#“when you're born in a burning house you think the whole world's on fire” and all that

[noamuth]

do you believe in love?

die young with no regrets or die old with many regrets?

Dalamus is quiet for a moment before he speaks, apparently choosing his words carefully. "...I believe that 'love' as others describe it does not exist."

"I do not wish to die young, so I suppose dying old is preferable, even with regrets."

[narcjsistx]

— YOUNG TO BE DESTROYED, OLD TO BE SAVED

ও kaiser michael x fem!reader

ও warnings: small age gap between characters (reader 16 and kaiser 17) ; mention of domestic abuse ; mention of attempted suicide ; mention of teen pregnancy ; mention of burns caused by a fire ; mention of a sex scene. nothing is described in detail, but if you think you can't read it don't worry :) stay safe!!. the kaiser at the beginning of the story is the same as the one at the first meeting with ness, without tattoos, the story will also follow them as adults after

ও 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

Sixteen is not the right age to start stealing to survive. If you have to steal to live, it is better to start when you are young, so that you never know the feeling of having a warm house with food always on the table. Starting at sixteen means overturning all the principles that until a minute before had been the pillars of your life, rules that your parents had taught you since your first breath. Stealing is wrong, but dying of hunger is more wrong. You don't have much choice when your parents refuse to look you in the face. Berlin has always been cold, since you were born you never felt the heat of the sun on your skin for more than a few hours. You love Germany but hate the city you live in, which you never had the chance to escape. The last time you tried it got you into this shitty situation you're in now, with the misery all around you

You look up, the light from the distant field lamps faintly illuminating the messy place that has been your new home for weeks now. The sound of the whistle echoes in your ears, as if the soccer field were just a few meters away from you and not at least one kilometer away. You hear the screams of the players, the curses, the laughter, everything that comes out of their mouths as if you were there with them and not lying on a mattress recovered from a bin. You observe their blurry silhouettes, the balls that whizz through the air, all as a silent spectator. They don't know you've been watching them for days, ever since you found this shelter while wandering. It would be weird to know that someone you don't know has been watching you for so long, watching your movements, the way you train and joke with your teammates. Hell, it would be scary for you too to know that they're staring at you from afar. But watching them is the only human contact, if you can call it that, you have with civilization. It seems like the whole world has turned its back on you, but you're not completely homeless. You are, yes. But you get a shower every day thanks to the same players who leave the locker room door open

You've learned some of the names of the players, at least the ones who are most often praised or accused. You still can't tell the difference from their tone of voice. The most called is a certain Grimm, who does nothing but make assists that then take him to the net without a striker who can score. Another who is called often is a certain Alexis, who however seems more useful than the other. You didn't know the rules of soccer, but since you camped here you're suddenly an expert

Your father had shown you some soccer games when you were younger. He didn't like sports, but watching his national team play in anything important was a kind of pride for him, even though he had been beaten up as a child by some kids who were now part of the team. He told this story with a pride that often made you doubt his sanity. When moments like that happened, the house became even quieter than it already was, with you crushed on the couch between the bodies of your parents. The smell of cigars filled the air and the only acceptable noise was that of the television. You didn't enjoy watching the games, but as long as you had the opportunity to go to bed an hour and a half later than usual, you were fine with it. It was kinda a transgression, but you were proud of it

Your father was not a big fan of Bastard Munchen, one of the most exclusive sports clubs in the entire country, if not the most important. Yet for days now you found yourself staring at them, the club's players and their cannon shots on net. This too was a transgression, probably the second most important in your entire life after the suicide mission that was supposed to lead you to run away from home. More than once you had approached the campus, going past the fences less than two meters high. The locker rooms were attached to the fields, you didn't have to go over the fence to enter and use the showers, but curiosity had pushed you to wander a bit through the team's territories. The dormitories were south of the field, the cafeteria connected to them and you counted at least ten fields from the bit you had managed to explore, when no one was around or the team was away for some match. Security was not doing its job as it should have done to protect future German prodigies, and so sneaking into the camp to steal something from the mess bins was quite easy

You didn't go every day, that would have been too dangerous, but every time you went you made sure to take at least a week's worth of supplies. Sometimes the food ran out early, sometimes you didn't get past the fence for two weeks. But now, with your stomach empty for two days, you think it's time to go. You should have done it a few days ago, but due to some stomach pains you couldn't. This had delayed the arrival of the new food and consequently you were on an empty stomach. You have to wait for their workout to finish and maybe go after dinner time, hoping to find something that can ease the pain. They usually never eat much, lucky for you

You wait for the right moment before starting to walk, a ruined sweatshirt that protects you from the cold of the night. You go beyond the fence and hide in the half-light that the dumpsters give you, waiting patiently for the time when you know the maids will throw out the garbage bags. You hear the voices of the women and the players through the open windows, and the familiarity with which everyone seems to be in the canteen environment doesn't particularly affect you. You've never had the chance to experience something like this, a normal dinner with your parents or the simple pleasure of staying home to rest, so you don't know this feeling that was so described in the books you were forced to read. It should be reassuring, but the only reassuring thing you've ever had in your life was a caress years ago that a woman at the supermarket gave you, mistaking you for her niece, who was accidentally next to you

It's cold, but the sweatshirt seems to warm you a little as you rest your chin on your knees, warming your hands with the little warm breath you manage to create. Your stomach is hurting like hell, but the hope of being able to put something under your teeth pushes you to resist, even if the maids are delaying their usual time to put out the garbage bags. You haven't known what time it is for several weeks now, but it's probably well past midnight already and the garbage bags are not yet in the drawers, while you feel like dying. You tremble, trying to make as little noise as possible, because you know that if they discovered you they would call the police. The police have never helped you, and they wouldn't if they found out you were doing something like this. The only solution is to wait and hope you don't die here tonight, even if under current conditions it would be possible. It will probably happen, sooner or later, but you want to hope that later is as far away as possible. You're still too young to go away like this

As you close your eyes, you hear the sound of metal doors slamming. You hear the chatter of women throwing out garbage bags, filling the dumpsters that slam into your face. Blood starts to drip from your nose, but that's not the main problem when the smell of burning meat finally reaches your nostrils. You struggle to wait for the women to come back inside, but as soon as they disappear behind the door, you rush to the dirty bags to open it as if it contained the most beautiful Christmas present in the world. You voraciously start throwing pieces of meat into your mouth, also taking some tomatoes and some yogurt sauce that is stuck to some bitten bread. From the emotion small tears form at the edge of your eyes, but you can't help but let them out as you fill your stomach after days of panic. This is the first time this has happened to you since you became homeless, but it feels so good to finally have a full stomach again

"A dog? A stray dog?"

You freeze when you hear a male voice outside the dumpster. The food gets stuck in your throat, while your agitation starts pumping through your veins again. You tremble uncontrollably, almost unconsciously, as you turn your head towards the presumed voice. There is definitely someone here, and it is a man. You hear footsteps approaching the dumpster you are locked in, and in a last ditch attempt to save your skin you hide under the bags, at the bottom of the metal container. The stench burns your lungs, but you hold your breath while you trying to move as less as possible. If they catch you now, it's over. This is definitely trespassing, and it's punishable by jail time. In prison they would kill you for your weakness, or probably use your body only for personal purposes. Both options would kill you anyway, and you still have so many things to do before you leave this world

A hand slips through the garbage, feeling the bags covering your stomach. You hold your breath, even when the hand accidentally lands on your breast, squeezing it. You feel the hand disappear above the surface, then grab the bags that cover you. You remain paralyzed when not even a bag has the possibility of covering you, thus marking the end of your hiding scene. You no longer feel air in your lungs due to the anxiety of having been discovered, and you look up where the dumpster has its opening: a pale face, vaguely illuminated by the street lamps, appears in front of your vision. You notice a young man, with blond hair and a light red eyeliner, with eyes too blue to be human. Some of his long, messy hair falls onto your face, pinching your face, which is stained with something wet from the garbage. His eyes are a little surprised when he notices you, but he doesn't seem that surprised either. He raises an eyebrow, grabbing his hair and putting it behind his shoulders "What the fuck are you doing here?"

You don't know how to respond, the words that don't want to come out of your mouth and create a remotely convincing excuse. You stammer something, but that only seems to annoy him, as he looks at you questioningly "Are you a woman? I assume... oh. I touched your breasts, earlier. While you were hiding" he says maybe a little guilty, but you wouldn't be able to tell from his confident tone of voice "I thought you were a damn stray dog. Even though it smells the same" he says chuckling, but you don't share his irony while you're still figuring out if he'll call the police or not. He seems to notice your silence, taking your arm to at least make you sit up "I was joking, don't take it personally. Not that I care about your perfume, I don't know you" he says shrugging. He then seems to remember something "Get out of the way. I have to check if they threw away something I need" he says, pushing you aside, picking up a bag and placing it on the floor, disappearing from your view. His attention shifts completely to the object, as he opens it and throws out the waste, swearing something under his breath in a thick Berlin accent

You get down on your knees, resting your hands on the edge of the dumpster as you watch him, still scared "You… you’re not going to call the police?" you ask, stammering, but he huffs, not even turning around "I don’t care. You can just walk away" he says throwing the garbage around him, but suddenly he turns, looking at you in the face "Indeed. Come here, if you don't want me to call it. You have to help me find something" he says smiling victoriously, and you stand up, following his order. He seems satisfied when he sees you at his side "You have to look for the drawing of a blue rose with thorns along the arm. Like... a tattoo sketch" he says looking, and you remain a little perplexed, but you nod. In the middle of the night you start looking for this sketch, an almost holy silence that holds between you. You search without asking questions, without attracting more attention than you already have. You drop your conditions to help this stranger who seems to be able to give you freedom, if you help him. With shaking hands you search for at least ten minutes, until you turn around noticing that he hasn't been searching for a while now, more interested in studying you "How young are you?" he asks bluntly. You press your lips together, moving your gaze back to the envelope, still searching for "Sixteen" you say a little uneasily, but he nods "I'm seventeen" he says confidently

You think the conversation is over, but less than ten minutes later, you feel his eyes burning on you again "Why were you here? I won’t call the police. But answer me" he asks, and you feel a little uncomfortable answering without sounding like a criminal. You think about it a bit before telling the truth, lying to him would make him angry and he might change his mind "I needed food. Opening the bags and eating the scraps was the only option" you say a little embarrassed by your own words, but your words don't seem to surprise him "I understand"

After almost half an hour of searching, a small ketchup-stained piece of paper pops out of the mass. You grab the sketch, handing it to him "Is this?" you ask uncertainly, and he smiles at it "It's this" he says taking it, looking at it proudly. You stand up from the ground as he seems too happy to pay attention to you. You clasp your hands behind your back, looking down. Thanking him would be better, showing respect is always appreciated "Thank you... thank you for not calling the police. I will never come back here again" you say promising something completely false. He looks up, getting back on his feet. Only now do you notice the difference in height between you. He nods, chuckling to himself "At least make promises you know you can keep" he says, but you have already run away behind the fence

