#will-make-more-mistakes-tomorrow

[mumblesplash]

in honor of last season’s poem being called “”end poem”” (all quotes mandatory) this season i made one out of pieces of the actual end poem

[rise-my-angel]

I love Pinterest so much because... Modernau! Jon and baby Eddard 😭😂🫶

GET AWAY FROM ME I DON'T NEED THIS

[littlecutiexox]

I'm so on edge today I hate it

[themadknightuniverse]

writing prompt suggestion? Nacho taking care of an injured Lalo or vise versa :>

Here are the two versions! I got inspired haha So you can find a short one mostly for fun, and a longer one much more dramatic but no bad ending in sight. Thank you for this ask I was just so happy when I saw it 💖 Of course, warnings : injury, blood, violence.

Lalo takes care of injured Nacho

Nacho winces, hissing between his teeth as blood drips on the counter top. Lalo turns away from the stove, looking at Nacho as he speed walks to the sink. “What’s wrong?” Nacho turns on the tap, carefully rinsing his hand under the water. Lalo notices the blood on the counter, on the knife. Lalo snorts “You cut yourself, darling?”

Nacho sends him a look over his shoulder, a bit annoyed “Yeah.” Lalo puts one of the two pans to the side and pads over to Nacho who’s looking at the wound. “Let me see.” Nacho removes his hand from under the water and lets Lalo take his hand, the man careful to avoid touching the wound. It’s a deep cut, right on the side of his index. Nacho can still move his finger fine, so it’s nothing too bad. The blood keeps running tho, snaking along Nacho’s finger, coating Lalo’s fingers as he observes the wound. “I think you’ll need one or two stitches. You really made a mess of yourself.” Nacho sighs “Yeah. Or your knifes are far too sharp.” Lalo laughs “There no such things as a 'too sharp' knife, cariño.” A minute later Nacho is sitting on a stool by the counter, Lalo sitting on another one right beside him. On the countertop rests a first-aid kit. There is everything needed to do stitches, of course, you don’t work for a cartel and don’t have such things in your home. When you're a Don at least. Nacho presses a clean dish-towel on the cut, staining it red, while Lalo is passing a thread in a needle. “You want something for the pain?” Nacho considers the question. The cut is stinging but it’s nothing compared to what he had been through in the past. There is a bottle of anesthesia product in the kit, but it seems ridiculous. It would be much more useful for a bullet wound. Nacho shakes his head. He removes his hand from the towel when Lalo invites him to rest it on the counter, and Lalo goes to work. Ignacio grits his teeth as Lalo works. It's stupid how much a cut on the hands can hurt. Lalo smirks at him as he cuts the thread after the first stitch is done. "Stay strong Nachito, if you don't cry you'll get a lollipop when I'm done."

Nacho glares back at him "I'm not a child." "You cut yourself while chopping carrots. It only happens to children." Lalo answers like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Nacho looks away, cheeks warming up a little no matter how much he tries not to feel embarrassed by how stupid all this was "It's not true, and you know it." "Yeah, because with your gigantic experience in a kitchen, you would know better than me." Nacho looks back at Lalo, frowning "It happened to my dad." "Well then your dear papa must be a real chef!" Lalo answers with a shit-eating grin right before passing the needle in Nacho's finger. Nacho barely contains a little groan of pain as it stings, preventing him from delivering an insult. Lalo ties the second knot neatly, and cuts the excess of thread. Nacho must admit, he did a really nice job with how good the stitches look. "There. All fixed up." Lalo says as he takes Nacho's hand in his own with the same care from earlier. He uses the towel to dab away the blood on Nacho's hand, removing the worst of it. It isn't unusual for Lalo to give him so much attention, but it somehow never stops to amaze Nacho. Those hands that are so good at hurting, destroying, set fire, killing, but can also be so gentle. And as always, it makes something flutter inside Nacho. The people Lalo treats with such delicacy are so rare, and, somehow, he's one of them. "Thanks." Lalo looks at Nacho, and the man seems to notice something in his eyes, because this time when he smiles, it's more tender. "Anything for you, mi corazón." And then Lalo is bringing Nacho's hand to his mouth, and he drops the softest kisses on his knuckles. Nacho's breath catches in his throat, his cheeks warming up. Damn this man and his stupid charm. "Do you want a band-aid on that? I have some with super cute little blue flowers on it." Lalo says, his stupid grin back on his face. "Oh shut the fuck up." Nacho mumbles and removes his hand from Lalo's grip, leaving a laughing Lalo behind him as he steps away.

