#dass dearest

[nighttimescribbles]

me when i walk outside your prison cell in horny gulag

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA this us playin the wardens for the last shirt off their broad, strong, sculpted backs

mister jaeger will be so proud of his kittens when he sees~

[apfelhalm]

Notwehr

#i want leo to be like you know what. my turn to break some fingers#they're not gonna give me that. but i can dream#if all else fails tess has my back so :^)

Tess has indeed your back, my dearest @free-piza. :3

+++

Adam gibt dem SEK kaum Zeit den Raum zu sichern, bevor er selbst hinterhereilt, die Waffe erhoben und mit einem Herzschlag, den er noch in der Kehle wummern spürt. Er hat die Rufe und den Lärm von unten gehört, als sie das Gebäude gestürmt haben, hat sich eingebildet, darunter auch Leos Stimme erkannt zu haben. Keine Ahnung, was ihn da drin erwartet, aber er macht sich auf alles gefasst. Das Beste. Das Schlimmste. Vor allem Letzteres.

Sein Blick wandert hektisch durch den Kellerraum, während Funksprüche, Statusmeldungen und der Aufruf nach einem Notarzt an seinem Kopf vorbeischwirren. Jemand ist verletzt. Die Frage ist nur wer und wie schlimm.

Dann biegt er um die Ecke und sein Blick huscht über eine wimmernde Gestalt am Boden: blutiges Ohr, blutige Nase und eine bebende Hand, deren Finger in Winkeln abstehen, die alles, aber nicht normal sind. Der Anblick ist furchterregend vertraut und Adam muss für einen Augenblick die Luft anhalten, um im Hier und Jetzt zu bleiben. Scheiße.

Doch es ist nicht Leo, der da am Boden kauert und von einem SEK-Beamten festgehalten wird. Kurz treffen sich ihre Blicke und Onkel Boris macht ein Geräusch, als ob er etwas sagen will. Adam wendet sich ab. Soll der Mann doch an seinen Worten ersticken. Alles Lügen und Manipulationen. Es gibt nur einen, dem Adam hier unten seine Aufmerksamkeit schenken will.

Und endlich finden seine Augen, wonach er schon die ganze Zeit gesucht hat: Leo. Leo, der in eine Ecke gedrängt sitzt, schmutzig und zitternd, Blut am Mund, die zu Fäusten geballten Hände mit Kabelbinder gefesselt. Ein weiterer SEK-Beamter steht vor ihm und versucht auf ihn einzureden, aber Leo wirkt nicht, als ob er viel davon mitbekommt.

Zögerlich steckt Adam seine Waffe weg und geht in die Hocke. Aus dem Augenwinkel bemerkt er, wie der SEK-Beamte ihm Platz macht, doch sein Blick hängt nur noch an Leo. Von Nahem wird deutlich, dass er zum Zerreißen angespannt ist, seine Augen sind so dunkel, dass sie fast schwarz wirken. Er hat etwas von einem wilden Tier, das einen anfallen wird, wenn man nur eine falsche Bewegung macht. Der Anblick schmerzt tief hinter Adams Brustbein.

Er hat keine Ahnung, was er jetzt sagen oder tun soll. Vermutlich ist er der letzte, den Leo jetzt sehen will. Er sollte auf Pia warten. Scheiße, sogar Esther wäre jetzt besser als er, der Grund, warum Leo überhaupt entführt worden ist. Aber er ist nunmal hier, nicht Pia, nicht Esther, sondern Adam fucking Schürk, und er ist es Leo schuldig, ihn hier rauszubringen.

"Hey Leo", sagt er mit erhobenen Händen, "ich schneide dir jetzt die Fesseln los, okay?"

Ein misstrauischer Blick folgt ihm, als sich Adam ein Polizeimesser reichen lässt und damit im Zeitlupentempo Leos Handgelenken nähert. Leo spuckt einfach nur Schleim und Blut auf den Betonboden neben sich, sagt nichts, tut nichts … also macht Adam weiter. Sobald der zerschnittene Kabelbinder zu Boden fällt, stürzt Leo jedoch nach vorne. Adam rutscht das Herz in die Hose und das Messer aus der Hand, bevor es klirrend am Boden liegenbleibt.

Er rechnet mit vielem: mit wütendem Geschrei, mit einer Faust im Gesicht, vielleicht sogar einem Knie im Unterleib. Alles Dinge, die er verdient hätte und die er Leo gerade absolut zutraut. Womit er nicht rechnet ist das: Leo, der sich einfach nur fallen lässt, gegen Adam und dessen Schutzweste, so schnell und schwer, dass sie beinahe gemeinsam umkippen. Adams Arme wandern von ganz alleine nach oben und legen sich um Leos Schultern.

"Sachte, Tiger", sagt er leise, ein dummer Insiderwitz aus einer Zeit, als die Dinge noch okay waren zwischen ihnen. (Waren sie nicht, schon damals nicht, auch wenn Adam sich das gerne eingeredet hat.) Dieses Mal kommt kein sarkastisches "Miau" zurück. Leo hält sich schwer atmend und schweigend an ihm fest, während neben ihnen der humpelnde Boris Barns abgeführt wird.

"Hast du ihn so zugerichtet?" fragt Adam unwillkürlich.

Leo zuckt in seinen Armen zusammen und scheint eine ganze Weile zu brauchen, bis er antworten kann. "Ich hab euch kommen hören. Er auch. Also hab ich die Ablenkung genutzt."

"Und du hättest nicht einfach warten können, bis wir da sind?"

"Es war Notwehr." Natürlich war es das. Aber das war nicht die Frage. Leo scheint das auch zu merken, denn er schiebt zögerlich hinterher: "Er hatte eine Waffe auf mich gerichtet. Wer weiß, was er in dem Moment sonst getan hätte."

Adam versucht sich vorzustellen, wie Leo Onkel Boris überrumpelt haben muss, als sich das Einsatzkommando oben bemerkbar gemacht hat. Wie er mit seinen Fäusten oder mit einem Kopfstoß Boris' Nase gebrochen hat und beim Gerangel an dessen Ohr gezerrt hat, bis da Haut gerissen ist. Leo war schon immer gut im Kampfsport. Das alles sind Bewegungen, die er inzwischen im Schlaf verinnerlicht hat. Aber eines ergibt für Adam einfach keinen Sinn.

"… und die Finger?"

"Notwehr", sagt Leo schon wieder so gepresst, als wäre er hier bei einem Verhör und nicht in Sicherheit, in Adams Armen. Doch seine zitternden Finger tasten blind zwischen ihnen, bis sie Adams linke Hand zu fassen bekommen und sie leicht drücken. Die kaputte Hand, die manchmal noch immer wehtut, wenn Adam sie zu sehr überstrapaziert.

Auf einmal hat er ein anderes Bild im Kopf: Leo, der sich seit Tagen Boris' Fragen und Einflüsterungen anhören muss. Leo, der denkt, dass sein ehemals bester Freund ihn für einen Haufen beschissenes Geld verraten hat. Leo, verängstigt, halb verhungert, wütend, in die Ecke gedrängt. Und Leo, der bei all dem trotzdem nicht vergessen hat, was Adam damals beim Besuch im Gefängnis zu Onkel Boris gesagt hat: "Du brichst mir die Finger lieber selbst." Leo, der mit ihm bis ans Ende der Welt gehen würde – vielleicht auch auf diese Weise.

Adam schluckt und ignoriert die Tränen, die in seinen Augenwinkeln brennen. "Schon okay", sagt er jetzt und drückt zurück. Verschränkt ihre Finger. "Es war Notwehr."

Und sie reden da nie wieder drüber.