Running back to your shelter, you can't help but think that luck has saved you. If he had called the police, you would probably be in a cell in any police station by now, awaiting legal proceedings. Yet you found someone whose only interest was himself and his desperate need to find that drawing. It was probably a staff member or a player, but you're not sure about either possibility. It's enough to know that for tonight you're still alive and with a full stomach. You have taken less food though, which you will probably finish earlier than expected due to your stomach pain. Your return there will be much closer than you want, but as long as you live you're happy. You curl up on the mattress, still chewing a piece of bread. You fall asleep sooner than expected, still thinking about today's luck. When you wake up you notice with regret that it snowed during the night, and that your sweatshirt is completely wet because of the loose flakes on your body

You stand up from your hiding place, looking out at the distant campus now completely covered in snow. You're cold, but your sweatshirt was the only long-sleeved thing you had left. You go back to the hideout, taking off your now completely soaked sweatshirt, remaining in your bra. You light a small fire with some paper, closing the exit of the hideout with the mattress turned over. You pull your legs to your chest to save heat, but the shivers don't seem to go away even as you're about to fall asleep again. The last thing you see before you fall asleep is the calm flame of the fire in front of you. The first thing you see when you wake up is the shelter completely in flames. You wake up because of too much heat on your body, especially concentrated along your left leg, finding yourself surrounded by flames. You regain alertness almost immediately, looking around for an escape route while your heart risks coming out of your rib cage, and the only option seems to be the exit which however is still partially blocked by the burning mattress. You tremble looking for a solution, and the only option seems to be to move the mattress with your bare hands. You take a generous dose of snow that you put on your hands before grabbing the edges of the object to move it

The pain of the flames immediately reaches your hands. You scream in despair, feeling your whole body burning, but you don't let go. You try to move the mattress and only succeed after a few attempts, not daring to look at your hands that you can no longer feel because of the pain. When you finally move the mattress you fall to the ground, onto the cold snow. The cold hits your bare, burned skin, causing a sensation you would compare to the hell your mother said she feared. If this isn't dying, you don't know what is. With your knees planted in the snow you look down just to take a look at the state of your hands, but you are disgusted to see only burned and bloody skin. Looking down you also notice a large burn on your left leg, the same one where the heat was concentrated. You try to calm yourself down with deep sighs, but all you really do is scream at the top of your lungs in pain. You cry as you look at the burns, barely walking away from the shelter that is now completely destroyed. The cold is killing you as is the pain, giving you a headache so bad that you pass out a few meters away from the fence of the Bastard Munchen campus

The last thing you see, blurry, before passing out, are the soccer players training on a nearby field. You're afraid of dying, either from the cold or the pain. Maybe yesterday's luck was just a last favor. Maybe dying young is the only solution, if the pain will stop. You breathe loudly, but your eyes close

The first thing you see when you wake up is snow. You move slightly, brushing away the snow that has fallen on you. You don't know how much time has passed, if even a day, but the sun is setting. You sit up, your head is pounding and a bad general discomfort throughout your body, but the pain has disappeared in all places except those where there are burns. You look at your hands and leg, where scabs now cover the skin: you shiver at the sight of them, but you are alive. Your body is completely frozen and you're still in your bra and pants, but you're alive. You try to stand up, but you fall almost immediately; you try again until you can stand up with some difficulty, but strong enough to walk a few meters. You look at the nearby fence, and turn towards the shelter: now only a pile of black ash covers that area. You almost want to cry, but you're so dehydrated that you don't even have any body water to use. You look around, seeing how the showers aren't that far away: you walk towards them and when you notice that no one is inside, you close the door behind you heavily. You let yourself fall along the metal of the door, feeling the heat of the showers, probably recently used, finally warm you up

You find yourself sitting on the floor, your body warm and your burns a little painful from the sudden heat. You shiver as you stand up, walking towards the showers to turn them on and drink, even though you don't know if your hands still work. You limp to the shower hallway, but are frozen when you find the same blond boy at the end. He turns instinctively when you let out a gasp, and you look into each other's eyes: he seems surprised to see you here, while you're just scared to see him. You remain silent, and only then you realize that he is naked except for a towel covering his lower waist. He seems to notice your eyes moving, but it doesn't seem to bother him "Aren't you cold like this?" he asks casually, but you shiver as you don't know whether to go out and run away or stay here. He raises an eyebrow at your silence, taking a few steps forward while you take a few steps back. Your back hits the wall, and his fingers find their way to your chin, grabbing it to look up at you. You close your eyes, opening them only when you don't notice any annoying hands on your body: you find only his blue eyes staring at you, studying you

"You smell like something's burning" he says, looking you up and down, then focusing on your hands, which he grabs. He deliberately presses his fingers against the scabs, making you scream in pain. He does it again, and you notice a small smile on his face "You have a low pain threshold. You wouldn't resist a tattoo under your eyes" he says proudly, and from your teary eyes you can tell that the red eyeliner he has is actually a tattoo. He chuckles at your confusion, letting go of your hands but not moving away from you "You’re here again, you know it’s forbidden to enter a sports campus? Or did you want help?" he asks, smirking. You avoid his gaze, stammering something "I know it’s forbidden… but… I…" you say, confused, but he shakes his head "It’s okay. I like stray dogs" he says reassuringly, and even though the comparison he just made between you and such dirty animals bothers you, you remain silent. Your silence seems to amuse him, to the point of patting you on the head "Do you want something? I can give it to you, I won't call the police. If you want to take a shower, go ahead, I'll wait here" he says walking away, sitting on the bench in the locker room. You look at him a little perplexed, but you run towards the showers and lock yourself in one, turning on the water. As you wash yourself quickly you hear him humming, and this makes you a little nervous "Are you sure... are you sure you won't call the police?" you ask, rubbing soap on the scabs, which make you grimace in pain "I don't feel like it. I don't particularly like cops" he says, and you breathe a sigh of relief "You don't even like them, do you?" he asks, and you sigh "No..." you say while washing yourself, and your answer amuses him "We have already found something in common between us" he says, and you remain silent again

"I left you a shirt behind the shower door" the boy says, and after drying yourself off, you put on your bra, your panties from before, and the shirt that turns out to be your team's. It's big on you, and when the boy pops up near the showers to look at you, he nods in satisfaction "It's a little long, but I think it's better than the way you were before. You're hungry, too, I guess. And those nasty burns need some dressing" he says, looking at you, and you don't know how to reply "Wait here" he says, leaving the locker room before putting on a sweatshirt. You hadn't noticed him, but he seems to have dressed while you were cleaning yourself. You haven't looked at him much, but he seems to have a very trained and toned physique for a simple member of the staff, he's definitely a player. You could run away now that you're finally alone again, but this undue kindness from a stranger is making you soft. He probably doesn't want to bother you, otherwise he would have done it already. But you're not used to kindness, especially if you haven't done anything for him, besides helping one time

He returns shortly after, with a container with meat and a bottle of disinfectant. He bends over next to you, while you have sat on the floor near the sinks. He passes you the container, which you open with difficulty because of the burns, while he soaks some bath paper with disinfectant. You bite the meat, and let him take your hand that he soaks with the liquid "Shit!" you scream in pain, but he doesn't stop, almost making you cry. He continues for a while before wrapping your hand with bandages, doing the same thing for the other hand and leg "It should ease the pain a little. I don't know honestly, but they do that with the injuries we inflict on ourselves on the field" he says resting his head against his palm, and you look up from your meal just to stare at him for a few seconds "Thank you" you whisper, but he shakes his head "This time a thank you is not enough. I want to know your name" he says, and you answer even though you don't want to "My name is Y/n. Can I know yours?" you say, and he smirks "Michael. Kaiser Michael" he says putting his palm in front of you, but you look at him and a small smile forms on your lips. He seems to understand that because of the burns you can't shake his hand, but it doesn't seem to bother him "My mistake" he says, and you chuckle "Don't worry"

The two of you sit in silence, next to each other. You look at your bandaged hands and wonder why he’s been so nice to you. His blonde hair hides his face from your view, so you can’t see if he’s thoughtful or calm, but you assume he’s okay with not talking. He turns his head slightly toward you, tilting his head "Do you have a home?" he asks "No" you answer without regret, and he looks even more amused "So you’re homeless. Why did you run away? Didn’t mom and dad give you enough sugar?" he asks, laughing, but you look down, remaining silent "I touched a sore spot. Nice" he says, but you turn away "It's not a sore point. I... I just don't want to talk about it" you say shakily, and he nods "Okay, stray dog" he says, but you glare at him "I don't like that nickname" you say pouting, but he shrugs "I like it. Make up one that bothers me, so it's fair on both sides" he says, and even though he doesn't want to stop calling you that, you're interested in how to resolve it "Umh... dog... Berlin dog" you say, but he bursts out laughing "Calling me a 'Berlin dog' when my favorite animals are dogs and I'm from Berlin is not a very smart move on your part" he says, and you prick up your ears "Are you originally from here too?" you ask, and he nods "Since birth" he says, and you seem more interested in the discussion "Which area?" you ask but his mood changes slightly, less funny "I don't remember. I haven't been home in a long time, I'm basically always on campus" he says, but you look at him puzzled "You don't remember the area where you lived for years? I have to call you 'stupid dog', then" you say, and his mood seems to return "I can accept this" he says, again amused. Things seem a little less awkward now that you’ve finally joked around and talked a bit. Michael stands up, offering you a hand "Do you want to sleep here for the night or do you have a shelter to go back to?" he asks, and only now do you remember what happened to your shelter. You purse your lips, standing up on your own "Umh… if it’s okay I can sleep here" you say, and he nods "Don’t worry, the campus is completely player-controlled after 10pm. We can bring whoever we want into the rooms" he says, and you look at him in surprise "You didn’t mean here in the locker room?" you ask, and he seems amused by your stupidity "Of course not. If you have to stay, at least use the comfort services. I don’t know how long you’ve been homeless, but I bet you miss sleeping in a warm bed" he says

You haven't slept in a real bed in far too long, and if he gives you the assurance that the surveillance won't tell you anything, you can accept it. You nod, taking a step forward "Okay... thanks" you say, and he leaves the locker room as he begins to walk towards the dorms. The two of you remain silent, until he reaches the entrance "You still haven't told me how you got those burns" he asks, and you cross your arms "Fire" you say, and he seems to accept it. You enter the dorms, where you can hear people chatting and laughing through the doors, much like they do during the training sessions you've been watching so much. You enter his room, where you find a boy sitting on one of the two beds in the room "Oi, Ness. We have guests" the boy says closing the door behind him, letting you in. A boy with brown and magenta hair looks up from his book, watching you curiously but not with a perverse look "Hello. Do you know her?" he asks straight to Kaiser, and he nods "Kinda. She'll be sleeping here tonight" he says disappearing into the kitchen of the room, returning with a pair of round glasses that he puts on "This is Alexis Ness. He is my roommate and teammate. Don't worry about him, he's a good guy as long as you don't insult me in front of his eyes" he says, and even though Kaiser's description reduces the boy to a loyal dog, he doesn't seem to mind too much "My pleasure" he says, and you shake your hand with a nervous smile. You realize now that Alexis is a name you've heard before, and that makes you curious "You both play for the Bastard?" you ask, and Kaiser sits on his bed "On the pre-adult team, at least until we both turn 18. But yeah" he says, and this makes you curious "Which roles?" you ask, and Ness rubs the back of his neck "He's a striker, I'm his midfielder" he says, and you nod "Cool"

