

“It’s about Margaret,” König answered. “She had a weird task in school and got ‘2’. I have no idea how to solve it.”

He told about three people, two apples, and a knife. Ghost was silent for a few seconds and then said:

“If these guys are not your friends, you can slaughter one of them and give one apple to each of the others.”

“I said so, and she did too.” The Austrian sighed. "It's the wrong answer.”

“Ye both are sick bastards,” Soap intervened, not taking his eye off the eyepiece of his sniper rifle’s scope. “And th’ child got this shit from ye. By th’ way, hi König.”

“Hi, Soap.” The Austrian smiled involuntarily.

“You must cut each apple into three equal parts and give two parts to each guy.” MacTavish said quickly.

“This is bullshit,” Ghost snorted. “How can you cut an apple into three equal parts?”

Soap didn’t have time to answer. The lieutenant noticed the enemies and aborted the call because he and Johnny had to start working. König stared at his phone for a minute, then sighed and went to the kitchen. Margaret had just finished her soup, so the Austrian started to heat vegetables with a cutlet and telling about the phone conversation.

“I told Uncle Ghost and Uncle John about your task,” he said. “And Uncle Ghost thinks that our solution is right.”

At first, Margaret called both of her dad’s friends by their names, but Riley always reacted strangely to it. When he first heard ‘Uncle Simon’ from the girl, he froze, and then abruptly and without explanation, he walked out into the backyard to smoke. At first, König didn’t understand, but then he remembered that Ghost once had a nephew who was brutally killed. After that, he taught his daughter to call his friend Ghost, not Simon, and it seemed to have no longer caused negative reactions.

“And what did Uncle John say?" Margaret asked, looking at König.

“Well, he had an idea,” he said, placing a plate in front of his daughter, “but it has to be checked. You’d better tell me who Mrs. Taylor is and what she asked you about.”

From his daughter's story, the Austrian understood that this woman is a school psychologist. She asked Margaret if everything was fine at home, if her father was insulting her, and how he coped with household duties when she was with him. The girl also said that Ms. Hamilton wanted to talk to König or his partner and will be waiting for one of them tomorrow.

Soon, Horangi returned with large bags of food. Margaret was already doing her homework in her room at this time, so König told about today’s incident at school without holding back his anger and his language. After listening to all this mixture of English and German, Hong Jin crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes.

“Soap was right, babe,” he said. “You’re a sick bastard. Of course, you need to cut the apples into three parts, not kill one of the people!”

“Oh, really?” König frowned. “You bought apples, so come on, show me how to cut them into three equal parts!”

It seemed like an easy task for Horangi. However, when he cut open one apple and König weighed the pieces on kitchen scales, it turned out that they were completely different.

“Hmm,” Hong Jin said thoughtfully, “this is a coincidence. Take these slices of apple to Margaret, and then I’ll try again, and everything will work.”

It didn’t work the second, third, and fifth time. After that, König took the knife from Horangi, tried it himself, and also failed. In the end, they managed to cut two apples out of twenty into almost equal parts with a difference of one-tenth of an ounce.

“Well,” the Korean said, taking a cigarette from his pack, "it's a really weird and difficult task.”

At this moment, Margaret ran into the kitchen to say that she had already finished her homework and was surprised to see the pile of sliced apples on the table.

“Daddy, Hong Jin, what are you doing?” The girl asked, blinking her clear blue eyes.

“We’ll cook… hmm…” Horangi coughed.

“An apple strudel with cinnamon!” König found the answer. “Do you want to help us, meine kleine Blume?”

“Yeah!” the girl exclaimed happily.

Hong Jin sighed heavily, but remained silent and started helping the Austrian together with the girl.

The next day, König came to pick up his daughter, and Margaret, who was playing in the school yard, reported that the teacher was already waiting for him. Emma Hamilton was a young, fragile woman of only five feet tall, and when the Austrian appeared in the doorway of the classroom, she dropped the notebooks she was holding in her hands.

“Oh, sheisse!” König said and tried to help, but hit his head on the doorway and pouted.

“Are you okay?” The teacher asked, a little scared, looking at him.

“Yes,” the Austrian answered, lowered his head, and entered the classroom. “Margaret said you want to speak with me.”

“That’s true.” Ms. Hamilton smiled in confusion. “It’s about the maths lesson’s task.”

“Yeah, the task!” König frowned. “The solution is impossible! My partner and I cut twenty apples yesterday, and none of them could be divided into equal parts! By the way, this is for you.”

The Austrian’s irritation instantly changed to a friendly smile, and he placed a lunchbox with a large piece of strudel inside on the teacher’s table. Emma looked at it even more confused and carefully asked:

“What’s this?”

“We had to use up all those sliced apples, so we baked a strudel,” König explained unperturbed.

The teacher imagined how this huge man was engaged in baking with his partner and little daughter, and her smile became wider.

“Thank you, Mr. König; that’s very kind of you.” Emma said. “But let’s talk about the task. It’s for little children, and it’s designed for logical thinking, not for accuracy. No one divides food by ruler or weight, right?”

The Austrian through for the first time that, indeed, dividing apples is not the same as designing bombs or equipping ammos, where it’s important to calculate everything with absolute precision. He felt like a fool, and he nodded grimly in response to the teacher’s question.

“Fine,” she said, gently touching König’s hand. “I understand that you’re in the military, and this leaves an impression on your whole life, but please try not to joke about murder or death in the presence of a child. Alright?”

“Aye, ma’am.” The Austrian answered automatically. “That’s all?”

“Yes,” Ms. Hamilton answered. “I was glad finally to meet Margaret’s father.”

“I was glad to meet you too,” König said.

He said goodbye and went to pick up his daughter. After putting her in the car, the Austrian got behind the wheel and drove home, explaining to Margaret how to solve the task about apples. Later, while the girl was having lunch, Horangi asked König how everything went. He told about the conversation with the teacher, the meaning, and the solution of the task. Then he added:

“It’s fine, but next time you have to come with me.” Hong Jin snorted cheerfully, and they also went to eat.

[itwasnotahamster]

- Letters from the Dead -

Kråkstad, 24 August 1990 | © The Old Nick | Source: Letters from the Dead

The brackets will indicate possible context or corrections (sometimes commentary). - 💜

“Beheld Nick! It’s Dead here. 

Hey didn’t I wrote down the titles on the tracks on that tape?! I was sure I did… As for the other bands I have no idea now of what those were so I can’t tell you… But our 2 songs are (in the order. I always tape ‘em) the Freezing Moon and Carnage. I must ask you- what is a rapido-graph pen??? The only kind of pens I have are the ones I’m writing letters with, till they runs out and I must buy some new. Or simply something I just find… Yeah it’s shit to draw with the same kind of pens one is writing with but I guess I don’t have any choise [choice] ‘cos I must write so many letters so all the money goes to buy that kinda pens… but I’d like to know what that professional drawing pen is. And are you using that one? Is it ok if I send you 5 Asphyxia 7” , 5 Disharmonic O. 7” and 10 Merciless LP’s + a free copy for you? That’ll cost you £ 155000. You can pay now or when you receive the records at your post-office or when you have sold the records, it’s up to you. The price of 155000 lires sounds really expensive but the postage is included in that price (it’s very high price here t send anything by mail), or if you want it sent by airmail it’ll cost you £167000. I don’t think you’ve heard Dish. Orchestra, they’re Austrian and not many bands are from there, the only band I can listen to from A. Is Pungent Stench but they’re too much Grind I think. Dis.Orch. sounds strange but Pungent S. is much better. But if Pungent Stench is sold in Italian shops and stores already it’ll be too hard for you to sell them. Is the split-LP Dish.Orch/Pungent Stench for sale in Italy? If not, I suggest you to order that one instead of those 7”s. The very best one of these is the Asphyxia 7” but I can’t send you more than 5… I’m sorry but they’re limited (1000 ex) and when I’ve sent you these 5 copies we have only 15 of ‘em 7’s left and we’re the only who have any copies left to sell so only some few people can get them. 

Hey man, what the hell are you using on your stamps? I need to know ‘cos the kind of glue (<—?) you have on it can’t be seen unless by someone who suspects it’s glued. We mostly put glue on our stamps before but too often they discovered it at our shitty postoffice and teared them off. It’s shit that we can’t use glued stamps on parcels with records in it. To send out records is our biggest expencies, and if we could, we would have so much lower prices on our records. But the fact is that when we send out parcels with more than 6 records it gotta be some stupid sheet on the side of the carton, that they at the post o. put all the stamps on, and tears off that part of it with the fucking stamps on so the receiver can’t find any stamps on the parcel and of course then can’t send back any stamps. We mainly send out 10 rec’s or more each time cos almost everybody can sell around 10 rec’s… Norway is very expensive in everything, take an example- Sweden is also expensive, compared with the rest of Europe (I know, ‘cos I am from Sweden) but there almost everything is the half price of compared to Norway. Especially it’s much cheaper to send out records or any mail from S. Than from N. I think only Finland and Switzerland and Japan is more expensive than Norway… 

I hate to live in Scandinavia and my dream is to come away from this hole. If I’m forced to live the rest of my life in Scandinavia I would choose Iceland or Greenland instead of this shit. I hate almost everybody here and in this local area I hate everybody. If something at all happens in this country it’s there Metalion lives (Slayer mag and some other mags and bands are there) in Sarpsborg, but it’s more than fucking 60 km to that place from here. 

Hey about those records, do you also want Malicious Intent, I must say that they aren’t so brutal and not real Death Metal… but that’s up to you of course. I don’t decide what records you shall buy nor what records we shall sell. If it was only I who ordered in vinyls I would throw a big part of what we sell (like yucky Nomed as one example!) but we’re more than only me in DSP. Except the recs I just counted up we have only one that I put value on and that’s the Schizo LP, that you surely can see in every Italian record shop, yeah? We’ll soon get a limited 7” of Carcass imported from Mexico, St. George’s Hall, Bradford 15/11/89, live of course (1000 copies). Personally I hate Carcass and I can’t stand those trendy clone bands but I thought you might be interested + some demos of Dorsal Atlantica (Brazil), limited to 250 copies. I don’t know yet what the price on ‘em’ll be but I’ll inform ya of it. 

