#digesting LOL

[lorelune]

(michael kaiser x reader // 18+ MDNI // cws: yandere kaiser, stalking, reader smokes cigarettes, toxic behaviors // wc: 2.2k)

"so you really did it?"

"did what?" you ask, exhaling a puff of cigarette smoke into the frigid air. your fingers are numb.

"break up with him!"

"kaiser?" you snort, taking another drag before speaking. "i guess? i called things off earlier today, but we weren't actually dating. so it's not like it's really a breakup."

"... sure."

your friend on the line hardly sounds convinced. but it is... true. you and michael kaiser never dated. you never had a label, never discussed any type of commitment or potential future together. though you had spent more than one weekend (try a dozen plus) at his apartment, oscillating between cuddling, fucking, and being in each other's presence's in a way that was distinctly not platonic—

you and michael kaiser were never dating. you were not together. (Regardless of him flying you out to one match in Vienna, and the another in Rome—) you weren't dating.

you never were.

you never expected to either. michael kaiser was transparently damaged, and handling it in an unproductive, destructive manner. you saw this from a mile away, but entertained your chemistry regardless. maybe it was the influence of a few drinks and a few heated arguments that got you in bed with him to begin with, despite clocking his toxic tendencies early on.

you fought a lot, for not being a couple.

care made kaiser squirrely and angry. kindness made him snap. aggression, biting and clawing— angry sex that metastasized into something carnal and closer to a fight resonated with him far more than little affections. you only saw moments of vulnerability from him when you were both fucked out and exhausted. or, when he thought you weren't looking. you felt him pet through your hair while he thought you were asleep, more than once.

you broke up with kaiser because you couldn't handle things as they were anymore.

maybe you wanted to be loved. maybe you wanted to be held, openly and tenderly. maybe, you wanted a partner and not a man with an ego problem who fucked like a god and treated you like invasive creature nine times out of ten when you showed him affectionate.

(you just want to be loved.)

the luxuries and innate chemistry of your relationship simply wasn't worth it.

so, you broke things off. over text, because it seemed the least messy.

[you]: hey, what we have isn't working for me anymore. i don't want to see you any longer. i care about you a lot, but what we have is not sustainable. i wish you all the best, michael.

(you try not to be too affectionate with your message, lest you rile him up. you want to be gentle, but not too... emotional. it's better this way.)

you block him after sending the text. clean breaks— it's kinder in the long run, isn't it? even if it hurts more in the moment.

you sigh into the receiver, tossing your cigarette butt to the side, "i mean it, we weren't ever serious."

"if you say so."

you kick at the snow beneath your feet. there's an inch or two of it on the ground, coating the cobblestones of the path you walk on. the river that cuts through your city runs, despite the cold. there's no one around, and it's peaceful beneath the amber-tinged street lights.

"you don't sound convinced."

"because i'm not." your friend pauses. "... have you seen his instagram story from today?"

"nope," you pop the word from your lips. "i blocked him."

"already?"

"immediately."

"damn. that's cold of you."

"you don't know kaiser like i do," you shake your head. it's better this way, to be cleaner.

(you have always been able to foresee the way that man would tear you apart, if you misstepped too grievously.)

"well regardless," a notification comes up on your phone. your friends has sent a screenshot of kaiser's story. "look. he flew out to your city."

your stomach drops. sure enough, the screenshot has a location stamp over a photo of kaiser's deft hands, twirling a flute of champagne from what is clearly a first class seat.

"... maybe he has a match."

(he doesn't. you know this; there's no league that plays in your city.)

"or, he's coming to see you!"

"that would be insane," you laugh. that bastard... wouldn't, would he? he is... was halfway across the world.

"it would be romantic."

"it would be insane," you repeat.

you turn on your heel, back the way your came through the parkway. your apartment is... about a mile away, maybe. it's dark and cold, but you can probably get back there quickly. you're not sure where this particular sense of haste comes from—

but it's a frantic sort of feeling.

your friend pouts, "you have no sense of romance then, i guess."

(and your friend doesn't know michael kaiser.)

anxiety pitches around between your stomach and lungs. you swallow, and it feels too dry.

"i promise i do," you shake your head. "that's the problem."

"sure. tell me more about it later, 'kay? i gotta get ready to go out. let me know if your man shows up!"

your stomach rolls. "gotcha."