A few hours later, with another meal in your stomach and a generous helping of water, it’s time to go to sleep. You’re left in Kaiser’s shirt, and he signals you to lie down next to him. Normally you’d refuse, but you have plenty of reasons to accept: you’re sleepy, you miss having a bed to sleep in, Michael is kind, and you really don’t have the right to refuse. You take a few steps forward, lying down next to him with your body pressed against his, while Ness is already asleep in his bed. You both remain silent, but you know he isn't sleeping even though his eyes are closed "Weren't you sleepy until just now?" you whisper, and he opens one eye "I can say the same thing about you. I'm not sleeping because I'm used to having more space in my bed" you say, and you look at the ceiling "I can go sleep in the showers or on the floor, you know" you say, but he shakes his head "It wouldn't be polite of me to let a young lady sleep on a dirty floor" you say, and you stifle a laugh "Young lady?" you ask, and he nods "You're one year younger than me" he says, and you realize it's true "Oh, I told you the first time we met" you say, and he nods "When you looked for the sketch in the garbage" he says, and you think about it "But why do you need that drawing, in the end?" you ask curiously, and he smiles "That's the next tattoo I want to get. When I turn eighteen... the first one I got was done illegally. I want the two roses on my neck, the thorns along my arm and the crown on my hand" he says, and you're shocked "That would be really cool. But why do you want to do that, any particular reason?" you ask, and he smirks "I've known you too little time to tell you. Become my trusted slave first and I'll think about it later" you say, and you giggle "Really funny, hope so Micheal. But at least, can I know when you'll be eighteen?"

"Christmas day" he says, and you choke on your own spit. Kaiser looks at you puzzled, making you sit down on the warm mattress "Does Christmas disgust you that much?" he asks ironically, but you shake your head "I was born on December 25th too" you say, and this time it's you who sees him completely surprised, even his frown is replaced by a little smile "This is unexpected. Another thing that unites us, then"

You spend the rest of the night joking around, trying not to wake Ness: he tells you about the team, about his role as a striker, about how he's been living in the Bastard Munchen dorms for at least a year, and you tell him about your burning hideout. Before you know it, it's dawn. You stay in bed, while Kaiser gets up to go to the bathroom, Ness who has just woken up. You watch the two boys in silence, watching them wander around their small apartment undisturbed, as if you were not there and could not see their bare and toned chests as they put on their sports uniforms for their morning workout. This is also a transgression, your parents would go against everything you have done in the last 24 hours. But for the first time ever, you are having fun with someone who is actually quite simple. With Ness already gone to breakfast and Kaiser still in the room, the boy approaches his bed, sitting on the edge "You can sleep, we don't have room service unfortunately for us. If you're hungry eat, make yourself at home. I should be back by lunchtime" he says, and you nod with half your face covered by the blanket. He chuckles at the scene, walking out of the room and leaving you completely alone. You spend the morning sleeping, eating a bad brand yogurt and watching the boys team up out the window: Kaiser stands out among the members, with his fast movements always followed by Ness. He scored without showing too much effort, demonstrating a resistance to the duration of the training that honestly surprised you for such a young boy

At lunch time the door opens, and Ness comes in leaving you a tray full of food "Kaiser couldn't come. I hope you like our canteen" the boy says, and you can't help but show your disappointment at the lack of the blond boy. You take the food and eat alone, staying like that until dinner time when the door opens again, this time with Kaiser carrying the tray. You get up from the boy's bed, walking towards him "You said you'd be back at lunch time!" you say taking the tray, but he sighs amused "My mistake, miss. I had to check something. Let's have dinner together, shall we?" he says, taking a bowl of soup. You don't ask yourself many questions, taking the soup and starting to eat. Kaiser tells you about his workout, as if you hadn't been watching him from the window of the room all day. He dresses your wounds again and gives you a taste of a dessert that the campus cafeteria gave to the players this morning, after the breakfast. Before Ness goes back to the shared room, you're both back in bed, almost asleep

For the next month, you find yourself spending your days like this. You rarely leave your room, walking the dorm hallways late at night with Kaiser. You’ve occasionally come out of the fence, but you don’t like walking near the pile of ash that the fire has destroyed. You try to stay as far away from the black on the snow, which even after weeks has not disappeared. Your stomach hurts when you think about it, but the uneasy feeling goes away when Kaiser is next to you. Some players have noticed your presence on campus, but no one dares to tell the directors: Michael said that you are a childhood friend of his, and that you only occasionally sleep in his room. You don't think that the other players want to talk behind his back, once he happened to tell you about how he beat up one of them when he first arrived at Bastard Munchen for a relatively stupid reason. You spend your evenings in bed with him, playing board games, reading Ness's books, or watching the TV he had installed in the kitchen just for you. He tells you about amazing things like special training sessions, the times he took planes, or what it's like in foreign countries like England, Italy, and France. He tells you so many interesting things that you almost feel guilty for being able to tell him only about your strange experiences as a homeless person. You haven't told him about your past, about who you were before you were a tramp, just as he hasn't told you anything about Michael Kaiser before Bastard Munchen called him. You never talk about topics from the past just because you don't want to run the risk of having to talk about them: it's a limit that you've put on yourselves without telling each other, a barrier that still can't be overcome even after all this time of synchronicity. You're not big fans of physical contact, you see how he often reject even Ness's high fives. But when you're alone in the room, in silence, his arms almost spontaneously find space around your waist, while you're lying on the bed with his face in the crook of your neck. Without speaking to him you stroke his hair, and you feel at peace with the whole world but above all in perfect connection with the boy who apparently saved you from humiliation. Often you don't need words to communicate, often you just need to look into each other's eyes and read the soft and real meaning you mean

Despite being locked up most of your time inside four walls, you have never felt freer than this: free to eat what you want, to talk to whoever you want, to hug whoever you want, to be faithful to whoever you want. In sixteen years, you have never had so many possibilities. Now that you have it, for the first time you feel like a normal teenager and not an idealized perfect model who tried to kill herself. You're grateful your parents kicked you out of their house if it resulted in you meeting your savior, that in less than a month he will finally be able to get the tattoo he so desires. While you wait, you try to be as faithful to him as possible: you eat the food that only he brings you, you wear only his shirts, you keep your hair loose just because he once mentioned that he thought you looked good with your hair like that. They are small gestures that want to show him how much you owe him, even if you can't repay him properly. But you will, one day, you absolutely will

It's Christmas Eve when you hear Kaiser knocking on the door. You run to open it, noticing the tray full of chicken soup "It's so much" you say, letting him in, and he nods, placing the tray on the coffee table between the two beds. You go to his side, first grabbing some spoons from the kitchen "Ness? Dinner with the players?" you ask, and he nods "He'll probably be back after midnight. He said he wanted to go to some kinda party they're throwing in the main room. Usual shit" he says, starting to eat, but you tilt your head "You're not going?" you ask, and he turns around, raising an eyebrow "Why should I?" he asks questioningly, and you put your elbows on the table, stirring the soup "You're part of the team, you should. It's a party" you say, even if you never had a concrete definition of a youth party, accustomed to elegant balls "You're here, why should I go?" he says, and for the first time, his words have an effect on you. You smile like an idiot, choking on your soup. Kaiser grabs a handkerchief, rolling his eyes in amusement as he wipes your mouth "You’re acting like a dog. You’re going back to your old ways, like a stray dog again" he says teasing you, and you take the handkerchief to clean yourself "I'm not a stray dog. Not anymore" you say defending yourself, but he snorts amused "You're not anymore, I know. Thanks to me. I tamed you"

The handkerchief remains against your mouth, but his words seem to enter your head like missiles. Involuntarily, you let yourself go into the care of another person as soon as you had the chance to do so. Even if by running away, or trying, you had promised yourself not to do it again, now the situation is as before. Kaiser is kind, though. Kaiser does not force you to drink your own saliva when you spit out the bitterness of the poison. Kaiser does not force you to remain with a bloody face for days just because the blood makes them happy. Kaiser doesn't make you sleep naked when it's cold just because you talked back to your mother. Is it really that bad to be tamed by your savior, in this case?

"You don’t like soup?" he asks with a raised eyebrow, and you snap back to reality. You shake your head, pushing the handkerchief aside and smiling sheepishly at him "No, no. It’s good. I was just thinking about… have you booked your tattoo appointment yet?" you ask, making up an excuse, and he seems to believe it "Tomorrow morning. I had to pay triple the price to book an appointment on Christmas Day, but I know it’s worth it" he says proudly, and you agree with him "It definitely will be. You'll finally have what you want" you say, placing your face in the palm of your hand, but he shakes his head "Just a part. The rest I want I can't get yet, but that will come too. Also, I added a small modification to the tattoo, but nothing too big" he says, and you connect his words to his desire to be the best striker in the world "Really?" you ask, and he nods "Exactly. But it's so small that I don't want you to see it, I'll show it to you directly tomorrow" you say, and you nod

A few hours later you find yourself on his bed, his arms around your waist tighter than usual and his face more hidden in the crook of your neck. You caress him trying to stay awake to wish him a happy birthday, even though you know it's yours too. But he's your savior, and it's the first one you've spent together, in each other's arms. You can ignore yourself for this year. Before the alarm can ring, you're already squeezing his hand. "Happy birthday, Michael" you whisper, and he looks up only to meet your eyes. He smiles tiredly, resting his face on your chest"Thank you. You too, Y/n" he says, and you almost get emotional in front of his enormous kindness of having even remembered the right date. You smile at him kissing his forehead, but only afterwards do you realize that you went a bit too far. You pull your head back embarrassed, but he tilts his, probably amused and tired from the little nap he had taken on you "If only this was your gift, I'm totally fine with it. But I would have preferred the kiss lower down" he says in a low voice, and it gives you the shivers. You press your lips together not knowing how to respond, but he seems to want to tease you a bit "I have to give you the gift, mh?" he says

Involuntarily or perhaps not, your eyes fall on his lips as his on yours. The caresses become slower and the grip on your waist more possessive. His face slowly approaches, and this time you don't take steps back like your second meeting in the locker room, this time you are the one closing the distance, letting your plump lips end up on his. You both remain still for the first few seconds, but he is the first to reply, pushing them more voraciously towards yours. Instinctively you tighten your arms around his neck, enjoying the sensation of a kiss you have always dreamed of but never received. It is your savior who gives it to you, that's why it tastes so sweet. Kaiser gets on top of you, kissing the edges of your lips, and when you pull away you can't help but laugh both of you. This time it wasn't words that were needed between you, but gestures, and you like this new way of communicating, if it makes you so happy. Michael just leans down to rest his forehead against yours, and you both close your eyes "Give me one more year, just hold on one more year. After that we could be anything you want" he whispers against your lips, and you nod, you would do it even if they were insults if they came from his mouth. He kisses, you kiss him, this all night until your lips hurt. When you fall asleep, a trickle of saliva still connects you, but the trickle and his body are not there when you wake up