Do you think you can give me the addresses to Paul Chain and the guy who comes from Transylvania’s Carpatii Palatul…. That made me feel like my brain is bleeding, man! If they don’t mind you give out their addresses of course. It seems to me that Transylvania has stopped in time, not in the cities of course but fuck the cities! You know there are about 1-2 million people in Transyl. who’re of German origins. I heard that they shall speak 15th century-German… And that they still have garlic everywhere to protect the houses from the vampire and rituals to avoid the “stregoica” [Strigoi] to come, and exorcism rituals on “suspected” bodies that can have been killed by a vampire… Do you know if that’s true? I’m only interested in the Carpathian areas of the Transylvanian highland ‘cos there are all the castles. Have you heard of that secret tunnel inside the mountain up to Countess Bathory’s castle? I’m not sure if her castle is “the Mandarin” in the very North (I think in Suceava) or if it’s that one a bit South of “Pandarin” called Csejthe, on the edge of the Carpathia. But however now that tunnel’s exactly destination is forgotten and people’ve been trying to find that tunnel inside the huge mountain — up to the castle- for hundreds of years… I’ve also heard or  read somewhere that not only Bathory was the “special” one who lived there but also lots of other maniacs, killers, vampires, sorcerers and vampires lived there. But only E.Bathory got known of ‘cos of her record in mass murderer. Some witch that’s supposed to be immortal- whose name is Cilorgia shall live in that castle by now. I can read that Bathory was Transylvanian and that she came from a “big” and rich Transylvanian family but the Hungarians claims that she was Hungarian (?)… If I’m not totally wrong, then it shall be turk skeletons impaled left around Vlad Țepeș castle, Hunedoara (a valley beside it with 20000 impaled Turks + some other Vallachians [Wallachians]+Moldavians and more) + a forest with craniums nailed to the trees + remains of boiled people and so on. The typical “Dracula’s” castle are both in Brașov (Bran) and in Brad, which confuses me totally. There shall be heaps of other stories/legends/history/tales (or whatever) than only those about vampyrism like in the Western Carpathians there shall be some cemetery called “Chapel of St. Eisel” (in Somesul it is) where a cranium with horns and fangs was found and it’s thought to bleed whenever a soul is lost to Lucifer. Over that place it shall be some place called “Mount Albac” where some weird oracle shall have been. In the mid-Transylvania, between ‘ the mountains there is a huge swampland that is inhabited and haunted by lots of ghouls. A mountain in Transylvania is called “Funnel of Hades” I don’t know anything more about it but what a brutal name or what! [sounds pretty metal to me] How I hated the ex-dictator Ceausescu (in Romania), he extinguished many ancient ruins and castles there!!!! I’m not concerned by policy at all but that guy wiped away 3 fucking towns to build a royal castle for himself. I’ve heard that the new prime minister there not shall be much better — Ilinescu. 

There gotta be some reason of that there are so many different names of vampires in Transylvania, each one is a different sort of vampire. Over here we only know of one name. My goal in life is to visit Transylvania and Moldavia and to learn everything of the legends there that rarely are known of in the West. Also in the Soviet Union it shall be stories told from father-to son since hundred of years ago about their Upir, that isn’t know of outside of Russia. I’ve been obsessed by horror since my fucking birth and it’s been only “worse”, the more I hear about those Eastern legends I wanna move to Transylvania more extremely much more! Do you know if they have colonies of their porphyrians in Transylvania (like with the Leper colonies)? It would be totally great to meet a porphyrian! If they have some particular hidden places for porphyrians there, I wanna live among them, maybe I could get a job as a blood bringer for them… As you probably know, they have (at least they had under Ceausescu) extreme problems in electricity and they could have a lamp lightened for 2 hours each day or so, the weird thing is that it shall be bands there though (but only Heavy Metal). I heard from a friend in Hungary that it shall be a “metal” zine in Transylvania, but I don’t have that address. Do you know some more about Lycanthropy/werewolves? I don’t know much about that anyway. I try to find flowers of that kind that are supposed to be fed by the moon light but I don’t know the name of those flowers. Only of one, but I don’t think it has anything to do with the moon- Wolvesbane, that one is thought to “infect” humans to werewolves, it’s very poisonous anyway. It grows only at very strange places and I doubt it at all exists in Scandinavia… I’d like to collect plants that are superstitions of. I guess the people in-or from Translyvania think that the views, we who’re not from there, have of that place sound strange to them. Especially those vampire movies. So much crap-movies have been produced, only a very few, are of value. Bram Stokers novel “Dracula” made probably the most of how our idea of Dracula looks like still in these years. I think it was wrong done of Stoker to mix all togeather [together] different legends in Transylvania to one “noble man” or aristocrat that he called Dracula. One legend was Vlad Țepeș, the impaler (the only one it’s prooved he really existed) the warlord and the Romanian peoples hero, but he also massacred his own people. Another legend is vampyrism. Or it’s not simply one, actually it’s one kind of a stregoica- sorcerer of the Black Arts that can manage shape-shanging into animals (but not into bats so I don’t know from where came the idea of the vampire-bat) another one is the Nosferatu (Nosferatu means “undead” or “back from the dead”), Drac, Odorofen (orig. name I think), Vrkolak, Vrykolakas (Greek), Draculae, Upir (Russian), Dupir (Turkish) Ordog, Pokol, Vampyr, Whamphyr, Vampir, Dracul (Transyl. Moldavian), Dracula (Vallachian [Wallachian]), murony, muroin and strigoin… and so on and on… I don’t know all of the names, maybe you know some more??? The weirdest thing about vampyrism is that it was so spreaden out, all over the whole world (but in the West Europe not really until about 150 years ago). The idea of that when someone loosing all his blood that also the soul follows with it is really old and someone who then sucks out someone elses blood then must take thet ones soul and keep it. So for thousands of years ago or maybe even longer back in time than that people around the world have had some kind of a vampire tale from that idea of the blood is the soul and life. I can not understand how people of that time could find out the legends of wolf-men... have you ever seen a wolf in a zoo or something like that? The only difference between a wolf and an ordinary dog is that a wolf is wild, got about some 100 times smarter brain and stronger instincs. 

We have in Norway-Sweden-Finland-and Russia (Kola half -island) in the north a place called Lappland, in case you don't know, we got some strange animals up there, also wolves (but not so many). Another animal that lives up there is the Musk Ox, it's a kind of "ancient cow" with twisted horns and long hair but they're very rare (I've seen them only once hone I was up there in the very North). I don’t think it was the idea of the wolves themselves that made people find out about werewolves — but their reaction at the full moon. Also humans reacts at the full moon but I think that is growing away more and more ‘cos it was really many generations ago since the humans lived in forests near the nature so now we’re only used to computers and disgusting technology [couldn’t agree more]. Humans adjustment to newer times and hi-tech shit has made our brains different, our instincts are almost gone etc. But I believe that for some hundreds or thousands years ago we could feel alike the animals in many manners. Have you been living alone in a forest for a longer time? Have you then felt how your mind can “turn back” to be more primitive… at least that’s how I feel it then. I’m working on that for example when I need new (old…) and different ideas for lyric material. I’ve tried that out, to sit alone in a lonely and half-broken down cabin in a dark forest, by night. The worst thing about the modern time is the modern way of thinking and too much can be explained. But I must end here. You have now the prices and you know of what records you can order so don’t forget to tell of how many you want and of what you want, ok. So I hope to hear from ya soon, pal. Oh yeah, of course you can send back the copies you eventually can’t get rid of, but if so I suggest you to wait to some time later to see if you can sell ‘em then instead— or in worst case you can send ‘em to someone else in Italy who can buy/sell (we can find one, if so). Be evil — Not openminded! Only Black is true, only Death is Real!

Gore is trend! No fun - No trends! C-ya!

Dead”

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 28

(Ch. 27) ... (Ch. 1)

II Gallery II Symbol Guide II

Summary: “If we could light up the room with pain, we’d be such a glorious fire.” - Ada Limon

WARNINGS: Graphic Violence, Death, Espionage, Survivor's Guilt, the usual.

A/N: I'm so sorry it's taken me fucking FOREVER to get this out, y'all! A LOT has been going on in these past months (the demise of a longterm relationship, renovations on my house, new jobs etc) but I hope this is worth the wait! 💖

Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @lieutenant-speirs @bellewintersroe @emmythespacecowgirl @holdingforgeneralhugs @parajumpboots @hxad-ovxr-hxart @sleepisforcowards @suugrbunz @ax-elcfucker-blog @chaosklutz @mads-weasley @vibing-away @eightysix-baby @ithinkabouttzu @emmylindersson @flowers-and-fichte

Contemporary: Midnight, December 3rd, 1944. Liart Station, France.

When the door to her private train compartment was opened, Alix made a silent promise to herself: As soon as the war was over, she was turning in her goddamn resignation letter to the OSS and going home. She couldn’t handle any more surprises on the job, not like this one. 

“Sorry, I’m late, gorgeous," a lowered voice had remarked wryly as soon as the compartment door slid shut once more.

"You wouldn’t believe the traffic.”

The whisper came from a young man in a heavy coat who casually dropped into the seat next to her as though he belonged there. The dark brim of his fedora was pulled low over his eyes, casting his face in shadow, but she didn’t need to see its entirety to know who it was; she would recognize that gravelly voice anywhere. 

“What are you doing here?” she demanded out of the corner of her mouth, making sure to keep her expression neutral as she flipped through her newspaper and fought the urge to smack the newcomer with it. 

“Thought Nix woulda told ya,” Liebgott looked almost amused, a smirk playing on his lips.

He too spoke out of the corner of his mouth; someone had taught him well. 

“Donovan needed an interrogator with an Austrian dialect. Said this one’s gonna be a real doozy. Called me in as a temp.” 

Alix’s dark eyes narrowed, causing her blue contacts to sting.

“You’re the floater? You’re–” 

“Lieutenant Fritz Eberhardt,” he finished with a nod, casually taking his right hand out of his pocket to reveal the worn, silver skull ring of the Werwolf Kommandos, engraved with the tell-tale motto of the SS:

‘Meine Ehre Heisst Treue’. 