Nacho takes care of injured Lalo

It should have been alright.

It was just one of their usual visit to Albuquerque. Checking if everything was in order, maintain a real contact with their men in town, and of course, remind everyone who they were working for. Nacho and Lalo were highly respected, two living legends forming a single deadly entity, thanks to the brilliant plan they pulled up to make Fring fall. And the rumors circulating inside the cartels were probably exaggerating their real exploit, even if it truly had been a hard mission to accomplish, but none of them would say otherwise. Nobody dared to bring up the “Chicken Man subject” in front of them anyway. They were just this insurmontable obstacle for anyone else trying to get a higher rank in the cartel.

And this time around, everything was going well, because nobody really tried anything since they were both sitting side by side on the Salamanca throne. Domingo and Tuco, freshly out of prison, had organized a little special thing to celebrate what Tuco liked to call “a family reunion” even though it was just a party at Domingo's house with the other members of the cartel working under them all, and their companions.

It would have been like the precedent times, Lalo and Nacho taking the time to pass by the Salamanca's guest house to leave their stuff for the time they'll stay in town, take a quick shower, Lalo intruding while Nacho showered like he often did, sharing wet kisses under the water, maybe exploring each other's body in a heated embrace, before finally getting ready. And this went well this time around too, what truly changed was during the trip over to Domingo's place.

They should have thought about it, honestly. But retrospectively, they were both so lost in the feeling of power they had over their territories they became sloppy when it came to being unpredictable, and so making them an easier target.

When cars pulled up before the Javelin at a crossroad, arriving out of nowhere, Nacho barely had the time to press on the brakes. His instinct struck back immediately, turning the car hastily as men came out of the cars, weapons in hand. Lalo was shooting at them through the window in record time, reacting just as fast at the ambush. Bullets pierced the doors, exploded the windows, as Lalo kept on shooting, arm out of the car without a doubt in the world he wouldn't get hurt.

Nacho grabbed his own gun as he was rushing back the way they came, dodging as bullets flew through the window on the back of the car. Nacho cursed and hit the breaks again as a large SUV came to cut their way too, blocking their only other escape route. Three men got out of the car, two armed with pistol, and another one with a freaking Tommy gun. Nacho grabbed at Lalo, pulling him with him so they both were protected by the front of the car as bullets rained on them.

They were going to fucking die, Nacho couldn't help but think. His hands were grabbing at Lalo's shirt strongly enough to rip the nice fabric of it. No. He had to think. Bullets had stopped coming from behind them, surely Lalo had put down these men. How many were they? Five? Six? Nacho didn't had the time to count before he had turned the car around. Bullets were still coming, they were gonna explode the fucking car. A plan. They needed a plan.

His internal monologue took a brutal end when the bullets slowed, only the guys with the pistols shooting now, but what stopped him was Lalo moving away from him. He tried to grip at Lalo's shirt as the man was opening the door on his side, and stepping out while keeping his head low.

“Lalo no! What—“

Nacho could only look at him, baffled and furious at the risk Lalo was taking. The man sent him a look as bullet were piercing the door, stopped by the thickness of it, and fucking winked at him, a smile accompanying it. Lalo peered over the door, and started shooting back.

Nacho decided he would get mad later. He had to focus on eliminating whoever these men were before pulling at Lalo's ear and give him the worst earful of his life. The bullets were calming down, the men recharging their weapons. Lalo took advantage of the change, shooting one of the men in the stomach and the shoulder. Nacho tried a look over the hood of the car, witnessing the man falling down with a cry of pain. Through the smoke coming from the engine of the Javelin, he could see the other man with just a pistol circling the car to his side. But he also saw that the guy with the heavy weapon had finished recharging. He barely had the time to duck down again that the car body was pierced by more bullets. Nacho turned himself toward his door, trying to anticipate the arrival of the man with a light weapon, waiting as patiently as he could for the idiot who was shooting entire cartridge at them to finish.