Ness wakes you up and shakes you, while you are still in the world of dreams "Get in the closet, run. The directors are checking the rooms, some players brought drugs into the party last night... some went to the hospital" says the boy lifting you up, and before you can even reply, you are locked in the closet. Waking up you realize the gravity of the situation, and a hole in your stomach starts to eat you slowly, understanding that if they find you it's over. Kaiser wasn't next to you, is he still on campus or has he already gone to get his tattoo? You need him, you're dying of anxiety and he's the only one who can defend himself in case the directors find out about you. You need the kisses he gave you last night again, the reassuring way he made you feel even if you weren't anxious. You need your Michael. You think this, but you hear Ness opening the door and the footsteps of at least three people in the room. You hug your legs to your chest, holding your breath as you watch them wander around the room through the crack, checking their clothes or the kitchen. You don't see Ness, you don't know if they've thrown him out for inspection. You try to think clearly, but when the closet door reveals your hidden figure, the world falls apart

"And you? I don't think the team has any female players. Miss, I kindly ask you to follow us" a man says, grabbing your arm and throwing you out of the closet, making you fall to the floor where all the other directors are watching. As you are dragged out of the room you hear Ness talking to the directors, but they tell him to go back to his room or risk having his contract annulled. Like a humiliated puppet, the directors drag you to the main office of the campus, dragging you as if you were unable to walk independently. You cry silently without realizing it, but this does not stop them from locking you in the room with them, starting to write a report of the discovery "Miss, your name? Where do you live? Why were you in the room? Do you have any contact with Alexis Ness or Michael Kaiser? Do you know it is illegal?" they ask, but you, sitting on the plastic chair, cannot even compose a complete sentence, trembling and with a probable attack of mutism. You look around confused, biting your nails in nervousness. This doesn't seem to stop them from asking you more questions, but after what seems like an eternity but was probably less than an hour and a half, the door is opened by someone else

You turn around, and Kaiser appears in the room. He closes the door behind him, walking straight to the director’s desk, slamming his hands on the wood "Is that a fucking way to treat a young lady, dragging her across the campus without even giving her a chance to explain?" Michael barks, and you look at him like he’s given you a drink after walking across the Sahara. The director swallows a lump of saliva, avoiding the direct gaze "She had a chance to sp-" he excuses himself, but Kaiser slams his fist on the wood "Are you kidding me? The players made videos of her being dragged" he says, continuing "If they make videos of you doing something like that, you'll be prosecuted right away. I'll make up some other bullshit to defend her and you will end up in prison" he says, and the director looks up "Are you kidding? Why would you?" he asks anxiously, and he laughs "Because then you'd lose me too, and your fortune with the campus. And that chance of us having Noel Noa train us? Nuh nuh, no way" he says, and the director clenched his fingers into fists "I... I won't do anything to her. But she has to get off the campus, it's against the rules" he says, but he shakes his head "If she gets off campus, I'll get off with her. But off the team. I'm going to ReAl" he says, and the director stands up "Don't you dare threaten me, Kaiser!" he shouts, but Micheal remains calm "I didn't say anything too absurd. It's your decision" he says crossing his arms

In your eyes now Kaiser is like water: necessary, destructive, perfect. He lets himself go without fear of breaking something, and he's doing it for you, for the same girl he kissed last night as if his life depended on it. The freshly inked tattoo flexes against his skin stiff from punching the desk, but that only gives it an even more suggestive look of perfectionThe blue roses, the thorns, the crown: finally everything he ever wanted is engraved on his body. It's damn beautiful, he is. You are proud to be faithful to him and only him, to be tamed by this very human being

"She can stay, she can do it, damn it, okay?" he says, reaching the limit, and Kaiser raises an eyebrow "And?" he asks, and the director glares at him, but lowers his gaze "And have dinner, lunch, do whatever she wants" he says exhausted, and he nods. He nods at you, the first since he came in, and takes your hand as he leads you out of the room. You don’t talk along the corridor, but in the open air you stop. Kaiser turns, not letting go of your hand "Does something hurt?" he asks, and you shake your head "Why did you do that?" you ask through tight lips. It’s cold, your breath condenses as it leaves your lips. Kaiser looks at you surprised by your question, taking a few steps back "Why wouldn’t I have done that?" he asks, and you want to answer him but you can’t find the right words. He remains silent, and only when he notices that you’re not angry, he comes closer, closing you in a hug. His hands rest on your waist, while you press your face against his chest "I want you to stay with me. I want you by my side, at least until you turn 18 and I can buy you an apartment of your own. I want you here" he whispers to you, and you feel the blood rushing through your veins again. You let out a loud sigh, looking up. "I want it too. But I don’t want you to have to change something in your life just for me" you say, and he chuckles at your words "But I’m okay with it. I’m okay with it if I do it for you" he says cupping your face, placing a light kiss on your lips "This is the last one. I want to give you the next one as a present for your eighteenth birthday" he says, and you frown, saddened by his statement but okay "Also" he says, moving away from you and lifting the sleeve of his shirt to better show the part of the tattoo with the thorns "I didn't show you the tattoo or the modification. But you can look for it" he says, bringing his arm closer to your face. Questioningly you take his arm in your hands, examining the complicated tangle of thorns that now surround his arm. On the thorns, in a point parallel to his heart, you find a small writing. You take a few steps back, looking up at him who is already looking at you smiling "Happy birthday" he whispers to you, sweetly

In a handwriting similar to yours, the name 'Y/n' stands out among the thorns. You open your mouth in shock, not believing it "You can’t really have done that" you stammer insecurely, but he runs a finger over the tattoo "It’s permanent. It’s there and it’ll never come off"

"Stop doing things for me when I can't repay you" you say with tears in your eyes, still emotional. He shakes his head, taking your hands and kissing your knuckles "Repay me by continuing to be just the way you are. Devoted" he says, and you can swear that right now you feel in love with him. In love with Michael Kaiser. In love with your savior, your God, your only rock. It's not just pleasure, it's love and only love

Almost two months after that Christmas, you find yourself sitting on the benches of the soccer field for practice. Kaiser chases the ball, his hair now also blue that flutters in the cold wind of mid february. It is a change in his appearance that he has made recently, and yet you have already gotten used to the idea of this new haircut that Ness made under your and Michael's advice. It sets him apart, more than it already did before, even just his charisma. You read a philosophy book that Kaiser lent you, but you're not that interested. You look up from the pages only when you see him approaching: you lower the canteen to him, and he sits down next to you, drinking greedily. He puts the empty canteen on the grass, wiping the light sweat from his forehead with a towel "Do you have anything else to do?" he asks, and you look at him puzzled "No? Do you need something?" you ask, closing the book

Kaiser looks around, but you've been alone for hours now. He looks at you for a bit, before looking down "Have I ever told you about myself before the Bastard?" he asks, and you stiffen, shaking your head and realizing that it's finally that moment "I was different, I was born different and still am. But now I don't have to deal with my father anymore" he says, and you move closer. Kaiser looks up, he takes your hand in his, playing with your fingers "My mother is an actress, I think. I never really wanted to understand it actually. She worked with my father when she wasn't famous yet, she got pregnant and right after giving birth to me she realized she could be someone if she left me to that lout of a father of mine. She was my father's muse, a director famous only thanks to her. He went crazy when he found out she was gone, maybe I was still too young to remember the slaps and punches he probably gave me. So I never went to school, staying in the criminal area of Berlin. I stole to support the family, maybe I learned to steal even before I learned my name... but that didn't stop the slaps. My father always thought that I was the problem of his breakup with my mother, the reason for his failure. He never changed his mind as I grew up, getting used to making me almost a dead corpse every chance he got. But then I met soccer... I bought a ball, I gave myself a gift for the first time. I held that ball as if my life depended on it, as if it was the only thing that made sense to me. I got pretty good at it without knowing a single damn rule of the sport, but then I got caught in a theft. The police arrested me for something other kids in the neighborhood had done, but I rebelled so much that they took me straight to jail without a legal trial. I thought about killing myself for a few days, I won't deny it. I was fourteen or fifteen years old... but someone saved me. A very powerful man in soccer found out about my story, paid to have me thrown out of prison and entrusted me to the care of Bastard Munchen. I had to go through a selection, there I met Ness for the first time, but from that moment the real part of my life began" says Kaiser, and every word sticks in your mind as if it were sacred. You try to stay strong, but it hurts to think of all the pain he had to endure just because he was born, just because his mother decided to run away and not take her responsibility. You squeeze his hand, letting yourself go against his shoulder "Thanks for telling me. I know how much you hate being pitied… but you already know that no matter what, I’m here for you, even if it’s something huge. I want to be as kind to you as you’ve been to me from the very beginning" you say, and his arm tightens around your shoulders "I know. Thanks. Just saying... only you and Ness know about this" he says, and you nod "I understand"

You’ve never seen him so vulnerable, so Michael and not Kaiser. You think about him as a child, about everything that happened, about everything he thought during prison. It’s something so intimate that he only told you and Ness, which means he wouldn’t judge you if you told him about your past. You’re a little unsure, but you try to relax your muscles "Do you want to… do you want to hear about my past?" you ask, and he takes a moment to you can nod "I'd like that" he says, and you take a long preparatory sigh. He's the first person you've ever told about your life before, when you were still someone

"I am the daughter of my mother's betrayal, I don't know who my real father is. The man who raised me never particularly loved me, but he gave me a more than dignified life... it's complicated to explain. Since my mother fucked another man, he did everything to become the man she loved again, giving her and me everything that could be called rich. But the extra work stressed him, and the constant arguments led them to hit each other... and when I was old enough, their slaps also reached me. They introduced me to the upper class of Berlin at a young age, making me frequent circles where I didn't really belong, like private schools or classical ballet classes... I never liked this stuff, but the first time I disobeyed them, I found myself drinking rat poison for days, without food. Following their rules to perfection meant I would get slapped less, but I swear, I just couldn't do it... the looks of others... the whispers... they terrified me. I was afraid of everything and everyone, and at fourteen I thought about committing suicide"

Your hands are shaking, it's a sensitive subject for you. But you want to talk about it, if he's listening to you

"I just thought that I had no reason to live if I was suffering even just to breathe. One night I gave myself an almost lethal dose of antidepressant drugs, my mother's, and I waited to die. But it didn't work, they admitted me to hospital but I was still alive. When I came home a month later, my parents locked me in the house for almost a year, making me self study so as not to give me the chance to be influenced by negative thoughts... they always thought that my attempted suicide had been caused by others. One night I took some clothes and ran away from home, I wanted to leave Berlin and take the first train to Belgium, but they discovered me at the station. They told me that they didn't want me at home anymore, and that they had already disinherited me. From there, my being homeless began" you tell trying to avoid some painful parts, but then you realize there is no point in not telling 'em "Also... I almost died once. They beat me so bad that I went into a coma, but only for a few days. They justified everything to the police by saying that I had pushed myself too hard in dance and the stress had done this to me. The police ignored the bruises on my body" you say with a shaking voice, remembering how you had burst into tears in front of the police but to no avail, still forced to live in your golden prison

