#he’s a confident fellow who definitely won’t hesitate to shower you with love but would definitely harbor an immense love for you …

[yuomizuu]

♡ | under this luminous sky ── sethos x reader !

synopsis: as you and sethos set up camp for the night, the desert dweller can’t help but fall for you ( i.e random sethos brain rot/character study )

additional: w.c 633 ⸝⸝⸝ content includes . . .gn reader, est. relationship, just fluff brain rot

( 💌 ) yuomi’s note: got inspired to write this while listening to the demo version of ‘at all costs’ :3 fingers crossed i got his characterization right www

sumeru's deserts were relentless and unkind to those who venture through it unprepared. therefore it's no surprise that many chose to avoid such a harsh environment unless absolutely necessary.

so when you had come up to sethos, asking him to take you on a spontaneous trek across the many sand dunes and hidden oases of the desert, he was somewhat surprised. though that initial shock would quickly morph into excitement, wasting no time in fulfilling your wish of taking you to the desert ( after adequately preparing for such a journey ).

he isn't one to treat you as though you were some wounded animal. sethos is well aware of the fact that just like him, you too have the capability to defend yourself from harm's way. an admirable trait and one he can't help but indulge himself in from time to time, whether it's friendly sparing matches or simple training.

but, admittedly, there are moments like this, in which he's watching you sleep peacefully beside him — the sound of the campfire gently crackling in the air whilst it's warm light baths your face — and he wants nothing more than to take you in his arms and hold you close. as though you were this rare desert flower he wanted to shield from the raging sandstorms.

instead though, the young desert dweller opts to simply continue admiring you. watching the way your chest rises and falls with each breath you take and noting the way your eyelashes brushes against the softness of your cheeks that he loves to plant chaste kisses on.

unable to resist, he carefully reaches a hand out to you, fingers ghostly tracing the outlines of your face before trailing up to gently comb through your hair. the action makes the corner of his lips tug upwards as he's reminded of something you had mentioned to him before.

you always told him how much you enjoyed playing with his hair, a gesture he more than happily allowed you to partake in. he loved nothing more than resting his head on your lap and relishing in the feeling of your fingers weaving through his air while occasionally massaging his scalp. oftentimes it resulted in him dozing off, and when he'd wake up some time later, he'd discover his hair having more braids than usual. ones that were obviously left by you.

but he would be quick to argue for the fact that it was him who adored playing with your hair the most, finding great amusement in combing it into different styles he felt suited you the best.

that's just how sethos was — always looking to one up you when it came to affections or your declarations of love for one another. honestly, you found it to be rather endearing. however just as he is effortlessly able to charm you, there are times in which you this innate and almost alluring effect on him, though you may not know it.

expressing his thoughts and feelings had always come easy to sethos — he was quite the social butterfly after all. yet when he's in your presence, from feeling the faintest brush of your fingers against his or watching the way the corner of your eyes seem to wrinkle with each melodic laughter of yours, he can't help but be rendered speechless.

much like the desert night skies he frequently views coated in stars that looked like tiny specs of diamonds scattered all across and produced the most mesmerizing of sights, none of that could compare to you. you were extraordinary.

these songs of praises would remain unheard though, choosing to consign his thoughts and wishes of you to the heavens before slowly leaning down and whispering softly into your ear, with the stars above as his only witness to these words. "i love you."

[almarchive]

   hello, its nora n this is the ethereal but spoiled alma olive putnam. she goes by all 3 names cos she’s pretentious as fuck. raised in a farmhouse in vermont, never really had to work for anything in her life and doesn’t want to. studying class civ cos she thinks it makes her sound smart, but actually hates fuckin latin and just loves learning about feckless hedonism and the festivals of bacchus. was expelled from princeton in her first year so her parents basically paid her way into lockwood. loves the smell of libraries and listening to french music from a tinny record player in knee socks. bio is below the cut, like this post to be bombarded with plotting messages. i might forget tho so pls message me x

application template.

