#event 004

[victoriams]

ᴡʜᴏ: SOLEIL FLEMING & PRIMROSE EVERDEEN ( @damagedflames ) ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ: TRIBUTE TOWER, TWELFTH FLOOR ᴡʜᴇɴ: DAY OF THE (PROPER) LAUNCH

Never let it be said that Soleil Fleming did not know how to process her feelings. In fact, she had three tried and true strategies – deflection, repression, and explosion. Sure, she'd been informed on numerous occasions that these weren't healthy coping strategies, but they'd worked well enough throughout her life that she'd never bothered to try and differently. Perhaps, she should have invested some time into this, she thinks – as she sits on the fifth floor, picking at her nails as she watches Finch and Ampere on the screen, no Lark nor Joule to be seen. Electra has disappeared somewhere, and, for the first time, Soleil has begun to comprehend that they are completely, utterly, alone.

They can feel their breathing quicken in a familiar pattern, legs bouncing up and down in time with it. The longer they sit here and dwell on their own loneliness, the more they're going to spiral. Fuck this.

They're not entirely aware of themself as they barge their way out of the fifth floor living area and into the elevator, nor when they press the button for the twelfth floor. Maybe they're just looking for company, for someone they know will be friendly, despite the situation. Despite how much they've teased her ( in their own head... mostly ) there is a sense of relief that comes with the sight of PRIMROSE EVERDEEN, even if she looks surprised to see Soleil on the twelfth floor.

"Uh... hi, Prim." They say, rubbing at the back of their neck. "I'm, uh... there's not really anybody left downstairs, so I was, um..." Soleil pauses, realising just how pathetic they sound right now. "Can I watch the games up here?"

[ode2rin]

1 | ANYONE BUT YOU .ೃ

summary. as lines get blurred, hearts get flustered, and a scheme ensues, your brother's best friend suddenly seems way more interesting than he used to be.

content/warnings. 5k+ wc (part 1/3) reader has little to no college friends | reader hates kaiser's guts | PROTECTIVE kaiser lol | | pet names (dollface) & a lot of profanity (it's kaiser) | minimal proofread

💭 masterlist | next part

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can go with you anymore.”

Your ears were ringing.

After the words hung over the line, a heavy silence descended, punctuated only by the dull thud of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. The phone line seemed to distort, and the world beyond reduced to a distant murmur as a disorienting ringing filled your ears. Yet, despite the shock rippling through, you managed to maintain a facade.

“Ah, I see. It’s no problem. See you around!” Your chirped voice made you cringe internally, but it was a better front than sounding like a defeated kid whose mom said no over a piece of candy at a grocery store.

Before he could say anything else, you clicked the end button faster than he could spew some tacky excuse. Throwing your phone to the side, you settled onto your bed, lying on your back, staring at the uninteresting ceiling of your room.

Sure, it was no problem at all— the music festival was just six hours away, and your date had just canceled on you over the phone. It’s no big deal facing your college blockmates without a companion as initially planned, and it’s totally not a problem that you will most likely be a third– hell, a seventh wheel, actually, and have them talk behind your back – speculating about why you're going alone or if you were just making it up that you had someone to bring.

Yes, it’s not a fucking problem at all.

You don’t even like the artist lineup, anyway (maybe you’re mildly interested with one band that’s attending).  You wouldn’t bother if you weren’t just a sophomore still trying to find a group of friends you can call your own. It's embarrassing enough that freshmen even had it better than you. It’s not a race, for sure, but in college– the truth lies blatant that support systems help. A lesson you learned the hardest way.

“Y/N? Are you in there?” Three soft knocks on your door and a muffled voice, surely coming from your older brother, interrupted your pity party.

“Yes. Come in,” you confirmed. The door creaked open, revealing a mop of magenta hair leaning over your door frame.

“There’s food downstairs. We ordered your favorite.”

“We?”

“Kaiser is downstairs.”

Of course, he is. 

Your brother’s best friend must have really taken it to heart when your mom told him he can treat your family as his own. Too deep into his heart, if you could comment. You see him around the house more than you see your parents, and if that wasn’t tiresome enough, he’s literally a damn superstar in your university. Every corner, every room, in halls and library, everyone can’t seem to be over his name like a broken record.

You wouldn’t be this annoyed, hostile even, if said man was just as nice as your brother. But instead, he was far by the most obnoxious, foul-mouthed, arrogant prick you’ve ever known. Alexis should have never kicked some ball with that conceited oaf a decade ago. Life would have been so much better. But no— reality is, the bane of your existence in the form of blonde hair and sharp blue eyes, is in your house’s kitchen, probably gulping down your favorite drinks in the fridge. 

If you can’t seem to have friends, your older brother seems to be goddamn bad at picking his.

“Hey, dollface. Missed me?” Speak of the damn devil and he shall appear.

The first thing you’re met with after coming down is a sight of Michael Kaiser, sitting high and comfortably on one of the counter’s bar stools. Your gaze trails down to his hand where you see a peek of his crown tattoo— and would you look at that? He’s holding a can of your Coke Zero.

“Oh, so that’s why my life was going sideways again,” you feigned a sigh in disappointment, making sure it was loud enough for him to hear, “because you’re back.”

In your unwanted years of knowing this guy, you’ve soon realized that none of your words, no matter how sharp or snarky they get, would ever faze him. Evidence would be how he just openly chuckled at your remark. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I missed you and your smart mouth, too. Don’t worry.”

“Trust me, worry is not in the list of emotions I would ever feel for you.”

“Well, does attraction make it to the list?”