The two of you remain silent for a few minutes, probably processing each other's stories. The cold wind corrodes your skin, but you feel warm at the same time: it is a warm sensation that comes from knowing the truth about the past of the boy who saved you. Of all of them, he chose you, not another person. You have never been chosen by anyone, and yet he had no problem telling you such an important part of himself, so intimate, so vulnerable. You try to shake Kaiser's hand, and when he notices, he returns the squeeze, kissing your knuckles. You smile at him, and his arm spontaneously finds space around your shoulders: he pulls you close, leaving a kiss in your hair before getting up to go back to training. From afar, now, Micheal seems to shine even more than before. If you were devoted to him before, now you know you are dependent on him. You don't want change all this

A year later, you are in exactly the same situation. The days on campus are going by peacefully, you have started to earn some money by cleaning the cafeteria, even though Kaiser has always insisted on not letting you lift a finger. Since he came of age he has started to earn a much higher salary, which gives him the possibility of having lots of money: as vain as he is, his money often ends up in clothes for you or makeup, or in any case in things to give you. He has told you several times that he has no problem spoiling you, if you continue to be as in love as you have been for a long time now. The money often ends up in an extra ticket when the games are abroad, and for the first time you have taken a plane and left Germany: you were not afraid of flying, even less of talking to the people you met in the new country, in Italy. You were finally able to see him play seriously and cheer for him, and the result of your screams was a kiss in the locker room at the end of the game, with a cup won and the shortness of breath for his hungry lips on yours. You had the chance to spend time together on your days off from the foreign match, days that you spent on each other's lips, even though he said that your next kiss would be on your birthday. At the end of the soccer season he spent more money to take you on holiday to Spain, where you had the chance to swim in the sea thanks to him. It's always thanks to his affection for you that you've had so many opportunities in such a short time that you're surprised that you were his choice, you who are mediocrity personified compared to someone as fantastic as him. He loved you, he spoiled you, he gave you the love you had sought but never received. He knew how to make you feel good when you didn't even know how to feel, when your thoughts became too big. He had saved you and continued to do so every day, and you weren't afraid to admit it: you showed it with your loyalty, with your sweetness, with your dedication towards him. It was the least you could do before you found a way to pay him back in full

Dedicating yourself like this to someone was dangerous, you knew it perfectly well: you knew you had changed a lot from who you were before the fire, losing traits of your personality that you had previously thought were unique. But he had lost himself to find you, to help you, to give you a life. Losing yourself couldn't have been such a bad decision, if he had done it for you too. You didn't worry that he might get tired of you, you wouldn't have allowed it, you would have stayed by his side forever, as he wanted, he would never have chased you away. You didn't risk your life when you sacrificed yourself for him, it was all due. You were happy and that was enough for you, you just needed to know that Kaiser was there

"The room is huge" you say looking around, putting your bags on the floor. You walk towards the walls made of glass, which show the great city of Munich. Kaiser nods, sitting on the edge of the bed "Yeah. If you like it, it's money well spent" he says, and you roll your eyes, moving closer "You shouldn't have. I would have liked to stay in the dorm room too" you say positioning yourself between his open legs, and he smirks at you, pulling you close to him putting his arms around the lower part of your waist. He rests his face against your stomach, looking up "It's an important date, in a few hours you'll be an adult" he says, and you huff "It's no big deal. There was no need to organize all this" you say caressing his face, and he rests his face against your palm "Let me spoil my beautiful girl" he says in a low voice that makes you shiver, making your knees weak and your mind stupid

It was Christmas Eve, in less than an hour it would be midnight, and that meant both of your birthdays. Kaiser had surprised you this afternoon with a flight to Munich just for the two of you, in one of the most luxurious hotels in the city, with a reservation for a whole week. The flight lasted a few hours, and now that you are in the hotel it is almost time to celebrate your birthday. In fact, you would have officially become an adult, far from your parents and close to the boy who considers you his girlfriend, even if in fact you have never talked about what your relationship is really like. You love each other and kiss each other, you consider each other's partner, and you are both jealous as hell of the other. But neither of you has ever talked about making the relationship concrete, about putting a point and calling it 'dating' and no longer something random. It's something you've wanted to do for a long time, but you don't want to push Michael into it. When he thinks is good talking about it, you'll do it too. Waiting is the only choice

You look at the clock, noticing that while you were putting your clothes away in the closets, the minutes separating you from the age of majority have now become five. You turn to Kaiser who is lying on the bed, climb on the bed and crawl towards him, catching his attention "Impatient to become an adult?" he asks massaging your back, and you giggle sitting on his stretched legs "Not too much. I'm curious to see you nineteen, what will be different from the normal Kaiser?" you ask, and he snorts amusedly "I think absolutely nothing. Maybe just a few more bucks spent on condoms, what do you think?" he asks, and you are surprised "OH" you say embarrassed, imagining things you shouldn't be imagining. He seems to notice your behavior, and it amuses him "Did I overdo it? I thought you'd thought about it. But I can wait" he says, massaging your thigh, and you glare at him, your cheeks still red "I thought about it... but... god, this is embarrassing" you stammer embarrassedly covering your face, but leaving his hand on your thigh. Before he can reply, his phone rings: you both turn towards the object, and you automatically move off of Kaiser, who stands up "Give me just a second" he says, taking the phone. You sit on the soft hotel mattress, watching him walk towards the glass door of the room

He answers the call, putting the phone to his ear. You see him listening to someone's words for a while, until a smirk appears on his face, as if he is finally satisfied. He lowers his face, as if some sort of shadow is covering his eyes. You tilt your head to listen better, but the only thing you hear coming out of his lips is "Get on your goddamn knees, Blue Lock". You remain confused, but the ringing of your alarm makes you understand that it is midnight: it is your birthday and his. Normally you never bother him during his calls, but this time you get out of bed, walking towards him on tiptoe: arriving at his side you hug his waist, standing on tiptoe to reach his neck, where you leave him a light kiss "Happy birthday, Micheal" you whisper, making him look down at you. He smirks at you, pulling the phone away from his ear before ending the call. He wraps an arm around your waist, kissing your forehead as he pulls you close "Happy birthday. You’re an adult too now, liebe" he whispers to you, and you nod, pushing yourself against him "Impossible to believe, right?" you ask, ironically, but he kisses your lips, holding your face with his tattooed hand

You kiss him back, wrapping your arms around his neck, smiling "Was this the famous kiss you said you’d give me when I turned eighteen?" you ask between the pauses between kisses, and he nods, not stopping "I want to give you so much more than this. I want to show you how important and amazing you really are to me" he says kissing you again, and you feel a slight need in his words, in the way his hands hold your hips as if he were afraid of making you run away. You respond to his kisses trying to keep up, but the more time passes the more your knees become weak from the passion with which he is torturing your lips and your neck, where there are already some hickeys. A slight knot forms in your stomach, and involuntarily little moans escape your lips that make Kaiser stop "Can I?" he whispers to you, and at the same time his hands end up on your thighs, picking you up. You instinctively wrap your legs around his waist, letting his face end up on your breasts, giving you the chance to look at him from an angle that makes him so damn handsome. A stupid smile forms on your lips, as you lean closer to his ear, a little awkwardly "Do what you think is best" you whisper, and that's enough to make him start his long torture. You end up with your back against the mattress, him on top of you with a visible desire to ruin you, with a face that makes you dumb. Before you know it you're naked with him, wrapped in his arms as a new sensation is created between your thighs. Kisses turn into hickeys, his hands on your hips in signs of love and his back full of scratches as he starts moving inside you. When you are already destroyed, you finally feel a feeling of satisfaction in your stomach, as if a weight has gone away. Kaiser ends up at your side, wrapping his arms around your waist, a peaceful feeling on his face "You were gorgeous. You always are" he whispers to you, and you can swear that the tear that just fell is one of pure happiness, pure love for him

A week later, sitting on a flight back to Berlin, you find yourself thinking about what happened during the vacation: beyond the nights of sex, the walks through the city and the dinners in the nicest restaurants in the neighborhood, you involuntarily ignored one thing: the call from the night before. At the time you didn't think about it, but now thinking about it it sounds a little suspicious, even if Kaiser has never actually hidden anything from you: for some unknown reason, however, you think you should ask more. You can't explain the feeling you have, but you prefer to eliminate it in the moment

"Hey" you whisper, and he looks up from his book "Liebe? Tell me?" he asks, and you swallow a lump of saliva "Listen... do you remember the call you received the night before the Eve? I was wondering... who was?" you ask, and imperceptibly you notice Kaiser annoyed "Nobody important, team related matters" he answers you, and you nod, even if the answer doesn't satisfy you. You spend the rest of the trip in silence, and when you get off the plane, Kaiser doesn't take your hand. It makes you sad, and you think it's your fault that he's rightfully angry with you now, you didn't trust his answer and obviously he understood it. Back on campus you lock the door, and everything seems to go back to the way it was the night you lost your virginity, with him inside you and your nails on his pale back. The following days pass peacefully, but you have the feeling that there is still an unresolved situation that you don't have the courage to face, because you don't like seeing him angry with you. You'd rather ignore the problem than find the love of your life against you

A month later, you're on your knees in the hallway of the campus rooms. Your fists clenched on the carpet, tears now flowing freely "What do you mean you're leaving for Japan?!" you ask in shock, seeing the suitcases at his sides blurred by the tears. Kaiser looks at you indifferently, then looks at his cell phone to check the time. You are alone, the entire campus is already inside the buses headed to the airport, and you only discovered it when, a few minutes ago, you returned from your walk in the city. You knew absolutely nothing about all this, no one and especially Kaiser had told you anything about this sudden transfer of at least six months to Japan, on the other side of the world. You ran into the room to see if Kaiser was staying, but you found him in the hallway with the suitcases in his hand, as if he wasn't forgetting you here. When you threw yourself at him to hug him he shook you off almost immediately, and you inadvertently ended up on the floor

"What, what's going on? Micheal? What's this all about?" you ask stammeringly, taking a few steps forward, but he takes a few steps back to avoid contact. He looks you up and down, judging you for the first time in the years you've known each other; in his eyes you don't recognize the same boy who fucked you shamelessly for many nights, whispering the sweetest phrases you've ever received. In his eyes there is not your savior. You tremble without being able to control it, and when you finally grab his hand, you squeeze it tightly "Micheal, why? What did I do, why didn't you tell me?" you say sobbing, but he doesn't bend down to kiss your knuckles, one of the gestures he has always made. He looks at your hand, perhaps disgusted "I didn't have to tell you anything, why do you expect this? Isn't everything I've done for you enough?" he says harshly, and the world of certainties you've built for yourself falls miserably. You let go of his hand, looking at him without knowing what to say: you've always been grateful for him saving you, but in fact, you've never done anything to repay him, and you haven't even tried. You look at him with wide eyes, your lips trembling and shiny "I... Michael, I am..." you say, but he interrupts you "Don't you dare tell me you're grateful, what I do with it? I spent money, a tattoo, my feelings for you. What did I get out of it? Nothing" he says disgustedly, and his annoyed look makes you feel so small and useless. You try to take his hand again, but it's him who grabs your wrist and blocks it, forcing you to look him in the eyes "I'm not forgetting anything here in Germany, nothing and especially no one. I no longer want to waste my strength on someone who doesn't know how to do anything but be a pig, an animal that follows its owner without personality, and who actually has the courage to say that I'm forgetting an important part. Go away, Y/n, I don't want to see you anymore, until my last fucking breath" says Kaiser, and leaves you like that, still, in the middle of the corridor while he disappears into the elevator

Standing in the hallway, you feel like dying would be a lot less painful now. Your breathing is blocked, and your ability to move has stopped the moment he made it clear that he wants you dead. His words start to spin in your head, spinning so much that your vision blurs and everything around you goes black. Your god doesn't want to be worshipped by you anymore, your Michael Kaiser doesn't want to have you around anymore. Everything you shared with the same person for more than two years has now been thrown in the trash, along with all your hopes for a future with him. Are you really a useless pig? Is it true that you no longer have a personality? But really, why did he do it? Was it a particular behavior of yours that hurt him? Why did he throw you away so easily?