My Honor Means Loyalty.

How ironic.

The paratrooper and translator shot her a roguish wink, leaning back with an arm stretched out lazily along the back of his seat like nothing was wrong. 

“I've been assigned to accompany you to your Paris engagement, Fraulein." 

The spy stiffened.

This was the first time that she could recall ever seeing Joe out of uniform and it would be a shame to get blood all over his nice coat but sweet Jesus, Alix was about ready to make that sacrifice.

“You shouldn’t be here,” the auburn-haired girl muttered under her breath. “You’re going to get us both killed.” 

“You don’t gotta worry ‘bout me,” Joe chuckles. “Trust me-”

"Right, because that's gone so well for me before," the spy snapped sharper than intended.

Joe's eyebrows shot to the compartment ceiling, his cocky demeanor gone in a flash, replaced by a sudden scowl.

"The hell's that supposed to mean?" 

Before Alix could find the words to reply, the shrill whistle of the train screamed out, indicating their departure from Liart Station and the spy took a shaky breath, hearing the rumbling of the wheels on the track underneath them.

She was stuck with him now.

Trying to ignore the ache in her chest at Joe's unexpected presence, Alix tried to force her unfocused eyes to stare at the newspaper in her hands but the words only blurred before her.

"Didja do a bug sweep already?" Joe inquired with a casual yawn as he glanced across her to the window, while Alix flipped the page of her newspaper so hard that she nearly tore it. 

"Of course I did," the spy answered indignantly, unable to contain her irritation.

"That's why you were supposed to come early: to help me look. Listening devices could've been anywhere in here." 

“Don’t gimme that shit,” Joe scoffed in an almost dismissive tone as he tapped the filter of his Reemtsma cigarette.

“Since the liberation, the Krauts have lost a lot of resources and stick to their secret little underground social clubs or whatever. I got the whole rundown from HQ.”

Alix huffed.

Joe was right, damn him. 

While on the surface, France had cleaned up its act, the rotten undergrowth of Nazis and their collaborators remained, festering beneath the surface. 

The chances of them taking the time to bug train compartments were miniscule at best.

“Still,” she responded with a petulant roll of her eyes. “You should’ve been here on time. You never know.”

"Yeah, well you ain't the only one with shit to take care of, okay? I got held up." 

Alix's dark eyes flickered up from her newspaper. 

"Define 'held up'," she said coolly, an undeniably bitter edge to her tone. “What, pray tell, was so pressing?”

Joe crossed his arms and took a long drag off his cigarette before replying snippily,

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Tatiana.”

"It's Tanya, Alix snapped before flipping another page on her newspaper as though she were reading it instead of boring holes into Joe’s face.

“And I would like to know, actually. Because I'd like to think you wouldn't be late to your first assignment without a good reason but maybe I don't know you as well as I thought." 

“Fine.”

Joe's warm brown eyes were suddenly as hard as the wood paneling in the compartment they shared but he shifted the side of his coat up nonetheless, just enough to show a huge cherry-red stain that had blossomed across one side of his ribs.

"There, that a good enough reason for ya?" 

“Madonna mia!” Alix exclaimed, all pretense of anger gone in a flash. “What the hell happened?! Are you alright?”

Joe shrugged nonchalantly.

“Somebody did a shit job friskin' the prisoners so ol' Jerry got to bring a fuckin' boot knife with him to interrogation,” he muttered as he readjusted his coat. "'S not as bad as it looks.”

"Did you have Gene take a look at it?" Alix asked, eyeing his red-soaked shirt with concern. "That's a lot of blood…"

"No, I didn't have 'Gene' look at it," Joe shot back, a mocking edge to his voice as he spat the medic's name, biting down on his cigarette.

"’S fine. Barely a scratch." 

The auburn-haired girl snorted, unable to keep the skepticism out of her tone.

"Right, and I'm the Queen of England."

The translator took a long drag, his expression unreadable. 

“Well, I ain’t your problem anymore,Your Majesty,” he remarked sardonically as he let the smoke curl into the air.

"So you can lay off."

  “You’ll always be my problem,” Alix grumbled under her breath and the pair lapsed into a chilly silence, broken only by the occasional rustling of the newspaper under her fingertips and the rumbling of the train on the tracks.

Still keeping her head angled downward to avoid that familiar ache that seemed to rise in her chest whenever she looked him in the face, Alix let herself study the compartment instead.

In truth, their private compartment was borderline ostentatious – plush maroon upholstery upon the seating, rich mahogany paneling upon the walls, thick velvet curtains adorning the windows to keep the outside world at bay– but the spy could barely concentrate on the luxurious decor either.

Instead, she found herself studying Joe's hands. She still had only fleeting memories of him from before her fall but his hands were one of the few things she remembered the most. 

They had been paler back in England, not yet marred by the blood and grime of the battlefield, the blue veins still snaking up the back all the way to his wrist. She remembered tangled sheets and breathless laughter as they each struggled to catch their breath. She remembered her own scarlet-polished nails tracing each vein in the hand resting beside her, feeling the way his pulse would quicken when she smiled at him.

His fingers were still as calloused and long as she remembered, almost graceful in their strength, and she could still feel the ghost of them interlocking with her own like missing puzzle pieces finally finding their way together.

There weren’t any more ink stains on his fingertips, Alix realized, and she was suddenly half-tempted to make a snide remark about chasing two girls and getting neither, but she kept her silence. 

No need to make an already awkward situation worse, she thought as she chewed on her bottom lip.

Like it or not, they had a mission to complete.

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

The French countryside seemed to pass by in blurs of green, gold, and blue, like the vibrant swirls of a priceless Van Gogh but Alix hardly noticed. 

The spy had been fiddling with the worn handle of a discarded leather briefcase that had been left behind in the luggage rack under her seat. Beside her, Joe was violently twisting the Werwolf skull ring around and around upon his finger, wrenching it with such ferocity that it looked as though he might tear his finger off in the process.

"I hate this," he muttered bitterly, seemingly more to himself than to Alix as he glared down at his calloused hands. 

"I fuckin' hate this." 

"Hate what?" the spy inquired softly, cocking her head and allowing some of her auburn hair to fall over one shoulder.

Joe glanced up at the sound of her voice, clearly not expecting her to speak to him, but he recovered fast as ever.

"This," he replied simply, gesturing to the Werwolf skull ring. 

"Wearing this. Gevalt, it makes me wanna claw my fuckin' skin off.” 

Alix felt a pang of sympathy. She couldn’t even fathom the excruciating cognitive dissonance Joe must be experiencing right now, playing a role he despised…but why bother playing it in the first place? 

Why put himself through the unnecessary pain? He was only a floater– a consultant– for this one mission. He had the power to back out at any time. It didn’t make sense but then, nothing about Joe seemed to make much sense lately.

Alix watched as he lit up another cigarette, his third in an hour, glaring across her, out the window at something unseen. 

He was chainsmoking again, like he always did when he was agitated, and all she could do was let the silence sit and watch him wrench the skull ring harder and harder around his finger.

It was unsettling when Joe was quiet: his rage she could combat; his brooding she couldn’t.

The auburn-haired spy found herself sneaking quick glances over at him out of the corner of her eye, the tension hanging thick in the air around them like the early morning fog.

Surprisingly, Joe was the first to break.

“Look, you got somethin’ to say, just say it.”

“What is there to say?” Alix retorted, her grip on the briefcase’s handle tightening considerably. 

“I’m perfectly capable of traveling on my own. I don't need a floater and I certainly don't need you.”

Joe crossed his arms and leaned his head back against the seat. 

“Well tell that to Donovan then, ziskeit,” he yawns. 

"'Cause I got orders to watch your six till the job's done." 

Alix opened her mouth to complain but she was interrupted by a light knocking on the compartment door and Joe immediately shoved his right hand deep into his pocket to hide the infamous skull ring. 

A disgruntled train attendant appeared, regarding both Joe and Alix with the same beady, bloodshot stare as he stepped inside, sliding the door shut behind him.

“Papers,” the Frenchman demanded with an outstretched hand.

Alix nodded with a casual “Certainement” and set aside the discarded briefcase, retrieving her false identification from her handbag and passing it to the man with what she hoped was a convincingly haughty eyeroll. 

The attendant--whose yellowed nametag identified him as Guillaume-- wore a peevish expression almost identical to their old CO, Captain Sobel, which brought a smirk to Alix's face.

The thought of the sadistic superior officer who had made their lives hell for so long being reduced to a glorified bellhop punching tickets and checking IDs was enough to bring them both a smidgen of joy.

Her gaze flickered over to Joe, who returned the smirk with one of his own, the inside joke seeming to almost bridge the gap between them.

The attendant skimmed over Alix's paperwork, handing it back to her without issue, and then it was Joe's turn.

“You, identification.”

Compliantly, Joe dug into his jacket pocket for his passport with his left hand but as he passed the small booklet to the attendant, it slipped from his fingers toward the carpet. 

Automatically, the translator’s dominant hand shot out of his right pocket to intercept them but it was too late: the skull ring on his right hand was in full view. 

The attendant swore as he snatched up Joe’s fake Austrian passport, staring down at it and back to the tell-tale ring as his face reddened with rage.

“Y-You-” he snarled, his lip curled in disgust and a gloved finger shaking as he pointed at Joe. “You are-” 

“Wha- No, no!” Joe protested, immediately reaching out for his passport back in a desperate bid to quiet him. 

“I’m not-” 

But the Frenchman shoved him off roughly and spat an anti-German epithet at him as Joe’s back hit the seat.

“Boche!”

Joe’s eyes narrowed instantly at the slur and he came back strong, lunging forward to seize the attendant by the collar but Alix stood up, trying to shove her way between them to keep the scuffle from getting out of hand. 

The auburn-haired spy could smell the heavy stench of cheap wine on the older man's breath as she separated the pair and she knew there was no reasoning with him.

The drunken attendant spun on his heel, immediately heading for the compartment door, his final words slurred as his rage boiled over. 

“Filthy swine! Nazi pig! You-”

Alix felt a block of ice drop into her stomach as the man’s large, gloved hand reached the door handle. 