"bye bye!"

the line goes dead. your drop your arm to the side, your phone like a deadweight in your hand. you take a few steadying breaths, looking out at the rush of the river. the roar of it is just far enough away to not be overstimulating. the rest of the night is blanketed in snow and stillness.

you nearly trip as you begin to walk again, panic unfurling in your chest with each step.

(there's no way michael came all the way to your city, on a fucking last minute flight no less, for you. there's no literally no fucking way.)

why would he anyway? to try and salvage your not relationship? that hardly logical. there has to be another reason— his team has had him in a few PR campaigns lately, maybe... maybe that's it.

(you know that you are lying to yourself.)

you slip, just for a step or two, on some ice that's beneath the layer of fluffy snow. barely, you keep yourself upright, your arms flying up to find your balance once more. you take a steadying breath, pressing a hand to your chest.

"you should be more careful."

the blood in your veins freezes, numb and chilled like the air around you. your head jerks up.

kaiser sits on a bench, about ten paces in from of you. his arms are spread out over the back of it. he regards you with a tilt of his head, almost playful.

he looks you up and down, voice full of poison, "you could have hurt yourself."

"why the fuck are you here?" your voice barely manages to stay steady.

"why wouldn't i be?" kaiser shakes his head, a laugh bubbling in his chest. the cadence of it makes you feel nothing but unease. "i've got a match in London. i'm just picking you up."

"what are you talking about?" you swallow, audibly. you know that he hears it.

"don't be obtuse." he stands up. your stomach fills with leaden dread.

"you don't be obtuse," you snap back. "we're done. this—" you point between the two of you, "— is over."

"that's a mutual decision." he steps toward you.

you step back. "no, it's not."

kaiser is faster than you, he's up against your front in a moment. it makes you stumble back, nearly falling on the same patch of ice as before.

deftly, he gets an arm around your waist. the force of it is immediately too much, too tight, too hard. you're pulled against him, chest-to-chest. you brace your hands on his shoulders, some attempt at distance, but he doesn't budge. he stares down at you, the cold heat of his own presence engulfing you effortlessly.

"i-it's not," you whisper, voice wobbling. "you need to leave."

"you're an idiot."

"please let go."

"now, you're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" kaiser smiles, something acidic that you can almost taste.

he bends the two of you, so your back arches. you scramble against him for some purchase.

"there's nothing to 'let go'," his sneers. you hit your fist against his shoulder. "you're coming with me to London, and you'll stop throwing this tantrum now, or along the way."

"it's a not fucking tantrum!" you snap at him. your voice matches the roar of the river. you meet his gaze, angry slipping into your tone as it so often does with him. "we are done. i don't want anything to do with you, michael— especially now. i can't believe you hopped on a fucking plane to, what, harass me on my own turf?"

his palms circles your jaw in a swift, uncomfortably fast movement. the pressure of him is unyielding. you can't look anywhere other than him.

the way he looks at you scares you, now more than ever. the frigid blue of his eyes is haunting and as hollow as it is full of vitriol. anger. all directed at you.

"i 'hopped on a plane' to take you home," kaiser dips you further. if he wasn't holding you, you'd crash to the ground. "i should've done so earlier, but i didn't expect that you'd lose your shit so quickly."

you weren't—, "i’m not—"

his grip on your jaw grows tighter. from a distance, this may look romantic to an onlooker.

from your position, you are in the jaws of a beast that you thought you had escaped.

"you're mine—" he pats your cheek, hard, as he tells you. the angle is bad, given it's with the same hand that's holding your jaw. your brain rattles inside of your skull. "don't think you can run away just because you got a bit scared."

"that's not why i broke up with you—"

"but, it is."

you want to cry, run away, jump in that goddamn fucking river. "no—"

"i get it," kaiser noses into your cheek. he's just as cold as you are. his voice is too soft; it unnerves you. "it's scary, loving someone. i'm scared too"

"i—" you don't love him, you can't love him—

he pulls back just enough to dip your body as far as it can go, and look into your eyes, his own pupils blown.

"let's be scared together," he says, just above a whisper, before slotting his lips against yours.

you slam your fist on his shoulders, his chest, the back of his head— you don't fucking care. whatever you can reach. kaiser doesn't relent. instead, he licks into your mouth. kisses you filthy in a public park just because he can.

maybe his words seem romantic, if you were to recount them to someone else. maybe. maybe someone could read his plane ride to you as a grand, romantically-driven gesture.

but, as he holds your head squarely in place, and fucks your mouth with his tongue, stealing your words and breath in tandem— you know, so lucidly, that none of kaiser intent here is 'romantic'. not in a way that's normal, that's sane.

no, this is the only way a deeper connection can exist for him, you think. the hand on your jaw slips down to your throat, holding you there. it's a collar and kaiser's holding the leash.

you whimper; you feel so foolish. you feel so fucking stupid for thinking you could disentangle yourself from him so easily.