[magicalyaku]

(German version below) Roots & Raindrops, my second novel is out now! The German edition that is (The book on Amazon). An English one will follow, probably around March 2024. It's a short, mildy adventurous story about a boy trying to find (and save) his penpal, a girl looking for her favourite bird, another boy who might or might not be a prince and the penpal, and a basically-a-vampire who has his hands full with keeping the others from dying to wild beasts. There's magic and birds, everyone's queer, the weather's hot, but no steamy scenes around. The book also features 16 very lovely illustrations by @rechenbaer!

The full summary: 18-year-old Cass currently has two worries: His penpal of 10 years hasn't responded in months and the drought ravaging their kingdom of Rafiah is getting more intense every year causing wild beasts to roam the lands in search for food and thus making travel very dangerous. But travel he must. If the old rumors are true, the royal family's ancient magic might be connected to the bad weather and Cass believes his penpal to be none other than the crown prince himself! So what's going on with him? Cass finds unexpected help in Alanis, the girl who runs the Aerial Post Office in their city, whose dearest bird hasn't returned home since her last delivery to Cass's penpal. So the two of them set out on their journey to find their loved ones - and bring them home.

(German from here on)

Roots & Raindrops, mein zweiter Roman ist jetzt erhältlich! (Auf Amazon) Es ist eine ein bisschen abenteuerliche Geschichte über einen Jungen, der versucht, seinen Brieffreund zu finden (und ihm zu helfen), ein Mädchen, das nach seinem liebsten Vogel sucht, ein weiterer Junge, der vielleicht ein Prinz und der Brieffreund ist, vielleicht aber auch nicht, und ein sowas-wie-Vampir, der alle Hände voll zu tun hat, zu verhindern, dass die anderen von wilden Bestien gefressen werden. Es gibt Magie und Vögel, alle sind queer, das Wetter ist heiß, aber ohne steamy Szenen. Außerdem enthält das Buch 16 wunderschöne Illustrationen von @rechenbaer!

Der Rückentext: Der 18-jährige Cass hat gerade zwei Probleme: Sein Brieffreund seit zehn Jahren hat seit Monaten nicht geantwortet und die Dürre, die ihr Königreich Rafiah heimsucht, wird immer schlimmer, was wilde Bestien auf der Suche nach Futter durch die Gegend streifen lässt und Reisen gefährlich macht. Doch er muss reisen! Wenn die alten Gerüchte wahr sind, hängt die uralte Magie des Königshauses mit dem schlechten Wetter zusammen und Cass glaubt, dass sein Brieffreund kein anderer ist als der Kronprinz selbst! Also was ist los mit ihm? Cass findet unerwartet Hilfe bei Alanis, die das Luftpostamt ihrer Stadt führt und deren liebster Vogel von ihrer letzten Lieferung zu Cass' Brieffreund nicht zurückgekehrt ist. Also machen sich die zwei auf den Weg, ihre Freunde zu finden - und nach Hause zu bringen.

[the-jam-to-the-unicorn]

Heute kann es regnen, stürmen oder schneien

Denn du strahlst ja selber wie der Sonnenschein

Heut' ist dein Geburtstag, darum feiern wir

Alle deine Freunde freuen sich mit dir

Alle deine Freunde freuen sich mit dir

Wie schön, dass du geboren bist

Wir hätten dich sonst sehr vermisst

Wie schön, dass wir beisammen sind

Wir gratulieren dir, Geburtstagskind!

Dearest Jam, happy happy happy happy happy birthday! 🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Haha, einen Text den man einfach nicht normal lesen kann. Man muss direkt mitsingen. 😁

Thank you a lot! ❤️

[loveismyrevolution]

Aaaaah, ich freue mich so, dass Du wieder schreibst! Wie geht es Dir?

Ich lese momentan überhaupt kein Sherlock, aber wenn Du magst, tag mich sehr gern.

Ich bin auch wieder am Schreiben, aber ich weiß nicht, wann es fertig wird.

Hab ein schönes Wochenende!

Alex, dearest 😍🥰

So schön von dir zu hören!! Ich bin auch so froh wieder zu schreiben, es tut so gut und ich habe es so vermisst!!

Was schreibst du denn im Moment? Original Story? Fanfic? Wenn ja, welches fandom?? Ich würde so gerne wieder etwas von dir lesen 😍

Mit geht es okay-ish. Könnte besser aber könnte auch schlechter. Ich bin zufrieden, denn es geht bergauf und da will ich hin 💪😁!!

Wie geht es dir denn?? Sooooo lange nichts gehört... diesmal hoffentlich nicht so lange!

Bis ganz bald wieder 💋

[jon-withnoh]

beatrice lacy + 5, 7, 12, 23 :)

5. My favourite ship of them: Oh gosh this is difficult! She has chemistry with everyone. While I love @neednottoneed’s headcanon of „Danny and Beatrice hooked up while Rebecca was on honeymoon and never talked about it again“, I am currently writing „Rebecca and Beatrice have been hooking up on and off for twenty years, but insist they dislike each other“. So basically, my favourite Beatrice ship is a friends with benefits situation with Rebecca.

7. A quote I remember: From the book — „No, I don‘t suppose you have“ in reference to Mrs Danvers. From the musical — „Sieh zu, dass du fertig wirst, Kleines. Die Gäste sind schon alle da“. I adore Annemieke‘s little pause before „alle da“ on the 2022 cast album.

12. Sexuality HC: I‘m not sure Beatrice would put a label on it? Let me just… quote my own fic at you (this is from Was Wird Aus Uns, Chapter 15): “You see, Giles and I are both rather strange creatures. He has been my dearest companion for these past thirty years and I have been his. We understand each other intuitively. He never had much interest in… certain aspects of marriage. Our arrangement suits us both. I’ve always found there to be no hierarchy in my affections. Or any limits to my ability to love.”

23. Future Headcanon: This one is tough! I‘ll give you the one I have for Was Wird Aus Uns, so if you if you haven‘t finished reading, this will be a spoiler: I think that at some point after the events of Was Wird Aus Uns, potentially once Giles has passed, Ich, Danny and Beatrice will all move in together. With Beatrice being the oldest of the three and Ich‘s sister-in-law, I think Ich would want to have her close and care for her as she grows old. The dynamics of that household would be hilarious, because despite their best efforts, Danny and Beatrice constantly get on each other‘s nerves. However, they both care about Ich so much and eventually, they would come to enjoy their little quarrels and be friends even though they’d still pretend to be annoyed with each other all the time.

[kreuzotterehrlichkeit]

Eine lustige Probe mit meinen liebsten Freunden Martha und Mischa (was für ein Glück, dass wir einen Weltklasse-Cellisten als Marthas Pageturner haben!) in Kreislers herzlichem Schön Rosmarin! 🎼📄🎻🎹🎵🎶

[silence-the-barking-monk]

If we accept that the ends of our actions often prove unknowable, we’re also freer to be focused on the process of our work as it’s happening.

We can be attentive to situations as they occur. What lies before us is it. Helping is right here. Not having to know so badly, not wandering off looking, we’re more able to be present, freer simply to be.

We needn’t be troubled or worn down, then, by paradox and ambiguity. The mystery of helping can be our ally, our teacher, an environment for wonder and discovery. If we enter into it openly, our actions fall into perspective, a larger pattern we can trust. At rest in the Witness, meanwhile, we greet the outcome of our action with equanimity.

Here is a final shift in perspective which can help release us from burnout: We do what we can.

Yet we cannot really presume to know the final meaning of our actions. We cannot help but see them against a larger backdrop in which the ultimate significance of a single life may not be clear.

So, at some level, we care with all our heart…and then we finally let go. We give it all we have… and trust the rest to God, to Nature, to the Universe.

We do everything we can to relieve someone’s suffering – our dearest’s, our beloved’s, anyone’s – but we are willing to surrender attachment to how we want things to be, attachment even to the relief of their suffering. Our heart may break… and then we surrender that too.

This is the final act of service: to acknowledge and honor the integrity of another being as they, like us, pass through the beauty and the pain of a human birth.