A yelp came from his right. Nacho's blood ran cold. Lalo. When he looked over, Lalo was clutching at his chest, face grimacing in intense pain. Nacho's blood ran hot. No, it ran into lava, awakening a furnace of ferocity inside of him. He didn't think. He grabbed at Lalo and pulled him inside the car like he weighted nothing, bullets still raining on them but Nacho couldn't care less. His vision has turned red.

He snatched the gun from Lalo's hand, the man not letting go of it despite being hurt. Lalo tried to speak to him but Nacho couldn't hear a thing. There was only his blood rushing in his ears, and this terrible beast inside of him telling him to tear, burn, annihilate. Nacho sat up, and fired. His aim was perfect, the single bullet piercing the skull of the man holding the Tommy gun. In his fall, the man still had his finger on the trigger, and he fired a line of bullets up towards the sky, projectiles hissing as they passed right next to Nacho who didn't flinch, his eyes finding the man who was recharging his pistol. Nacho didn't fired. He opened his door, and pushed it open with a foot. He was out of the car then, his eyes pinned on his target who started to panic, not managing to insert the cartridge correctly.

Nacho didn't shoot still. He crossed the distance in quick steps, the man loosing his composure, still desperately trying to insert that damn cartridge, but it was too late because Nacho was there and he punched him right in the face. The man's gun scattered away as he felt on the ground under the strong impact. Nacho was over him in an instant, grabbing at his t-shirt, and started to beat the shit out of him.

Nacho wasn't the kind to deliver a slow and painful death. And he wasn't the kind to inflict such a sentence to a pawn. But something in him had snapped. And by the time his fist was covered in blood, not a single drop his own, the fog in his mind started to dissipate. He let go of the man's shirt and grabbed one of his weapon he had tucked in his jeans, and fired at the man's head, ending his slow agony.

Nacho went back to his feet with his breath short. He looked around. There were bodies everywhere. Blood everywhere. And one man still breathing, the one Lalo shoot last. Nacho quickly went over to him, interrogated him about the attack. It seemed like they had new pseudo cartel Don to deal with. Nacho put a bullet in the man's head.

A sound coming from the Javelin picked his attention. Lalo. He was sitting up in the passenger's seat, looking at him, gaze unreadable. That's when Nacho registered the blood running on Lalo's temple, all the way down his cheek and jaw, staining his shirt even more than the wound he had in the shoulder. Nacho tucked both gun in his jeans and went to Lalo's side, somehow reconnecting with the reality a bit more. They had to go, now. They were in an industrial zone but the cops wouldn't delay their arrival much longer, especially now that the shooting was over.

“I think I'll need your help, Nachito.” Lalo smiled up at him as Nacho peered inside the car at him.

Nacho said nothing and helped Lalo out of what was left of his precious Javelin. He carried Lalo over to the cars blocking their way, Lalo's valid arm slung over his shoulders. But Lalo was becoming heavier and heavier as they progressed, the man's feet loosing their footing under the speed at which Nacho was going. When Lalo grunted, Nacho started to worry much more. He stopped and slipped an arm under Lalo's leg and carried him as best as he could to the black SUV.

Once he had installed Lalo in the passenger's seat, Nacho took his face with both of his palms, pushing away the strand wet with sweat and blood. That was a lot of blood now.

“Hey! Hey look at me Lalo. Open your eyes.” But Lalo just groaned, his head lolling to the side. Nacho kept it upright. “Com'on Eduardo, focus. Open your eyes. Open your eyes for me, mi sol.”

Lalo blessedly opened them. “Cariño... me siento... extraño...”

Nacho tried to make eye contact with the glazed dark orbs “I'll get some help.” Lalo blinked and their eyes finally locked. “I need you to stay awake. You can do that?”

Lalo hummed an affirmative noise. Police's sirens arrived in the distance, their lights not visible yet. Nacho reclined Lalo's seat a little so he wouldn't fall forward and clipped his seat belt tight around him. The key was still on when he sat in the driver's seat. He didn't wait any longer and propelled the car down the road.