Years ago, perhaps it would have. Not that he needs to know—no chance. Your silly childhood crush on him was your deepest, darkest mistake. You might be overdramatic, but this was Michael Kaiser, and god, you would rather get caught having feelings for anyone but him.

Rolling your eyes at him, you sneer, “You wish.”

“Oh, trust me, I do wish,” he mocks your tone.

“Fuck off.” 

“That won’t get rid of me, I’m afraid,” he shrugs before winking at you. You shook your head in annoyance.

You took the seat across from him and settled. You were about to lean to reach the box of pizza at the other end of the countertop, when Kaiser reached for it first and placed it in front of you.

You turned to look at him, half expecting a smirk or yet another wink from the blonde, but instead, he was preoccupied browsing on his phone as if his body moved on its own to attend to you.

You shrugged off the weird occurrence and turned all attention to the pizza and its heavenly scent sipping through the gaps of its box, just in time for Alexis to take the seat next to his best friend. You drowned the noise of their conversation as they started talking about last away games.

Your brother and Kaiser had been the most valuable players of your university’s soccer team for as long as you’ve remembered. They were two years older, so by the time you entered university, they were already making big names in the field. Rumors had it that there were already offers lining up at their feet.

If you come to think of it, it wouldn’t be this hard making friends if you would just be vocal about being Alexis Ness’ younger sibling, but the limelight and pretentious popularity it came with was something you wouldn’t wish upon yourself. You wanted real and genuine friends, not people who wanted to be around you because it was a step closer to your brother and his best friend.

Like earlier, Alexis’ voice came reaching your eardrums, snapping you out of your thoughts. After hearing what he had to ask, though, you wished you had a way to physically block out his words.

“Are you not going to get ready for the festival?” your brother asked, meanwhile, his dear friend seemed to take great interest in what you’re about to say as both of them peered over you.

“Not going anymore,” you said, as nonchalant as you could to play pretend.

“Why? You’ve been looking forward to it the whole week.”

Heat crept into your ears and cheeks as embarrassment filled you. Sure, you might not be prancing around being all excited about it, but if your brother was able to notice it, your enthusiasm must have been evident then. God, you felt like an utter fool now.

“It got canceled,” you looked away from them.

Alexis looked at you with furrowed brows, “What do you mean? It’s not–”

“My date canceled on me. I’m not going anymore to save face and not make a fool out of myself. There, happy?” you snapped.

Before you could even feel the guilt from bursting out unprovoked to your brother, you swiftly got up from the stool heading back to your room, leaving the two of them in the kitchen looking concerned contrarily. One with worried eyes glancing at your room hesitantly, and the other one with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes.

It seemed everyone was testing your patience today, as for the second time, your ears rang—not from a last-minute cancellation this time, but from the persistent sound of your ringing phone.

Your heavy eyes fluttered open, weighed down by the sleep from your ignoring-the-world nap after the exchange with your supposed date and your brother. Disoriented and groggy, you reached out, fingers fumbling to check the caller deserving of your unrelenting fury.

Kaiser, the screen read, and suddenly, the urge to throw your phone at the nearest wall almost overwhelmed your senses.

But you answered the call anyway, because logic says that he was still your brother’s closest, and sometimes, that warranted a call that might be about him.

“I swear to god this better be important–”

“Get ready,” he interrupted.

“What?”

“Look out your window.”

Groaning, you rose to your feet, moving your drapes aside to see what awaited outside.

Outside your house’s gates, a midnight blue sports car, all too familiar, was parked across the driveway. Its owner leaned lazily over its door, one hand in his pocket while the other held his phone pressed to his ear, looking right back at you with that shit-eating grin.

“What the hell are you on?” you muttered into the phone.

You instantly closed the drapes after meeting eyes with him.

It’s infuriating—He’s infuriating. But damn, does he look good when he smiles like that. And it’s not helping your case that he was clad in loose-fitting denim pants and a black shirt, sufficiently showcasing both his tattoo and his lean yet toned build.

It’s sorcery how he makes simple and ordinary clothing look like it was screaming high-end and luxury. Only he can do that, you admit.

“As I said, get ready,” he repeated over the phone, “We only have less than two hours before your music festival or something starts.”

He’s taking me to it? “Why?”

Only one word in response, yet the two of you understood what you’re pertaining to. Silence filled the line for a moment before you heard a subtle click of his tongue.

“Because you look ugly when you sulk,” and he hung up.

You should be irritated at him hanging up abruptly and calling you ugly, but for some reason you don’t know, it puts a smile on your face. 

The first one today.

Kaiser wishes he had a bigger car— which one would deem ridiculous, given that his car could easily match the price of two or even three minivans.

But if it meant having you sit not so close that your scent infiltrates his senses beyond his sound judgment, he’d gladly trade his lambo for a minivan any day.

You were intoxicating— not akin to the grip of liquor, because it would be inadequate in comparison. But rather intoxicating in the same way as the irresistible magnetism that beckons a madman to its vices.

And he must be really mad because you weren’t even sitting shoulder-to-shoulder close to him. You’re sitting comfortably at the passenger seat, a good distance in between, and yet he acts like a raging teenager who got locked up with his crush in the utility room. It is absolutely embarrassing, even for someone like him.

“Did Alexis ask you to do this?” you suddenly inquired, your gaze fixed on your side of the car.

Thank heavens you broke the silence first, because who knows what ungodly phrases he would come up with in an attempt of small talk with you?

“No. Though I bet he would have taken you himself,” he snorted, of course your brother would, “If our coach weren’t so pissed at him these days.”

Ah, so that explained why you hadn't seen Alexis around the house before hopping into Kaiser's car.

Momentarily, you turned to him. It was so swift that he might have missed it if he wasn’t so hyper aware of your every move in this damn confined space. “Is he in trouble?” you inquired to the blonde, your voice concerned and hesitant.