Its immediate meaning may surpass our understanding. But we are willing to keep the faith – which St. Paul describes as “the evidence of things unseen.” Ultimately, all is well.

– Ram Dass

[borathae]

Also ich hab das jetzt beendet. Gestern ganze 600 Seiten gelesen (auf dem E Reader wurden 822 Seiten gezeigt. Hab ich allerdings umgeblättert, blieb die Zahl. Also waren das 1644 Seiten...)

Das ist tatsächlich sehr selten, dass ich so viel lese bzw so schnell so viele Seiten lese. Sprich ich fand es toll.. Sehr toll sogar.

Und oh Gott, du hättest ne Warnung geben sollen. Von wegen Achterbahn der Gefühle und so.. 😅🤣

Ich weiß noch, wie ich Freitag im Park saß und ein Kapitel gelesen habe mit Tae und ich hab so gehofft, er würde endlich OC sagen, wer er wirklich ist. War kurz davor, meinen E Reader durch die Gegend zu werfen 🤣😅

Dann hab ich das Kapitel gelesen, wo Taehyung sein wahres Ich gezeigt hat und ich bin erstmal heim um dort weiter zu lesen, weil ich leichte creeps bekam das so allein in nem Park zu lesen..😅

Beim Ende hab ich mir wirklich gedacht, dass du mich ordentlich an den Eierstöcken packen und mich zum weinen bringen willst - hat nicht ganz so geklappt. Bin ich auch froh drum, weil ich nicht schon wieder wegen fiktiven Charakteren weinen will🙄🧍🏼‍♀️

Teilweise war ich so 👁️👄👁️ beim Lesen, wusste nicht, wie mir überhaupt geschieht...

Puh, ich brauch erstmal n Moment, bevor ich das neue Kapitel lese, was du gestern hochgeladen hast. Ich bin so durch, ich weiß nicht mal mehr, wie es heißt😃

Und ja, was soll ich sagen?

Die zwei Kapitel waren... Wild...

Aber Hobi war definitiv mein absoluter Liebling in deinem Buch. An dem kommt keiner ran, auch wenn er mir am Anfang mit seinem "Funky" mega auf den Zeiger ging.

So, ich bin dann erstmal weg, muss ins Leere schauen und das alles verarbeiten😅🧍🏼‍♀️

Damn bro 1644 Seiten jfdfj and I'm doing that shit for free. Ich schwör ich sollt anfangen Geld dafür zu verlangen lmaoao

Aber omfm danke hehe, ich bin so happy dass du die Story so gern magst 🥺 Sanguis Alpha ist mein dearest Kind und die Story bedeuted mir so viel, also ist es immer toll zu hören, dass andere Leute sie genau so gern mögen 🥺

[nighttimescribbles]

Scribs, my love. i am here for the ask game. Can i ask 3, 12 and 45? 🥺👉🏽👈🏽

asdfabsdif tumblr!!!! i was nearly done answering!!!!

anyway. thank you for the questions, dass dearest!

3. Ever done any drugs?

nooooooooo omg. drugs is SUPER illegal in my country. yall have probably heard of our last president and his gung-ho anti-drug policy. it had its ups and downs but mostly it's remembered as bringing on a spate of drug-related/attributed/inspired killings. it even set off an epidemic of assassination of lawyers known to represent run-of-the-mill druggies as well as the bigger names in the drug underworld. one does not want to be IN ANY WAY associated with drugs hereabouts. on an aside, i am working on something inspired by that, tho! 🤞

12. What’s one of your fantasies?

my pet fantasy is being one of those perpetually effortlessly glamorous women who are wined and dined and travelled and absolutely ✨SPOILED✨ by a chunky hunk of a daddy. i think it might be doable, if only i could stop burrowing in the comfort of potato-ing for a hot minute 😬

45. What’s the worst date you’ve ever been on?

OKAY. funny follow-up because i have NEVER istg NOT EVER in my whole life been asked out EVER. i'm told it's because my aura frightens off people, but i like to tell myself it's because the right proper brave daddy hasn't arrived on the scene yet.

come be nosy with us!

[jslittlebirdie]

Meine süße kleine Lady, wo soll ich anfangen, dich zu beschreiben? Ich will ehrlich zu dir sein, ich hätte nie erwartet, dass sich jemand so sehr um mich kümmert wie du. Aber ich weiß es zu schätzen. Auch wenn ich es nicht so oft zeige. Also werde ich dich in meiner Nähe behalten. Du bist zu lustig, um es zu verpassen. Wen soll ich denn sonst ärgern und knuddeln, hm? Was mich daran erinnert - wenn du nach Hause kommst, werde ich hier sein. Und ich werde für dich bereit sein, also lass mich nicht warten hübsches Vögelchen~♡

-J

Oh J? Du schreibst mir wirklich auf Deutsch?🥺 Hast du etwa heimlich geübt?😁💜 Damit hast du mir eine riesige Überraschung und Freude gemacht, mein hübscher Clown!

Natürlich kümmere und sorge ich mich um dich😭😭 Du bedeutest mir so unendlich viel, J. Ich bin mir sicher, dass du die Nase rümpfen wirst, weil es so kitschig ist, aber ich liebe dich aus tiefstem Herzen. Ich hoffe, du weißt das😖💜 Hm... Und außerdem zeigst du es mir öfter, als du vielleicht denkst. Ich kenne dich lange und gut genug, um auf all die kleinen Dinge zu achten, die anderen vielleicht entgehen würden.

Hm, ich danke dir, dass du bei mir bleibst und du es mit mir aushältst🥺 Ich weiß, wie nervig und anstrengend ich manchmal sein kann... Aber lass mich dir sagen, ich... mag deine Witze und Neckereien eigentlich sehr😅 Du bringst mich damit auch an miesen Tagen zum Lächeln und Kichern. Was würde ich nur ohne dich tun? Ich hoffe, dass ich das niemals herausfinden muss... Wir haben uns etwas versprochen, richtig?😭💜

Ich bin jetzt zu Hause und nehme mir den Rest des Tages frei, weil ich zugegebenermaßen ziemlich müde bin. Also würde ich gerne Zeit mit dir verbringen und vielleicht eine von deinen festen Umarmung bekommen und... einen winzigen Kuss😖💜 Könntest du mich bitte einfach für eine Weile in deinen Armen halten? Ich liebe dich so sehr, J.

[ Thank you so much for this incredible message, my dearest friend😭😭 I still can't believe you did this for me🥺 It's perfect and...😖😭💕💕 Like I said, I could actually write a whole essay, but I tried to keep it short. This message is so special and important to me, you have no idea! I love you with all my heart!!!💜💜 ]

[celestiaink]

Oikawa (Jealousy)

English:

Angrily he followed what was happening at the school gate, a few meters in front of him.

His eyes, filled with  raging anger wich was hard to miss.

Oikawa's girlfriend was there with another boy, laughing.

Too familiar for his liking.

He didn't like it at all.

No.

Even worse.

It made him range with jealousy.

How dare the guy even looing at what is his!

He doesn't seriously think he had a chance.

 Does he want to steal his girlfriend?

This thought only increased the anger in Oikawa.

He walked to the two with brisk steps, putting on his innocent mask.

"My dearest," he put his arm around her waist and gripped her tightly.

"Who's your new friend."

Both, the boy and the girl in Oikawa's arms stiffen.

"It is probably time to go. We will see each other for sure."  the troublemaker says his goodbye and leaves.

Oikawa's girlfriend only waved goodbye and also wanted to put some distance to oikawa.

But he had other plans.

With his mask off, he took her chin and forced her to look at him.

"Baby I asked you a question. If you know what is good for you, you better answer me."

German:

Zornig verfolgte er das Geschehen welches sich am Schultor ,einige Meter vor ihm, abspielte. In seinen Augen, war die rasende Wut kaum zu übersehen.