( elle fanning  / cis-female ) haven’t seen ALMA OLIVE PUTNAM around in a while. the ELLE FANNING lookalike has been known to be TENACIOUS & MAGNETIC, but SHE can also be FANCIFUL & DOUBLE-CROSSING. The 20 year old is a SOPHOMORE majoring in CLASSICS. I believe they’re living in FIDELIS but I popped by earlier and no one answered the door. ( nora. 23. gmt. she/her. )

aesthetics.

a red beret nestled on top of bright platimum locks, neck scarves tied around your throat the way they do it in french new wave films, running barefoot through the woods in feckless hedonism, china dolls with porcelain faces lined against the walls of your room, the mona lisa smile, knee-socks tugged over the hockey grazes on your knees, a forged botticelli drying on your easel, ophelia floating in the middle of a lake.

connection to tatiana & did they choose her name during the watershed?

alma saw her as academic competition and a threat to her de jure throne. in freshman year, tatiana got the role alma auditioned for in a university production. she’s disliked her ever since. alma abslutely chose tatiana’s name, and she’d do it again without hesitating. [that vine voice] I WON’T HESITATE, BITCH

the short form.

—  born in vermont in a big old farmhouse. her great-great-grandfather moved to america as an immigrant and worked on a plantation, made his way up cos he could speak a lot of languages and therefore win more people over. for the last two generations, putnam men have owned the farm and do little of the dirty work. big in the meat industry.

— both her parents had large personalities, so alma’s never really been shy around adults, even as a kid she’d speak to them in a forthright, confident manner, and because she was always surrounded by adults, she’s always seemed a bit wise beyond her years. — very much a consolidation of every character in the secret history. has a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs. obsessed with w.h. auden and the beat poets. — ”aestheticism is the only thing worth pursuing and even that is pointless” — is majoring in classical civilisation. can read ancient greek and latin. also speaks french. — studies hard and plays hard. she gets top marks but it’s because academia is literally her life, she loves the smell of libraries, the ancient smoke of learning, of feeling like old wine in a new bottle reincarnated from the bones of some old, dead witchy woman who invented a cure for cowpox or somethin. — isn’t a foward-planner, however. alma prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manner so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenaline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night. — pretentious motherfucker. loves poetry, especially the romantics, loves morbid ones too, edgar allen poe, sylvia plath, allen ginsberg, she just loves them all. can’t get enough. her favourite films are like…. wanky artfilm independent european cinema. especially french new wave. “what do you think of goddard’s work??” while snorting a line off someone’s sink at 5am on a school night, but you can bet she’ll make it to that 9am class. — very intelligent and beautiful and knows both of those facts. plays devil’s advocate. humanitarian, vegan. — judgemental but takes great care not to appear so. petty and vindictive — just wants to be loved by all. a party girl ; doesn’t rlly enjoy it, jst feels she should enjoy it. — tries to be an enigma. wants to be mysterious and unreadable because that’s what books have taught her makes women desirable and interesting and cool. — obsessively devours mystery and thriller novels. she herself is a gillian flynn book waiting to happen. — act like the flower but be the serpent under it. is a user. manipulative. leads people on. will throw another student under the bus to demonstrate her own intelligence and integrity — heavily involved in the theatre society. loves attention. — has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive, runs track, played lacrosse at school, now is a cheerleader probably. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning. — her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee-high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk. — relates to ophelia from hamlet and sibyl vane in dorian gray. weirdly obsessed with women who commit suicide. loves jackson pollock paintings and abstract art. – likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramophone because “the sound quality is better” kfdsjj.

plots.

here are some generic wanted plots but by all means message me so we can flesh them out more if any strike ur interest:

study buddies !! someone who is equally unprepared and so spends all night in the library with alma before a big deadline, maybe they even met in the library

if they’re from new england or vermont, then cousins . second cousins / extended family / family friends –  probably spat volavons on your character once as children, omg childhood friends !

people who live on the same floor and only know each other from brief interactions in the lift or the canteen

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sporting or academic rivalries !

hockey / cheer friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!!

fellow academics who like meeting up to discuss latin and greek ! gimme a secret society bonding by their love of ancient learning

i reckon she’s in a lot of societies, definitely the film club, maybe works as a projectionist at the uni cinema if they have one so give me ppl affiliated with that, give me fellow wanky pretentious art-lovers and poets and historians who will go to museums and galleries with her and listen to the velvet underground on vinyl

people she gets mortally fucked off her tits with at parties

people who think she is throwing her academic potential away by caving to hedonistic impulse

people she has drunkenly made out with, hooked up with, or regularly sleeps with casually, maybe even a friend w benefits she is repressing feelings for, i love angst,

people she used to date or unrequitedly likes, but to them it’s just a physical thing, give me all the thirsty angst plots, and maybe some softness too, i need some religion in this girls life, she is a roman catholic after all

full biography.

