Official blog of Bundeslihaha, a football club gijinka/ personification/ FChumans series by Freibulous (formerly FeuerVerse).
Creator/Main Blog: @FrankStimatra (they/them, 18+).
Pinned | About | Clubs (WIP)
Read Bundeslihaha!
Instagram | Archive of Our Own
17-09-2025: Posted the last chapter of Alle Mann Over Board! on AO3.
12-09-2025: Posted Wolsfburg’s birthday special, Friends to Lean On, on AO3 and Tumblr.
30-08-2025: All the Omake (non-canon cracky entries) of Bundeslihaha: WFMF on Tumblr has been posted on AO3.
25-08-2025: Ruhrpott Roundabout, a cracky one shot about Dortmund’s kitchen woes, has been posted on AO3 and Tumblr!
22-08-2025: Bayern’s (Royal) Blues, a crack crossover between Bundeslihaha and pausencl0wn’s gijinka from 2015, has finally been unearthed after 10 years on AO3 and Tumblr!
08-08-2025: The FC Augsburg birthday special, Der Mörder Hotzenplotz, has been posted on AO3 - the illustrations are also on Tumblr!
26-07-2025: The VfL Bochum birthday special, The Ratification of Anne Castroper, has been posted on AO3 and on Tumblr!
10-07-2025: A new story has been posted on AO3: Alle Mann Over Board! You can find the cover art here, there, and on Instagram (feuerverse)!
08-07-2025:
- A new art series is coming: #Photocards!
- I posted the latest chapter of Bundeslihaha Redux from 2018!
02-06-2025: Added a new tag: #Headcanon!
.
16-12-2024: Coming on 21 December 2024: Bundeslihaha 10th Anniversary Retrospective
18-05-2024: To support others’ football club personification series/designs, I consolidated all my reblogs and my fan art of them on the #other gijinka tag! Enjoy :D
06-04-2024: Bundeslihaha is back, baby! >;D
.
21-02-2023: This series and the blog are on hiatus until further notice.
.
11-10-2021: New story alert! I updated the AO3 series with a new story called Bundeslihaha Redux: The Cutting Room Floor, where I’ll be posting Redux material regardless of completion status! Check it out! :D
(Explanation)
11-04-2021: My laptop is fixed! Now I can queue the Autograph Cards.
Here’s the tag for it: #cards
.
15-12-2020: I can’t update a lot due to uni, health, and personal problems, but I’ll queue some old Bundeslihaha art, starting from the oldest one! (Yes, you heard it right! I’ll be revealing comics so old, the title was still Bundesliga Project ;D)
1860 München: I straight up don't know what to do with her design. I want her to have curly hair and tan skin to contrast Bayern but giving her tan skin just makes her look too much like Arminia Bielefeld. I could give her medium brown skin. Which I really like, by the way. Might choose this one for the clubs page?
Or I could make her deathly pale but that, with the blue eyes and strong nose, just makes her ridiculously similar to HSV. Like why. I don't even know anymore.
But I'm adding more piercings to her and half-shaving her hair now! Make her more goth and emo forever! (And also the shaved hair is the opposite side from Bayern ;D)
I also have the thought of making her blonde, but that looks weird. Here you go, have a look:
Waldhof Mannheim: I basically make her masculine as the opposite of the feminine Kaiserslautern. She's wearing the Axis of Evil (her partners') colours. Might change her hair but I still want it dyed in cool colors.
SGS Essen: Basically, her hair and freckles are referencing her mascot, a leopard named Lila. Her design is almost unchanged from her original one.
You thought I wouldn't draw non-German clubs? Think again! xD This is kind of spiritual sequel to Meet the Champions, my art from November 2015. PSG and Juve use she/her and Barcelona uses he/him pronouns.
Notes under the cut! ;D
For the most part, I kept the designs unchanged because... well... I don't care enough about non-German clubs to do deep dives into their club history and culture.
Paris Saint-Germain: This art from 2015 says that her hair is naturally red, so I made a red-haired version too. Also, 11 years later, let me just say that she's probably at least 1.8 meters tall now. I also gave her thick eyebrows and subtle makeup to ✨ modernize ✨ her style.
FC Barcelona: I made his skin a bit darker cause I wanted him to look kinda like Ronaldinho, haha... also made the undertone red instead of yellow because of his club colors.
Then, I made his hair curlier cause I know I couldn't draw curly hair back in the day. This is like, trying to do what I've always intended, but with more art skill this time. Also the freckles are a reference to La Masia, his youth training thing.
And last but not least, the red-blue eyes are a shout-out to the very cool Pre Match Syndrome by LittleLadyPunk!
Juventus FC: As per this new drawing, I want her to be fatter and curvier with a squarer face. Square faces are always hard to draw, and idk if this is even visible, lol. Anyway, her hair is a side-parted bob, and is basically two "J"s, like her crest.
Snippets of Bayer 04 Leverkusen and his (former) metamours (his partners’ partners): Hannover 96, Hamburger SV, 1. FC Kaiserslautern, and TSV 1860 München.