It was no secret that since the liberation, people of German extraction weren't exactly welcome in most of French polite society. 

The épuration sauvage was in full-swing, thousands of suspected collaborators being beaten, tortured, and executed by incensed crowds of French people.

If this man went and ran his mouth off about a Werwolf Kommando on the train, Joe could be mobbed as soon as he set foot outside their compartment. 

This chilling revelation seemed to flip a switch in Alix’s brain: If the man left their compartment, Joe’s life could be in danger.

She couldn’t take that risk.

Slipping behind the drunken attendant with the silent ease of a tigress, the world seemed to slow around her as her training kicked in. Hopping onto the seat for a better vantage point, Alix reached out and yanked the attendant backwards into the compartment by the collar. 

The man staggered a couple steps back, thrown off-balance in his surprise, just close enough for Alix to deftly slice the small blade of her lipstick knife across his throat.

The weapon reached the targeted arteries with surgical precision, right below the larynx. Now unable to scream, the man could only gasp and gargle as his legs gave out and he sank downwards toward the carpet in a heap. Following him down to the ground, Alix gathered the excess fabric of her dress's skirt and slapped the material over the wound to stifle the bright arcs of blood that were spurting out like a gruesome fountain.

The pale lace was already growing heavy, turning from an icy blue to a deep, blood-soaked maroon, the arterial spray oozing through the delicate material slower and slower as the man’s heart gradually stopped beating. 

Then the attendant went limp, his jaw falling slack as a sickening gurgle emanated from his cut throat, and the auburn-haired spy knew he was gone. 

No loose ends, she told herself inwardly, repeating the instructions of her superiors over and over like a mantra in her head.

He could have gotten Joe killed. You did the right thing.

But did she? 

She didn’t even remember pulling the knife, not really. 

Not that it mattered: a civilian was still dead.

Alix’s hands were shaking as she stared down at the attendant’s lifeless form, too scared to see the shock and revulsion written all over Joe’s handsome face. 

He’d never seen her kill, after all. 

If he didn’t hate her before, he most certainly would now.

But when she finally looked up, there was nothing like that. 

No disgust, no outrage, no fear.

Instead, there was the same old glint to his gaze and an unspoken warmth in his whiskey-brown eyes that filled her with a strange calm.

“Well ya didn’t hafta do all that, Zees,” Joe remarked finally as a small, lopsided smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. 

“But I ‘preciate it. Nice to know you care.”

“I don’t,” the auburn-haired girl muttered as she knelt, quickly rifling through the corpse’s bloodied uniform for anything useful. 

A billfold full of francs and an identification card from the train company.

Alix handed the wallet over to Joe, averting her gaze to ignore the way her pulse quickened at the brush of their fingertips.

“He was putting the mission in jeopardy,” she added lamely and straightened up, shifting the thick curtains to the side so she could undo the window’s latch.

“Yeah?” Joe snorted as he dragged the lifeless body by its outstretched arms to the open window and turned back to shoot her a sly wink over his shoulder.

His usual crooked grin quirked up one corner of his lips wryly, almost flirtatiously, and the knowing expression in his whiskey-colored eyes caused a small flurry of butterflies to appear once more in her stomach.

It was like he could see right through her.

“Well Ziskeit, ‘the mission’ thanks you.” 

With a grunt, the scrappy paratrooper managed to haul the corpse half onto the window’s ledge before turning back to his partner.

“Now let's get this mamzer dealt with, huh?”

Alix hoisted the corpse's legs up, giving it a final, unceremonious shove out the window, sending it rolling down into the snowy French countryside somewhere.

That was one problem taken care of...But unfortunately, there were more where that came from.

"Madonna mia," Alix swore as she frowned down at the blood-spattered blue material of her dress.

“I gotta dump this somewhere.”

Joe took his seat again and shrugged, watching Alix's nimble fingers close the window once more and re-draw the curtains.

“So change then." 

The auburn-haired girl balked, nearly losing her footing in her surprise.

“Right now?"

“Nah, next Tuesday,” the paratrooper deadpanned with a melodramatic roll of his eyes. “Christ, Zees, you're actin' like I ain't ever seen ya undress before. Hey, remember that one night at your billet when-”

“Don’t remind me,” Alix muttered, the infuriatingly obvious blush of her cheeks making her grit her teeth as the night he is referring to comes back in vivid colors.

She shook her head to banish the memories, her straightened auburn hair tumbling down her shoulders.

"Besides, it was a long time ago anyway. It doesn't matter now."

The lie tasted bitter as cyanide.

"Yeah?" Joe took another slow drag off his cigarette, watching the smoke curl up to the ceiling before he spoke again, his raspy tenor flat with thinly-veiled hurt.

"Guess that's the difference between you an' me. 'Cause to me, it matters a fuckin' lot."

[mapsontheweb]

Map of European Road Curve Chevron Signs

by u/isaacSW

Not sure if something like this has been done before but I’ve put together a map showing the colour schemes used on the chevron signs used on road curves throughout Europe (this is the sort of thing I’m talking about). I think it could be quite powerful in some areas, like the Balkans and central Europe, where they are quite common and the colours vary a lot from country to country.

This won’t be 100% accurate, and I’m sure you will be able to find counterexamples, but I have checked multiple signs in each country and it appears to be a fairly reliable clue. If you do find anything I’ve missed, let me know and I will update the map and post the link below. Here is a list of observations I’ve made while making this map, with example locations.

Notes:

The white colour is often substituted for luminous green/yellow in high altitude/latitude areas (example). Austria and Montenegro have their yellow variants shown on the map as they appear to greatly outnumber the corresponding white variants. The yellow colour on south-facing signs will often fade to near-white.

Some countries will add a luminous yellow outline to the signs rather than replacing the white (generally in high altitude/latitude areas). Some countries that do this are: Italy, Romania, Hungary, Russia, the UK, Belgium and Turkey.

Most countries will also have a long variant of the curve chevron sign (example). This should be the same colour scheme as the single-chevron signs, however it may be less obvious which is the ‘background’ and which is the ‘chevron’ colour.

Notable Countries:

Spain uses both the white-on-blue and white-on-black interchangeably. It is always the long variant (as far as I can tell), and the colour distribution does not seem to vary by geographic location. (blue example, black example)

Montenegro uses the red-on-yellow (example) and black-on-white (example) signs in roughly equal amounts (no real correlation with geography), with some lower areas near the coast using the red-on-white variant (example), however this is much less common than the red-on-yellow.

Slovenia uses mainly the black-on-white variant (example), however areas around Ljubljana and Koper (and maybe other areas) use the red-on-white variant (example).

Austria uses the red-on-yellow and white-on-red frequently in the upland areas. They are also often found with a pattern of a few reds then a yellow (example), which appears to be unique to the country. The lowland areas may also use the red-on-white variant.

The Netherlands often uses a miniature variant (example)

Russia and Ukraine use the long variant quite frequently, which also sometimes appears in the Baltics (possibly other ex-soviet regions too). The single variant also has more background colour visible compared to other countries (example). It also often has a white outline.

North Macedonia has red-on-white and black-on-white variants, though the black ones appear to be less common.

Frequency:

Countries that use a lot of roadside bollards tend to use fewer curve chevron signs.

Rare in Andorra, Finland and Denmark.

Fairly uncommon in: Baltics, Sweden, Iceland, Russia, Ukraine, Belgium, Netherlands, Germany and Luxembourg.

Fairly common in: Norway, UK/Ireland, Spain, Portugal, France, Italy, Switzerland, Hungary, Romania, Serbia, Czechia, Slovakia, Poland, and flatter areas of the Balkans.

Very common in: the Austrian Alps, mountainous areas of the Balkans, and Turkey.

[foreverinthepagesofhistory]

~ Rumors About Our Daughter ~ (fan fiction requested by @historical-epic)

Rumors questioning Archduchess Marie Valerie of Austria’s legitimacy have been circulating within the Austrian Court. What do her parents think about this? What do they do?

Characters: Archduchess Marie Valerie of Austria, Emperor Franz Joseph I of Austria, Empress Elisabeth of Austria

Valerie heard her mother talking to a random maid servant in the drawing room of their summer home Kaiservilla in Bad Ischl. Thought it sounded more like arguing to her.

“Don’t you dare make such treasonous accusations!” Elisabeth shouted, loud enough for 8 year old Valerie to make out what she said. 

“Y-Y-Your Majesty….I didn’t mean to…I was just implying that”

“What, that my daughter is illegitimate? That her father is not The Emperor? How dare you!”

Valerie had never heard her mother this angry before. It was quite shocking, more shocking than the rumors of her own illegitimacy. 

These rumors were swirling in and out of Kaiservilla for months now, mostly the fancy talk of lower servants. When the imperial family arrived, the servants had to be more careful about their gossiping and shut out their willful thoughts as these thoughts could imprison them for life, or even worse, death.

Emperor Franz Joseph I was married to Duchess Elisabeth of Bavaria, who later became Empress Elisabeth of Austria by marriage. But everyone close to her called her either Mother or Sisi. 

Together they had four children. Archduchess Sophie, who died young, Gisela, Rudolf, and Marie-Valerie. They all lived somewhat happy lives although there were problems in all.

Franz and Sisi had to bear the burden of ruling an all powerful Austro-Hungarian empire, Rudolf had to bear the burden of being heir, Gisela had to bear the burden of being unloved by her parents (it was very complicated), and Valerie now had to bear the burden of various rumors spreading about who her real father was.

There are plenty of servants and nobles who live at Kaiservilla and that means that there are various mouths to blab whatever they want about whoever they want. 

A few months ago, the topic of Empress Sisi and her lover Count Andrássy was being spoken about and somebody must’ve put together that Valerie might not have been her father’s daughter.

These were obviously just nonsensical rumors because Valerie was Franz’s child. She was legitimate. 

But Valerie herself didn’t know that and neither did all of the servants who had been blabbing their mouths off for months. 

“Get out of my sight! Sisi practically screamed at the frightened chamber maid who unfortunately gossiped at the wrong time to a footman.