alma olive putnam.

intro.

           the girl is a knife. razor-sharp, double-edged, the bright shine of a two-faced, lovely thing. silver like the secrets you magpie thief from other heads. you’re a scavenger of knowledge, of tidbits, of gossip to lock away for later use and late-night re-inspection. a mind is like a clock if you get to learn the pieces. bit by bit, you dismantle the inner workings of the brains that tick around you – how easy it is to change it’s path, how words and their meanings can make a person laugh or cry in an instant. to have the power to control that is to be a god. it’s the power trip you crave wielding pom-poms in your hands; a possessive need for control that a younger you, small and weak, never had as a child. small lips, smaller smile, a doll clutched in your too-hungry fingers, hard enough to shatter the bones of a real infant. you cut your hair with your mother’s kitchen scissors before the autumn falls, rendering you out of season, unfit for the cold weather that beats against the nape of your neck, where a stick-and-poke marks the star you were born under ; the bull. “mama, when will i be a queen?” as soon as they find a crown small enough not to slip from your head.

biography.

           if you get hungry enough, they say, you start eating your own heart. hands red, stained by pomegranate seeds, the empty pulp of its shell splattered on your thighs you find yourself wondering – what would it be like to want? in the beginning, you never knew hunger. twins, born under the same star, you first, him second – a nuclear family. never a sister to compete with, you were always the cherry pie of your parents’ hearts. white-haired, blue-eyed, beautiful baby of mine. the townhouse in vermont and the summer house in lyon, you wanted for nought, showered with attention, saddled with gifts - hardly a wonder you came to rely on such affection as a confirmation of your own worth.

           at eight years old you first met death, blood on a gingham-print dress, a smear of it over your cheekbone and the pulp of a mangled animal at your feet murdered by the hands of a stable boy. “alma, my precious baby, you get away from that filth,” your mama would cry from the upstairs balcony – cigar in one hand and a bloody mary in the other – though whether the filth she referred to was the dead pig or the boy with a kernel of corn in his mouth, you never did find out.

           your family earned their keeps in farming, great-grandfather wolfgang hildegarde a german immigrant, great-grandmother maura lisbon a prairie girl. they fell hopelessly in love between troughs and pig-shit, working for three dollars a day at a farm their descendants would later own, trade deals with the indians, vacations to calcutta, your father todd putnam in the kind of sheepskin coat his father’s father could only dream of owning. he worked hard so that you’d never have to. your mama once asked – you heard it through the window, rounding cartwheels across the picket-fenced lawn – could he not find a respectable career rather than selling shrink-wrapped pork for a dime a dozen? that blood money had no business raising a child. you look far back enough, edie, your father had said in his low, strong voice that could bring a civil war to silence, and i think you’ll find that all money is blood money.

           language was never fickle on your tongue, french dinner time talk by the time you were out of your hush puppy shoes, your mama fixing the au pair a smile as she fixed herself another martini. you learned the clarinet at four and how to dance with the grace of a swansong at six, ethereal under a spotlight, an audience captive in the palm of your hand. by eight you knew that you’d always been destined to be loved. loved so hard they would want to taste you, bite into the soft plump of your cheek and eat you alive. that was how magnetic you wanted to feel. but mother hamsters eat their own young when penned in together too long, and soon you became too wild, too restless, another package on your father’s delivery invoice, box-shipped out to english boarding school.

           fitting in had never been something you had to concern yourself with. you were always the shiny new toy the other girls wanted to play with, bright like a dropped coin from a magpie’s beak. wherever you went, you seemed to leave a trail of awe, pig-tailed harriet’s adoring you, imitating you, teachers forgiving your class-time chatter for the sake of your wild heart and the restless spirit you possessed. tell us what it’s like in the states, alma. they’d coo, enamoured by your hollywood drawl. does your father own a gun? you hardly knew. barely even knew the colour of his hair, for the scarce amount of times he’d stoop to kiss your cheek, though you’d tell silver-tongued tales if it’d guaranteed you an audience. when you learned how to smile at the right times, and that flattery would get you everywhere, it soon became apparent that charm would pave the yellow brick road to success even when your lack of drive couldn’t.