Oikawas Freundin stand dort mit einem anderen Jungen.Lachend. In seinen Augen viel zu vertraut. Er mochte es gar nicht. Nein. Noch schlimmer. Es machte ihn rasend vor Eifersucht. Wie konnte der typ es wagen, seine Versprochene überhaupt anzusehen! Er denkt doch nicht ernsthaft, dass er eine Chance hatte. Oder? 

Will er ihm die Freundin ausspannen?

Dieser Gedanke ließ die Wut in Oikawa nur weiter steigen.

Er ging ,mit zügigen Schritten, zu den beiden und setzte dabei wieder seine unschuldige Maske auf.

"Meine Liebste, " er legte demonstrierend seinen Arm um ihre Taille und packte sie fest.

"Wer ist dein neuer Freund."

Sowohl der Junge als auch das Mädchen in Oikawas Armen versteifen sich.

"Es ist wohl an der Zeit zu gehen. Es hat mich gefreut.  Wir sehen uns bestimmt." Damit verabschiedet sich der Störenfried und ging.

Oikawas Freundin winkte nur zum Abschied und wollte ebenfalls etwas Abstand zu oikawa bringen. Doch der hatte andere Pläne. Seine Maske abgelegen, nahm er ihren Kinn und zwang sie, ihn anzusehen.

" Baby, ich habe dir eine Frage gestellt. Wenn du weißt was gut für dich ist, antwortest du mir besser."

[hanhan156]

Epilogue: Insomnia

I wasn’t really inspired by continuing Halloween fics (tbh, I think I’m not gonna finish those all by October because I’d prefer to make something I like to publishing something shitty everyday) today, so instead, I finished the next Stadium fic which has been in progress for way too long.

It’s an epilogue for the last chapter, and this time, from Richard’s POV with a nice flashback scene included. ^^

Epilogue: Insomnia

The petite figure was merging with the dark night and even though he tried his best, Richard couldn’t take his eyes off from the gorgeous silhouette - the one which had become so familiar over 25 years of knowing each other. After today’s unpredictable incidents though, Richard felt like he was looking at his old friend with brand new eyes - with a kind of vague yearning both in his heart and in his soul. The emotion made familiar lyrics to loop in his head:

Sehnsucht versteckt,

sich wie ein Insekt.

Im Schlafe merkst du nicht,

dass es dich sticht.

It was like an insect indeed - like an annoying, itching feeling inside he couldn’t shake off.

Sehsucht ist so grausam.

Richard could only wonder what was Paul now thinking of him - had he gone too far? He hoped they could talk all of this over as soon as possible. Sooner or later, he was sure that the uncertainty would make him crazy if he wouldn’t do anything about it.

Awoken from his thoughts by Paul’s waving and then making his way to the backyard, Richard knew he had to leave as well. It was indeed a bit weird to stalk his bandmate from the car at midnight, even though how pleasant it had been. For a second, Richard had considered that should he follow Paul and ask still the one last time what was going on. His friend hadn’t been behaving like himself at all even though he had been assuring that everything was fine. These moments, Richard hoped to have the superpower to read minds. It would have made the situation way less complicated and wouldn’t have left him with all the questions.  

The journey back home went on automation - even if there would have been police on the road, Richard wouldn’t have noticed anything. So many thoughts and concerns were revolving around his head that it was difficult to focus on anything that was going on outside.

Richard collapsed on the sofa with a huge sigh when he had finally reached his destination. His eyes were heavy as lead, but he couldn’t fall asleep. Instead, he tried his best to keep himself busy by putting the tv on maximum volume and lighting up probably the millionth cigarette today. Luckily, there was nobody complaining about smoking inside now.

A lady on the tv’s reality show was weeping when she had been voted out from his team, but Richard didn’t get what was going on in the mindless program even though his eyes were fixed on the screen.

Oh, Paul Landers, you sweet, sweet man, what have you done to me?

He tried to make sense of his feelings: what on earth had actually happened today? Of course, he knew the script very well: they had agreed to make this one little kiss on the stage, meant to be an innocent act. He and Paul were at first pretending it was nothing, no big deal - hell’s, they had performed embarrassing and awkward stuff together several times before. In the end, it had taken forever, and finally, when they’d had the courage to actually make it happen, Paul had fainted. Richard didn’t like that something he’d done had made his friend to feel sick.

Richard had been scared to death - in the worst scenarios in his mind he had thought that Paul wouldn’t have woken up anymore or would have had amnesia. What a nice start for a tour it would have been.

Holy shit.

And even more disturbingly, even though how sorry he was for Paul, he didn’t want to admit how much he had enjoyed the situation. Like a lively gif image, Paul with raised eyebrows, lurking him in, was looping in his already way too messed head. Richard had been sober as a judge the whole day, but still, a dizzy feeling was distracting him constantly - like he’d been drinking nonstop for a week and didn’t really know what was going on anymore. How could he make this to stop? Could he live his normal life, to proceed with their band and their tour, when he was having painfully strong feelings like this?

What if he hates me for the rest of his life because of this? At least he talked with me afterward, but what if he was just pretending, just being polite? Have I ruined everything now?

Nothing made sense anymore.

Despite all of this vague mess, from one thing Richard was completely sure: that thing which was painful to admit, yet so self-evident. It had been clear as a day for a long time, but he had tried to push the feeling away. So far, he had managed pretty well, but something about today had revealed it once again.

Love. The sweetest, yet the most hurtful word known in mankind - and he had been in love for so long now that it almost hurt physically.

The target of his desperate love wasn’t the easiest one indeed: his long-time friend, colleague and almost like a brother, their relationship slowly, but steadily developing and changing. Richard had tried to avoid thinking about it too much - he was totally sure that Paul wasn’t interested in him in that kind of way and their semi-romantic moments had been just playing in his friend’s opinion. Because Richard had always been a person who wasn’t ashamed of physical proximation - Till was still reminding him occasionally from that interview in which he’d hugged the poor girl when she had asked how Germans express their feelings - he had so far managed to use the trait as his excuse when something he’d done had raised questions.

But, of course, he couldn’t keep lying forever - neither to himself nor to others. Richard was totally sure that their bandmates - especially Till, whose eagle eye didn’t seem to miss anything - had started to suspect that there was something going on between the two guitarists.

Richard wrapped himself tightly in a blanket. He wished he would have been a chameleon and could blend into the sofa material - disappear from this planet and from all the conflicting human behavior and feelings.

He closed his eyes and tried - almost forced himself - to think about anything else, but the only thing that came to his mind was Paul.

P-A-U-L

A simple word, with four letters, but yet, the word which was capable of doing nasty things inside him. The word which had been the theme of his way too lively, even sensual, daydreams.

Sigh. Paul was so close to him, yet unreachable.

While being in a dream-like state, random memories and thoughts about his dearest bandmate looping on, the cinema of his mind sent him suddenly back to the early 90’s - back to the very first moment which had led to this eventually. At least it was something else than Paul with a kissing face, thank God.

The slightly moldy scent of their rehearsal room in the basement was still so vivid, even though it was already decades from that fateful night when Paul Landers had stepped into Richard Kruspe’s life.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Richard snorted. “Where on earth is this ‘second guitarist’ of yours you promised? It seems like he’s only in your imagination.”

“He promised to come, so we’ll wait,” Till said, trying to calm their edgy guitarist down.

They had been expecting the possible new player to show up at 6 pm - the clock on the wall showed it was 6:30 already. The lingering was especially difficult for Richard who had already earned his reputation of being an exaggeratedly strict and punctual person. “A perfectionist, straight from the infernal flames of Hell,” like Schneider had described.

“Flake knows the guy from their earlier band, and he assured he’s gonna be trustworthy,” Till said and was about to continue while the keyboardist shouted behind him: “He’s just really bad with schedules. I know him, he’s a gifted musician and a nice person. We should give him a chance. Let’s don’t judge him by this, ok?”

But Richard wasn’t convinced. He was always uncertain about meeting new people - he thought they could be a threat to him. “You really think so?”