The maid scurried off and Sisi sat down on the nearest chair and was trying to hold in tears.

“Mama..” Valerie walked in from the other room. “Was that maid talking about me?” She asked.

“Oh darling” Sisi held out her hands to embrace the trembling young girl who started to cry.

“Don’t pay any mind to what that filthy servant said. It was all lies and it wasn’t true at all.”

Sisi stroked her daughter’s unruly dark brown hair and continued to do so until Valerie broke the embrace.

“But Mama…I heard it all…I don’t know what this all means.” Valerie was on the verge of hysterics. 

Seeing her mother so upset ignited something in her that is usually hidden away. It made her angry and confused and utterly upset.

“Valerie darling” Sisi soothed. “All you have to believe is that you are your father’s daughter, you are my daughter. If somebody said that you aren’t then shame on them!” 

Sisi gave her youngest daughter a little playful slap which turned the sad frown on Valerie’s face into the wide smile that would be seen playing outside with her dogs or drawing pictures with her mother.

“You are Archduchess Marie Valerie of Austria, youngest daughter of Emperor Franz Joseph I of Austria, King of Hungary. That is who you are and you can’t listen to anybody if they say otherwise, especially the nasty servants who gossip.” Sisi softly placed a hand on Valerie’s face.

“Okay Mama, I love you very much.” The two hugged firmly again.

“Next time Valerie, don’t eavesdrop okay?” Sisi said strictly, but with a laugh.”

“Okay Mama!” Sighed smart Valerie as she skipped out of the room.

~

Later that night, when Valerie was doing her nighttime prayers, Sisi was informing Franz about the events of the day.

“Franz, darling,” Sisi spoke to her husband who was sitting calmly on the bed taking his boots off.

“Many people are questioning Valerie’s legitimacy, today I caught a maid servant gossiping with a footman. I’m greatly concerned.” Sis went over to sit next to Franz who wrapped his arm around her.

“Darling, you know those rumors are false. I remember the night we conceived. It couldn’t possibly be anyone else. What makes you so worried?” Franz said

Sisi wanted to say that the rumors were specifically stating that Count Andrássy was the suspected father and that she never did anything with him except one small kiss, but she couldn’t say that to her husband. 

She loved Franz and Andrássy’s kiss brought her no affectionate feelings, minus disgust and anger, but this was just not the right time.

That was a story for another day.

Sisi decided to tell Franz the truth about half of the worries about this situation.

“I’m worried because Valerie was in the other room and she could hear me yelling at that maid.” Sisi was close to tears.

“She has never heard me that angry before and she came up to me afterword and was quite distressed...” Sisi wept into Franz’s arms while he gently stroked her back.

They might not have been passionate soulmates, but after all these years of marriage, Franz still loved Sisi, and the feeling was mutual.

“Sisi darling hush now, I will talk to her, I promise.” Franz stated his wife in the eye and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead.

He then exited the room and let Sisi undress peacefully.

As Franz was walking to Valerie’s rooms, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking more deeply about the rumors.

Why would anyone think that Valerie is not my daughter?

Valerie heard a sudden knock on her bedroom door.

“Valerie, darling, it’s Papa, can I come in?”

“Enter.” Valerie spoke softly as her nanny calmly put the book away and exited the room.

Franz came in and slowly sat down on Valerie’s bed.

“What’s wrong Papa?” Valerie noticed the solemn look on her father’s usually joyful face. At least he was joyful when she was around.

“Valerie…” Franz spoke in a nervous but fairly calm tone. “Mother told me about what happened today.”

Valerie’s face fell into a sad frown.

“Does everyone think like that maid thinks?” She said desperately. “Mama says that I shouldn’t listen to them…but I did.”

“Oh Valerie my dearest,” Franz wrapped his daughter in a tight embrace and rocked her around like he did when she was a baby. 

“Look in my eyes, Valerie, you are my daughter. Nothing can or will ever change that.” Franz was disgusted by these ugly rumors. His heart knew that Sisi could’ve and would’ve been unfaithful at times, and he could’ve been too. But he knew deep down in his heart that Valerie was his child, nothing could convince him otherwise.

“Papa is that really the truth?” Valerie asked longingly.

“Darling,” Franz cooed. “It will forever be the truth.”

“Oh Papa I love you so much!” Valerie gave her father a kiss on the cheek and a tight squeeze before hopping under her covers.

Franz kissed the little girl goodnight and exited calmly.

He knew that everything was going to be okay, and if not, he would take care of it.

~

[brooklynmuseum]

This work by French sculptor François Rude is a ceramic maquette, or scale model, of a sculptural decoration for the Arc de Triomphe, a commission awarded to Rude by the French government in 1833. The final sculpture, Départ des volontaires de 1792 (Departure of the Volunteers of 1792), also known as La Marseillaise, decorates the right pillar on the front of the Arc de Triomphe and is nearly 42 ½ feet tall. It depicts men in classical-style armor, led by a winged female warrior figure. This is a stylized rendering of a real historical event, the Battle of Valmy, where a French citizen army was victorious against Prussian and Austrian forces early in the Revolutionary Wars after the French Revolution. 

This maquette is considerably smaller at only 27 ½ inches tall, but what it lacks in size it makes up for in sheer dynamism. The hand of the artist is visible in the roughly modeled surface and the abundant tool and finger marks. Though the figures are not carefully finished, they nevertheless seem alive, in fluid motion. The variegated colors and many inclusions and imperfections in the ceramic body hint to Rude using a lower quality clay which may never have meant to have been fired; sculptors often use clay to work out their thoughts before recycling it to craft the next iteration of their ideas. For whatever reason, however, this piece of sculpting was deemed important enough to be saved by firing it. The many cracks in the piece may have occurred during the firing process due to the impurities in the clay.

Above: detail of rightmost figure, showing toolmarks and fingerprints in the clay

Before conservation could begin on the sculpture, it had to be assessed to determine what prior treatment it had undergone. Thankfully, in this case, we have records of its treatment in 1984, as well as notes from former Brooklyn Museum conservator Jane Carpenter upon its acquisition by the Brooklyn Museum in 1989. Some time before 1984, both of the female figure’s hands had broken off and were lost, as were the proper right hands of two of the male figures. The work had suffered severe damage in the form of a horizontal break across the entire sculpture at the female figure’s waist, and was repaired (along with other cracks and breaks) with tinted plaster, which also covered the entire back surface. Finally, the entire front surface was coated with reddish-brown pigment. In 1984, the plaster and reddish-brown pigment was (mostly) removed, and the back was reinforced with four aluminum brackets adhered with epoxy and cotton tape. Losses along the horizontal break were filled in and inpainted with gouache.

Above: the back side of the maquette before treatment 

There were many spots of plaster and reddish-brown pigment that remained from the previous treatments, and there was also something oddly flat and one-dimensional about the color, too. Typically, a conservator will cover as little of the object’s surface as possible when inpainting fill material to match the surrounding area; in this case, it was found that almost the entire surface was coated with gouache! This may have been done to unify the repair work and create a more homogeneous appearance, as the gouache obscured the mottled coloring of the clay. However, this is an important feature in understanding the complicated history of this sculpture as well as its status as a “process object” created as part of a larger work. Though it is unclear what the “original” surface of the maquette may have looked like at the time of its creation, it was determined that removal of the gouache to reveal the current surface was preferable.

Above: removal of gouache with a swab, revealing ceramic surface underneath

Since gouache is soluble in water, cleaning the surface of the maquette was simple yet time-consuming. Small cotton swabs were hand-made, dampened, and carefully rolled across the surface. Along with the gouache, more of the old reddish-brown pigment was removed, though traces still remain in the many crevices. In total, wet cleaning the sculpture took over fifteen hours of work.

Above: before (left) and after (right) inpainting a filled crack

Instead of completely removing and redoing the old fills, which were made of a cellulose-based filler that appeared perfectly stable, they were shaped and resurfaced using an acrylic-based modern product to help them more effectively blend texturally into the surrounding area. Finally, since the color of the fills didn’t perfectly match the ceramic, they were aesthetically integrated with watercolor and gouache (applied only over the fills and not the entire surface!). These materials are easily soluble in water so the piece can be re-treated in the future if necessary. Now, instead of obscuring the complex and interesting surface of the maquette, it can be more fully appreciated as an object that gives unique and intimate insight into a great sculptor’s working processes. 

Below: the maquette after treatment

Written by Celeste Mahoney, Assistant Objects Conservator

[obsessed2fics]

~ Long Time No See ~

Dr. Robotnik x Agent Stone / Stobotnik

oneshot {the masterlist}

Warnings: none

Word count: 4k

Stone couldn't hide his excitement when Robotnik entered the cafe. He looked different than before, but actually he didn't care at all. The only thing that mattered to him at that moment was that his doctor was back. And he looked cheerful, this was  rare for someone like Robotnik.

"Papa's got a brand new 'stache!" he said in a cheerful tone. Actually he was glad to see his agent again, but it hadn't been a minute since he'd seen him and he didn't want to show too much emotion. So he had to keep his mind and face steady at that moment.

"I knew it. I knew you come back, sir. I never stopped streaming your Austrian goat's milk." Stone said. His voice was filled with longing.

He walked towards the doctor with the latte he had prepared for him. His eyes sparkled as he handed him the latte. The depressive mood he had been feeling for months had given way to excitement and happiness.

The same was true for Robotnik. Even though he didn't show his feelings, he liked Stone to be around him, to feel his presence and to talk about his ideas. He really cared about him, but he didn't want to admit it. Even to himself.

Picking up the cup in his hand, he immediately noticed the art on it and took a big sip of his latte to hide his smile. He really missed the taste of Stone's latte. He hummed lightly with satisfaction. Still, he decided to tease him a little.

After introducing him to Knuckles and all, he wasted no time back in search of Sonic. Agent Stone had left to prepare the doctor something to eat, and Robotnik remained with Knuckles, but actually couldn't stand him. He found Knuckles utterly annoying, but he also needed him to locate the master emerald. So he had to stay silent while the research was being done.

After a while, he couldn't stand any longer Knuckles' reading aloud everything he saw, like a child learning to read, and he went over to Stone.