           the road you followed – gum-snapping, roller-blading, friendship bands all up your arm – eventually led you to small-town fame. bright-eyed and gingham skirted, you’d always known you were more. there was a hunger in you to be something extraordinary, a want so adamant to be imagined and desired that it was almost savage. in leather-bound volumes and a circle of stones, you were helen of troy, the girl for whom they’d launch a thousand ships. but there’s so much rage within you, collecting like sawdust in cavernous parts. hockey helped. there was something grounding about the feeling of a stick clasped in your hands. sweat. stiff knuckles. feet pounding the earth. the smash of wood against flesh in the scram of a game, passed off as mere enthusiasm. “slipped, sorry.” hockey is the one thing you had that was yours alone – a feral instinct that motivates you to play; something primitive within you that sparks an energy like no other. on the pitch, you feel alive.

[bundeslihaha]

Chapter 12: The Second Conference Call

May 16, 2015. Before Matchday 34, Darmstadt, Karlsruhe, and Kaiserslautern wanted to calm their nerves – what’s a better way to do that than a video conference? (Slightly NSFW.)

Karlsruhe, Baden-Württemberg

22:30

“…Bye, Hertha,” Karlsruher SC ended their three-hour conversation, flashing his girlfriend a last smile, “see you in the Bundesliga next season!”

“I’ll be waiting,” Hertha Berlin crooned, a pale hand caressing her webcam. Karlsruhe imagined her soft touch on his body, the feeling of her by his side sending warmth all over him. Ah, if only she could actually be here, showering each other with love with nothing but their bare skin to separate their souls…

“Hey,” she gently brought him back to reality, “we can do it after the playoff, dear.”

A blush, subtle and pleasant, bloomed on the Badener’s cheeks. “Of course, love, of course.”

“Well, now that’s settled… good night,” she chuckled, her melodious voice only serving to make him miss her more. “Don’t forget to wear some clothes!”

Karlsruhe smirked at her lack of undergarments. “You too, Hertha.”

"Sure, Kalle,” Hertha replied with a wink. “I’m going to disconnect, okay?”

“Me too,” he returned her wink, “Sweet dreams!”

“I’ll be dreaming of your promotion,”

And she went offline.

Karlsruhe sighed, leaning back on his pillows with his laptop half-closed. Talking to her made him feel calm, confident, invincible. Sechzig was desperate to escape relegation, but he had a much better team… and of course, an endless desire to return to where he belonged: in the first tier, going for Europe and meeting his lover on matchdays. As if preventing him from dreaming before he fell asleep, a ‘ping’ cut his train of thoughts.

You have a new message!

The 1894-born club reopened his laptop, expecting a Hertha who didn’t want to sleep, but found this instead:

  WasZumRoteTeufel invited you to a conference call!

WasZumRoteTeufel and lilien98 are online. Accept/decline?

Karlsruhe clicked his tongue in annoyance; the invitation brought back his nerves, the uneasy feeling in his limbs that prompted him to move to a position where his feet dangled off the edge of his bed, so he could, maybe swing them, quickly and both feet at a time, anything to get rid of the anxiety buzzing in his head, whispering ‘fourth place’ and other unthinkable things…

Another ‘ping’.You have a new message!

With the thought of ‘I’ll regret this later’, he read the personal message.

  WasZumRoteTeufel: Yo Karli! You in or not, chicken? :p

KSC_Aufstieg2k15: of course, just haven’t said yes, he typed. Then, he switched to the notifications tab to accept the invitation. But before the webcam was fully loaded, Kaiserslautern had replied,

WasZumRoteTeufel: Well come on! We’re waiting ;)

  With a ghost of a smirk, Karlsruhe moved to the menu he’d opened. Fortunately, it had finished loading, so he put his headphones back on…

Kaiserslautern, Rhineland-Palatinate

22:06

 1. FC Kaiserslautern made sure his wireless headphones were connected to his laptop, a devilish smile adorning his sweaty face... until he felt the heat radiating from his electronic devices turn his innocent summer sweat into cooking oil.

"ARGH!" he groaned, throwing off his damp t-shirt in disgust, "Why the fuck can't the AC be cooler?!"

His landlady's screech could be heard from the door, but the personification didn't give a damn - while Karlsruhe's screen was still loading, Darmstadt was staring dumbly at his abs, he assumed, abs that were broad and muscular and glistening with sweat. His smile widened.