“Nothing you have to worry about, doll.”

“Stop with the nicknames,” you hissed, attempting to intimidate. 

Unfazed, he countered with a cheeky “Make me,” under his breath. His smirk practically audible, even without you glancing his way.

Silence overtook between the two of you once more. You fixated on the road ahead, noting the nearing destination as the glow of the festival stage lights peeked into view.

It’s your chance— your chance to release the words that have lingered at the edge of your tongue since he urged you to get ready almost an hour ago. You stole a glance at the man driving beside you. His eyes focused on the road, his left hand steady on the steering wheel while his timepiece-adorned hand rested comfortably on the gearshift. In another frame of mind, you might have found yourself lost in the rhythm of his long, slender fingers tapping against it. You snapped out of it before he could point it out.

You stole one last glance before turning away to whisper, “Thank you… Kaiser.”

Instead of saying welcome like a polite person would, your companion would of course, choose to say something as, “You owe me something now.”

Of course, you thought. Mentally rolling your eyes, you ask, resigning to his antics, “What do you want?” 

“Call me by my name.”

“Did you not hear? I said, thank you Kai–”

“The one you used to call me.”

Mikka.

It was a silly nickname you gave him– back when Alexis first brought him home for snacks nearly ten years ago. He and Alexis were eleven, and you were barely nine.

You remembered the blonde kid, all sweaty in his mud-stained clothes, clutching a worn-out ball by his hip, his gaze fixed on you with curiosity. “This is Kaiser,” your brother introduced, but the blonde stranger approached you, extending his hand.

“I’m Michael.”

“That’s… long.”

“What?”

“Your name– it’s long,” you echoed, looking up at him, “can I call you ‘Mikka’?”

“What?” Kaiser’s deep voice sliced through your reminiscence. “You had no problem calling me that before,” he pointed out.

“That’s before you beat up the boy you knew I like,” you scoffed at him, a familiar pettiness clouding your mind.

He chuckled at your retort, seemingly lost in his own memories. “Beat him up on the soccer field, you mean,” he corrected, though he wouldn’t particularly mind if it were an actual fight.

“Same thing.”

“Oh, come on! It was highschool!”

“Your point?” you countered.

“He was a snotface, anyway.” he rationalized.

“He was nice to me!”

“I suggest you rather get a dog instead— if nice is all you need. I heard dogs are fun to be around,” he sneered, “What do you think of pomeranians?”

You brushed off his question, preferring the depths of silence over the hypothetical responsibility of tending to a pup that bore more than a passing resemblance to him, both in appearance and, perhaps, in demeanor.

“I knew agreeing to come here with you was a mistake,” you sighed, exasperation lacing your words.

Surprisingly, Kaiser offered no retort. Taking his silence as a cue for your own, you settled into quietness, hoping for a peaceful remainder of the drive. Minutes drifted by until Kaiser broke the stillness with a whisper loud enough for you to catch.

“He was a slimy jerk,” he began, pausing as if hinting his careful choice of words, “and he was nice to you because he was trying to get into your pants.”

“How did you know?” you asked, meek and shy, fumbling with your fingers in your lap.  Seeking love advice and opinions from none other than the mighty Kaiser seemed absurd, but maybe, wisdom might sometimes fare well with age.

“Trust me when I say I know how boys can be,” he scoffed, a displeased furrow settling in his brows. “He wasn't the gentleman you thought he was.”

“And you? Are you a gentleman?”

Before you could stop your thoughts from escaping your rebellious mouth, the words spilled out like water through a breached dam. The lack of response from him compelled you to chew on your lip and fix your gaze on the road, refusing to spare even a glance his way, despite feeling his stare burning into the side of your face.

Meanwhile, Kaiser was aware he might be staring too long at your side for someone controlling a vehicle, but he couldn't help it. Not when you caught him off guard with a simple question, and especially not when you were trying so hard to avoid looking at him, your discomfort palpable in the air. You looked so cute—it made his mouth twitch.

Staring ahead at the road, he contemplated your question, needing no more than a minute to reach his conclusion.

When a man looks at his best friend's younger sibling in a way he shouldn’t, he’s not deserving of the title “gentleman.”

He was far from it, he concluded. With one last glance thrown your way before bringing the car to a full stop, he muttered in an uncharacteristically soft tone.

“Especially not one, doll.”

“Y/N! Over here!” a familiar voice cut through the cacophony, prompting you to scan the crowd until you finally spotted them.

Relief flooded over you at the sight of a familiar face amidst the crowd. Checking your phone had proven to be a wise decision; otherwise, you might have spent the night searching aimlessly through the vast expanse of the venue.

The venue stretched out before you was a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds that danced upon the senses. Laughter and chatter mingled with applause and the occasional roar of approval as performers graced the stage. 

Everywhere you looked there was movement and so much life. Yet amidst the bustling crowd and pulsating music, one figure occupied your thoughts more than anything else.

Kaiser's towering 6-foot frame loomed behind you, his broad shoulders carving a path of confidence through the crowd. He stood behind you like an immovable rock amidst a rushing river. And if your senses weren't deceiving you, you swore you felt the occasional brush of his hand against the small of your back, gently guiding you forward.

He was so close behind you that his breath on your nape soaked into your skin like ointment— warm to the touch, yet icy on your spine.

“Where's your date?” one of your blockmates inquired after the initial pleasantries were exchanged.

The question lingered, and suddenly, all eyes were on you. Mentally counting heads, you realized you were really on track to be the seventh wheel if you attended without a companion. Speaking of companions— you turned behind you with the intention of introducing Kaiser (not that they didn’t know him already), but your intention faltered when you noticed the scowl on his face.