When Robotnik entered the kitchen in the back of the new base, he approached Stone quietly, he tried to hide his smirk behind his glorious mustache. Stone was mumbling a song and prepare something to eat for Robotnik and himself. "That's the song you turned off when I came in, right?" he asked.

This sneaking up frightened Stone and he dropped the knife in his hand. Robotnik had caught the knife before it fell to the ground and left it on the counter. At that brief moment, their bodies were so close to each other that they almost touched.

"I'm so sorry, doctor. Are you hurt or something?" Stone asked worriedly.

"No. And I'm still waiting for your answer..."

"Uh... yes. That song, sir." said Stone nervously. His heart felt like it was going to burst and it was as if he could hear his own heartbeat.

Robotnik was looking right into his eyes, and he moved a little closer to him and started singing the lyrics to the song. "Me and you... It's real... I love the way you make me feel..."

After a few seconds of silence, he placed one hand on Stone's back and pulled him to himself. Their eyes were locked on each other and neither of them looked away. Bowing slightly to him, he pressed his lips against Stone's. Robotnik's tongue was roaming inside Stone's mouth, as if trying to locate it. The fire burning in both of them fueled each other, reflecting the feelings expressed with longing to their kisses.

Robotnik backed away slowly as he bit Stone's lower lip, smirking. He had liked the look of surprise on Stone's face.

"I don't wanna admit it but I've missed you, Stone." he said and took the plate from the counter. "Aaand we won't talk about it until death." he added and walked away.

Stone was too stunned to speak and couldn't shake his surprise for a while. Today must've been the best day of his life. He licked his lip as he grinned widely. It was as if his heart couldn't fit in his chest at that moment. He wanted to share his happiness with someone. With someone other than Robotnik. Maybe a badnik...

He didn't know and couldn't think straight anyway. On his way out of the kitchen, he encountered with the doctor on the door frame. Neither of them expected to see each other at that brief moment. "Oh!.. Stone, keep up the latte arts."

"You can be sure, doctor." Stone said and he didn't try to hide his smirk. And then, he had turned immediately to prepare a fresh latte with the two of them on it.

{I know its a little short but hope you enjoyed!}

[darkmaga-retard]

by Thomas Eddlem | Aug 14, 2024

Fueled by panic over a weak July jobs report and a one-day crash in global stock markets, an unstoppable growing chorus arose among the political establishment calling for the Federal Reserve Bank to cut interest rates.

The reality is that interest rates, as represented by the Federal Reserve’s Federal Funds Effective Rate to banks, have been at historic lows since 2001, with real rates rarely even being positive. Today’s 5.00-5.25% rate in real terms is only about a positive 2% after accounting for inflation.

And these lower rates have not brought stimulus to the U.S. economy, but economic stagnation instead. Average per capita GDP growth rates in the United States have been cut nearly in half since the year 2000, when the Federal Reserve Bank chose to “stimulate” markets by suppressing interest rates to historic lows. From 1948-2000, the average per capita GDP growth rate was 2.3% per year, but since 2001, that growth rate has been cut to less than 1.3% per year.

People not familiar with how numbers work might quibble, arguing that a 1% lower increase per year isn’t very much. But the reality is that the losses and gains are cumulative, and Americans would have a GDP income more than a quarter larger without those losses. Nationally, it’s more than $6 trillion lost. Or, you can think of it this way: Say your family takes home $80,000 per year in income. If interest rates had not been suppressed, your family would likely be taking home $100,000 per year instead.

Most non-Austrian school economists buy as a base assumption the Keynesian/Modern Monetary Theorists’ line that suppressing interest rates is “stimulative,” at least in the short-term. Even Chicago school economists—normally free market economists—argue “research from Chicago Booth’s Yueran Ma and Frankfurt School of Finance and Management’s Kaspar Zimmermann…suggests that high interest rates can discourage companies and industries from investing in technology, leading to a slower pace of innovation that can limit economic growth.” But the above research referenced doesn’t actually measure real-world GDP outcomes. There’s never been any evidence suppressing interest rates is stimulative to an economy, even in the short term. I’ve written about this with my research for the Foundation for Economic Education back in 2017 using international data, and the data consistently shows the reverse: Any country whose central bank suppresses interest rates also sees slower economic growth rates, both immediately and in the long-term. I’m not the only one. More recent studies have shown higher interest rates are correlated with higher economic growth.

[totowlff]

extra — cover up the blank spots

➝ it was supposed to be another normal day for alma, until she read the name on the form in her hands.

➝ word count: 4,8k

➝ warnings: therapy session, mental health, mentions of self-harming and suicide

➝ author’s note: this extra is something ally and i agreed to do because we saw the need to give more depth to elisabeth's questions. of course, what is reported here, as well as the clinical notes, are just simulations of what happens in a real session, based on research and our own experiences. i also take advantage of the space so that, in case you are going through a difficult time, know that you are not alone. if you are afraid to seek professional help or just need to talk, know that my askbox is always open to welcome and help you in any way.

SEPTEMBER, 2016

It was the end of the day, and Dr. Alma Messner was trying to wrap things up before heading home. She closed the window in her office, drawing the yellow curtains and turning on the desk lamp. It was a lot warmer out earlier in the day, but now that the sun was getting lower on the horizon, a distinct early-autumn chill was starting to set in. As she was waiting for her cup of tea to steep, she straightened up the cushions on the couch in her office and took a look around. 

She was very proud of her office — she’d decorated it to be bright and cheery, still cozy. It was furnished mostly in a neutral gray palette, but with pops of yellow and light blue to keep the gray from looking too gloomy. It also had a large window that looked out onto a narrow old street right next to a Jesuit church that was built in the 1600’s, right in Vienna’s Innere Stadt. She was pretty proud when she’d found the place for rent and finally opened her own psychology practice a year after getting her doctorate.

“Not bad for a girl from the hills, huh?” she thought, back then. She’d moved to Vienna from a tiny farming village in Styria when she started university. When she was younger, she never could have imagined a view like this becoming her every day. 

She sat down at her desk and discarded the teabag, leaving the mug on her desk for a few minutes to cool a bit while she got herself situated. 

This was her end-of-day ritual, once her last client left — she would spend about an hour or so updating notes from the day’s clients, have some tea, a nice peppermint variety — it struck the balance between helping her concentrate and decompress without caffeine — and enjoy the quiet of the empty office. She sat down at her desk and took her round tortoiseshell-framed glasses off and rubbed her eyes before getting started.

— Good night, Dr. Messner — someone said from down the hallway. It was her receptionist, Helena. 

— Good night, Helena. See you tomorrow — Alma said, as she opened her clinical charting software. 

She usually started with new intakes. She didn’t have one every day, and they usually didn’t take very long, because the first session was mostly sorting out release and authorization forms and getting to know a new client. An hour isn’t much time to dig in very deep.

Alma only had one new client intake today, and she felt like it was going to be… An interesting case. 

“Elisabeth R. Lauda”, she typed into the form. “30, F, Diagnosis TBD”.

Of course, Alma knew who Elisabeth Lauda was before she even set foot in the office. Daughter of an Austrian national hero. Alma had never been one to watch motor racing, but everyone in the country knew the name Niki Lauda. In spite of her famous father, Elisabeth kept a fairly low profile until very recently, when she became the star of tabloid headlines. Word had gotten out about her being together with Toto Wolff, who was a wealthy investor that had become the CEO of a Formula 1 team a few years back. It apparently had the celebrity news in Vienna all up-in-arms, because Toto was considered one of the country’s most eligible bachelors.

Alma didn’t pay much attention to celebrity gossip, but she was surprised — and not, she supposed, to see Elisabeth’s name on the intake forms she’d gotten from Helena earlier on in the week. Surprised in that Alma didn’t expect the name of a minor Viennese celebrity to land in her intake basket, but not surprised in that if anybody would be having a hard time and in need of someone to talk to, it was her.

When Elisabeth’s appointment time came, Alma wasn’t really sure what to expect of the woman. She’d not ever had a client that was… Famous, if you could call Elisabeth Lauda that.

Elisabeth came for her appointment exactly on time — early, actually. Alma went out to the clinic’s waiting room to greet her, and to bring her back to the office.

She was wearing a pair of nice jeans, a light blue dress shirt that seemed like it was perfectly tailored, and her dark hair was up in a high ponytail. Alma noted that she had on light, natural-looking makeup. 

“Well, at least she’s probably not expecting to cry”, she thought.

Somehow, Alma felt almost underdressed in comparison, despite wearing a pair of dress slacks, ballet flats, and a blazer. 

Elisabeth was quiet, but she had an imposing presence, somehow.

She had inquisitive blue eyes that traveled around Alma’s office, taking everything in. Alma noticed that Elisabeth also had very good posture, and sat down on the couch very gracefully. She had a very firm, confident handshake as well. 

— It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Lauda. I’m Dr. Messner, but feel free to call me Alma.

— It’s nice to meet you too, Alma. And, please, call me Elisabeth.

— Wonderful. We’ll just discuss some basics first. I usually look at this first meeting as an assessment session. This means that I'll be asking you some questions to get an understanding of what brought you here and to get to know a little more about you. We might skip around a little, but this time together will give us each a chance to see if we’d work well together and how I can best help you. Does that sound okay?

— That sounds fine — Elisabeth said. Her voice was quiet, her arms were crossed. Alma recognized her body language as closed off, almost withdrawn. She hoped that talking to her a bit would open things up.

— Now, first things first: what brings you to therapy? — Alma asked. Almost immediately, she noticed that Elisabeth started fidgeting with a ring on her left hand, a small, platinum-colored one that looked almost like a clasp, lined with clear stones. 

— Well — Elisabeth said, before taking a deep breath in — My, um, partner suggested it. He’s been seeing a therapist for a long time, and he thought it might help me. We’ve been together for a few years already, but he’s… In the press all the time, because of his job. Our relationship recently went public, I guess you could say, and all of the attention has been making me a little…

She paused, furrowing her brow.

— Anxious. And I’ve been having trouble sleeping, and I’ve been having these episodes, anxiety attacks, I guess. When I get them, I feel this overwhelming fear. And then my heart starts pounding, I feel like I can’t breathe, I can’t stop crying.