Chapter Summary:
Sechzig and Leverkusen have a talk while waiting for Kaiserslautern to arrive to their movie marathon.
Warnings and notes are under the cut.
Warning:
- Implied physical abuse
- Self-loathing
- Dissociation
- Suggestive jokes
- Internalized homophobia
- Internalized pluralphobia
- Unintentional misgendering (Bochum and Uerdingen haven't come out yet)
- Panic attack
- Many references to Christianity
- Red Scare era typical anti-communism and anti-atheism
.
Metamourphosis
a Bundeslihaha Loose Canon story
Chapter 2: 1989 - TSV 1860 München
“And don't you or that Pillendreher make a mess in my house!”
The door’s ensuing aggressive kiss against its doorframe causes both you and your sense of propriety to wince. TSV 1860 München—Sechzig—on the other hand, doesn't bat an eye. Your heart sinks at her not defending you from the nickname. You shouldn't be disappointed with something you're so used to…
Serves you right when you expect your partner's partner's partner to coddle you like a child.
She raises a middle finger, sharp and manicured in a tiny blue-white pattern that probably complement 1. FC Kaiserslautern’s own terrifying claws. You wonder how either of them do anything with those.
“So long, hater!” Sechzig roars, equally rankling you both and pull your shoulders tight upwards like a scared cat…
“You both”? There's no both. You're just one person. Personification. The other one is Sechzig herself, who puffs her chest and exhales laughter that seems to also exhale the burdens on her shoulders. It makes sense. She has to share a house with her greatest rival. You imagine having to be roommates with Köln and feel bile rising to your throat. Which isn't good for your stupid plan…
You swallow to fight back the revulsion.
Ah-ah-ah. You feel the hairs at the back of your neck prick up. You're not one of those Traditionsvereine, are you? You can't be set in your ways. Progress is only achieved if you try new things.
You sigh. You really should at least attempt this. It’s in the spirit of experiments, as the voice in your head would say, just like Bayer AG had taught you. It's frankly not your plan, per se, but your mind has calculated the risks and rewards. Of which there should be more of the latter. You've told your partners. You're not doing anything wrong.
Sechzig throws herself on Bayern's bright red sofa, on which drapes a sheet of fabric with the diamonds of the Bavarian flag, framed with golden stars. She brushes the sheet off and it falls to the floor. Then, she pats the empty space beside her. “Come on, Lev, sit with me until Lautern gets here. I wanna watch TV before our movie marathon.”
You smile, nod, and sit down. Mental approval tugs your smile further upwards. You pick up the mouse- and bear-shaped cushions. The mouse must be Bochum's.
“Is the bear yours?”
Sechzig looks at you and snorts. “Nope. That's Hertha's. As in Hertha Berlin.”
“How did it get here?”
“Bayern and Hertha were together,” Sechzig says offhandedly. She's already taken the TV remote and is now flipping through the channels. “Broke up a while ago.”
You wonder how they started dating and how they broke up.
Don't be nosy, you feel a pressure in your head, it's unbecoming of a gentleman.
You're not a gentleman, a streak of defiance inside you snaps. You're not supposed to have one, but it sends adrenaline buzzing from your head to your toes and your fingers to indulge. And maybe she will tell me.
The more rational side of yourself makes you step on your own toes. You bite your lip to stop yourself from screaming. Indulging is irreligious. We should all practice moderation.
She grabs the bear from you and rests it behind her, before leaning further back onto the sofa, smushing the bear between them.
“Bochum celebrated it like he'd kicked down the Wall himself, which is absolutely cruel considering the circumstances of the breakup,” Sechzig says, head lolling towards you with a sneer, “but before I could wreck Bayern with it, he blackmailed me into shutting up.”
She huffs and looks straight into the TV again, snarling, “I hate that guy.”
You try to give her a curious gaze-
You are out of control! She's not telling you anything more, Bayer 04!
Your mind nudges you to make a sign of interest. You nod politely and mutter something like, “I hate him too.”
Too perfunctory.
Even so, Sechzig looks satisfied, both with your obviously fake sympathy—this is because you're neglecting your public speaking practice. How can you represent our family when you can't even show kindness?—and the channel, which is showing some trashy soap.
You let your eyes get bleary with the drama while you get onto thinking.
Sechzig seems to be in touch with her rival's friends, something you can't say for yourself. Köln’s long-standing partnership with FC St. Pauli isn't something you think about, as the punk club is in a lower division than you now… though you unfortunately do see that aggravating goat when you're in Hamburg. Facing the unrelegatable Hamburger SV, that is. Who is Stuggi's ex. Your partner still calls him Perle, which Hamburg rolls his eyes at, because you’re the one who has to call him that whenever you're at the Volkspark.
“Can it with the nicknames, lab rat. You're such a sucker for the pearls in my pants,” he would snicker, “Is Stuttgart paying you to do this?”
And then you'd smirk at him and reply, “Oh, you know that he pays me with kisses!”
“Dear gods!” He’d do a dramatic gasp. “So that's why you're gonna say goodbye with a socialist fraternal kiss. Like the fucking slut you are.”