“I’m the date, if you couldn’t tell,” he interjected. 

From his vantage point, he observed the widening of your eyes at his declaration. Yet, when he didn’t hear any immediate retaliation from you, he flashed you— and everyone else watching— a lopsided smirk. He sensed your blockmates’ curiosity lingering, some perhaps wondering if he was truly dating you. But none of them dared to probe further—maybe because he wasn't exactly the approachable type.

After a few murmurs of ‘oh’ and ‘really’ from your blockmates, they returned their attention to the stage, where the next performer was beginning their pre-performance monologue.

You, on the other hand, look like you were out for his blood from how you’re glaring at him. “Are you out of your mind?” you hissed under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

Yes. Perhaps he was. Irrationality had seized him upon hearing the question. After all, he was there with you, visible for all to see. Did they not see him? Did he look like a fucking chair to those people? Common sense must be a luxury these days, given its absence in this situation.

Yet, a small voice of reason within him attempted to intervene, suggesting that the question might have stemmed from genuine curiosity.

As his best friend's younger sibling, seeing the two of you together wasn't an unusual occurrence for those who attend the same university. They likely concluded that your presence with him at the music festival was simply a matter of normal friendship (which it was, but they don’t have to know that, nor does he desire for these extras to reduce it to just that).

“I’m helping you save face like you said earlier,” he tells you, still wearing that annoying smirk.

“How does telling them you’re my date help me save face?” If anything, you'd be hiding on campus after his stunt. You could only hope words won’t travel fast.

“Would you rather I tell them I'm chaperoning you because some jerk canceled on you?”

Your words stalled at the base of your throat, unable to counter his remark. That shut you up, much to your chagrin. He was right.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” he quipped, grinning at your silence. “Come closer, there’s a lot of people.”

You huffed in irritation and decided to ignore him behind you, determined to make the most of your experience here. You’d let this slide for now. After all, he was here because of you.

But it wasn’t too long before you realized that ignoring him would be as futile as trying to pluck roses without being pricked by the thorns. You knew very well that this man thrives in getting under people’s skin.

“You should be flattered.”

Genuinely appalled, you ask, “I’m sorry?”

“Accepted.”

If it wasn’t night time and the blaring lights were replaced by the sun, he could have seen the twitch that your eye did at his retort.

At this point, murder is a tempting option. Sure, he’s taller and much bigger in physique terms, but you have the rage for it. Just one more insufferable antic—one more word— from this man and the whole university will be mourning their star player’s demise first thing tomorrow morning. 

You took a deep breath to calm your murderous nerves, “Is that so? What part of telling people— oh wait, our schoolmates who are probably whispering behind our backs— that you’re my date, is flattering to you?”

The asshole had the audacity to shrug, “Calling me yours was.”

“Well then, you should be flattered. Not me.”

“You don’t know how flattered I am to be yours,” he mused.

If you didn’t know any better, his attempt at flirting might have sent warmth to your cheeks. But this was Kaiser— no one can tell when he’s being serious or just being his usual menace self talking shit like he’s employed to do so. Good thing you had better plans than spend it on his guessing games.

Just when you’re about to berate him once more, words halted on your throat because of a sight you least expected to see.

Han— the guy you’ve been talking to for almost a month now. The same guy who was your supposed date, to be more specific.

“What? Cat got your tongue, doll?”

If cats come in the form of a familiar man who’s a few good meters away, clearly having the time of his life dancing with someone, and clearly showing no signs of unavailability to go to a music festival he asked you to, then yes, it got your tongue.

You stayed silent far too long for Kaiser’s patience. Your lack of snarky clapbacks were starting to unsettle him more than he would allow. Shifting closer to you, he followed your line of sight to see what got you stunned in silence.

Recognizing what, or rather who, got your attention, he turns to you, his voice coming out too indignant, “Do you know that guy?”

“Do you?” you counter, picking up on his tone being all too casual as if they’re acquainted. 

“He’s last week’s opposing team’s goalkeeper,” or was it ‘striker’? He couldn’t recall, so he’s more or less incompetent to him. One thing he remembers, however, “and he hates me.”

You threw him a glance, “Not surprised.”

“And do I give a fuck,” he shook his head, “Why do you keep looking at him?” Don’t fucking tell me.

Your answer wasn’t any better to what he was starting to imagine, “He was… supposed to be my date to this music festival,” you mumbled, looking down at your feet.

You didn’t want to see the look on Kaiser’s face, fearing you might see pity, and so you nailed your gaze to the ground. Totally oblivious of the man peering over you rather softly.

“Why can’t he then?” he asks, voice an octave lower.

“He said they had late notice training, so he can’t come.” 

“Well, that better be his fucking ghost yapping with a brunette then,” he scoffs, looking straight to the lying man who canceled on you.

Sick of his face and sloppy dance moves, Kaiser turned his gaze back at you, only to be filled with rage because of it.

You look sad— and it made his blood boil. Not towards you, but for you.

“Y’know what? Let’s go there,” he urged, head pointing at where Han was.

Is he fucking crazy? You immediately shook your head at his scandalous suggestion. You might be feeling a little betrayed and angry, but rationality still had its hold on you— and it’s saying to not let Kaiser go with his idea. 

Instead, you tug on his forearm, eyes still on the floor before looking up at him, “Can we leave, please?” 

Kaiser was taken aback by your sudden meekness. He wasn’t used to this— to you, being all deflated and zoned out. He was used to your deadpan expressions and your eyes that seem to roll every time he utters a single word. He was used to you being, dare he say, feisty. 