He couldn't go to the hospital, not after the police had been alerted, and not with their identity. He fished his phone in his leather jacket, calling the second number registered in the shortcuts. He took a few deep breath as he waited for the call to be answered, trying to stay focused on the road. His eyes kept returning to Lalo's form, making sure he was still breathing.

“You with me Eduardo?”

Another humming sound answered him. That will have to do.

“Okay. Don't fall asleep mi sol. I want you with me.”

“Eres el amor... de mi vida.” You're the love of my life.

Nacho quickly looked over at Lalo, and there was that same way he looked at him minutes ago. He looked back at the road and tried not to think how much Lalo's declaration sounded like a goodbye.

“Yeah, Nacho?”

Domingo's voice almost startled him, pulling him out of his thoughts. Nacho felt Lalo's hand coming to rest on his thigh, he didn't let it distract him. It was reassuring to feel it resting there, it meant Lalo was still conscious.

“Mingo, I need you to call the doctor, now. I'm heading to your home. We've been attacked on our way to your place, Lalo is badly injured. I'll be there in 10 min, I'll try to make it 7. Get everyone out, I don't want anyone else but you and the doctor when we arrive.”

“Uh- Okay. You're okay?”

Nacho looked over at Lalo who was visibly fighting to not loose consciousness.

“Yeah. Just do as I said.”

Nacho hung up without waiting an answer. He focused on the road, trying to rely on Lalo's hand presence on his leg as a source of proof the man was alright, fighting the need to actually look at him to make sure. They were almost there, Domingo's house at the end of the road, when Nacho felt Lalo's hand slip from his leg.

“Eduardo you're still with me?”

No answer. Nacho looked over. Lalo's head was lolling to the side, the dark blood covering half his face. Nacho looked back at the road. The last car of the invited men was leaving just before Nacho drove right into the empty parking spot that was the nearest from the entry. Domingo was opening the door while Nacho was already pulling Lalo out of the car, carrying him bridal style, Lalo's head falling on his shoulder. Tuco appeared in the doorway just as Nacho was approaching.

“Who the fuck did this?!”

Nacho just gave him a name as he entered the house, rushing to the biggest room of the whole house. Domingo had cleared the table of the dining room, visibly understanding they'll need to deal with real bad injuries.

“Where is the doctor?” Nacho asked Domingo, and maybe he sounded harsher than he realized because Domingo took a step back.

“She's on her way. I called her right after your call. She told me she would be there in 10.”

Nacho had drove fast, she would be there any minute then. Tuco's voice erupted from the entrance hall, he was calling his men to get informations about the name Nacho gave him by the looks of it. Nacho decided he would leave him to take care of this for now, he had more important things to think about right now.

“Go fetch a bassin of water, some towels, and-”

Nacho cut himself as he witnessed Domingo bringing exactly what he was asking for over to the table. He had prepared these before they arrived. Nacho sometimes forgot how well Domingo had learned to play his role in the scheme of the cartel. He knew the deal by now.

A groan came from the table. Nacho was leaning over Lalo in a flash, eyes jumping all over his face. He brought one of his hand to Lalo's bloodied face, pushing the wild messy curls away again.

“Hey, you're back.”

Lalo hummed. “I'm tired.”

“It's okay, the doctor will be there in a minute.” Nacho tried a smile, and it made a similar one form on Lalo's lips. “You'll be on your feet soon, and then I'll tell you all about what I think of the stupid decision you made back there.”

Lalo let out the huff of a laugh. “Can't wait.”

One of Lalo's hand came to cup Nacho's around his face. He held it there as he barely turned his head toward it, nuzzling it, before kissing Nacho's bloody palm.

“No soy.. nada... sin ti.” I'm nothing without you.

Nacho's heart seized in his chest. Lalo never missed a chance to cover him with the most sweetest words, to the point of becoming cheesy sometimes, but it always made something radiate inside of him. A burning sensation that made him feel good, that was giving all this madness of their shared a life a real meaning. And tonight it was burning so bright it was almost painful.

Nacho caressed Lalo's hair with his other hand “I'm not going anywhere.”

Lalo's glassy eyes found his, and there was that look again. And now that he had the time to observe it, Nacho could label it. It was pure liquid adoration swimming in those dark orbs. Nacho briefly wondered why Lalo was letting him see that now, after all this time spent together. Was it because of what he did? What Lalo saw of him? The way he punched that man almost to death out of ferocious protectiveness? But his questions were cut short by the arrival of the doctor.