“We're all socialists and sluts, Perle.” You'd meet his eyes. Then, on your tiptoes, you'd put your lips on his cheek, as your partner had mandated, though without the passion that he must have for this man. You're but a deliverer of the Swabian Hamburgpost. “We share Stuttgart here.”
As expected when you're being that flippant with the power of matchday booze, when you're secretly enjoying playing messenger for your partner to his ex, you'd have a headache that spikes like your owner's hand makes you kiss the wall.
Hamburg would tease you, “Got any aspirin?”, which would incense you like no stimulant can, but would calm the blue-green glare in your head. You don't think Hamburg likes you at all.
That's because he is a drunken sailor whose social skills amount to talking to his fellow feral, unwashed idiots.
You've met Hannover, whom Wolfsburg has described as feral, but definitely not unwashed or an idiot. Bielefeld seems to be quite beautiful, which is not a compliment you don’t give lightly to men, most of whom dress in overly-casual eye-searing messes.
Köln doesn't dress like that, your treacherous side tempts you, conjuring images of him with his big hair and maroon lipstick, neck piled up with bow ties and cravats and gaudy jewelry. Is he not beautiful?
No, he's not, you chide, firm and polite, his sense of dress is inappropriate. His insistence on being a fop in the year of our lord 1989-
You can't call people a fop, you argue, not even Scheißbock!
An inward sigh is your response.
I'm only calling him as the invert he is. A ghost of a hand ruffles your hair, pulling a shudder out of you. The blue-green eyes soften as you feel the edges of your lips turn upwards. And you're not like that, are you now, Bayer 04? You're his rival, because you're his opposite.
He's a real Traditionsverein, the stray thought rams into your head at full speed like two horns of a goat. Fuck.
The same ghost hand that ruffles your hair now presses your lips close.
Bayer clubs like you and 05 do not swear, you tell yourself, Swearing is a shortcut for proper emotional and intellectual expression.
That means, Bayer 04, its soothing flowing-Rhein tone freezing into ice, It's a lazy trick to skip thinking.
Sechzig, meanwhile, doesn't seem to catch your internal debate. You're thinking about your partner and your former metamour—and also an obvious distraction from your plan.
Why do I have to do this, again? you wonder. You may not have any feelings for your rival's partner's rival, which is a stupid phrase to say, but Hamburg is a man—a man? The way he's acting, he should be called a hormonal teenage boy!—and you can appreciate men, in general.
He has broad shoulders, like Stuttgart, who is one of the most handsome men you've ever laid your eyes on. Stuggi's skin is soft, yet his hands are calloused, used to fixing and modifying cars. Sometimes he's lathered in engine grease. Sweat slick and shiny on his skin like he's a porn star. It's awful but you love it. His hair smells like care products and car smoke. The sweet-smelling cream… the shampoo that protects his silver-bleached hair… The brown growing out around the mohawk, prickly to the fingers and stimulating to the tongue… the roots popping in like a bullseye for you to kiss…
Are you quite done?
You're vomited out of your inappropriate thoughts. Bile—your sins—rises up your digestive tract again like you're about to vomit your homosexuality out in real life. Your dry eyes prickle with tears. You find yourself blinking and gently wiping. You can't let the contact lenses get messed up. And you should be looking at the TV.
It shows a heterosexual couple making out like they're paid way more than they must be. A glance at Sechzig shows her snickering at the sheer insanity of the acting.
That's how it's supposed to be, your mind chides. Now, your plan. Reagan talked about tearing down the Berlin Wall. Now you, Bayer 04, must tear down the walls of your shame.
“Sechzig,” you say softly, but not so softly that you sound like a cry for help. “Have you ever kissed someone like that?”
“Not just someone. Sometwo.” She brandishes two fingers. “Lautern wouldn't want Stuttgart to be alone, don'tcha think?”
“I get that,” you reply, “I wouldn't want to leave Offenbach alone if he's with me and Stuggi both.”
“Hell yeah,” Sechzig says, raising a hand, which you high-five like normal. “Pun intended.” A wink, which is definitely Lautern's influence. “We're kindred spirits, you and I.”
You laugh as best as you can.
Come on, don't be nervous.
You can do this. “Do you think you could kiss me like that too?”
Sechzig lifts her feet up and folds her legs on the couch, shifting closer to you. “You sure?”
No. “Yes.”
“I dunno how many times you've kissed a girl,” Sechzig grins. Her knees are pressed to the side of your thigh. “But women and men aren't different species. Just listen and you'll hear what we like… turn around to the right a little bit? Two o'clock direction?”
You do just that.
She cups your face. Your mind immediately goes to the last time you've kissed a woman. She was a mortal, most likely. You've kissed many mortal women during your time as a chemist, and then as a spin doctor. Maybe she was a coworker. Maybe she was the wife of your fellow factory men. You were youthful and strong and tireless, good traits for a husband to have, they'd say. Or a homewrecker. You laugh. Out loud.
Sechzig pulls away to breathe—to laugh with you, or maybe at you—before she enters your half open mouth, tongue knocking on yours. You hold her sides and pull her into a hug, which she takes as a cue to do whatever she wants. Your mind runs to your time experimenting in your owner's labs. This, too, is an experiment, though the chemicals involved are probably different. You don't remember any of it. Your chemistry knowledge now stops at “humans—and personifications, apparently—breathe oxygen”.