Alma frowned.

— I’m sorry you’ve been going through that. I could see how that would be a stressful situation for you. When did these episodes start happening, and how frequently have they been happening?

— I’m… Not sure how to answer that — Elisabeth said — I first started having them when I was in school, probably since I was 13 or 14. I got picked on a lot. And I’d get this tight feeling in my chest whenever I had to present something in class. I thought about… Um, ending my life a few times during my teenage years, but I never… Followed through. I suppose, once I went to university, and started working after graduating, it was manageable, but it’s been getting bad again lately with the attention of the press.

Alma saw that Elisabeth wasn’t looking at her as she spoke. Her gaze was seemingly fixed on the area rug between them, and she was still playing with her ring.

— I see. Have you been to any sort of therapy or counseling before?

— No… I didn’t want my parents to think something was wrong with me — Elisabeth said, quietly.  

— Well, if it helps any, I am glad you are here — Alma said — I know starting something like this is often difficult, but I think taking the first step shows a lot of bravery. And your partner, he must care a lot about you if he encouraged you to take that step. Now, would you mind telling me a little bit about him?

Elisabeth lifted her head back up and her expression turned into a fond smile. 

— Well, his name is Torger, but he goes by Toto. He is a little bit older than me but that never mattered between us. We met when my father went into a new business venture with him, with both of them as investors. Our relationship started slowly, because of the process of... Accepting my own feelings towards him. I knew from the first time I met him that I was attracted to him, but I was afraid. 

She took a small pause.

— We had some trouble here and there, and we finally ended up getting together two years ago. I wish I hadn’t been so stupid and cowardly and had just accepted that I was in love with him earlier. He is the best person I have ever met in the whole world. He’s been through so much in his life, and he can still look forward to every day with a smile. He’s very busy, because of work and traveling, but he tries to be present. Not only for me, but for his two kids. He’s less of a partner to me, and more of a best friend. I know I can count on him in good times and in bad. I really love him, Alma. He’s the love of my life, the kind you always see in fairy tale cartoons and movies. He’s the only one for me.

Alma raised her eyebrows. She was surprised at how effusive Elisabeth was. Until that point, it felt like Elisabeth was hesitating, maybe even uncomfortable, but asking about her partner broke the dam. It was something worth remembering — talking about things that clients felt strongly about or were willing to talk about at length was helpful in case they started withdrawing, or shutting down. 

— He sounds like a wonderful man. And how about the rest of your family?

— My father was a racing driver in the 70’s and 80’s. He was very talented. When he retired, he dedicated himself to his business ventures — Elisabeth smiled — He is one of a kind, if I can say anything. He’s serious and focused, but he has kind of a mischievous side, too. My mom was a model, but once she had me and my brothers, she decided to be a stay-at-home mother. She’s amazing. She’s so kind and understanding. I was lucky to have such a good example of a happy marriage with the two of them.

— That’s wonderful. How about your brothers? How many do you have?

— Two. I’m the youngest. My oldest brother is named Lukas. He’s seven years older than me, but we’ve always gotten along really well, he’s very supportive and caring. My other brother, Mathias, however… Our relationship is… A bit more difficult. We used to be pretty close. Not as close as Lukas and I always were, but the three of us always got along growing up. Mathias is married and has two kids. But my brother… He still has a really childish way of dealing with things.

Alma tilted her head a bit.

— Hm. What makes you say that, if you don’t mind me asking?

— Well, I didn’t notice it at first — Elisabeth said. She shifted a bit on the couch, and her gaze went back to her lap — But when Toto and I got together, I was afraid of what my dad would think. Everyone liked my dad, but he said time and time again that he didn’t have any friends, but Toto sort of became the first person he considered a friend. And I felt sort of… Ashamed about dating the one person my dad considered his friend.

Alma spotted it again — the fidgeting with the ring. Some people’s body language was hard to read, but Elisabeth’s was loud and clear. “She would probably be a terrible poker player”, Alma thought. 

— We also thought it would be best if we stayed out of the public eye for a while, because Toto is pretty well-known and had kind of a… What’s a nice way to put this? A reputation in the press for being a bit of a playboy — Elisabeth chuckled a bit, and then continued — But, after a few months, my brother caught us in an, um, compromising position, and connected the dots. I asked him not to tell anyone, especially dad, and he told me I…

Elisabeth took a deep breath in. Her voice had started to crack a little.

— That I broke my father’s trust by involving myself with Toto, and that I betrayed him. And that… Absolutely shattered me.

She clenched her jaw, as a stray tear rolled down her cheek. 

— I hesitated getting together with Toto in the first place because I wasn’t sure how my dad would react, and he tried to use that against me, knowing that I didn’t want to hurt my dad’s feelings. And he started talking about how I was always the perfect child and dad’s favorite, or something, because he was always kind of rebellious, always getting into trouble with our parents for doing things they told him he couldn’t do, like competitive go-karting, and…

Elisabeth swallowed, and more tears started coming. Alma plucked a box of tissues from her desk, and leaned over to offer it to Elisabeth. She accepted the box, taking two tissues out to dab at the corners of eyes, and set the box next to her on the couch. 

— Thank you. Um, anyway, I kind of negotiated with him to not tell dad, but our relationship was revealed through an Instagram mishap, and he had just been waiting for a good opportunity to sell me out, in a way.

Alma frowned, but tried to keep her expression soft.

— I’m so sorry, Elisabeth. That sounds awful. Family is complicated sometimes, and I can definitely see how that would be causing you a significant amount of anxiety, especially because I am sure that your brother was someone you had trusted in the past.

— Yes. My relationship with Mathias was good. We had our differences, but I loved him. I supported his racing career, and I helped him build it. I still do love my brother. I love my sister-in-law, and I love my two nephews. But right now, our family feels like it’s broken in half because of me, and I feel — Elisabeth turned her head again, looking out the window. Her voice went soft and quiet — I just feel so guilty about it, all the time.

Alma felt horrible for the woman. If the two of them were just friends casually chatting, she would’ve told Elisabeth her brother sounds like a piece of work, or something far less friendly, but she had to be somewhat indifferent as a clinician and professional. Plus, it was their first session.

— If it helps, I don’t think you have any reason to feel guilty about this — she said. 

Elisabeth turned to face her again.

— But — she started, but didn’t continue.

— It sounds like your brother was just acting out on feelings that he hasn’t resolved. I don’t know him, so I can’t say what they are, precisely, but it doesn’t sound like you’ve done anything that you need to feel guilty about, at least to me.

— If Toto and I wouldn’t have started dating, my brother wouldn’t have gotten upset with me — Elisabeth said.

— That might be true, but there’s a difference between guilt and responsibility. They’re very different, and reframing how you think about your actions may help. Responsibility is recognizing that all of our actions have some sort of consequence, major or minor, positive or negative. But guilt is the feeling that comes from the fact that people always want things to happen the way we want them to.

Elisabeth’s expression was skeptical, almost confused. 

— What I mean is, yes, you starting your relationship did have the outcome of your brother being upset with you and trying to make you feel guilty about it. But Mathias is feeling hurt from something else, and is using this issue to take his own pain out on you, and you’re not to blame for that. Does that make sense?

— Yes, but — Elisabeth pursed her lips, and looked at Alma like she wasn’t sure what to say — How do I stop feeling so guilty, then?

Alma sat back in her chair a bit.

— Unfortunately, it is a bit of a process. But it’s one of the things I hope to be able to help you with during our time together, reframing the thinking patterns and behaviors that are causing you distress. Speaking of which, and not to change the subject, but I just wanted to ask you something. You mentioned that you were experiencing anxiety or panic attacks recently, correct? When did they start?

Elisabeth tightened her fists, digging her nails into her palm. The tissues she’d used to wipe her eyes with a few minutes ago were now crushed into a dense ball. Her jaw was clenching. 

— Y-yes. It was… Last weekend, when the worst one happened. I was in Belgium for a race with Toto. It was the first race after our relationship went public. There were a lot of people… A lot of cameras. I already hate publicity, so I was already uncomfortable, but then the reporters started asking questions about our relationship, their questions were really… Ugh, invasive. And then, one of them said something that brought up some really awful memories for me, and that’s what started it. Before I realized it, I was sitting on the floor of my partner’s office, crying. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. All I kept thinking about was how stupid and ugly I am. I felt like I was back in middle school, with other kids laughing at me, calling me…

Elisabeth had started crying again, trying to talk between sniffles and sobs. Alma fought down the urge to get up and hug the poor woman. It wasn’t as if she’d never hugged a client, but never on the first appointment, before she was sure the client wouldn’t be receptive or made uncomfortable by the gesture. 

— Calling me ugly, or fat, or stupid. I kept trying to hurt myself, scratching and punching myself, and I didn’t really realize what was happening until Toto tried to stop me. And I just felt so awful, because I made him so upset, because he was worried about me. I felt like I was ruining his life by being so fragile and sensitive all the time, and that I’m just a burden, something he needs to take care of.

Elisabeth took another tissue out of the box next to her and scrubbed at her eyes again, and wiped her nose, which had started running. 

— I’m so sorry you had to go through that — Alma said, quietly — I can’t imagine how awful that must have felt, but as I said, we can work on how to reframe those thoughts with the goal of decreasing your anxiety. But I do want to focus on that last part. The way you’ve talked about your partner, and the fact that you said he was the one that encouraged you to seek out someone to talk to, that shows me that he really loves you, that he cares about you.

Elisabeth sniffled a bit, and blew her nose again.

— Sorry about crying so much — she murmured — I honestly didn’t expect it to be this hard to talk about my feelings.

Alma shook her head.

— No, don’t worry. It’s completely normal. You’re not the first, you won’t even be my last today. This is a safe space to express whatever emotions you need to. I am concerned, though, about you saying something about you trying to hurt yourself. Have you felt those kinds of feelings at all since the anxiety attack?

Elisabeth sighed, her breath shaking a bit.

— I wasn’t doing it to myself on purpose. It was kind of unconscious, but I felt angry at myself for letting the press get to me so much, so I kind of, I don’t know, took it out on myself. I haven’t felt like that since, though.