The world no longer exists, you no longer exist. He took your life with him, on the bus, on the plane and in Japan. He threw you away when he had the chance, and what are you left with now but a blurry memory of yourself before you met him? What are you now that he, your sense, is no longer there?

What are you now? A pig? Alone?

He is not here, he will not be here as long as you live, but you already know that you will not live anymore. How can you continue to live when all your certainties are gone, leaving you like a fool? Do you really still have any sense? Are you still you?

Even before the time is up, the stick already has two clearly visible pink bars. You stare at the stick speechless, feeling a general feeling of unease throughout your body after realizing what I have suspected for a month now. Your hands start to shake, causing the test to fall to the floor, which however does not change the result at all. The room, even though empty, suddenly seems so narrow, the more you look at that stick the more you realize how deep in shit you are. It wasn't supposed to happen, not now with you in this condition, but he never took precautions even once, and you let him do it because there was no point in telling him to do something else

The pregnancy test comes back positive, even after you've been staring at it for a whole hour. You're pregnant with Michael Kaiser's child, now the star of the Blue Lock TV

But you and him haven't spoken in three months.

Today is a beautiful sunny day in Berlin. You woke up early to go running, meditated and took some supplements that the doctor prescribed you last week. Berlin has had a huge boom in sunny days lately, but that's probably because it's almost spring, and that means more time for your skin to be kissed by the sun. Warm light also comes in through the window of the room, from where you see outside a beautiful garden that you've already stared at a thousand times. You turn to Ines, who is still coloring her book: you should do her ponytails like this more often, now that you look at her, because it makes her blonde hair look better. Maybe you too should start wearing your hair tied up again and no longer loose

"Miss, it's always the same story. You shouldn't take your medication with coffee, don't ruin all the work you've done with another addiction" the doctor says, looking up from your clipboard and directing her gaze to you. You chuckle nervously, playing with a lock of hair as you lean back in your chair "You're always so funny, Dr. Horwell. You always know how to make me smile" you say, and she huffs, probably as tired as you are from this session. The two of you have a staring contest for a few seconds, but the psychologist seems to be winning "Really, Y/n. You’re such a nice girl but often… often you get lost in useless memories. In stupid things. It makes me feel like you want to continue therapy just to meet me" the woman says, and you raise an eyebrow at her comment "Not that I like spending 100€ every time I come here, but yes, I enjoy your company" you say giggling, and this makes the other woman chuckle too, but she looks at you with a serious look of displeasure. She sighs, placing the folder on the table "If you enjoy my company that much, I’d be happier to see you in another context. Not in therapy, like the last three years" she says, looking down

You don't react, they keep smiling. You don't like to admit that you're not healed yet, and that since the last thing happened, it feels like you've wasted years of therapy. But now there's no point in showing sadness, the psychologist knows how much you're still tied to your trauma, to the reason why you decided to start the sessions years ago. You don't need her words to realize how much you pretend to have overcome the situation, when instead you still feel like you're in that corridor in Berlin. Even though you want to move on, you feel like if you do, you'll be taking away your last chance to be whole in the way you want to be and not the way the psychologist intends. You're fine with this, you've been used to being in this condition for years now. It would be strange to change, even if this would probably lead you to be able to start living for yourself again and not for the sixteen-year-old you

"I think seeing him was the icing on the cake, really… tell me again, how are you?" she asks, and you smile "Great. I’m still shaken up, but I think I can handle it" you answer, but for the umpteenth time you are lying to yourself. Seeing him after five years was harder than you want to admit, more destructive than his words left to you years ago. But it happened

You still remember how Ines complained about having your hand too tight on yours, which you were involuntarily squeezing tightly. You still remember perfectly how he turned towards you even before you recognized him. You still remember how you felt like a pig again, as if you were watching your master taking you to the slaughterhouse. You still remember how smelling his smell again after years made you cry without you even realizing it. You still remember when, few days ago, you saw Micheal Kaiser again after years, and you with his daughter, whose existence he doesn't even know

"Do you at least regret what you did to me?"

"I regret you, not the situation"

"I know when you lie to me, I know you. But you still have the same problem as when you started therapy..." says the psychologist, and you tilt your head, waiting for an answer "You still chase the problem, rather than accept the end. You gave so much to him that you didn't realize how little you had become for yourself" says the psychologist, knowing full well how to stab you without making you bleed "Accepting that it's over for you means accepting that he only wanted you from the beginning for one purpose. But accepting it would make the sixteen-year-old you suffer, even if it would mean bringing the you of now to finally be free. You're afraid, you're afraid to see yourself happy because you still think you haven't repaid him for saving you" she says, and the room becomes quieter than you can stand. You look around, avoiding direct eye contact now that you're in the corner. Your hands start to sweat, and you try to take deep breaths to regain some clarity. You look up a little, lips trembling "Did he ever love me?"

The psychologist smiles at you, perhaps a little to reassure me "I can only give you my personal opinion, but for me, yes, he loved you. But he was broken, just like you, and he blew it all when he realized that the situation could hold him back from becoming the best in the world. He loved you, but he did it as a consequence, not as an initial goal. At first he helped you only because he needed another support, someone he could give everything to fill the holes he had. But something broken can't try to fix itself using something else that's broken. You were simply too young to be destroyed, but too old to be saved"

word count: 15,696

[princessmadelines]

BURN BURN BURN

When you're born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. But it's not.

[kaayyyys]

Daryl Dixon X reader

Fluff alphabet

A is for Arms: His arms. Strong, calloused, always ready. Ready to pull you close when a walker gets too close, ready to hold you tight when the nightmares come. They’re not always gentle, a little rough around the edges like the man himself, but damn, they feel like home. Sometimes, when he thinks you're not looking, he'll just wrap one arm around your waist, pulling you close enough to feel the warmth, a silent promise that he's there.

B is for Banter: Before you, Daryl didn't 'banter'. He grunted. Now, he teases. It’s subtle, a dry remark about your terrible aim (which isn’t that bad), or a playful jab about the time you tried to cook squirrels and nearly burned down the house. It's his way of flirting, his way of showing he's paying attention. You tease him right back, of course, because seeing that small, almost-smile flicker across his face is worth any risk.

C is for Comfort: He's not one for grand gestures, but he knows how to offer comfort. A silent hand squeeze when you're upset. Sharing his blanket on a cold night, even though he pretends he doesn't need it. Leaving you the last of the clean water. Comfort, Daryl-style, is quiet, practical, and fiercely devoted.

D is for Dreams: You share them now, whispered in the dark. Nightmares of what you've lost, yes, but also dreams of a future. A future where you can build a life, a home, a garden even. Daryl doesn’t talk about them much, but you catch him looking at you sometimes, a hopeful glint in his usually guarded eyes.

E is for Eyes: His eyes are a roadmap. They tell you everything he doesn't say. The worry when you're out on a run. The pride when you take down a walker. The raw, untamed affection when he looks at you like you're the only person in the world. You've learned to read them, to understand the language he keeps hidden from everyone else.

F is for Firelight: Sitting by the fire, the crackling flames painting dancing shadows on his face. It's in these moments, quiet and still, that you feel closest to him. He'll sometimes share stories, snippets of his past, things he's never told anyone else. The firelight makes him open up, makes him vulnerable, and you cherish every word.

G is for Grateful: You're grateful for him. For his strength, his loyalty, his unwavering presence in a world that wants to tear you apart. He’s grateful for you too, though he'd never say it in so many words. You see it in the way he watches your back, the way he always makes sure you're safe.

H is for Hair: The first time you ran your fingers through his hair, he tensed up, ready to fight. Now, he leans into it, closes his eyes, lets you card your fingers through the strands. It's a small intimacy, a quiet moment of connection that means more than any grand declaration.

I is for Inside Jokes: You have a whole language of inside jokes now. A raised eyebrow, a shared glance, a mumbled word that means something entirely different to the two of you. These tiny moments of shared understanding are what build your bond, what make you a team.

J is for Jealousy: He doesn't show it often, but you see it sometimes. A flicker in his eyes when someone gets too close, a tightening of his jaw when someone else makes you laugh. It's a possessive, protective kind of jealousy, born from fear of losing you. You reassure him without words, a gentle touch, a reassuring smile. He's the only one you want.

K is for Kiss: His kisses aren't soft and gentle, not at first. They're raw, desperate, like he's trying to pull you into his soul. But over time, they soften, become tender, a quiet promise of forever.

L is for Loyal: Daryl Dixon is nothing if not loyal. He'd walk through fire for the people he cares about, and you are at the top of that list. He's got your back, always, no matter what. That loyalty is the bedrock of your relationship, the foundation on which you're building your life together.

M is for Mending: You mend each other. He patches up your physical wounds, stitching you back together when the world tries to break you. You mend his emotional scars, slowly, carefully, with patience and love.

N is for Near: Just being near him is enough sometimes. Sitting shoulder-to-shoulder by the fire, walking side-by-side on a supply run, just knowing he’s there is a comfort in itself. His presence is a grounding force, a reminder that you’re not alone.

O is for Outdoors: You both find solace in the outdoors. The woods, the quiet, the sense of freedom. You often take walks together, just to escape the confines of the walls, to breathe in the fresh air.

P is for Protect: The need to protect each other is fierce, primal. You'd both lay down your lives for the other without hesitation.

Q is for Quiet: Sometimes, the best moments are the quiet ones. No words, no distractions, just the comfortable silence of being together.

R is for Respect: He respects you, your strength, your intelligence, your compassion. He sees you, really sees you, and values you for who you are.

S is for Scars: You both carry scars, both visible and invisible. They're a reminder of what you've been through, but also a testament to your resilience. He doesn't shy away from your scars; he traces them with his fingertips, a silent acknowledgment of your pain.

T is for Trust: Trust is everything, especially in this world. You trust him with your life, with your heart, with your deepest secrets. And he trusts you, completely.

U is for Understanding: You understand each other, on a level that transcends words. You see the pain behind his stoicism, the vulnerability beneath his gruff exterior. And he sees the strength behind your kindness, the fire beneath your gentle demeanor.

V is for Vulnerable: It takes time, but he lets you see his vulnerable side. The moments of doubt, the flashes of fear, the pain of his past. He trusts you enough to show you his true self, and that's the greatest gift he can give.