The ever-vigilant eyes in your mind glare at you again. You can't even distract yourself without getting distracted.
It should not stop there, Bayer 04, your mind warns, scientific knowledge is important, especially when the official unveiling actually happens and you need a talent to showcase.
You pull away from Sechzig and press your lips on her cheek. But I'm currently practicing this talent…
Sechzig's arm snakes around you and rubs your back, head landing on your shoulder and nuzzling your neck. Her long, fluffy mane tickles your cheek, your nose.
You sneeze.
The glare hardens. You can't breathe.
“Lev,” Sechzig cries, and because you're stupid, your lungs can barely take more of that necessary oxygen, not like you need to breathe, right? “Lev! Was it that bad?!”
You watch Sechzig's face contort in panic. “I shouldn't have done that! You’re gay! That's what Stuttgart- I'm not trying to convert you I promise!”
You need to actually breathe. You have to answer her.
“I-” A gasp. Your heart is beating too fast. It knocks on your lungs and crushes your throat. You grip the armrest on the far side. Tighter. Because the half blue and half red walls and the fan and the posters are spinning around you and you have to hold on before you get swept in… you need to get your medication. Where's your bag? Why can't you see it from here?
There's a thudding noise. Sechzig is suddenly in front of you, worried like you're going to die in front of her. Maybe you are. You feel like you are.
“Breathe with me,” Sechzig says. “Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth.”
You really need to get more resilient! The scream quickens your heartbeat. Your ribcage feels like it's rattling out of your chest. Do you have to depend on a Drittligist now?!
You try to take the air from the nose as she says. The air comes in short bursts. You're drowning. You're not even near water. You breathe harder. Your chest expands so hard it hurts. Then you open your mouth and blow like a lunatic. It's not working.
Just ask her to get your medication, Bayer!
“Lev? Did I fuck up?” Sechzig asks, clutching your wrist, “Should I leave?”
“D-don't leave,” you choke out. You try breathing like her instructions again. It's not working so well. Because you're incompetent and weak. You can't even act like a real first division club. “I'm sorry.”
“Okay,” Sechzig whispers, squeezing your hand, which honestly has been white-knuckled frozen on the armrest for… God knows how long. “I won't leave. I won't leave… but I might have to take something from my room, okay?”
“Okay,” you gasp, and she squeezes your wrist before running to the left side where the walls are blue.
You try to breathe in through your nose again…
Why are you still following her instructions? She's clearly not a good example for you, Bayer 04.
It's not working.
Of course it's not working. Look, she's a total mess. Even a small fry like Bochum can blackmail her.
You try again.
Stubborn, your mind clicks its tongue, tsk, tsk, tsk. You clearly never learn. Bayer 05 is doing her part. It's only fair that you do yours.
But you already have. You've kissed Sechzig. You imagine doing it again, except with Uerdingen this time. She has long hair, too, like Sechzig, though unlike the Munich club's naturally voluminous curls, Uerdingen's was permed. Her hair, originally red, had been bleached blonde to match yours since the sixties, and the other personifications would say that Bayer made you in a lab and cloned her from your genes. You were numbered, 04 and 05, like an assembly line robot.
Of course, thinking about robots reminds you of Fortuna Düsseldorf and her Kraftwerk obsession. She's chopped off her dark curls into a bowl cut and left it undyed for once, all to match that freaky band, though sometimes she’d spike it up.
Dusseldorf is a disgrace. She's straightening her beautiful, trendy curls… and for what? The thought stresses you out. There's not a shortage of curly-haired clubs. Köln’s hair is in a big pompadour with curled ends. St. Pauli has jheri curls in funky colours. Werder Bremen, with that long wavy hair, androgynous face, and Bohemian-style clothes, still looks like a hippie from the 60s. You have curly hair, too.
Are you listening to me?
Speaking of Düsseldorf, her short black hair and red lipstick does make her look like the cover of Techno Pop. You listened to Kraftwerk a few times, trying to get the appeal. All it does is make you feel like you are actually an engineered personification coming out of an assembly line.
You can almost hear her voice. Wir laden unsre Batterie… Jetzt sind wir voller Energie…
Speaking in a robotic monotone. Wir sind die Roboter. Then the stupid tone. Ba-ba-ba-ba! Wir sind die Roboter! Do-re-so-mi!
That song is so catchy. You find yourself playing the song mentally, before continuing to Der Telefon-Anruf.
“Ich geb' dir meine Zuneigung und meine Zeit,” you hum, “Ich muß dich wiedersehen, wann ist es soweit?”
Sechzig comes back with a big horn—as in, the brass instrument—of some sort. “You like Kraftwerk?”
“Düsseldorf makes me listen to them,” you shrug, “and all those local punk bands.”
“Yeah, that makes sense.” Sechzig hoists the horn up and starts playing an intro that kind of sounds like Latin dance music. And then moves on to a Karneval-like sound… wait… you recognize this song. You're so shocked at her accuracy that you can't even sing it.