"do you get it now?" kaiser says against you lips.

all you can do is nod, it's all the action he allows you.

all of the fights and tension that made connection between you before so intoxicating— it evolved into this. it was always destined to. you've been ensnared since day one, but didn't have the foresight to see you.

kaiser did, though.

as he pulls away, you're light-headed. he rights you and steadies you at the waist. he pats your head and even coos at you.

"are you done now?" he begins to walk you with a hand at your lower back— back in the direction you came. probably toward the nice hotel in the center of town where he undoubtedly has a suite. where he'll fuck you stupid into the king mattress. "if you cry, i'll just make it worse."

'worse'.

you shake your head, hard and fast, and suck down any tears beading at the corners of your eyes.

he seems pleased. "good."

there's nothing you can do but walk by his side. this has always been his design, even if you couldn't see it. regardless of any attempts to sever things and run off, even cleanly, this is where you'll end up.

hip-to-hip, with his hand on your lower back. with the promise of pain and pleasure doled out to you in equal measure.

as you step through the doors of the, as expected, upscale hotel, a wave of warm, fragranced air hits you. and with it, some part of you sags, defeated so simply. crushed. you sniffle and rub at your eyes.

(you don't see kaiser smiling at your side. you don't see the way he slips the concierge a wad of bills with the understanding that he'll be given a room far away from others, and that you won't be disturbed.

he has work to do. you— were going to fucking leave him? he— he needs to make sure that you understand that that is not your choice to make.

and, as he sees you, stifling tears and shaking like a leaf, your little act shattered so seamlessly, he thinks you really are starting to get it.)

you are his.

[pricegotmedickmatized]

taking a break from the sticky icky verse to talk about hybrid shifters and the 141. let’s do price first

bear!price who’s quiet and looming, and big, you can see that he’s big of course he is he’s a bear hybrid, but you don’t realize that that’s him not even standing at full height, not even standing with his tired shoulders straight and broad, and when he does, when he unfolds into his true height and breadth, he’s so fucking big

bear!price who by far prefers nature to the city, solitude to crowds, and takes every opportunity he can on leave to go camping somewhere, his favorite places are far flung and often cold, and he finally decides to pull the trigger, buys a patch of land in the middle of nowhere, builds himself a self sustaining cabin (all the necessary luxuries like hot water, old man like him needs it, and it’ll serve as a good safe house if he or the team ever need it so it’s a good investment)

bear!price who prefers to hunt his own food when he can do so, rather than just go to the supermarket or a restaurant like other hybrids nowadays, he likes the hunt, likes to be responsible for his own meals, and one day at that Alaskan cabin he’s out by the river for salmon, and when he reaches in for a fish what he hauls out is an otter, which quickly shifts in his heavy hand into a woman, soaked and shivering in the chill air, her little round ears flat to her head and thick, furry tail wrapped around her long legs

bear!price who brings her into his house, sets her in front of the roaring fire with a plateful of salmon and gently pulls her story out of her: she’s not wild, not feral, she just got lost on a hike a few days ago and as an otter hybrid she’s warmer and safer in freshwater than out in the wild…even if it means she’s floated down the river while she slept and now she doesn’t know WHERE the hell she is

bear!price who feeds her and puts her in his clothes (she lost hers in the first shift poor thing) who has to carry her around the cabin because she’s so clumsy on land, and wraps her in his blankets and can’t stop looking at her. can’t stop rubbing her soft little ears between his thumb and forefinger, making her blush and shudder, can’t stop petting her tail tucked beside her on the one chair in his cabin that he insisted she take

bear!price who, when she says that she’s still cold that night, takes great pleasure in wrapping her in his arms and pressing her down into the bed, who swallows each of the adorable little squeaks she makes as he nuzzles her throat, forces her thighs wide to fit his hips, and forces his cock inside

bear!price who’s too big for a pretty little otter like her but makes her take it anyway, crooning that she can take it she’s doing so good just hold out a little longer he just needs to fuck his scent into her so she smells right and he can sleep, licks her tears off her cheeks when she cums as his cockhead rams up against her womb, little claws raking ineffectively at his skin never able to break through

bear!price who decides mid fuck that she’s the softest, sweetest thing he’s ever felt and a pussy that tight can’t walk away from him. he deserves something soft to come home to, something to take his cock and cry about how big it is and just be so fucking sweet and soft for him. decides he’ll keep the little stray after all, now aren’t you grateful sweetheart? he’s gonna be so good to you, why don’t you thank him by taking his load?