“Let’s just be patient. I’m sure he has a good explanation for the delay,” Flake replied. He didn’t want to start an argument now.

“And why do we need a second guitarist anyway?” In Richard’s nightmares, the new guy would take his place and act as a bandleader - or even worse, be more gorgeous than him.

As usually, Schneider started to get annoyed at their guitarist. “You know very well that our riffs are so plain that we need something more. And, it’s always nice to have a new perspective as well. I agree with Till and Flake, we should wait and see who this guy is. If we don’t get along, we can dump him and that’s it. Not necessary to make so much drama out of this.”

The percussionist’s straightforward style of expressing opinions was unbearable for Richard. Till had joked that they often resembled two roosters having a fierce cockfight when they were arguing over which one of them was right.

“…you claim that I’m the one making drama?” the guitarist lashed out and approached Schneider, leering him. Every single time that particular gaze made the drummer uncomfortable. “Last time when I checked, it was this guy, who we don’t even know yet, who hadn’t kept his promise, so piss off for accusing me!”

“W…hat?” Schneider was so shocked about the insult that he froze for a moment.

When he had finally gathered his thoughts and was about to say something against, the guitarist was quicker and announced: “Screw this, I’m gonna have a smoke. Please let me know when this imaginative creature comes. If he doesn’t appear, I’m going home. I have more important things to do than to wait for him ‘til the end of the world.”

At the same time, while Richard was yelling, Schneider’s mom arrived with a bunch of freshly made sandwiches and beercans in her hands. She startled when they almost bumped into each other with the guitarist who was rushing outside.

“Hallo, wie geht es dir?” she asked with a sweet voice when she stood in the middle of their basement, now changed into her son’s and his friends’ rehearsal room.

“Gut, gut…we are Mama quite busy here now…”

Even though they all were adults already, Herr and Frau Schneider wanted to treat their son’s friends as a part of the family. The drummer thought it was embarrassing while the rest accepted offered food and drinks with pleasure - none of them showered in money, so they welcomed all free stuff they could get.

But Richard wasn’t interested in snacks now. He preferred to pout alone, enjoying his smoking moment.

The guitarist had pondered the band’s future quite a lot. Even though it seemed pretty promising, he doubted it now and then. Did this make any sense at all? Everyone around him had all of his life claimed that he should get a degree and get a real job - get a normal, adult life. He should take his head out of the clouds and be responsible. In a weak moment, when nothing had seemed to work out in his life, he’d been convinced that maybe he’d really been wrong. Maybe he should try this “adult life” thing. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. Not his dream, but a way to adapt to society, to make himself accepted - the first time in his life.

But all those doubts had vanished into thin air when he met Till Lindemann - a sensitive poet, who seemed to understand him completely even though they were so different as persons. What had brought them together were the crazy visions, the lust for life: the lust for being an artist and not to give a shit about what the others were thinking.

Richard knew in his heart his real dream: to express himself and to be respected by what he was doing. For Christ’s sake, life was too short not to be lived to the fullest, and music, that was his whole life. It was the torch of creativity he had to feed regularly - otherwise, he would slowly and painfully perish.

He sighed and looked at the sky, trying to blink back tears. The last thing he wanted now was to weep like a baby.

The sensitive thoughts didn’t have a chance to last for long though because they were interrupted by a distant, loud rattle - it sounded like somebody had made an orchestra out of pots and pans. Richard was sure it was the neighbor’s kids goofing around and didn’t mind about it so much at first.

But the noise kept getting closer and closer to the house - seemed like kids couldn’t have been blamed for it anymore.

Richard rubbed his eyes. What in God’s name is it?

The question got its answer in a minute when Richard saw a small cycling figure approaching the house with a huge guitar bag.

The figure - now Richard could see it was a blond man, probably around his age - stopped and so did the cacophony. “Is this…Christoph Schneider’s house?” he asked, still panting from the cycling.

“Yes.”

The incognito man smiled so brightly that it almost seemed like the whole dark street was suddenly lighted up. “Wunderbar! So umm, this band about Stein…something is rehearsing here, am I right?”

“Rammstein, yes.”

“Then I’m in the right place! And I’m terribly sorry I’m late, there was a huge traffic jam and I got stuck. Also, I didn’t realize this place was on the other side of the city.”

Richard didn’t reply anything - he kept staring at the distance, busy with smoking. Seemed like their new guitarist had finally appeared. He wasn’t sure, was he ready for this.

The guy left his wrecked bicycle - Richard could only wonder, what kind of torture the poor vehicle had been going through - in front of the house and with his guitar bag, came back to the other man. “So, we finally meet, I’ve been looking forward to this! Flake has told me so much about the new band project of yours. I’m Paul Landers,” he said and offered his hand.

But Richard acted like he had forgotten completely how human interactions worked. “Let’s go inside,” he answered nonchalantly to the other man’s friendly gesture. Paul almost had to run to keep up with his pace.

Finally, they both were in the basement and when Schneider’s mom saw there was a new guest in their house, she hurried to get a sandwich and a beer for Paul as well.

All of the band - except for Richard, who was still acting grumpy - greeted the new musician and with Flake, they hugged: it was nice to reunite after playing in the same band for so long.

“Okay, so what kind of music do you guys play?” Paul asked while munching his bread.

“It’s a bit difficult to explain. Maybe we’ll just play something and you’ll make your own opinion,” Flake answered.

“Do you want to hear the lyrics first?” Till asked.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, we have one completed song and it’s called Herzeleid.” Till looked at their possible new guitarist’s curious face and continued: “The other guys composed and arranged it and I wrote the text. Let us know what you think of it and please be straightforward, if it’s completely Scheisse.”

He cleared his throat and started to read the text out loud:

“Bewartet einander vor Herzeleid,

denn kurz ist die Zeit die ihr beisammen seid.

Denn wenn euch auch viele Jahre vereinen,

einst werden sie wie Minuten euch scheinen.

Herzeleid

Bewahret einander vor der Zweisamkeit.”

When Till had finished his recitation, nobody said anything for a while. The singer got a bit uneasy. “Yeah, well…I know the lyrics are a bit cheesy, I’m not sure from where they actually came from…” He knew very well that the text told about his own recent painful break-up, but he didn’t want to open up about his love life now.

Paul stood up and gave Till the brightest smile possible. “No need to worry, it was beautiful! Very heartbreaking and melancholic. You truly are a talented writer.”

Till wasn’t sure was the new guy flattering or did he really mean what he said. “Danke…”

“I’m curious to hear the whole song while already the lyrics sound so awesome.”

Richard was in a mood for challenging. “We are here to play so just grab your guitar and start.”

Paul took the last sip from his beer and said: “Yeah, sure, but can I get the chords or some kind of instructions? And is there a second amplifier somewhere? I couldn’t take mine on my bike.”

He expected to get at least some guidance, but to his surprise, there was none - Richard just started playing the heavy riff without even bothering to look at their new possible bandmember.

Okay, did I say something wrong, or is this how this band usually works? Well, if I want to be in, I just have to adapt, Paul thought, and with Flake’s help, got another, smaller amplifier. He tried his best to mimic the chords by ear and occasionally trying to stalk the lead guitarist - it was quite impossible though when he seemed to have turned his back from Paul on purpose.

Even though with all his best effort, Paul could hear he sounded like absolute bullshit. His precious instrument had turned into a torture machine - he could have never imagined he could create discords so horrible.

When the song ended he didn’t dare to look at anyone - maybe they had supposed that he would have had a perfect pitch and were now disappointed. He’d made them wait and it had ended up being a failure.

Scheisse.

Paul thought that maybe it would be best if he’d pack his things up and leave without saying anything. The cocky guitarist of this band seemed like he knew what he was doing so why he should be bothered any longer.

Till came next to the new player when he saw that he was visibly disappointed. “Es tut mir leid, Reesh isn’t the easiest person to deal with, he takes this band death seriously. It’s nothing personal against you,” the singer whispered so quietly that Richard couldn’t hear.