“Plüschprumme! UEFA Cup ‘88!” You point a finger at her with a big smile you can't control. “How did you know this?”
Sechzig takes the mouthpiece of her horn from her mouth. “Stuttgart makes me listen to this.” She grins. “It’s a pretty cool song. And you're feeling better, huh?”
“I guess I am,” you grin back, “Thanks to you, Sechzig.”
“Aww.” She leans on her horn like it's a pillow. “Anytime, Lev. Sorry for kissing you, again, really.” She hides her face behind her instrument, now, face reddening.
“It's not your fault,” you reassure her with your sweetest smile, "I was the one who asked.”
She sits next to you again, still holding her horn. You look at the TV again. It's now showing news about East Germany's increasing discontent. You wonder how their personifications are doing, considering Bayer's insider told you that they're actually working as personifications in an official capacity to "boost morale" (Propaganda tools, you want to say). According to your owner, the Western clubs would have to do the same, to foster good relations. You don't know why your owner has an informant in the GDR, or why you have to follow their example even though this side of the Iron Curtain cares about freedom of expression, nor do you want to.
The TV blinks into black. You look to your right to see Sechzig turning it off. You can't help but sag in relief.
“Why'd you ask me to kiss you, anyway?”
You turn to the TV again. Then at her horn, which is leaning on the far side of the couch. You can't look at her curious eyes, so blue, so genuine. They're sky-blue, like Bayern's, and not like Uerdingen's dark ones, but… “You ever heard about the concept of ‘official unveiling’?”
“Not personally,” Sechzig replies, “but Bayern's whined about it enough that I know the gist of it. Why?”
“Every first division club is going to be unveiled as soon as the Wall comes down,” you explain, “including me and Bayer 05 Uerdingen.” You swallow. “They want us to be a couple. So I thought I'd get some…”
God.
You wring the cuffs of your shirt. You're a horrible person. Why are you hesitating?
“...practice. In being in love with a woman.”
You glance at Sechzig, face warming as you do. Her jaw has dropped.
“What the hell?” Sechzig cries when your questioning stare intensifies. “Aren't you brother and sister?!”
At least she's not calling you plastic clones bent on destroying football culture as bequeathed by the entire Himmel-Elf to bless the people of Earth. Which is what the goat man would say. You'd politely tell him that according to his alleged beliefs, God is a Trinity and not an Eleven…ity.
“Not literally,” you correct her, “we're not related by blood, that's not possible… but she’s like a sister to me.”
“That answers my question.”
Your sock-wrapped feet suddenly become highly interesting. They're black, with red toes and heels. The Bayer cross on your neck, unfortunately, dangles from its chain like an amateur hypnotist, blocking your view of the socks.
“You're not gonna ask what my question is?”
You shake your head. “It's none of my business.”
“You're my partner's partner's partner, Lev.”
Sechzig pats your back.
You turn your head to face her.
“It's your business now.” She beams. “And my question was, ‘did the personification of Bayer AG give birth to you two?’”
You shudder. “God forbid.”
“See? You answered my question.” Sechzig cackles like she's just successfully roped you into an evil plan. “But it must be awful that you have to be straight for each other.”
Awful? Your eyes glare at Sechzig, proper blue and green, at their own volition. That's how I'm supposed to be.
Sechzig looks at you weirdly… her pupils almost turning into catlike slits… and then lowers her gaze to…
Oh.
Your gaze arrives there too. The Bayer cross. It's an expensive necklace. It's been bitten by baby Köln since he had no teeth until he grew a full set. It's been fixed and polished with company money until no marks remain. You're truly a waste of resources.
“She wears one too,” Sechzig points out. Pity is all over her frown, her forward lean, the knit of her eyebrows. “And it's supposed to be a romantic matching necklace thing instead of a creepy family emblem. Right?”
It's not creepy! It's a symbol of our club and city history!
“Right,” you say instead.
You feel like you've been slapped in the face.
Uerdingen must be practicing all this on her own, your thoughts churn in your gut, and you're just lazing about because you can't handle a simple kiss… You sigh. Should've started smaller, I guess.
“It still looks like a creepy family emblem,” Sechzig continues, taking the shiny cross between her fingers, before looking up at your face, “because you and Uerdingen have the same eyes, same nose, almost the same face shape. No one's gonna see you two as a couple. Is your owner out of its mind?!”
You chuckle at her choice of pronouns. Bayer AG isn't just one being.
“Well,” you tilt your head, lips quirking into a smile that your owner would slap out of your face, “they could spin it as creating a most perfectly matched bespoke couple in the Bayer labs. Tell them like it's a breakthrough in science.”
Sechzig reaches out to your back—you stiffen and press your back to the other end of the sofa—and unclasps your necklace. You release a breath you just realize you’ve been holding. You don't even fight back.
Then, she holds the necklace by the cross, on her palm, and shakes her head.
“You're a Christian, right?”
You nod. Where is this going…?
“This isn't even a proper cross,” she snaps. Shoves it at your face. She then glares at it like it's wronged her personally. “I don't even believe in God and I think this is stupid.” She tosses it behind her. You watch as it falls down to the floor. “Are they telling you to to worship their company?”