[wyrtig]

good day, reaper!

[miyakuli]

A compilation of Belfort saying "My dear Lupin"... That’s 129 times (+ one Hippocrates) In 26 episodes. That dog is DEDICATED

[dogpantry]

please watch my scrungly old man kiss the inside of a glove

[happyheidi]

𝖡𝗋𝗒𝗇𝗇 𝖶𝗁𝗂𝗍𝖿𝗂𝖾𝗅𝖽’𝗌 𝖺𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍

𝗑

[vorekody]

Happy (almost) Valentine's day

[letternotekisses]

Ouuurghhhh Ramattra hate sex ourghhhhh 😫😫

He fucks you like he hates you because secretly he doesn’t.

There's little love in the way Ramattra takes you, leaving bruises and scrapes along your soft flesh because of his heavy handedness and the desperate need he has to convince himself that this is just for your mutually assured stress relief.

It's almost pathetic of him really - bending you into all sorts of positions and watching how much it takes for your fleshy body to give in and let him inside - all because of a few feelings he wasn't brave enough to face up to. Yet even after every time you still return for more, truly a glutton for punishment.

Or maybe you were just like him. Two points of time at a devastatingly slow standstill. Mixed up mirrors of one another, tangled in something equally sweet and sickening he'd spent many a night fixated on.

As the days go on he learns to treat you a little differently. You are smaller, delicate - human, putting your life in his hands in a manner of trust he surely wouldn't hand over to anyone else. Ramattra could crumble you beneath the creaking of his fingers but he wouldn't, he couldn't - and it would enrage him to see anyone else even entertain the idea.

It sours him more to think that he belongs to you just as much as you do to him, and Ramattra shows it to you in the only way he knows how - by grabbing the fat of your hip too hard when he brings you down onto the girthy silicone standing deplorably between his gigantic legs, leaving aching bruises to mask the utter shame of his excitability.

And yet you cry for more, meek mewls and sheer rambling nonsense to spur him on as he splits you open, carving a place for himself deep inside you despite what common sense may seem to scream at him.

Whatever it is that he really feels, said gigantic, terrifying omnic isn't quite ready to face it yet. To face you and the cruel mimic of love you'd plagued him with.

Only, there's no mimic and that just might be what scares him the most.

[omegaversereloaded]

when americans are like "oh i didnt know mozambique was a real country they didnt teach it to us in school" im like yeah okay youre a stupid person. But when ppl say things like "i dont understand how fascism in the country is being established so easily" and "capitalism and political ideology are separate things" i cant even blame them because obvs that's US propaganda at work.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 223

Clockwork is Chronos and Kronos. He is time, sometimes split into many aspects but one all the same. Normally it’s not an issue, as at the end of any of the aspects they simply return to him, as the main body. It’s almost like a hivemind, though not quite that either. Honestly he’s not been able to explain it to anyone else, as it’s such an entwined thing with his being. 

Once again, normally there is no issue with it. However, instincts can bleed over, which apparently er, happened at some point. He’ll have to apologize to his aspect’s children for the misunderstanding when he gets the chance. 

He might have forgotten while dealing with other things, meaning he never explained it to that timeline’s children. Oh well, he’s sure nothing will come from it- he’s quite busy caring for his little ghostling who is turning out to be just like him, albeit with Space instead of Time, after all…

[asexualbookbird]

CURRENTLY READING MAY 2025

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid

This has been sitting on my shelf for a few years. I got it mixed up with The 7 ½ Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle and was annoyed about it. It is technically in my Read Before Donating pile, but if it's Actually Good I will let it hang around. I'm going with the audio since it seems low stakes enough to listen to while sewing.