W is for Warmth: His warmth. Physical, in the way he holds you close. Emotional, in the way he makes you feel safe and loved.

X is for XOXO (Kisses and Hugs): He's not one for saying it, but he shows it in every action, in every glance, in every protective gesture.

Y is for Yearning: Even after all this time, you still yearn for him. For his touch, his voice, his presence. The yearning is a constant reminder of the depth of your love.

Z is for Zenith: You've found your zenith with him. Your peak, your highest point. He makes you a better person, stronger, more resilient. Together, you can face anything. Together, you are home.

[honeygrahambitch]

This was maybe the moment it all sunk in for Abigail. She should have allowed Will to be closer to her instead of drawing him away. She thought Hannibal was the answer because Hannibal was more like her father. She didn't see Will's darkness. She only saw a remorseful man who had killed her father and who was extremely kind and nice to her. It's the same as in that thing "When you're born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire." That's why she rejected Will and Alana.

And while Hannibal loved her, he was too broken to have a daughter at that point in the series. His adoration and love for Will were greater than what he felt for Abigail, that's why killing her was nothing more than a punishment for Will. And I am sure it haunted Hannibal too but for the moment she was nothing more than "I am shattering the teacup after I fixed it."

[happyhauntt]

𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 !

angst edition! pulled all of these from my pinterest boards so idk where they came from originally but if you'd like credit or want me to remove anything that belongs to you, just let me know!

"you will always be my almost love. had we more time - i am sure i would have loved you."

"i killed a part of me to keep you alive."

"i would never do the things you did to someone that i loved."

"what is more unfair than having to choose between being a monster or being a hero, when you have to be both?"

"i know you did not mean to be cruel. that does not mean you were kind."

"when i greet death, i hope it's gentle. i hope it's like coming home."

"if there is a light i am going to swallow it. if there is a god i'm going to make him cry."

"you don't get to die and be reborn the same. you come back, but you come back wrong."

"i still remember you as a little girl who overwaters plants because she doesn't know when you stop giving."

"a monster is not such a terrible thing to be."

"when you're born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. but it's not."

"there will never be an absence of grief. only reasons to survive in spite of it."

"it is the fate of saviours. you give, and you give, and you give, and for what?"

"if i told my secrets, would you stay?"

"i am afraid i will spend entire years trying not to need you."

"there was a time when i thought i'd know you forever."

"grown up? me? i suppose i have. killing things, and almost killing myself, must have changed me some, after all."

"am i supposed to be grateful to have survived this?"

"i look at you and it terrifies me. it terrifies me what i would do for you."

"i think, i've loved you the whole of my life, which isn't possible, and my life only started when i loved you, which is."

"there's a version of us somewhere that survived."

"i wonder which will get you killed faster - your loyalty or your stubborness?"

"if i love you, is that a fact or a weapon?"

"i'd follow you to hell and back, but i wish you'd just stop going there."

"if you don't have good intentions, please just leave me alone. i'm tired."

"i forget the reasons, but i loved you once, remember?"

"in another universe, i did everything right."

"for what i've done, and what i've failed to do, i'm sorry."

[enderthefrog]

on Law and fire.

I made a bit of a connection recently, well. Less a connection, more a comparison. Normally, fire doesn't really seem like a thematic that would fit Law very well. The opposite side of the temperature spectrum is more typically fitting. But hear me out here.

Fire is a destructive force of nature. Angry in its blistering heat, consuming all in its path. But it is also commonly associated with *home*. The hearth. With belonging and warm, comforting friendship. It is a force that can be harnessed, concentrated to destroy, destroy, destroy, but create something new from the ashes.

It is blinding and hateful, it takes and takes. It is warm and comforting, it gives life in the cold. It is complicated, it is dangerous, it is hope in darkness.

Ever since he was ten years old, Law has been burning. Slowly being broken down until nothing is left but ash and smoke. Physically, the presence of Amber Lead in his bloodstream, suffocating, heavy. Dooming him to an early fate as soon as his life began.

His whole world burned down around him. Reduced to ash, to nothing but whispers on the wind. There's a beautiful video somewhere on here, gorgeous artwork, the first line of that audio comes to mind. 'When you're born in a burning house you think the whole world is on fire. But it's not.'

Little Law's grief manifested as *rage*. White hot, searing contempt for the world that failed him. Total hatred of the world that could be this cruel. The kindness in his heart shoved down and locked away, submerged in a pit of boiling hate.

He seeks to spread the wildfire as far as possible before it consumes him, too.

The world will feel his pain, by burning down with him. There's nothing left for him at the end of the rope, edges frayed, ash flaking off in sheets.

That anger didn't have anywhere to go, so it exploded outward.

Doflamingo aimed to throw fuel into the fire, to use its destructive hate for his own gain. It's the same hate he holds.

But. As mentioned prior, a fire is not just destructive and angry.

When cared for, controlled, and gently redirected, as prior mentioned.. Fire can mean gentle warmth. Home. Belonging. Corazon quelled the hate in Law's heart, gave him space to breathe again. Showed him that the world isn't all on fire. Showed him that compassion *does* still exist. But more than that, the rage did not just disappear. It was redirected after Corazon's death, aimed and funneled toward Doflamingo.

For thirteen years, Law lived single-minded toward that goal. Not quite blinded, but tunnel-visioned toward burning vengeance.

In the meantime, he became the warm core of a family of his choosing. Not warm on the outside, no, but kind nonetheless. Even if it doesn't reflect in his demeanor, he wears that gift of compassion he was given everywhere he goes. Fire can also represent legacy, carrying the torch of the fallen. And the love he shares, no matter how subtle it is and how grumpy he is about it, is felt.

His personality isn't one of open warmth. His anger isn't explosive, but a hot stovetop will still burn you even if it looks perfectly cooled. He can be snappy, a little harsh at times. But actions speak louder than words ever could.

And while Law is an inherently angry person deep down, that is not all of who he is. Not at all. Law is a character that is built upon kindness and hope. He has always, and will always be kind at his core. A bitter, bruised hope, rising from the ash, clawing and clinging to life no matter the odds. He lives out of spite, but there is something else that fire needs other than fuel.

An oxidizer. Spite and anger alone could not carry him. Hope is the oxidizer to his flame of vengeance. It combusts, burning hotter, brighter, but controlled like a blowtorch. Only burning what he wants to burn. An extremely hot flame burns *blue*, after all, and as more oxygen is introduced, more hope, it only intensifies. Revenge is hot like lightning, electrifying and booming like thunder in the end.

I just made this connection while writing this, but it just makes so much sense that Law was re-introduced post timeskip on punk hazard. The island that is literally on fire and frozen at the same time.

Deep-set anger and bruised, bloody hope. Fiery, selfish vengeance delivered.

was this anything am i going crazy? let me know. first time posting something like this and i'm a little scared

[bloomingfromashes]

Burning child.

oh my goddd, i am so proud of this?!! literally just made it, i always love seeing these kind of creations on Pinterest and i really wanted to make one of my own and ?!!!! so cool!!!

Quote : When you're born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. But it's not.

From : Richard Kadrey, Aloha from Hell (Sandman Slim, #3)

also inspired by a pin i have saved on Pinterest that i for some reason cannot link :(

[a-j-s-the-only]

"When you're born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. But it's not."

- Richard Kadrey, Aloha from Hell

[trickstarbrave]

hi im on my bullshit making up random aus again

this is steren! not his main story either. i might write up his main story in bits and pieces at some point. but this is an au bc i wanna see him happy with his parents.

so he's getting dropped in @mulberrycafe's vivi's world. sorry kid, azura will grant your wish but not how you're thinking

obligatory picture of steren and some background info from this post. and bonus baby picture.

this is just part 1. part 2 will be the gang dealing with an unconscious dunmer who fsr has a moon and star ring of his own and nerevar's sword. which will be uh. concerning.

(also i didnt proofread this :'D)

--

Falling to his knees, Steren coughed up a bit of blood, willing the last of his magicka into a healing spell to keep his organs stable. 

It hadn’t been an easy battle, both physically or emotionally. 

Dagoth Ur, after all, had at one point been his father. 

Fate was cruel like that. His first lifetime he spent his whole, although very short, life chasing after his father and his legacy. He felt alienated in House Indoril, and when rumors stirred he might be of an unsavory bloodline no one dared name, things became more complicated for him. When he was a young adult--when he should be just spreading his wings and leaving to the world--he had found documents that were to be burned from the sinful Sixth House. 

Documents that clearly defined that he was born from Voryn Dagoth. Born from a supposed fling he refused to name and died shortly after childbirth that the Lord of House Dagoth refused to let rot and instead welcomed as a legitimate son with open arms. It seemed to go along with his memories too--hazy, faint things from when he was such a young child. Memories of a golden skinned mer with long black hair that would hold him close, laughing with mirth and pride, calling him ‘little star’. 

Steren then went to Vivec for answers. They were all on the first council when the war broke out. It was impossible the living god didn’t know his father was Voryn Dagoth. He demanded answers--why was his father killed? Who was his mother? Was she really dead? Did she miss him? Did he have any other relatives--aunts and uncles in other houses who knew who he was? Why had his whole house been destroyed and they shoved him into Indoril in secret? 

But Vivec had refused to answer. 

When Steren was young, the warrior-poet was oddly close to him. He still lived in Mournhold, having not yet built his temple in the Ascadian Isles, and welcomed Steren almost like a mentor. Encouraged his magic and swordsmanship, and assured him there was a place for him in the world. But when Steren knew the truth, the god’s eyes had gotten cold and hard.

“What good would come if I told you everything?” Was Vivec’s answer. “House Dagoth fell because they were traitors. Voryn Dagoth had betrayed our people and fought against us in the war that destroyed parts of Vvardenfell. Even Red Mountain spewed fire in anger.” His words only fanned the flames of resentment more and more for the young dunmer in front of him. “If there were relatives who could take you, I would have gladly let them. And no matter how much I tell you of your birth, of that accursed house, it will not undo that tragedy. It will not bring your parents back.” 

It was the truth, in a way. A painful truth Steren had refused to accept. He grew up isolated and lonely, wanting nothing more than to belong. Wanting nothing more than to know his history. Something to call his own. A relic from his parents. A memory to cling to. Proof that, at some point, in some way, he was loved like he always craved. 

And Steren chased answers until he died tragically, killed in a landslide as he tried and failed to get into an old House Dagoth outpost to look for hints of the stronghold’s location. He had barely gotten married and had a son himself, who no doubt had to grow up without him. 

And in Steren’s second life that tragedy never really ended. 

He was orphaned in Cyrodiil, not even knowing who his parents were, kicked out once he was the age of majority for a mer. And with little life skills, he had resorted to taking whatever work he could. He hadn’t intended to get mixed up in anything illegal--that would be stupid. But the imperial guards didn’t much care about his ignorance when they rounded up everyone involved in the smuggling operation. Steren pled his innocence: he thought it was just unloading cargo off a ship. How was he supposed to know it was smuggled goods? But the law didn’t care much about it at the time. He was to serve his sentence of five years since he had no money to pay a fine. 