You don't know what to answer. It's not worship to be grateful to the people who have raised you, taught you everything you knew, and brought you this far with all their might. It's just duty.
“You believe in God, Lev?”
“I do…”
“Then you should remember that it was that guy who created you,” Sechzig says, tone suddenly firm, blue eyes blazing, “not that pharma company. They may own your team, but they don't fucking own you. You're not a clone, or a robot, or whatever sci-fi bullshit they tell you to convince you that you're not a real person who's allowed to not want to kiss a girl.”
Sechzig holds your shoulder again. Your posture relaxes.
Stop leaning onto her, you find yourself snarling, venomous words tightening your chest, she's a godless communist and you listen to her baseless assumptions about God?
I thought I wanted to act straight, you reply, leaning further into her, to which she mirrors you. Here it is. Getting close to Sechzig. Starting small, as I should've done.
She just referred to God as ‘that guy’!
You roll your eyes. You should be preparing for more of that when the reunification happens.
You're shirking your duty as an ambassador of the company!
“Capiche?” she asks, somehow still friendly. But the more important thing is that she's ignorant of the extent of your devotion.
How could you, Sechzig? you want to shout at her, You don't know how deeply Bayer flows in my blood… my creators, my guardians, the ones who have given me my life and livelihood-
“Capiche,” you say. As if your childhood, your years of learning and growing under the company, have been trivial. As though the factory workers creating you from their own hard work and love for football means nothing.
Sechzig grins at you, as sharp as a lioness.
Your first instinct, and your second, and third, is to wince and shudder and cover it all up with a relaxed yet proper posture and a friendly face to quiet your own thoughts. But after what she said, you think it's Bayer's blood she's thirsty for.
You find that your throat is parched, too. You're an ungrateful scum… And yet you grin back. It makes you feel like a lion of your own.
(You are not a lion, Bayer 04. You have always needed—will always need—a shepherd.)
END
.
Notes:
I'm not a Christian, so... @ Christians in the readership, wearing the Bayer cross is like, blasphemous, right? 🤔
Anyway xD
Thank you so much for reading. It's been fun writing these 💚
~
Songs in this chapter:
"UEFA Cup '88" by Die Plüschprummel
- Youtube video
- Song page
- Album playlist
- Album page
"Die Roboter" by Kraftwerk
- Long version
- Medium version
- Short version
"Der Telefon-Anruf" by Kraftwerk
- Long version
- Medium version
- Short version
~
Pillendreher: Pill twister, a mocking nickname for Bayer 04 Leverkusen
Spin doctor: A public relations practitioner (derogatory), generally one who tries to deflect the wrongdoings of and improve the image of a harmful person/company
TSV 1860 shares a house with FC Bayern because their teams both played in the same stadium (Munich Olympic Stadium aka Olympiastadion München during the story, and later Allianz Arena). Sechzig has never been able to afford her own living space, and Bayern tolerates her.
Sechzig can play various marching band instruments because she plays on the Oktoberfest parades for years. I thought it'd be fun!
The Official Unveiling is my concept for the Reveal. It was first posted on Where Fußball Meets Fun's Under the Spotlight and the entire point of Bundeslihaha Redux. You will find out more about it with further installments, or even lore posts on my tumblr @bundeslihaha ~ Stay tuned! ;)
Snippets of Bayer 04 Leverkusen and his (former) metamours (his partners' partners): Hannover 96, Hamburger SV, 1. FC Kaiserslautern, and TSV 1860 München.
Chapter Summary:
Hannover confronts the newest extension to the Nordallianz.
Warnings and notes are under the cut.
Warning:
- Paranoia
- Self-loathing
- Religion mention
- Transphobia
- Misgendering
- Deadnaming
- Discussion about passing (and not passing) as cisgender- Interpersonal misunderstanding
.
Notes:
Welcome back to Bundeslihaha Loose Canon! Today, we will explore the fan friendship between Bayer 04 Leverkusen and Arminia Bielefeld, as well as Leverkusen with VfB Stuttgart... through his relationships with his metamours. Enjoy.
Metamours via VfB Stuttgart: 1860 Munich, 1. FC Kaiserslautern
Metamours via Arminia Bielefeld: Hannover 96, Hamburger SV
.
Metamourphosis
a Bundeslihaha Loose Canon story
Chapter 1: 1996 - Hannover 96
Hannover has been staring at you. (You're no stranger to being stared at. Even your own mind doesn't give you reprieve from your own electric blue-green gaze.)
So you ignore him.
He stares even more. Your eyes flit for Bielefeld—Bie-Lev, as he loves to say—as you walk through Hamburg's old, fancy house with too many dark corners for your owner to hide in. Your steps quicken-
But Hannover's at the end of the hallway. Strides wide, eyes vicious, lips pursed.
It's because you've taken off your contacts, the owner of that electric gaze points out. You freeze. As you should. He must be freaked out. Red eyes are unnatural. (Nevermind that Fortuna Düsseldorf flaunts her red eyes. Karneval clubs are so shameless.)