And he would rather have you stay like that all day long, even when he’s the receiving end of it.

But this? You, saying please to him, of all people? He doesn’t like it. 

If this is how he gets to make you say please, then he doesn’t want it. Fuck that, and fuck that guy. How dare he.

Kaiser didn’t say anything back at your request, but you felt big calloused hands grasp on your hand still resting on his forearm. The next thing you knew, you were walking with him, shoulder-to-shoulder while his other hand was on yours guiding you to walk out of the scene.

“If I see one—just one drop of tear, I swear I am turning this damn car around.” 

Your thoughts abruptly halted at the sound of Kaiser’s threat—his ultimatum, rather. It sounded more like a promise than a threat, and you knew this man well enough to understand that he never ate his words.

You shot him a glance and snickered. There was no way in high hell you’d ever cry in the same space where he was. It was the last thing you’d ever do, even if it meant convincing yourself that what you saw earlier was just a mere look-alike of Han.

“It's nothing. We aren’t even a thing,” you dismissed, your voice flat.

“But you thought you could be,” he countered, and damn if he wasn't right. “How do you even know him?”

“We're kind of talking, well, sort of—”

“Kind of? Sort of?” he scoffed.

“God—it's like a talking stage or something casual, Kaiser! There, got it?”

“That's not exclusive,” he remarked, adding insult to injury.

Irritation bubbled in your throat as his interrogation continued. But even before you could unleash your venom, you caught yourself. He was right. And while this man had never brought you good, it wasn't fair to make him the target of your bad.

“Yeah, it's not,” you admitted, a dry, humorless laugh escaping you. You recalled the brunette he danced with earlier. “I wasn't exclusive material for his reputation, I guess.”

What reputation? “That’s bullshit.” He gritted his teeth, his hand itching towards the steering wheel, clearly tempted to turn back to the festival.

“You said it yourself, he’s an athlete,” you pointed out, “You people never like to go exclusive with someone.”

“You people? Oh, please. Do not insult me by comparing me to the likes of him.”

The sass in his voice drew a chuckle from you. It was amusing how he said it with genuine horror, as if the mere idea of being associated with Han was an insult. “Why? Are you telling me you can commit to someone exclusively?”

“Someone like who? You?” He met your gaze briefly, “Absolutely.”

What the hell. “Stop messing around,” you snorted, effectively ending the conversation.

He was playing a dangerous game, saying that to you. Did he even realize what it did? Did he hear your stupid heart hammering in your chest? It was too loud, too obvious, a frantic drum solo against your ribs. 

And the realization settled— he made your heart flutter. 

His words, so simple, so casually tossed out, had landed like a bomb, sending shrapnel through your carefully constructed walls.

Michael Kaiser, of all people, made your heart flutter.

Suddenly, the air felt thin, the car an echo chamber amplifying the frantic rhythm of your traitorous heart. You knew you should scoff, dismiss it as another one of his infuriating jabs, but the truth was like a hot coal lodged in your throat.

“I’m not though,” he countered, eyes steady on the familiar road ahead. He sounded serious– too serious. 

As you were about to retort back, the car lurched to a stop, announcing your arrival. You glanced out the window, the familiar sight of your house doing little to ease the tension that had coiled tight in your stomach.

“We’re here,” Kaiser announced, his voice a low rumble.

Hurried and flustered by the unexpected shift in the conversation, your clammy hands fumbled with the buckle, the metal cold and unyielding against your sweaty palms. You tugged, then tugged again, frustration building with each failed attempt.

“Easy, doll.” 

Before you could protest, a large hand swooped in, effortlessly unlatching the buckle with a practiced flick. The sudden proximity sent a jolt through you, making your breath hitch. You met his gaze, his eyes a blazing blue as he held your stare for a beat too long before turning away.

Taking a deep breath, you composed yourself. You reached for the door handle, pushing it open and stepping out onto the familiar pavement. Before slamming the door shut, you paused, turning back to Kaiser with a newfound resolve.

Crouching down to meet his gaze, you surprised yourself with the words that tumbled out. “Be careful on your way home and,” you paused, “Thank you... Mikka.”

The nickname slipped out before you could stop it, leaving a blush blooming across your cheeks.

Before Kaiser could react, you slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the quiet street. 

Mikka. He repeats your words in his mind.

He watched you disappear into your house, a slow grin spreading across his face. Only when you were safely inside did he start the car, the image of your flustered face lingering in his mind.

Damn it, doll.

Meanwhile, you hurried to your room, clutching your chest where your heart still hammered a frantic rhythm.

Why did I call him that? you asked yourself.

The use of his nickname, a name you rarely uttered now, was a stark reminder that the two of you weren’t as close as you were younger.

It’s not a big deal, you tried to reason with yourself. He literally said you owed it to him, and calling it quits would be in the form of a stupid nickname. It doesn’t mean anything. Right— you were just returning a favor.

Your obvious self-deception was interrupted by the incessant buzzing of your phone, tossed carelessly on the bed. Picking up your phone, you opened one of the notifications, your breath catching in your throat.

It was a post on your university's gossip page, and there, plastered on the screen, was a picture of you and Kaiser. 

The image froze a moment in time, capturing him standing protectively behind you, his arms caging you against a barricade. Panic clawed at your throat. This picture, out in the open, could be misconstrued in so many ways. 

What were people going to think? Who took this photo, anyway?

Your eyes darted down the comment section, scrolling through a sea of unimaginable speculations, desperately searching for clues about the culprit.

Just then, a knock on the door startled you.

“Y/N? Can I talk to you?”

It was your brother— and his voice suggested he needed answers too.

Shit.

note. first mini series lmao xD will add cw as i go!