Alma nodded.

— Okay. That’s good, but just in case you do have any thoughts or urges to harm yourself, my phone number is on the paperwork that my receptionist, Helena, should have given you. Please, call me any time, and I will answer if I can. I will not be mad. If I can’t answer, there’s also an emergency crisis line that is always open. Please don’t hesitate or feel guilty about using either number - it’s what I give them to you for, okay?

Elisabeth nodded tentatively.

— I… Okay.

Alma glanced at her watch — she normally hated to do it during an appointment, because it could make some clients feel anxious or guilty, but she had to keep on a schedule somehow. 

— Before we end our session today, I just wanted to try and see what your goals are with starting our work together. Like, what kinds of things you’re hoping for, what kinds of things you might have reservations about, or are unsure of. That way, I know before we start developing your treatment plan, and you can decide if you’d like to continue working together.

Elisabeth looked thoughtful, and leaned forward a bit.

— I guess… I want to get better. I want to be able to see myself in a positive light. I want to see what others see when they look at me, and not see myself as the same scarred teenager I was in middle school. I want to learn how to be happy with myself, so I can stop feeling so bad about myself all the time.

— Those are all good goals to have — Alma said — And what are your thoughts on going on medication, specifically anti-anxiety medication? It won’t be a magic solution, it’s just a tool that we use in conjunction with talk therapy to help, and it’s not right for everyone, but I can refer you if…

— No — Elisabeth said, shaking her head — I want to try it without, at least at first. My partner was on antidepressants for a while, when he started therapy, but he tapered off of them after a while.

— That’s fine — Alma said, with a nod — It’s completely up to you. I can answer any questions you have about them if you want to try them later on, but we will see where we get.

She glanced at her watch again.

— I am afraid we have run out of time for today, but it was really nice to meet you, Elisabeth. I am hoping that we will be able to work with each other and get you back to feeling your best. You can schedule your next visit with Helena on your way out, if you’d like to, or give the office a call if you’re not sure of when, just yet. But, I’d recommend weekly appointments at this point, if possible. We can cut that down once we start making some progress.

— Well — Elisabeth said, as she stood up — Once a week might be tricky with travel and everything, and the fact that I actually live in England. But I’m in Vienna a lot of the time, so we can play it by ear for now.

She took Alma’s outstretched hand, giving her a good, firm handshake again.

— It was nice to meet you too, Alma.

Alma watched as Elisabeth swiped a tissue at her eyes one last time, smiled, and turned around to walk out the door of Alma’s office, shutting it gently behind her. She still managed to look poised, even after falling apart on Alma’s couch. Alma stood, planted on the spot, staring at the closed door for a moment. She remembered she had another session coming up and got to work, throwing away the tissues on the couch and straightening up the cushions, and typing a few quick notes in Elisabeth’s new case file.

Alma thought back on their visit later as she worked on case notes, her tea getting cold.

Alma hadn’t been sure what to expect. She had clients that were wealthy, clients that were high-performers in their fields — all of them had different needs, different expectations that weighed on them, but she hadn’t had anyone yet that had the triple-whammy of growing up relatively wealthy, famous, and being accomplished — in her few years of practice, someone like Elisabeth was new to her. 

She hoped she could do something to help. Alma always hoped she could do something to help new clients, but with Elisabeth, she knew it would be tough, with her in the public eye. It would be a new challenge, for sure, and Alma only could hope that she was up to it. 

Dr. Alma Messner, PhD, BMASGK

Schönlaterngasse 11

Wien, Austria

Client Name: Elisabeth R. Lauda

Client DOB: 18/02/1986

Age: 30

Sex: F

Diagnosis: TBD

Date: 06/09/2016

Start Time: 17:03 Uhr

End Time: 17:58 Uhr

Background: Elisabeth is a 30-year old female. Currently unmarried, but has a long-term partner. Born and raised in Vienna, youngest of three children (two older brothers). Father is a businessman, formerly a race car driver (NL), mother is a homemaker (but was previously a model). Elisabeth works with her father, mostly in civil aviation investments. Entered into a new business partnership in 2012 and met her long-term partner as a result. Partner (TW) is a 44 year old male. He is previously married and has two children (ages 15 and 12, boy and girl). Client also has two nephews, no children of her own.

Client’s Subjective Concerns/Chief Complaint: Client has been experiencing what she believes are anxiety attacks and recurrent episodes of anxiety, including anxiety attacks. Scheduled appointment at the suggestion of her partner (TW). Her last anxiety attack was triggered by a journalist asking invasive questions about her relationship and appearance, involving inadvertent self-harm (hitting self). Client’s work does involve running into journalists. Was  Client is hoping to work on strategies for reducing anxiety and increasing self-confidence. 

Clinical Observations:  Client did not appear disheveled or exhibit any signs of immediate distress. Sat in a rigid posture, but appeared to be fidgeting as the session progressed, especially with her hands. Kept playing with a ring on her left hand. Client also spoke quickly, and sounded rather nervous, and did cry when recalling recent traumatic events. No signs of hallucinations, delusions, bizarre behaviors, or any other indications of psychotic process. Associations are intact, thinking is logical, and thought content is appropriate. Does not seem to be experiencing suicidal ideation, despite mentioning inadvertent/unconcious self-harm during recent anxiety episode. Cognitive functioning and fund of knowledge is intact and age-appropriate. Short and long term memory is intact. Client is fully oriented. Social judgment seems intact. Signs of anxiety consistent with client’s self-reported concerns. Not presently on any medications, has no previous diagnoses of mental illness. Reports experiencing suicidal thoughts and ideations during teenage years, did not seek any interventions or therapy. Did not report acting on them. 

Issues and Stressors Discussed/Session Description: Client discussed experiencing a panic attack triggered by questions from the media. Discussed history of her current relationship with her partner, and relationship with her siblings and parents. Client has recently gone public with her relationship and has been facing pressure from the media, as her partner is a somewhat notable public figure due to his job. Client reports feeling low self-esteem and self-worth, stemming from adolescence and being made fun of in school. 

Interventions/Methods Provided: Discussion of symptoms, identification and explorations of emotions, recommendation of supportive counseling. Patient is hesitant about starting medication, and recommended starting out with talk therapy/CBT for now. 

Assessment: Client’s endorsed symptoms and demeanor are all consistent with generalized anxiety disorder. It is likely that she had coped with symptoms before, but increased stress about her relationships with family and her partner have caused symptoms to become problematic. Client has not expressed active desire to self-harm, does not appear to be at risk of suicide at this time, but referred her to contact myself or emergency services in case of ideation occurring. Client does not appear to be suffering from depression. 

Plan: Client will call to schedule the next appointment (unable to make consistent appointments due to travel schedule) and we will discuss further treatment steps. Will have client start keeping a mood log to start to identify patterns in thinking. 

Next Appointment: TBD

Clinician Signature: ____________________________________

Clinician Printed Name: Dr. Alma Messner, BMASGK

[itsagrimm]

DE: Von welchem Bundesland glaubst du kommt König??

EN: From which state do you think does König originate from??

DE: weil ich den Österreichern König nicht streitig machen werde, irgendwo von da. Und weil es das größte Bundesland in Österreich ist, stehen die Chancen ganz gut für Niederösterreich. Außerdem glaube ich nicht, dass König aus ner großen Stadt kommt. Könnte also passen.

Ganz ehrlich, der hätte fett Dialekt sprechen sollen. Es wäre so konsequent gewesen und bisschen cool.

EN: since I am not taking König away from the Austrians, somewhere from Austria. And since the biggest state/county/'Bundesland' of Austria is Lower Austria, chances would be in favour of him to come from there. Also I don't think he is from a bigger city. So that works.

For real, he should have the thickest dialect. It would have been consistent and a bit cool.

[chess-blackmyre]

Okay so, I am OBSESSED with the details in Victor’s Field Commission from “In the Name of the Brother.” Specifically the part where it explicitly says they live in Austria.

This is less to do with the fact that the Frankensteins are Swiss in the novel and more to do with the implication that the Land Without Color is composed of the countries the Land Without Magic had circa the 1800′s.

Translation under the cut:

Sehr geehrter Herr Doktor Frankenstein,

Durch die Kraft der Macht und der Autorität, die durch den Bundeskanzler und des Kaisers Kommission in mir investiert sind, ernemne ich Sie zum Feld Arzt.

Sie sind daher angewiesen sorgfältig und gewissenhaft die Pflicht des Feld Arzt auszüuben und als Beispid für niederige Offziers Ränge und Soldaten zu dieven.

Wir fordern Sie auf, besagte Befehle zu folgen, Ordnung und Disziplin zu bewahren und zukünftige Befehle auszuführen.

In Armen, Metz von mir geschrieben und versiegelt am dritten März.

Durch den Befehl des Kaisers in mir investierte Kraft,

T. Herman

Kapitän T. Herman - 34 Mobile Division

Klagenfurt, Kärnten

Klagenfurt-Land Bezirk im Namen des Ministerpräsident [Can’t make out] Österreich

According to Google Translate, this reads:

Dear Doctor Frankenstein,

By the force of the power and authority invested in me by the Chancellor and the Emperor's commission, I appoint you to the field of physician.

They are, therefore, instructed to carefully and conscientiously perform the duty of field doctor and serve as paragons to officers of lower rank and enlisted men.

We urge you to follow said orders, maintain order and discipline, and carry out future orders.

In Armen, written by me and sealed March 3rd.

Power invested in me by the Emperor's command,

T. Herman

Captain T. Herman - 34 Mobile Division

Klagenfurt, Carinthia

Klagenfurt-Land District on behalf of the Prime Minister [Can’t make out] of Austria.

Klagenfurt, Carinthia is a real place in Austria.

I don’t want to dig too deep into real world history because this is explicitly Fairy Tale Land. But according to my Wikipedia dive the position Prime Minister of Austria was a position that existed from 1848 until 1918 (replaced with the Chancellor ). The reign of the last Austrian Kaiser, Charles I, ended in 1918.

Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein in 1818, and the novel was explicitly set in the 1700′s.

Not complaining, to be clear, just find it interesting.