But Paul wasn’t convinced of the soothing words and continued with his packing. “C’mon, you have to admit that I sounded like shit.” He stopped for a while and nodded towards the lead guitarist. “I can see from his face that he’s unsatisfied. He probably hates me already. Maybe it’s better that I leave and you continue while you still have a good start here.”

Till tried his best to be supportive and explained: “None of us is a professional musician, so no worries. You at least tried your best. The only problem was that our little diva didn’t bother to tell you that the song is in drop D tuning. Let’s try again.” He squeezed the new player’s shoulder gently like begging him to stay with them.

Paul sighed. “Okay, one more time then.” Even though he was disappointed to himself he had an instinct that he should give it a try.

He grabbed his guitar back from the floor. “Let’s play.”

He didn’t know at that moment that the decision changed the band’s path completely.

After the surprisingly successful band practice, everybody had left except for the two guitarists who were having the last smokes before heading home.

“I really like what you have here. It seems promising and I’m more than happy to be a part of it. I can only imagine what we will achieve together.” He didn’t think that the band would get very popular - it was technically impossible to be world-famous with dark German lyrics and simple, aggressive riffs. At least he hoped they could record some albums and have small tours around Germany. To have fun and create art with a bunch of guys who seemed quite nice already.

To his utter surprise, the other man said unexpectedly: “I have to admit that you weren’t so bad at all in the end.”

“R-really?” Paul didn’t know his fellow guitarist so well yet, but he seemed very picky. Even this small kind of compliment must have been a huge thing from him.

Richard nodded. “After you figured the song out, you played just fine. I’m looking forward to what we can achieve together as well.” He turned and the first time that night looked at Paul straight in the eyes. “You passed the test. Welcome to the band.”

The target of the small compliment tried to act as casual as he could even though his heart started pounding disturbingly rapidly. He didn’t have any clue what this “test” he had just passed was, but it sounded nice to hear he had succeeded.

Paul cleared his throat and said: “One thing bothers me still though.” He came a bit closer and continued: “We didn’t say hi properly and actually, I haven’t even heard your whole name yet.”

Richard stared at the offered hand for a while, but finally - to Paul’s surprise and relief - he took it. “Richard.”

Paul couldn’t hide his smirking - the other man had announced his name so comically officially like he would have been the most important person walking on this earth. “Richard, who exactly?”

“C’mon, do you now want my social security number as well or what? Very well then, it’s 705…”

“What on earth you think I’d do with your social security number?” Paul interrupted even though he had to admit that he liked the new acquaintance's sarcastic sense of humor already. “Just that it would be nice to know the full name of the guy, whose band I’m apparently in now.”

Richard straightened his back and with another firm handshake, announced: “Richard Zven Kruspe, nice to meet you.”

“Paul Heiko Landers, pleased to meet you too.”

Richard knew from that moment he would never forget the name - the bond had been formed for eternity on that fateful night.

He sighed. Till death do us part, mein Paulchen.

[thatswhywelovegermany]

The two preserved pages of Hildebrand’s Lay,

one of the oldest texts in German, which are stored at Murhard’sche Bibliothek in Kassel. Written in the 830s at the monastery of Fulda onto blank pages of an 820s codex, the story breaks off well befort its end, leaving speculation that that a third page once existed.

Old High German original:

Ik gıhorta dat ſeggen

dat ſih urhettun ænon muotın •

hıltıbrant entı hadubrant untar herıun tuem •

ſunu fatarungo • ıro ſaro rıhtun •

garutun ſe ıro gudhamun • gurtun ſih • ıro • ſuert ana •

helıdoſ ubar rınga do ſie to dero hıltu rıtun •

hıltıbrant gımahalta herıbranteſ ſunu • her uuaſ heroro man

feraheſ frotoro • her fragen gıſtuont

fohem uuortum • ƿer ſin fater ƿarı

fıreo ın folche … •

eddo ƿelıhheſ cnuoſleſ du ſiſ •

ıbu du mı enan ſageſ ık mı de odre uuet

chınd ın chunıncrıche • chud ıſt mın al ırmındeot •

hadubrant gımahalta hıltıbranteſ ſunu •

dat ſagetun mı uſere lıutı

alte antı frote dea erhına ƿarun •

dat hıltıbrant hættı mın fater • ıh heıttu hadubrant •

forn her oſtar gıhueıt floh her otachreſ nıd

hına mıtı theotrıhhe entı ſinero degano fılu •

her fur laet ın lante luttıla ſitten

prut ın bure barn unƿahſan

arbeo laoſa • her raet oſtar hına

deſ ſid detrıhhe darba gıſtuontum

fatereſ mıneſ • dat uuaſ ſo frıuntlaoſ man

her ƿaſ otachre ummet tırrı

degano dechıſto untı deotrıchhe

darba gıſtontun her ƿaſ eo folcheſ at ente ımo ƿaſ eo peh&a tı leop •

chud uuaſ her … • chonnem mannum

nı ƿanıu ıh ıu lıb habbe … •

ƿettu ırmıngot quad hıltıbrant obana ab hevane

dat du neo dana halt mıt ſuſ ſippan man

dınc nı gıleıtoſ … •

ƿant her do ar arme ƿuntane bauga

cheıſurıngu gıtan • ſo ımo ſe der chunıng gap

huneo truhtın • dat ıh dır ıt nu bı huldı gıbu •

hadubrant gımahalta hıltıbranteſ ſunu •

mıt geru ſcal man geba ınfahan

ort ƿıdar orte … •

du bıſt dır alter hun ummet ſpaher

ſpenıſ mıh mıt dınem ƿuortun ƿılı mıh dınu ſperu ƿerpan •

pıſt alſo gıalt& man ſo du eƿın ınƿıt fortoſ •

dat ſagetun mı ſeolıdante

ƿeſtar ubar ƿentılſeo dat ınan ƿıc furnam •

tot ıſt hıltıbrant herıbranteſ ſuno •

hıltıbrant gımahalta herıbranteſ ſuno •

ƿela gıſihu ıh ın dınem hruſtım

dat du habeſ heme herron goten

dat du noh bı deſemo rıche reccheo nı ƿurtı •

ƿelaga nu ƿaltant got quad hıltıbrant ƿeƿurt ſkıhıt •

ıh ƿallota ſumaro entı ƿıntro ſehſtıc ur lante •

dar man mıh eo ſcerıta ın folc ſceotantero

ſo man mır at burc enıgeru • banun nı gıfaſta •

nu ſcal mıh ſuaſat chınd • ſuertu hauƿan

breton mıt ſinu bıllıu eddo ıh ımo tı banın ƿerdan •

doh maht du nu aodlıhho ıbu dır dın ellen taoc •

ın ſuſ heremo man hruſtı gıƿınnan

rauba bıhrahanen • ıbu du dar enıc reht habeſ •

der ſi doh nu argoſto quad hıltıbrant oſtar lıuto

der dır nu ƿıgeſ ƿarne nu dıh eſ ſo ƿel luſtıt •

gudea gımeınun nıuſe de mottı •

ƿerdar ſih hıutu dero hregılo rumen muottı •

erdo deſero brunnono bedero uualtan •

do lettun ſe ærıſt aſckım ſcrıtan

ſcarpen ſcurım dat ın dem ſcıltım ſtont •

do ſtoptun to ſamane ſtaım bort chludun •

heƿun harmlıcco huıtte ſcıltı •

untı ımo ıro lıntun luttılo ƿurtun •

gıƿıgan mıtı ƿabnum …

High German translation:

Ich hörte das sagen,

dass sich als Herausforderer einzeln mühten:

Hildebrand und Hadubrand zwischen zwei Heeren.

Sohn und Vater richteten ihre Rüstung,

strafften ihre Kampfgewänder, gürteten sich ihre Schwerter um,

die Helden, über die Rüstung, als sie zu dem Kampf ritten.