[victoriams]

Livinia had never cared much for her husband's family. Granted, she had never really tried to endear herself to them – always far to preoccupied with her own family to worry about anyone else's. And it wasn't as though she actively disliked the Plinths – far from it, in fact. Sometimes, she thought they were probably more functional than her own twisted lineage. She was just... apathetic towards them. They were tied to her through marriage and happenstance, and nothing more. They were a part of her in the same way as her toenails were – there, certainly, but generally not worth thinking about.

FINNEGAN was, unfortunately, more of a daily nuisance to Livinia than the rest of her in-laws. He was talented, sure – or, at least, she assumed he was, given that he'd managed to secure this job – but something about him bothered her. She thought it was probably his arrogance. Sure, Finn might share a surname and some vague resemblance with her husband, but, unfortunately, it seemed that he had inherited none of the same humility. He roamed around the gamemaker's stations with undeserved cockiness, and, most days, it took all of Livinia's patience not to snap at him.

"Excuse me?" Livinia replies, narrowing her eyes in disdain. "You'd do well to watch your tone, Finnegan. Never mind the fact that I am your superior, you'll never get anywhere in the world or the workplace behaving like a spoilt little brat, and refusing to take accountability for your own actions." Okay, maybe this was a touch unfair – but Livinia certainly wouldn't be the one to take the blame for Finn spilling coffee all over himself.

finn would be lying if he said that he was genuinely bothered by the delay. being so would call for him caring about it to an extent that he did not. he was here simply to work, to do as he was told until it was time to leave, go out, be a general nuisance to whoever's company he'd decided on for that night before dragging them home with him, sleep, and then repeat. he didn't take the unfortunate delay to heart because he had no part in it - he'd done nothing wrong. he was merely a cog in a wheel into which someone had crammed a spoke, a stick, or a rock, whatever the analogy was. now it had been removed, and now he was doing his part again.

the countdown was over. the entire control room seemed to have held its breath meanwhile he'd busied himself with chatting with his brother and thus hadn't even had time to let himself be as overwhelmed by stress and anticipation as certain others had been.

it was an easy job. having barely even touched any controls, he'd been whisked away on a break. a takeaway cup of coffee in his hand, nicotine was calling his name, maybe a drink as well; amongst other things - his pace as he walked was quick enough that hopefully no one would allow themselves to stop him for the sake of small talk or to bother him with work related questions - which he avoided like the plague every second he spent outside of the control room. he wished he hadn't walked quite so fast, though, because small talk would have been much preferable over the way a collision had his nose hitting someone's skull and what was left of his coffee spilling over both the culprit and himself. and then she dared to say that it was his fault. his hand wiped at the spilled coffee on his shirt, as if that would fix anything, eyebrows knit together with irritation. "you- are you serious? that was very much so your fucking fault."

[orchid-arts1]

Finally finished with this!!! :D Took a while but I’m happy with the result.

[darcyxpalmer]

status: closed with @akhilaasthana where: along the streets of the bungalows

Maybe if she just gotten home, these hornets would leave her alone - at least that was Darcy's thought process. If she could just hide away, they'd leave her be.

She managed to sneak away from them for now and if she was just quiet enough, she could make it.

She was really close, when she turned the corner and basically ran right into Akhila. "Shit, shit, sorry, are you-- are you okay? No hornets chasing you?" she asked, looking around immediately, but they were in the clear, at least for now.

[mattswheeler]

closed event starter for @loganxwalker activity: Shakespeare battle

Matt panted as he was catching his breath after doing the duel in a Shakespeare costume. The whole thing was hilarious to do and he definitely had a good time sword fighting while others watched. Most importantly, his girlfriend had watched him do it and after putting his sword back, he walked over to her in and smiled as he sat down. "So, what did you think? Did I show you honor, my lady?"

[victoriams]

"Oh my god, you're right! I didn't even notice!" Celestia chuckles, clapping her hands together. What a twist! She hadn't even seen it coming – and usually she found the games dreadfully boring, so the the addition of a hint of mystery was welcome. "I definitely counted four when I dropped them off this morning." She pauses to count them out on her fingers again – yep, definitely four. "Where do you think they went? Maybe they're like... hiding them somewhere." Celestia hums, "Yeah, that makes sense. One time when I was little, me and Diggory played hide and seek and I hid on the very top shelf of our pantry – I could get up there because I'm, like, really flexible – and it took him like, five hours to find me. It was okay though, I had snacks." She pauses, trying to regain her train of thought – oh yeah, the tributes. "So they could hide in that arena for ages."

WHO: Effie Trinket & OPEN

WHERE: A viewing area in the tribute tower ?

"Where are - where are-" Effie repeated, the usually bubbly self, the effervescent and delightful queen of every interaction like most people were glued to the monitors in the viewing areas. There had been invites to viewing parties but they had been declined to stay here, where sponsors and other escorts and mentors would mostly be. Yes, Effie was positively radiant but distracted with motherly worry. None of the little ones were there, on screen. When the tubes rose, there was the standard amount. When the countdown was announced, a heart pounded, and when the cannon sounded, Effie nearly jumped, clutching her chest and making a fuss as attention was pulled from the screen. "That frightens me all the time. My goodness - did anyone see the younger tributes? Am I missing something?"

[beyzaxalpman]

closed event starter for @emrexerbay activity: fairy hunt

Beyza grinned as she watched Devrim and Seyda with the other kids looking around for the wooden elf to win the prize. She had always loved seeing her and Emre's kids play together like this and now that they were under one roof, she was glad they were still getting along so well. Though, she was sure as they got older, they would end up fighting like siblings. She hoped. "Hopefully they don't decide to use their winning tickets on the aquarium." Beyza smiled at Emre. "Lord knows I can get us all in free there."