“I've been trying to talk to you,” Hannover says.
You nod and smile, as one should do in this sort of situation.
“Lemme say that this is the least offensive way I can ask.”
Oh.
Your smile tightens, not enough to be spotted by those too-sharp blue-greens, not enough to change Hannover's expression. He must be curious about your owner. You can hear him already: How plastic you are compared to the three of them. How out of place you are as a churchgoer where Hannover and Bie-Lev are atheists (as far as you know) and Hamburg is… whatever religion he is. (He smells like funerals or incense sometimes—you never ask why.)
“Are you a transsexual?”
The question throws all your scripts off guard. Your smile falters. Your mind spins like a centrifuge.
You can't even answer a simple question, a much nicer version of your own voice chides. How much longer should you rehearse, so that being good becomes second, or first, nature?
“C-can you repeat your question?”
Hannover nods, surprisingly compliant. You've always heard about his violent fans. Apparently being Arminia Bielefeld's boyfriend gives you immunity.
“Are you transsexual?” he asks, “FTM, female to male?”
Just say no, you tell yourself.
“Or are you closeted MTF? Male to female? Or something else?”
How dare he ask you that?! is your next thought. You were born male and you know how to be a man! You know your place and you take what you’re given, unlike Bayer 05, that traitor-
“Why do you ask?” you say instead. Your eyebrows are furrowing on their own, and you're not smiling, but you correct your expression quicker than you can say Bayer 04.
“I did say it's going to be offensive, so.”
You brace yourself.
“You never have a mustache or a beard. You don't go topless. Your pants look like you're just learning how to pack. Or maybe you just had the surgery—anyway. Your voice is… you're no Perle, that's for sure, but it's really not easy to get there, so I understand.”
You scoff without meaning to. Proper men don't sound like Hamburger SV—cocky and loud and swearing like a sailor. And your pants are just fine, thank you very much.
Or maybe, you argue, Bayer AG is trying to create the most feminine man on Earth, just so you aren't harsh like Köln, or boisterous like Gladbach-
“Hey, I don't judge, okay?” Hannover's voice crashes into your thoughts, “I'm transsexual too.”
He is? “You are?”
You're so bad at paying attention, Bayer 04. That's against the principles of public relations. Look at how round his face is. He never has facial hair, he barely has any body hair, he doesn't walk around shirtless like Arminia or HSV, he-
“I thought it was obvious,” Hannover chuckles, scratching the back of his shaved head. Then, he takes off his t-shirt to reveal a corset vest. You conclude that it binds his chest and broadens his shoulders. It looks kind of like a pirate outfit, but you really can't say that to Hamburger SV’s partner.
“Not to mention I still sound like this even after smoking for years. My partners made me stop.” His tone sours. He quickly puts his T-shirt back on. “I've been waiting for a shrink that doesn't make me try to pass as a man for three damn years before I get any hormones and shit.”
He clicks his tongue. “I can’t pass. People don’t think Asian guys are real guys, even if they’re born male.”
“I'm sorry,” you sympathize.
Hannover waves it off as if it was nothing. “Perle's been giving me voice lessons like I'm a theatre actor. Imagine me, in all those spotlights and fancy costumes!” He laughs, eyes bright, and offers you his hand. “You should join me if you want.”
“You're very kind, Hannover,” you say, blood rushing in your ears. The voice in your head screams, she's just like Bayer 05, she doesn't know what's good for her! “But I have to say no, thank you. You understand, right?”
Hannover's face falls. His hand does, too. You emphasize the pronoun so your mind would stop fighting.
“Hey, I get it. Living stealth is easier.” He claps a hand on your back, firmly directing you somewhere in this labyrinth of a house.
The further you walk, the louder Bie-Lev and HSV's voices ring in your ears. And the smell… You can't help but smile. They must be in the kitchen. What are they cooking?
“If you ever need some transsexual advice, I'm a phone call away.” He rubs your back somewhat roughly. “If not, I can give you our FTM mailing list. There's me, Karlsruhe, Dortmund, Dresden, even Uerdingen! You two are close, right?”
“Uerdingen…” you echo. “You could say that.”
“He's the newest of the bunch.” Hannover nods, oblivious to what she's done to you, what she's done to your family, to your shared owner who's been so generous. “Or I can invite you to the general transsexual personification mailing list. Lautern's a riot… Pauli is crazy as you can expect… FSV Frankfurt is there too but she’s pretty quiet…”
You should correct Hannover as he rambles on and on about the mailing lists, as you two move closer to the kitchen. You're not like him. But you imagine, if you were, you'd be surrounded by people who know, who understand, and you can even be with Uerdingen again…
Your chest tightens. Tears spring from your eyes no matter how hard you blink them away. You're shaking so much that Hannover is worrying over you like you deserve it. Even when you're in front of the kitchen door.
“I'll get Mini now,” Hannover's voice is impossibly gentle. “Hell, I'll ask Uerdingen if he wants to see you.”
He doesn't.