"Hey, 'Lautern," the promotion club called, smiling coyly. "Looking good!”

Kaiserslautern fanned himself with his mousepad. "Thanks, Lilien. Aren't you hot in that, though?" He raised a red eyebrow at her spaghetti strap.

"What kind of 'hot' are you talking about here?" she giggled, propping her face on her knuckles. "If it's that kind of hot, well..." She made a half-smile, half-pout the Red Devils thought only women could do, twirling a strand of her blond hair, "isn't it your expertise as the ruler of hell?"

Lautern laughed, the loud cackle inviting angry knocks from his neighbors. "Of course, my little lily!" He winked, flexing his muscles for her webcam to savor. "How about I take off my pants, too?"

Darmstadt’s face turned redder than his hair.

“I’ll take that as a yes!”

And so, 1. FC Kaiserslautern, Bundesligist-to-be, freed his body of its trappings.

"AAAAAAAHHHHHH!" another voice, usually low-pitched but was now rising to operatic proportions, "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, DUMBASS?!"

The redhead pushed his laptop's monitor towards his lower body parts. A suspicious moan could be heard from Darmstadt's side, but Karlsruhe's (who'd finally finished loading!) made a slamming sound as if he just shut his laptop or punched its keyboard.

"Okay, okay", Lautern snorted, directing his webcam to his face once more, "I know you're Herthasexual, Karli, but can't you at least pretend to enjoy the view?"

The Badener furrowed his thick ass eyebrows, teeth bared like a wild(park) animal. "Get your dick off my screen or I'll do it for you."

"How are you gonna do that, Karli?" Lautern challenged, hands on his hips.

"Easy," Karlsruhe snarled, "I'm gonna cut it off."

Darmstadt’s face turned green, her dinner ready to get out of her body, but the two rivals ignored her.

"And I'm gonna make it slow. And. Painful."

The third-placed club's menacing tone could strike fear in lesser beings, but not the awesome Red Devil, who'd defeated Bayern München as an Aufsteiger years ago and would definitely win against complacent Ingolstadt tomorrow. "How painful could your circumcision be, Karli dearest?" Kaiserslautern asked, zooming into his face as well, "as painful as Hertha's love bites?"

"Shut up," Karlsruhe gritted out, crossing his arms on his chest. "Unlike your beloved Stuggi, Hertha isn't just someone you could fuck."

"Aww, come on, Karli," Lautern retorted with a playful wink, "I'm sure you've slept with Vf-Bae, too."

"When hell freezes over!" the brunette snapped.

"Oh no," Lautern smirked, his sharper-than-human canine glinting in the fluorescent light of his apartment. "Hell isn't going to freeze over, my K-S-C," he said with the speed one would use when talking to a dense three-year-old, "Hell's gonna be a 1. Bundesliga stadium!"

“Never gonna happen!” Karlsruhe booed, and coupled with Darmstadt’s hesitant laughter, he felt that he should’ve been more dramatic – it would’ve stung less!

Darmstadt, Hesse

Thirty minutes earlier…

  "Kaiserslautern?" Arminia Bielefeld said, his face full of envy... and yet, she could see grudging respect. "Really?"

SV Darmstadt 98, poor, timid and newly promoted, looked up at the club she'd narrowly defeated with wide blue eyes. "What's with him?"

"Just you wait," Arminia scoffed, "he's the most annoying and self-centered personification ever. You're gonna wish you weren't promoted!"

Darmstadt had seen his exaggerated description of Lautern as a butthurt expression back then, but now, after a season of being looked down upon and bullied before becoming his and Karlsruhe's third wheel, she thought Bielefeld had been 100% accurate.

“What can a promotion club like you do?” the four-time German champion scoffed, “It’s just dumb luck.”

Sure, Darmstadt’s boys had shut him up with a 3:0 win, but she couldn’t forget how those two had ditched Braunschweig, their fellow ‘cool kid’ who’d long since missed promotion, to mock her.

Had this happened two years ago, when her status as a professional football club was in the brink of collapse, the ‘deadly duo’ would’ve brought her down, but now, all their condescension only incited her burning desire to get to the top.