Hildebrand sagte, Heribrands Sohn, er war der ältere Mann,

des Lebens erfahrener, er begann zu fragen,

mit wenigen Worten, wer sein Vater gewesen sei

unter den Menschen im Volke...

"...oder aus welchem Volke du bist

wenn Du mir einen nennst, kenne ich die anderen

Menschen im Reich, bekannt ist mir die ganze Menschheit".

Hadubrand sagte, Hildebrands Sohn:

"Das sagten mir unsere Leute,

alte und weise, die früher schon da lebten,

dass Hildebrand mein Vater heiße, ich heiße Hadubrand.

Vormals ist er nach Osten geritten, er floh den Zorn Odoakers,

dorthin mit Dietrich und vielen seiner Kämpfer.

Er ließ im Lande arm zurück

die Frau in der Hütte und den unerwachsenen Sohn

erbelos: Er ritt nach Osten hin.

Deswegen erlitt seither Dietrich die Abwesenheit

meines Vaters: Der war ein so freundloser Mann.

Er zürnte Odoaker unmäßig,

der liebste der Kämpfer Dietrichs.

Er war immer an der Spitze des Heeres, ihm war immer der Kampf zu lieb,

Bekannt war er...den Tapfersten.

Ich glaube nicht, daß er noch lebt..."

"Weißt Du Gott", sprach Hildebrand, "oben vom Himmel,

daß du niemals solchermaßen verwandte

Männer in eine Angelegenheit hast geraten lassen!"

Er wand sich dann von den Armen gewundene Ringe ab,

aus kaiserlichem Gold gemacht, wie sie ihm der König gab,

der Herrscher der Hunnen. "Das gebe ich dir nun aus Freundschaft!"

Hadubrant, Hildebrands Sohn, sagte:

"Mit dem Speer soll man Geschenke annehmen,

Spitze gegen Spitze!

Du dünkst dich, alter Hunne, unmäßig schlau.

Verlockst mich mit deinen Worten, willst deinen Speer nach mir werfen.

Du bist ein so alter Mann, wie du ewig Betrug im Sinn hast.

Das sagten mir Seeleute,

westlich über dem Ozean, dass ihn ein Kampf hinnahm:

Tot ist Hildebrand, Heribrands Sohn!"

Hildebrand, Heribrands Sohn, sagte:

"Wohl sehe ich an deiner Rüstung,

daß du daheim einen guten Herrn hast,

daß du in diesem Reich noch nie vertrieben wurdest.

Wohlan, nun walte Gott, sagte Hildebrand, Unheil geschieht:

Ich wanderte 60 Sommer und Winter außer Landes;

wo man mich immer in das Heer der Kämpfer einordnete.

Wenn man mir an jedweder Burg den Tod nicht beibringen konnte:

Nun soll mich das eigene Kind mit dem Schwerte schlagen,

niederschmettern mit der Klinge, oder aber ich werde ihm zum Töter.

Du kannst wohl leicht -wenn deine Kraft (dir) ausreicht-

von einem so alten Mann eine Rüstung gewinnen,

Beute rauben, wenn Du da irgendein Recht hast.

Der sei doch nun der feigste, sagte Hildebrand, von den Ostleuten,

der dir nun den Kampf verweigerte, wo es dich doch so sehr gelüstet,

nach gemeinsamem Kampf; (nun) versuche wer mag,

wer von beiden heute das Gewand lassen muß

und dieser Brünnen beider walten (wird)."

Dann ließen sie zuerst die Eschenlanzen bersten

in scharfem Kampf, daß sie in den Schilden steckten.

Da ritten sie gegeneinander, spalteten farbige Schilde,

schlugen gefährlich auf weiße Schilde,

bis ihnen ihre Lindenschilde zu Bruch gingen,

zerstört von den Waffen...

English translation:

I heard say

that as single challengers fought:

Hildebrand and Hadubrand between two hosts.

Son and father brought their armor in order,

straightened their battle garments, girded their swords,

the heroes, over the armor when they were riding to battle.

Hildebrand said, Heribrand’s son, he was the older man,

more experienced in life, he began to ask,

with few words, who was his father

among the people of the nation...

"...or from which kin you are

if you can tell me one, I know the other

people in the country, the entire mankind is known to me".

Hadubrand said, Hildebrand’s son:

"That told me our people,

old and wise ones, which were living there in former times,

that my father is called Hildebrand, my name is Hadubrand.

Once he was riding towards the east, fleeing from Odoaker’s wrath,

there with Dietrich and many of his fighters.

He miserably left behind in the country

the wife in the cottage and the juvenile son

without heritage: He was riding towards the east.

Thus Dietrich suffered from the absence

of my father: He was a friendless man.

He intemperately raged against Odoaker,

the dearest fighter of Dietrich.

He was always at the front of the host, he loved fighting too much,

he was known... to the bravest.

I do not believe that he is still alive..."

"This may witness God", said Hildebrand, "from heaven above,

that you have never let men of such kin

in such an affair!"

He then wound off spiral rings from his arms,

made from imperial gold, which were given to him by the king,

the ruler of the Huns. "I am giving you that for friendship’s sake!"

Hadubrand, Hildebrands son, said:

"You shall receive gifts with the spear,

point against point!

You think you are mighty clever, old Hun.

You tempt me with your words, want to throw your spear after me.

Your are such an old man like you always have deceit in your mind.

The sailors told me,

westwards over the ocean that a battle took him away:

Hildebrand, Heribrand’s son, is dead!"

Hildebrand, Heribrand’s son, said:

"I clearly see by your armor,

that you have a good master at home,

that you were never expelled from this country.

Well then, amen to God, said Hildebrand, disasters happen:

I was wandering for 60 summers and winters abroad;

wherever they set me into the host of fighters.

If they could never kill me at any castle:

Now my own child shall beat me with the sword,

smash me with the blade, or else I will become his killer.

You may easily -if your power suffices-

win the armor of such an old man,

heist prey if you have any right on it.

The biggest coward would be, said Hildebrand, of the eastern people,

who would deny you the fight when you are longing so much for it,

for mutual battle; now try who may,

who has to leave the garment today

and who will possess both of these byrnies"

Then they let first burst their ashen lances

in strong fight that they remained sticking in the shields.

Then they were riding against each other, cleaved coloured shields,

dangerously bashing white shields,

until their limewood shields got broken,

destroyed by the weapons...

Here is a reading of the Old High German original, alongside with more information about the history and linguistics of the text and a reconstructed version of the presumptive Langobardic original

[theadmiringbog]

I have had a spiritual mentor named Bonnie for three decades now, who loves me and trusts God and Goodness so crazily that I sometimes think of her as Horrible Bonnie, because I cannot get her to judge me or abandon hope. For thirty years, she has answered all of my distressed or deeply annoyed phone calls by saying, “Hello, Dearest. I’m so glad it’s you!” I’ve come to believe that this is how God feels when I pray.

--

I have just always found it extremely hard to be here, on this side of eternity, because of, well, other people; and death.                

--

People who seem to have it more or less together are more like the rest of us than you would believe. I try not to compare my insides to their outsides, because this makes me much worse than I already am, and if I get to know them, they turn out to have plenty of irritability and shadow of their own. Besides, those few people who aren’t a mess are probably good for about twenty minutes of dinner conversation.                

--

This is good news, that almost everyone is petty, narcissistic, secretly insecure, and in it for themselves, because a few of the funny ones may actually long to be friends with you and me. They can be real with us, the greatest relief.                

--

My partner says joy and curiosity are the same thing.                

--

To forgive yourselves and others constantly is necessary. Not only is everyone screwed up, but everyone screws up.                

--

Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you.                

--

Now I’ve got them where I want them—paying attention is ninety percent of writing.