[pruenakamura]

closed event starter for @reneexthompsxn activity: mini games

"So, where do you want to start?" Prue asked her best friend as she linked arms with her and started walking around the booths where they had the games set up. "We got bobbing for apples or archery." She looked around and then back over at Renee. "Or do you see a prize you want? We can tag team trying to win it for you." She'd do anything for her and if she spent all her money trying to win her a prize, Prue would do it.

[victoriams]

ᴡʜᴏ: DELILAH RIPLEY & KALEB RIPLEY ( @rebellicnrising ) ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ: SOMEBODY'S LAUNCH PARTY ᴡʜᴇɴ: MORNING OF THE (PROPER) LAUNCH

According to her parents, Delilah had thrown a tantrum when she was informed – at the ripe age of one, no less – that she would be getting a baby brother. Granted, she cannot remember this ever happening, and therefore is unable to verify the story's authenticity – but it certainly does sound like something she would have done. Having the spotlight ripped away from her and split in two would have certainly put a dampener on her little life – even if she now can no longer remember a life before her brother existed. It didn't matter in the end, anyway. She had barely needed to stretch herself in order to win back their parents' favour, to steal back her spotlight. And the rest, as they say, had been history.

She hears Kaleb before she sees him – a voice that, by virtue of their shared upbringing, she would recognise anywhere. She's not surprised to find him at such an event – it had been instilled in both of them, but Kaleb's love of the games had always far exceeded her own. He had built his entire life around it, after all. Her feet carry her towards the voice before she can think better of it – an insult already forming on the tip of her tongue. When was the last time she'd seen her brother, let alone spoken with him? It must have been before all of that unfortunate business with their mother ( yes, yes, she was terribly sad to hear the news ).

"H. Junior," She greets, shoving a few of her brother's contemporaries out of her way. She knew how greatly he loathed being referred to by their father's name, which is why she took great pleasure in calling him that. "Did you have any money on the games being postponed? Or on half the tributes being M.I.A?" She asks with a wicked grin. "Who's looking good to win this year? I like that awful one from District Ten... butcher, or whatever his name is." A pause, she drops her voice a little lower. "Has dad contacted you? You know... about funeral arrangements?"

[victoriams]

Prue had wanted, so desperately, for it to have been enough. For the rebellion efforts over the previous few days to have meant something, anything at all. And yet, in the end, it seemed that it had all amounted to nothing. The countdown had still gone ahead, and the bloodbath had commenced. She doesn't feel much of anything as she watches the bloodbath – the profound feeling of failure sitting heavy in her gut, dulling everything else around her. Part of her wants to hope that this is all some sort of master plan – that District Thirteen, her home, would still pull through on what they had promised. But another part of her has stated to lose hope. This isn't how it was supposed to go.

She is only pulled from her thoughts when she hears a commotion on the other side of the room. She is not the only one who turns her head – several other oddly dressed inhabitants of the viewing area each glancing at Peeta Mellark in unison. Though she does not know the victor well, she is instantly hit by another wave of guilt at seeing them – at seeing their rage, their pain. Prue knew what it was like to lose family, but not like this. As the Capitolites in the room become quickly bored when Peeta collapses, head in hands, Prue instead tentatively approaches.

She reaches out a hand, but thinks better of extending it fully to touch, instead letting it over in the air above him until the victor jumps at her approach, mumbling something she can barely make out over the sounds of the broadcast. She crouches down so that she is on Peeta's level, trying to meet his eyes. "Peeta?" She says softly, "My name's Prue." The Capitolites have long since lost interest in the situation – instead going back to their obnoxiously loud chatter about who will be the first to die. "Do you want to go somewhere a bit quieter?" She asks, extending a hand.

OPEN STARTER | capping at five ( 1 / 5 )

a sharp, ragged gasp is what slices through the air when they awake, feeling every bit as in pain as if they were the one to go back into the arena. it takes peeta a moment to remember the events that had occurred before waking, to remember why they can hear their heartbeat racing in their ears and why it hurts to take a deep breath, why there's sweat pooling on their forehead and why there's a deep, gut-wrenching panic that drives them out of bed despite wanting to rot away in it for however long it takes to stop feeling like this.

it's not unlike when he wakes from a nightmare, though it is when his first instinct is to reach over in bed for katniss that he fully realizes. it plays back in his mind - it was no nightmare, though it felt like one had come to life. dragged from her arms, watching with faded vision as she screams for him going up the tube and unable to reach him, unable to scream back, unable to do anything until there's a blunt force against his head that makes everything go black entirely.

peeta, by some unknown driving force, makes it to the nearest television, right when the bloodbath occurs. the cameras are everywhere, it's getting harder and harder to see who is who with all the panic and running. until he does see her, and then he can't not see her in every shot. but something's wrong - he's not there.

the blood in their veins runs ice cold and the lightheadedness swells behind their eyes, not realizing they've stumbled a bit and gripped onto the nearest chair with a white-knuckled grip. peeta tries, he tries, to take a deep breath, and another, and another, tries to level themself but none of it works. anger and remorse fill his veins and he isn't sure when the chair he gripped had ended up on the floor in his rage but his head is in his hands now, that much he knows. it was all for nothing - every single bit of it, every attempt to get them out. katniss - oh, what must she think? the worst, probably. that they've taken both her husband and her son from her - this makes them turn to the tv again, watching her in action, fear gripping at him entirely until the sound of someone approaching makes him jump. peeta looks around at the scene before him, wishes he could regain what semblance of composure he might have, but it's all stripped too thin. "sorry," they mumble. "i hadn't meant to make a scene."