The words die in your tongue. He wouldn't want to see you again. Your eyes squeeze shut and you wish you could do the same to your ears. “Just Bielefeld, please…”
You're better off without her, your rational side whispers, Bayer 05 Uerdingen is an undisciplined, ungrateful girl who doesn’t want to face responsibility or consequences for all her demands of freedom-
And even more importantly for both KFC Uerdingen and yourself, you, irrational you, cut in, nails digging into your palms, he is better off without you.
So is Bielefeld, your rational side hisses as your boyfriend holds you in his arms. You don't deserve him. You're a liar and a coward.
You sink into the crook of Arminia's neck regardless. I know.
END
.
Notes:
When you're trans like Hannover 96, you might wonder a lot about who else is like you. I sometimes thought that "maybe people would speculate that Bayer 04 Leverkusen is trans". In this era, Leverkusen was conflicted over it, but in the present day, I know that Leverkusen would be happy about the speculation because he knows it'd piss Bayer AG off, lol.
Hannover's transition troubles is due to the Transsexual Act, the law in Germany at the time.
(Some people probably also speculate that Arminia Bielefeld is transgender, since he's a really feminine guy... fans can be invasive like that, sadly.)
Hannover's binder is supposed to be somewhat like this artwork by marlowelune but with shoulder-additions as well. Hamburg is a theatre-lover, so I think he'd have the skill to make outfits.
(Also yes I believe in creepy house Hamburg)
I don't actually know what Hannover and Bielefeld's beliefs should be, exactly. Leverkusen assumes they're atheists because they don't do any rituals, their houses have no religious symbols, etc.. They're likely to be non-religious, however, considering some religions see queerness as a bad thing, though I know a lot of atheists also hate queer people for various reasons.
Leverkusen was a Christian (unknown denomination) until 2002, as per Escape (from Bundeslihaha: Where Fußball Meets Fun).
KFC Uerdingen, formerly known as Bayer 05 Uerdingen, used to be a trans man, before they became nonbinary. I want to write them not as "I've known all along" or "all my previous identities were wrong/shameful", but "I've changed over the years and let myself seek what gives me most joy, be it manhood or nonbinaryness or anything else". Their gender non-conformity is part of why Bayer AG let go of them in 1995.
1. FC Kaiserslautern is a trans woman, she transitioned since 1991 as told in Trident Tryst.
FSV Frankfurt's single-person persona (Luci) is a trans woman, since Saskia (women's team personification) was on the pitch (using the body) more often than Richard (men's team personification). Richard himself is a trans man, as detailed in To Be Perfectly Frankfurt, Chapter 2.
Speaking of plurality, I've taken to call Leverkusen's headmate/inner critic/etc. "Eidolon", as they strive to be the idealized self that Bayer AG would like him to be. This is less of a canon name and more of an internal name to use when I'm writing. I hope to write them in a more prominent role through this installment, among others!
As for Dortmund, Dresden, and Karlsruhe, hopefully I can talk about them another time! Have a good day/night and see you on the next chapter :D
Sport-Club Freiburg, my dearest, most wonderful team, alles Gute! I wish you all the best! I am proud of you all, women's and men's teams both! The UEL final was a highlight, but I think the entire season was wonderful ❤️ Can't believe it's been 11 years since I loved SCF. It's been one hell of a journey 🤍
(Close-ups under the cut! This is also posted on my IG @ freibulous!)
Left is the public persona, right is SCF in their private life.
Let's talk about their design and some lore under the cut! (Edit 14.06.2026: Fixed the Bayer 05 photocard.)
Bayer 05 Uerdingen: This is what Uerdingen's photocard would have looked like, had they been revealed earlier. Red-haired and blue-eyed, Bayer AG told them to wear the company logo, bleach their hair blond, and wear the green-blue contact lenses to match Leverkusen as a form of control.
Bayer also pressured them to look super feminine and present as a woman, complete with 1990s makeup. They were also forced to keep their hair long and "beautiful". However, they cut their hair into a mullet to look more androgynous. This resulted in negative consequences.
Also, Uerdingen have the same sharp nose and thick eyelashes as Leverkusen, which made other personifications joke that they were cloned in a laboratory.
.
KFC Uerdingen: After their freedom from Bayer AG, they discovered that they were nonbinary. They tried a lot of alternative styles (by learning how to make their own clothes, since money is extremely difficult to come by). Currently it's visual kei inspired. The less attractive they seem to Bayer AG and their like, the more confident they become. Their cheek piercings are adjustable (you can change the tip). They love the sharp ones the most because it's like Grotifant (their elephant mascot)! :D
Between 1990s and 2026, they got thinner and their ears got bigger. Thus is the reincarnation of personifications.
I also contemplated that they might've taken testosterone HRT and grow out facial hair for a time. Cause it'd be like a form of self-reclamation (especially considering Leverkusen is pressured to shave any facial hair he has).
Probably the fastest I've drawn a birthday artwork. Hope any Darmstadt fan reading this have a good day! ⚜️ (By the way, I also posted this on Instagram @ freibulous!) 💙
I keep hearing nearby footsteps but theyre not of humanoid gait so i pay them no mind cus all beasts are friendly towards me due to rapport ive built with various animal clans