Getting to the top, she’d learned, took more than ‘dumb luck’ and trained physique. It also took a trained mind, one that could read between the lines and twist every word, every action to her needs…

Even her own. While she never stopped believing in her team, she would act otherwise – in front of Sandhausen, Fortuna or Soda, she would put on a cool smile, even bluff when needed, but before KSC and FCK… she would be shy and insecure, only a little hopeful, and completely astounded when she won. All that only made them less and less guarded with her – so now, before she claimed the coveted second place, she’d put on a last show.

  Welcome, lilien98!

Notifications:

WasZumRoteTeufel updated his status: (photo) – ONE MORE MATCHDAY TO AUFSTIEG!

  Her reflexes brought her to the photo he’d uploaded. It was typical Lautern – he looked incredibly silly (as usual), with the darkish lighting, how it added sharpness to his features, his shirtless display, and then the glimmer of FCK’s red logo in his background…

Seriously, the whole club had a flair for dramatics. Sometimes Darmstadt wished she could do that, but compared to K-town, she had more limited financial (or graphic design) power. But that’s okay. She could stand being the bullied for this last matchday.

Ping!

Darmstadt went back to her notifs tab, and unsurprisingly, it was the Red Devils again.

  WasZumRoteTeufel invited you to a conference call. Accept/decline?

  Her answer was clear as day.

Karlsruhe, Baden-Württemberg

Present time

 “Never gonna happen!” Karlsruher SC snorted, Darmstadt joining in with a reserved laugh. “Besides, I’m the one who’s gonna steamroll Sechzig tomorrow.”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Lautern wagged a finger in front of the webcam. “No can do. My girlfriend’s gonna be desperate for Klassenerhalt, you won’t have time to score at all! And St. Pauli’s seconds away from relegation, too, so you’re not gonna have it easy either, Lilien.”

“I know,” Darmstadt mumbled, something like resignation shadowing her features, “but I’ll do my best…”

Karlsruhe rolled his eyes, wishing she weren’t so pathetic. Someone with a mentality like Darmstadt was not Bundesliga material. Well, all the better for his boys.

“’Do my best’? Puh-leeze,” Lautern scoffed, “If you’re promoted, I’ll run around Kaiserslautern naked.”

A mental image of his rival running around his city with the same clothes he was (not) wearing at the moment suddenly gave him a brilliant idea. “Oi, Lautern!”

“What, Karli?”

“If I get promoted,” the Badener said, “you have to run around Karlsruhe too!” He paused for a moment to think of a better punishment. “Oh, and sing my songs, please. Tell my city you’re happy I’m back to big time!”

Lautern doubled over in laughter. “Ha! Then you gotta sing my songs too… with my crest on your back!”

“Challenge accepted,” Karlsruhe replied. “As for you, Darmstadt…”

“Please, don’t make it too hard!” she begged with puppy eyes, “I don’t want to get naked!”

Karlsruhe racked his brain for something, something hard but not that embarrassing for the small club. “Fine, but you gotta treat me and Hertha on every date. Fair enough?”

“Yeah,” the blonde nodded, “Thanks, Karlsruhe.”

A silent two seconds passed.

“Oh, sorry, Lili dear, I almost forgot you!” the fourth-placed club (who would definitely stay there; Karlsruhe preferred Die Lilien for third, her team deserved at least that) exclaimed. “Here goes. If I’m promoted, you have to pay my bills for the next Hinrunde!”

Darmstadt gulped. “I…” She swallowed her saliva again, scratching her sweaty head, “I… Okay. I’ll use the salary from my side jobs.”

Side jobs, not side job, like the one Karlsruhe had. Like most personifications had. Doesn’t that son of a bitch have a fucking heart? But a bet was a bet, and she’d agreed. Besides, that asshole wouldn’t get promoted if he could help it!

“Anyway,” the Hessian said, recovering more quickly than ever, “since you two have placed your bets, isn’t it my turn?”

Kaiserslautern beat him to replying. “Oh, yes, dear Lili, what’s your bet?”

“Weeeeell,” Darmstadt smiled sweetly, batting her eyelashes, “If I end my 33-year-long wait…”

“Yeeeeeees?” the two rivals said in unison (and shooting each other dirty looks afterwards).

“Y’all have to do what you told each other,” she commanded, her blue eyes twinkling, “so you, Karli,” her lips twisted into a feral smirk, much like what the former Eurofighter saw so often in the redhead in their conference call, “kindly run around Karlsruhe, wear nothing but my flag, sing my songs, and shave those goddamned eyebrows of yours!”