[jellynotbees]

Hello, finally made reference sheets for Tidally Locked au. I also changed Narinder’s design a little bit, I didn’t like how the first one’s coloring came out. Sorry if my handwriting is bad

[bunabi]

he will always choose miscommunication he will never learn and he's not sorry about it god he's so goofy putting him in my pocket

[6ebe]

Sonntags-Verdauungsspaziergang

[vorekody]

Wanted to doodle out Soap participating in their favorite hobby of tricking novice monster hunters into getting eaten.

[treatsformeeko]

ohhh my god i fell over and spilled. ohhhh no i fellover and i dropped this smoothie recipe i wrote when i was 6. i hope nobody interested in recent studies on indigenous led anthropology and nonwestern thinking looks at my delicious smoothie recipe that is unrelated to indigenous archaeology and the concept of other-than-human persons introduced in this post/the greater da lore .... perhaps this smoothie recipe may even help you understand why the writers' centrism is particularly insidious despite creating a world that is explicitly parallel to (some) real-life Indigenous North American conceptions of the World..... oohggggggfff how could i be so foolish.... my smootheie. anyway if you are uninterested in my yummy delicious smoothie mayhaps you will enjoy the following excerpts (apologies in advance for smoothie related jargon and more thoughts under the cut):

it is genuinely very interesting to me how the da writers managed to create a world that is empathetic to traditionally Indigenous conceptions of People and Things and yet do their best to lead players away from sympathizing with the indigenous plight in favor of their centrist (read: anti-Indigenous) agenda. it was often expressed to me that the Northern American anthropology of the past was in many ways a failure because of the eurocentric ideals of its practitioners. NOT because an outsider could never hope to understand their 'mythical ways,' but because the very basis of Indigenous and Settler Thought were at odds with one another in some very fundamental ways. where the Enlightened European mind saw People, Places, and Things, many indigenous american tribes do not draw such a hard line between Personhood and Thing. and yet despite its academic roots tracing back to the 1960s, the field of Indigenous Archaeology is still rather young and underrepresented in anthropology as a whole because it is counterproductive to the interests of those who settled on the land who would much rather forget the atrocities that preceded their presence on the continent and the harm it did, not only to People, but to Land/Things.

but the world of Thedas is explicitly alive! even in instances where the writers were clearly unable to see the World as having agency without anthropomorphizing them, the choice to do so lends further to the conclusion that the world is alive and deserving of agency. the trees, the mountains, even the forest itself blurs the line between person and thing as sentient beings borne out of the land. And the Fade has a tangible, material impact on the waking world. Whereas real-life anthropologists must argue the validity of factoring in dreams and the mystical imagination into their work, Veilguard discusses at length (without much opportunity for player input) the Personhood of a spirit. the Ancient Elves were Spirits-Made-People. Manfred and Spite show that they are capable of growth and learning (although I have problems with how they are both written as not-quite-yet-deserving of personhood). The Veil is actively failing (and has been for the entire series) and it is hurting people on both sides. It would be in the best interest of the World as a being with agency to do away with it.

BUT. because this might lead to real-life parallels with land back and reparative justice for Indigenous people, the writers do a quick heel-turn and explain that sundering the Veil will lead to a massive loss of life in the waking world. which is frankly an irresponsibly written parallel to the real world and leaning more far right than the writers wish to appear. when the status quo is inherently beneficial to some and harmful to others based on their race, gender, what have you - yes. it is indeed harmful to uphold the status quo. it is necessary in this case to look critically at why the writers made this the case. the world exploding if you lean away from centrism is not a real life example that they have drawn from. sympathy for solas's cause is destructive because of the writers' bias, not because there is no other conceivable way in which this story could end. if you were to come away from this game still knowing very little about the real-world parallels it draws upon, you would be dangerously close to perpetuating the harmful practices that are actively deteriorating Indigenous peoples' connection to their own history. in the real world, it is not enough for Indigenous people to simply throw away all ties to their culture and assimilate themselves into the western world. they will still be targeted by predatory government practices or by hate groups regardless of how "well" they adhere to a system that was designed to exclude them.

it's hard to say what i wish the writers would have done with Veilguard because the roots for this final narrative failing have been in place since the beginning. but if the game were truly meant to be a roleplaying experience, rather than a cautionary tale, they would have let you choose options that the writers themselves may not have agreed with, wrt choosing to tear down the Veil. if anything i hope that a lot of these recent retrospectives on the series inspires you to do more to engage with and seek out Indigenous voices in whatever you do. i promise your life will not be lessened by diversity of thought, and that it will instead help you understand what you really think and why you think that way. now go forth. and do anthropology on video game characters