[ode2rin]

ANYONE BUT YOU .ೃ [MICHAEL KAISER MINI SERIES]

STATUS: on-going | indefinite schedule of updates

summary. as lines get blurred, hearts get flustered, and a scheme ensues, your brother's best friend suddenly seems way more interesting than he used to be. genre. college AU | older brother's bestfriend | fake dating (req by @/saekkas) | angry confession (req by anon) | enemies to lovers content/warnings. reader is ness's younger sibling | reader is a sophomore while kaiser is a senior | they shit talk each other | use of pet names (dollface) | toxic university gossip culture | mentions of threats | reader has a casual relationship with someone | profanity | specific cw will be added in every chapter word count. est 15k+ | 3 parts notes. ik i made a poll asking if i'll make it a multi-chaptered thing or a long long long ass fic, and the long ass fic won but hear me out xD i want to try committing to this!! so yup, it's my first series please be kind. reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated. they make me so happy 💐

CHAPTERS:

𐙚 part 1. [5k of est. 15k+]

𐙚 part 2. [coming soon]

𐙚 part 3. [coming soon]

💭 back to milestone masterlist 🌼 playlist

[riverwclker]

with colton atwater @  briar beach , just after sunset ; summer music festival !

river nestled herself upon a soft , inviting blanket that spreads across the ground. with the twinkling of gentle moonlight against water , she watches as the waves roll in and ebb against the golden shore. the evening air carries a gentle breeze , infusing the atmosphere with a palpable sense of contentedness — a feeling that wraps around her like a warm hug , soothing and serene. as she gazes at the mesmerizing scene before her , she suddenly becomes aware of the sound of footsteps approaching from a familiar direction. curiosity piqued , she turns her head to see colton. ❛ there you are ! i thought i was going to have to save you from that big ol' crowd. ❜ she gleams while watching him making his way toward her with a broad smile on his face and a klondike bar in each hand.

❛ you said you were getting drinks , ❜ she says with a playful laugh , eyeing the the cool treats , her voice a melody that dances on the breeze. shaking her head in mock disappointment , she can't help but smile at his cheerful demeanour. ❛ y'know that you're lucky i like ice cream almost as much as i like a pint , right ? ❜ colton settles down next to her on the blanket , and river takes a quiet moment to be grateful for this shared moment , with the peaceful sounds of the ocean mingling with their voices , drawing them closer together as they indulge in the simple pleasures of life beneath a royal blue sky. ❛ alright , hand it over and let's get it over with. ❜ river teases with a heavy sigh , lazily toss her open palm to colt so he can give her one of the bars.

[luckylewis]

closed for: @kaede-yamada

"Something about seeing you here feels like it falls under 'what's not illegal but feels illegal'," Lucky jokes as he realises a face in the crowd was actually one that he knew fairly well -- though it was his first time happening to run into him at Oasis.

"I'm just here for the theme, I still prefer The Reef."

[victoriams]

Call her biased, but Soleil didn't particularly like the career districts. Maybe it was because of the tributes she had encountered during her games – vicious and bloodthirsty and cruel. Or maybe it was because of the tributes she had encountered since – arrogant and haughty and self-absorbed. Either way, she found them rather untrustworthy, and had done her best to steer clear of them over the years – to great success, mind you.

Yes, they knew they were supposed to be trying to win over sponsors right now. And, yes, they had been trying – but it turns out that this gig was a lot harder than it seemed. Every time they opened their mouth in front of one of these pompous assholes, the wrong thing seemed to come out. Eventually, they'd been so disheartened that they had taken to sulking in the corner of the room, trying to devise the best way to ask Electra to do this for them.

Soleil was not known for being terribly approachable, and so they cannot help but be genuinely shocked when AMELIA COPPERHEART starts talking to them. Honestly, they'd nearly turned around to make sure there wasn't someone standing behind them – because what business could Amelia possibly have with Soleil? "Oh, uh..." They pause – no, the seat isn't taken, but they had been enjoying their solitude. "No, it's... uh. It's not taken. You don't have to pretend to be nice to me, though. I can't help your tributes."

amelia copperheart ft. soleil flemming ( @victoriams )

amelia & soleil were vastly different people — particularly in the eyes of the capitol. amelia was a by the book career , someone who had won their games in a very by the book sort of way. soleil, on the other hand, had thrown the book to the wind, then lit it on fire.

although she felt it would be weird to say out loud, amelia really admired the other person. she wished she was just a little less awkward — maybe they could be friends. she finds the other victor sitting down, definitely not looking to be bothered, but… “hey , soleil ! is this seat taken ? i’m looking to escape all this sponsor madness.” she gives them a hopeful grin, truly, she needs to be with someone who isn’t trying to take advantage of her.

[thirtecnth]

@edgarwayne / closed starter / edgar wayne

setting: pumpkin festival - post earthquake

Beverly hadn't stopped since she finally got ahold of herself. Somehow, with the help of others and Jamie, she managed to pull herself together and use her able-bodied self to help the injured. She was lucky. So many were not. Including some of her students. Past and present. However, when she noticed some of Edgar's students entering the area of the injured, their bodies covered in burns and smoke, her blood felt frozen in her veins. He wouldn't have run out of there without them. There wasn't a chance in the world. Without even a single rational thought, her feet carried her toward the view of the fire-- the haunted house. That's when she saw him on the ground, his back scorched with red, black, and bubbled skin. "Jesus Christ!" She gasped, her eyes already filling with tears as she kneeled down beside him. "Oh my God. Edgar-- Edgar breathe. It's Bev. I'm here okay? Help is coming."