Only to, after one year, be shipped off to Morrowind, unknowing what events would unfold. 

Another cough, and a bit more blood spilled onto the volcanic rock. He felt so warm here. The lava below was making him sweat like when he had corpus fever, but he didn’t have the strength to stand up and leave. 

“Steren,” Nerevar’s voice spoke to him, kneeling beside him and trying in vain to wipe his brow. It wasn’t entirely unappreciated; while Nerevar couldn’t really touch him, the spectral presence gave a faint, cool sensation on his sweaty skin. “It’ll be alright--” Nerevar was always quick to reassure and help him. “Do you have a potion or two?”

At the very least, in this lifetime he found the answers he sought--his other parent had been none other that Nerevar. Steren had been born of a fling--a quiet, drunken affair neither of the two had expected anything else from. Nerevar had told him as such, but that they both loved Steren very dearly regardless. That Nerevar had loved Voryn, even if he couldn’t say so openly. The hortator had run off after discovering the pregnancy, ignorant to what the dwemer were getting up to, to have Steren in secret under the excuse of going on a pilgrimage to Azura, and handed Steren off to Voryn to raise. 

And after his death Nerevar couldn’t bear leaving his child alone. Reincarnation and prophecy be damned; his son was alone in the world. Nerevar had wanted Voryn to raise him so he was always looked after and loved by at least one of his fathers, and now with Voryn dead Nerevar would take up that role. Yet, he was powerless to speak to Steren--to answer his questions and protect him like he always wanted. And with that regret he continued to watch over Steren’s child. Then Steren’s child’s child. All the way until Steren was reborn to a dying mother fleeing persecution in the Illiac Bay. 

Steren had a feeling his dad was going to have to see him die all over again, once again helpless to stop it. The Moon-and-Star ring let him speak with and see Nerevar, but there was only so much a ghost could do.

“I used the last of them…” Steren admitted. He had just enough to barely survive the fight, gulping them down while he dodged attack after attack. 

“Recall amulet?” Nerevar replied, and Steren tried to get the energy to dig through his pack. If he could pull out an amulet or scroll he could use that to get into town--limp his way to a healer or general goods seller for a few potions to stabilize himself.

But then there was a spectral blue light that didn’t match the golden glow of Nerevar, and a woman’s voice spoke to him. 

“Well done.”  She was smiling affectionately, but Steren kind of wanted to curse her out. “With this, Morrowind has been saved. And Nerevar’s soul might rest.”

“Azura--” Nerevar scowled in response. 

“It has been over three millennia, hortator.” Azura’s smooth reply came. “Are you not tired of this tragedy?”

“My son still needs me--”

“Your power wanes even now, and you know this.”  Azura’s reply came. “A soul should not be as active as yours is, haunting the living. You do not rest in the home of your ancestors. You do not rest even in Moonshadow.” Steren’s eyes widened. “Through force of will you have continued on, but I know internally you weep for the sharmat’s death.” Nerevar looked away now, still scowling. “Your soul cannot survive much longer without a rest. You will cease to be.” 

Steren didn’t want to say goodbye either. Tears were running down his face at the news, but he nodded his head. 

“Go.” Steren forced a smile. 

“Steren--”

“I don’t want to be responsible for the death of both of my fathers.” He had admitted. “If you leave now, it won’t be goodbye forever, right?” 

The look Nerevar gave him was indescribably painful. 

“I’ll see you again one day, right?” Nerevar wrapped his arms around him, trying in vain to hold him tight. “And I’ll give you a real hug then, Dad.” He wanted to hold Nerevar back in return, but he had long since learned he couldn’t. Only in his dreams could he. But the cool embrace was oddly soothing. 

“Of course.” Nerevar shook with sobs himself. “I’ll be waiting for you, little star. With open arms.” 

With that, the golden light faded, as Nerevar pressed his hand to his cheek, smiling at him the best he could through his own ghostly tears. 

And then it was just Steren and Azura in the chamber now. 

“You have done well, righting the wrongs of the past.” Azura smiled again. “You are truly a precious child to undertake this monumental task. And to you I am eternally grateful.” She should be, honestly. Nerevar couldn’t be reborn to do it, so here he was answering for the sins of his fathers, correcting their wrongs and setting everything back on course. He got the divine disease, went through hell and back, and had to kill one of his fathers with his own hands and blasphemous tools. 

“I can grant you whatever wish you desire.” Azura’s presence was even warmer as she came close, though given the heat of the heart chamber he wished it wasn’t; he missed the cool, spectral touch of his father already. Yet, despite the pain clouding his senses, he tried to think. A daedric prince offering a favor was a big deal. Many would wish for pleasures beyond their wildest dreams, or fame and future. His whole family line had been cursed with rotten luck, and he could finally make something of himself…

Yet, none of that had any appeal. To be honest, before being shipped off to Morrowind he had no idea what to do with his life. Given he hadn’t even reached his 100th year and was still barely an adult by dunmer standards, he thought he would have some time to figure it out. And now that he saw his past life and finally learned all he wanted to and more…

Well. He didn’t know what he wanted from life. How was he supposed to go on alone, even with wealth and fame? All he would be thinking about is, in the afterlife his fathers might be waiting for him. 

“...I just want my parents back.” Steren admitted after a few moments of silence.

“You know I cannot bring back the dead.” Azura frowned. 

“I know.” Steren replied. “Instead I’d rather… Just be with them.” It was unspoken what he was asking for, but he thought he implied it well enough:

He was asking for Azura to finally let him rest too. To put him out of his misery. He had done his part, and the kindest thing she could do for him is to finally let him rest peacefully in the presence of his parents. He already made peace with his death on the long trek up Red Mountain, though he never told Nerevar that fact. 

After a moment of silence, Azura closed her eyes. “I see.” She approached even closer. “I can reunite you with them then, if that is what you wish.”

“It is.” Steren was certain. Even if she didn’t take his life here, he didn’t expect to live much longer with the injuries he sustained anyways. 

“Are you truly prepared to leave this all behind?” She asked again. “There will be no going back.”

“Positive…” Nerevar would lecture him, cursing him to the deadlands and back, but Steren was so very, very tired. He would take the lecture, comfortably in his father’s arms once again, before finally having a nice, long rest. 

“Then that shall be my gift to you.” 

White was the next thing he could see. All encompassing, painful white, as he quickly went from feeling far too hot to feeling frigid. 

And then he was falling. And falling fast. Seren scrambled, activating his slowfall ring, his heart accelerating and lungs still burning. Still, the enchantment could only cushion his fall and try as he might to flail around in the air, to get to dry land he could see, he ended up falling into the water. 

“Fuck!” Steren swore. The cold felt like knives digging into his skin, and before he knew it he felt like he was gasping for air, suffocating despite his head being above water, as he continued to flail towards the beach. He climbed himself out of the frigid waves eventually, shivering, now soaking wet. 

Azura had promised him he’d get to see his parents, but he never expected Moonshadow or the ancestral realm to be… Cold and snowy. There wasn’t a whole lot of snow in Mournhold after all. Yet here he was, now soaking wet and freezing, snow on the hills he could see. 

If he was dead, did it matter if he was cold? That was a question he had. It sure felt like a pressing issue though, so he continued to swear and curse, trying to think. How should he keep warm? He wasn’t used to the cold growing up somewhere subtropical and then being shipped to Vvardenfell where the volcano kept the climate oddly warm compared to the neighboring country of Skyrim. 

So he pressed on. Maybe Nerevar wanted to retreat to a colder area of Moonshadow. All Steren needed to do was find a place to warm up and find him. 

That was easier said than done though. 

He had underestimated the problems with wet clothing. His robe froze, forcing him to discard it, along with a chunk of his armor still stuck to it. He pulled out a cloak, trying to keep warm, but the wind seemed to seep through the fabric to the wet silk under it and still left him shivering. He wandered and wandered, his hands going numb and his head aching like he had a terrible migraine. 

And then he started feeling oddly feverish, like he did back in the heart chamber. His clothes felt like they were wet from sweat, trapping the heat against him until it was burning. He would have stripped down more, except he was afraid if he did he would stop moving. He had to keep moving forward. One step after the other. His dad was here, and he didn’t want to stop.

Faintly, he heard people talking. His ears perked up as he blinked. His vision seemed blurry and blown out, stinging from the harsh glare of sunlight on pure white. Yet, over a small hill, he could make out two familiar faces:

A golden skinned chimer in House Indoril armor, white hair, and blue eyes. A dunmer with long, black hair and red eyes, a third eye on his forehead. He knew their voices too--he couldn’t possibly be mistaken. There were other people there but Steren didn’t pay them much mind; his fathers being here, together, was much more important.

“Dad!” Steren called out, his voice hoarse, before coughing again. Sucking in the air to yell felt like needles were pricking his already injured lungs inside and out, but he was so close--! Just a bit further. He willed his numb legs to push him forward through the heavy snow. 

Nerevar gave him a confused look, before Steren wrapped his arms around him. 

“Woah--” Nerevar stumbled slightly as Steren threw all of his weight onto Nerevar. “Oh gods, he’s freezing!” 

“His hair is frozen--” Voryn said, confused and equally concerned for the strange dunmer who seemed delirious from the cold. Yet, Steren could barely even understand the words coming out of their mouths. All he could do was cling to Nerevar, relishing in the fact his dad felt solid and warm under his touch rather than ephemeral and cold. 

“Here,” Nerevar unclasped his cloak, wrapping it around his shoulders. “C’mere, let’s get you someplace to warm up, alright?”

[orlando-in-love]

"When you're born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. But it's not."

-Richard Kadrey, Aloha from Hell

[ardent-reflections]

When you're born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. But it's not.

Richard Kadrey, Aloha from Hell.

[escapingrealitywithmatchalatte]

I’ve read somewhere that, “When you're born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. But it's not.”

I think that explains why I love my mother so much but hates her with almost the same intensity.

I think that explains why I can’t open up to my father about anything that burdens me.

I think that is why I envy how my sister easily makes friend.

I think that explains why I don’t talk to my brother.

My world is filled with chaos, screams, and hurtful words.

Little did I know that my world is burning, since I was young. It is filled with flickering ambers of red and sunset.

My world is burning, and I only found out at 26.

[pinotnoirplease]

"when you're born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire" - richard kadrey, aloha from hell

[chericheribaby]

burning pile??? mother mother moment??

Reggie!! yes, yes!! this fic is inspired by that song but it's also inspired by this quote:

"When you're born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. But it's not."

So this fic dives into Sirius' and Regulus' childhood, the way they had to grow up in that house, trying to find love and to understand they won't ever get it from their parents, about their dynamics and how they learn to love and hate. It goes on until they get out and later when they, well, the planned revenge basically. It's mostly Black brothers' angst and revenge, honestly heheh. Here, is a lil snippet.

The vase crashes loudly in the foyer and the only thing seven-year-old Sirius can think of —dread already crawling up his throat— is coaxing a five-year-old Regulus on the verge of tears, to play hide and seek with him.

[jujub1197]

"When you're born in a burning house, you think the whole world is on fire. But it's not.

-richard kadrey

Something that has stuck with me..