--

When my older brother’s fourth-grade term paper on birds was due the next day and he hadn’t started, my dad sat him down with his Audubon books, paper, and pencils. My brother was in tears. Dad said to him, “Just take it bird by bird, buddy.”                

--

I want to tell them to savor and delight in everything they write from now until junior high, because after sixth grade they will never think they are any good at anything. It’s never, ever, ever good enough until you learn it’s good enough. 

You need to reestablish the purpose of writing. 

If it’s fame, money, or power, you’re doomed. One friend, the loveliest, dearest man you can imagine, thirty years clean and sober, happily married, won an Oscar for a song he wrote—among the greatest achievements for a songwriter. And it bought him one day. One day of self-esteem and satisfaction.                 

If it’s creative release, or you have a story to tell, or if you’ve just always wanted to write a novel, or you just love to write, the way other people like to garden, you’re good.                

--

Writers save the world—or at any rate, they saved me and everyone I’m close to.                 

They helped me laugh about terrifying and isolating things, and made me question my very reason for existence, as well as my fears, prejudices, and illusions. They helped free me from hubris, and thus tunnel vision. They helped heal my pain, in giving me people I recognized, humans as screwed up and narcissistic and dear as I was, whom I was able to respect and enjoy, who had scary and/or profound experiences and discovered courage and grace that maybe I could find, too.                

--

When all is said and done, we are all just walking each other home.    

Ram Dass            

To paraphrase Paul Tillich, the opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty.    

--

My therapist said starving and dieting are like putting ice cream on a leg wound. I said that ice cream would feel cool and numbing. She said yes and then it would melt. So what wouldn’t melt?                

--

My younger brother and I were raised to be perfectionists, which meant that if you somehow, against all odds, managed to finally do something perfectly, you beat yourself up for not having been able to do it years before.                

--

Empathy, a moment’s compassion, seeing that everyone has equal value, even people who have behaved badly, is as magnetic a force as gratitude. It draws people to us, thus giving us the capacity to practice receiving love, the scariest thing of all, and to experience the curiosity of a child.                

--

Science, art, community, and nature make manifest that bad will or mistakes can lead to progress, like Bob Ross on his show The Joy of Painting reminding us that when we make big mistakes on canvas, we can turn them into birds—“Yeah, they’re birds now!”                

--

“You must go on, I can’t go on, I’ll go on.”

Samuel Beckett

[why-d-we-blog]

15 Moments To Remember From Bewafa Shayari

There are a ton of occasions when judges have cited messages as Urdu couplets, works of Shakespeare, George Eliot and even verses by Sway Dylan while conveying judgments. Read More Shayari on Bewafa

Marte hain aarzoo mein marne ki, Maut aati hai standard nahin aati (One kicks the bucket yearning for death however passing, in spite of being near, is tricky).

 Equity Markandey Katju cited these well known lines by the eighteenth century writer Mirza Ghalib while conveying judgment in the Aruna Shanbaug leniency slaughtering case. Shanbaug, a medical caretaker at Mumbai's Above all else Edward Remembrance Healing center who was sexually struck in 1973 by a doctor's facility staff, had been in a vegetative state for a long time. A troublesome case to deal with, the judgment was striking from numerous points of view. Maybe, to pass on a feeling of torment and anguish Shanbaug experienced every one of these years, Equity Katju relevantly cited Ghalib in his judgment.

 There are a ton of examples when judges have cited messages as Urdu couplets, works of Shakespeare, George Eliot and even verses by Bounce Dylan while conveying judgments.

 In the latest judgment go by the Kerala High Court on February 7, a separated from lady and mother of a five-year-old tyke had recorded an appeal to in court if all else fails after her tyke was taken away by her in-laws in her nonappearance. On closing the issue, Equity Chitambaresh opened the judgment with the verses of a tune from a Tamil motion picture 'Mannan' "Amma endrazhaikatha uyir illaiye Ammavai vanangatha uyir illaiye (There is no life shape which does not require its mom, there is no life frame which does not regard its mom)."

Shayari on Bewafa Ladki in Hindi

previous Boss Equity of India, Equity T.S. Thakur stated, "It isn't such a great amount about the law all things considered. It is about how adequately one can put over a point through the medium of a couplet. That might be from Ghalib or Shakespeare. The inquiry is you can put over a point in the event that you have a fitting couplet from any sonnet or ghazal."

 Judges have a tendency to have an interest for the Urdu dialect and it is typically seen in courts in verbal or composed frame. It is fascinating to take note of that Urdu isn't exclusively found in the middle of judgments, yet there are minutes when a court continuing is started with a Urdu shayari in a trade amongst judges and legal advisors.

 Legal advisor and overseeing accomplice of a law office, Amicus Juris, Saif Mahmood addressed indianexpress.com and gave an occasion of a trade in the court of Equity T.S. Thakur, the then judge of the Delhi High Court, and Najim Waziri, at that point an attorney. After the finish of the issue, Equity Thakur had given the longest date and was ascending for lunch. Be that as it may, Waziri required a shorter date in the issue. Equity Thakur had left the court when Waziri discussed a line of Ghalib – 'Kaun jeeta hai teri zulf ke sar sharpen tak (I'm not going to sit tight that ache for you to react)'.

"Thakur Sir was leaving and he returned to his seat and sat down, he stated, "pehla misra parhiye zara (Read the primary line of couplet please). Furthermore, he recounted 'Aah Ko Chaahiye Ik Umr Asar Sharpen Tak (It sets aside quite a while for the desires of a sweetheart to be recognized by the dearest)'. Equity Thakur was impressed to the point that he gave him a date in the following week," said Mahmood.

 Among the judges, Equity Katju is renowned for making it a point to either open a judgment with a Urdu couplet or state one in the middle of the lines of his judgments. Conveying a judgment on an appeal to recorded by a sibling of one Gopal Dass, who was wrongfully confined by Pakistan in the Lahore Focal correctional facility, Equity Katju began the decision with a couplet by Faiz Ahmed Faiz – Qafas udaas hai yaaron sabaa se kuch to kaho, Kaheen toh beher-e-khuda aaj zikr-e-yaar chale.

 "Law is such a dry subject. As a general rule, even the general population imagines judges and legal counselors and the whole framework as done and tidied individuals who are simply sitting over a platform. In the event that you are absent in court and in the event that you simply read a judgment, you will feel this individual is so cool and doesn't have feelings. So now and again to convey you closer to humankind, to make that feeling of empathy, it may be a smart thought to not simply cite a couplet but rather to cite whatever you favor," said Mahmood.

Heart Touching Shayari on Bewafa

Equity Thakur trusts Urdu should just be utilized in the event that it is suitable to the circumstance, else it may make superfluous perplexities in the psyche of individuals. "Couplets can be translated contrastingly by various individuals. Ghalib ka ek sher hai, Na tha kuch toh Khuda tha, kuch na hota toh Khuda hota; Duboya mujhko sharpen ne, na hota primary toh kya hota? This is a philosophical sort of a couplet. Philosophical as in it could be translated in various ways. Individuals will comprehend the couplet from an alternate point of view. I was sitting with Katju for quite a while, despite the fact that I know verse, I have never utilized as a part of my judgments," said Equity Thakur.

 Previous Incomparable Court judge Equity Aftab Alam, in any case, isn't supportive of including couplets of any sort in judgments. "In the event that the legal advisors used to contend inanely, I used to doodle Urdu couplets on paper," he said.

 Aside from Urdu couplets, judges join works of productive journalists in their judgments. In 2003, hearing an interest of an attorney over affirmed proficient unfortunate behavior with his customer, the judges included a light diversion in the decision, refering to a line from Shakespeare's Henry VI – "The principal thing we ought to do is given us a chance to kill all the lawyers."Similarly, verses from a Weave Dylan tune highlighted amid the Kerala High Court procedures when Equity Dama Seshadri Naidu cited "The circumstances they are an evolving."

  Breakup Sad Shayari | Bewafa Shayari in hindi