Karlsruhe’s jaw dropped. He’d never imagined she would say that last part. Words had completely left him; with hands feeling his thick, dark eyebrows for what might be the last time, he watched horrible, horrible things playing in his head – like an outraged Hertha BSC – and he groaned.

On the other side of the screen, 1. FC Kaiserslautern had turned from a powerful ruler of hell into… well, a ruler of hell nervously biting his fingernails.

“And you, Lautern,” Darmstadt continued, “Since running is good for your beautiful muscles, you can run around Karlsruhe and Darmstadt, too. Wär das wunderschön?”

For a moment, it might seem like K-Town would mirror Karlsruhe’s reaction, but he only laughed maniacally. “Never, you mortals!”

“Let’s see about that!” Darmstadt boasted. “Worst of luck, guys!”

“You too!” the two boys chorused, ending the conference call with middle fingers and burning anticipation for tomorrow.

Kaiserslautern, Rhineland-Palatinate

May 17, 2015

 Fourth, the 1900-born Traditionsverein lamented as he trudged along the emergency stairs to his apartment, sweat (hell no, he wasn’t crying at all!) inexplicably coming out of his eyes, I finished fourth AGAIN.

By the time he arrived at his floor, he dropped to his knees, ignoring the sharp pain the hard floor sent the tired limbs and screamed to the ceiling: “FUCK YOU, INGOLSTADT!”

His voice was loud and hoarse, prompting all-too-familiar nags from downstairs, but he had no more fucks to give. “AND FUCK YOU TOO, DARMSTADT!” he raised a clenched fist and swung it like a bat, hoping the football gods would hear him from their hated heaven, “I HOPE YOU GET RELEGATED NEXT SEASON!”

Unfortunately, the voice of his landlady from right behind him put an end to his prayers. “Lautern, please! I have newcomers here!”

He turned his head to her direction, preparing himself for a long dressing down… but then, she pulled him into a tight hug. Her long, frizzy hair brushed on his face as she wept, wetting his damp shoulder, furious and disappointed and shaking uncontrollably, and he remembered-

She'd been at Fritz-Walter-Stadion. Watching the boys play. She’d worn the orange jersey he so hated, two scarves around her neck. She’d joined in the choreo, too, and she had cheered, chanted, cried-

 “I’m sorry!” Kaiserslautern choked, letting his tears wet his cheeks as he tightened his grip, nails digging into her scarf (her symbol of support, of love and faith for him and only him but what have I done?), “Fuck, I screwed up-” More sobs racked his body and oh god, the pain, the pain of his faithful fans and his own, he didn't care if she found out his real identity, he was just- “I’m so, so sorry…”

Karlsruhe, Baden-Württemberg

The same evening…

 “It’s not the end, Karlsruhe,” Markus Kauczinski said the umpteenth time, wrongly mistaking his personification’s jitters for something other than the prospects of running around the city with his dick exposed and his eyebrows gone, “there’s still a chance.”

“It’s not that!” Karlsruher SC half-snapped, fed up with the pep talk, “I just…” He looked away, feeling heat rise up to his cheeks. “God, you’d kill me for this.”

“For what?” the manager inquired, blue eyes narrowing behind his spectacles.

He shook his head. “I have to go home.”

Thankfully, Kaucze didn’t push the issue. “Get some rest.”

“I will,” Karlsruhe replied with a nod. “See you tomorrow, Coach.”

The moment he stepped out of Wildparkstadion’s dressing room, he turned his cellphone back on, the gears in his mind turning for his own dignity. No one had said ‘automatically promoted’ when they were betting… so what if I win the playoff?

The thought of returning to the first tier brought a grin to his face, and so, he logged in without hesitation.

 END

Bonus Scene

 Karlsruher SC ran to the training field, every pant a wish that he wouldn't mar his five-year record of punctuality...

But it was no use. He swore under his breath upon his arrival. Everyone was warming up now, leaving him completely exposed to his head coach (who, strangely, didn't bring a weapon to kill him.)

"Uh..." He laughed sheepishly. "Sorry, I-"

"First things first, Karlsruhe," Kauczinski said, hands crossed over his chest, "What happened to your eyebrows?"