“The doc is here, I'll let her work, alright? I'm right there.”

Lalo hummed again, on the edge of loosing consciousness again, letting go of Nacho's hand with confidence still. Nacho stepped away as the doctor entered the room, opening her bags next to Lalo, accompanied by her usual assistant. Nacho gave her the informations she needed to work and then came to stand beside Domingo who had went to stand a bit further away when Lalo woke up, leaving them at their private conversation.

At some point Domingo asked him what happened and Nacho went through the events. The anger from earlier coursed through his veins again, but it wasn't as vicious at least. Seeing the amount of blood still on his hands was a good enough reminder for him to keep his calm. Lalo was safe. He didn't have to beat and kill anyone to protect him. Not yet at least. Nacho wasn't going back to Mexico before having the man responsible for all this at his feet, begging for mercy.

It was hours later when Lalo regained consciousness. Nacho was laying beside him in bed, in one of Domingo's guest room. Nacho barely slept, monitoring Lalo even if everything went fine during the time he spent under the care of the doctor. But he couldn't help himself. It was the first time he really feared for Lalo's life. They didn't found themselves in such a dire situation since Fring. And even then neither of them had been badly injured. Lalo had lost so much blood. The bullet that scraped at Lalo's temple had left a deep cut. A little more to the right and they would never had the chance to exchange any last words.

Nacho looked as Lalo's eyelids fluttered open, trying to shield the sensitive eyes to the little light that was illuminating the room. There was nothing but a thin ray of sunlight passing between the almost closed curtains, bathing the room in a very soft orange light. Lalo turned his head, noticing Nacho's presence with a delay, and smiled softly.

“You're there.”

Nacho smiled back, eyes dancing between Lalo's. “Told you I wasn't going anywhere.”

“Right. But I never know when I can trust your words.” Lalo answered with a mischievous little smirk.

Nacho groaned, frowning, and pushed himself on an elbow to lean a little over Lalo. “You're really bringing this up now?”

Lalo smiled, showing all his teeth. “I'm just playing with you, cariño.”

Nacho kept on frowning at that man he unfortunately loved. His heart squeezed in a bad way when he thought again that he almost lost him last night. They had been neglecting their security. Nacho would make sure it didn't happened again. He had a sun he wanted to keep shining bright at his side. He lowered himself over Lalo until their lips brushed, soft and delicate. A chaste kiss. His hand cupped Lalo's head with care, a fingertip running under Lalo's wound running along his head, careful not to touch it.

“No soy nada sin ti.” I'm nothing without you. The sincerity and weight of his own words felt almost unreal. Never before did his words carried more truth. “Estoy perdido sin ti.” I'm lost without you.

It seemed to shook Lalo has much as himself. The adoration was shining bright in his eyes, and when he blinked a tear ran down his temple, leaving Nacho stunned by the vision.

“Te creo.” I believe you.

Lalo pulled Nacho into a fierce embrace, not giving a single care about the pain in his shoulder. Nacho hugged him back just as tight.

[thedrotter]

cw blood (kind of? in different colors that dont make it look quite like it), organs

warm up + greyscale screen filter challenge !!! featuring yuuichi eating normal human (in origin) food😁😁😁

[neonganymede]

I made congee out of the vain hope that it would fix me, and now I'm surprised that it actually might have

[lakemichigans]

i cut more of my bangs today

[n1et]

I'm sharing a traditional soup recipe with a friend so i figured I might as well make it into a post. Polish mutuals and non mutuals alike please weigh in.

I'll be describing how to make Rosół sometimes localized as golden soup. It holds for about 3 days without freezing. As a little bonus I'll also add in some dishes that use rosół as a base; mostly mentions tho as to not balloon the post. Rosół is a savory meat based broth like soup usually eaten with noodles, it is similar in composition to ramen but places less stress on additions and plating.

Prep time: 10-20 minutes (with great room to spare)

Cooking time: >4h (generally the longer the better)

You'll need: A rather large pot, a strainer (any size, optional), a source of continuous flame (either a gas stove or a candle tea heater both work well, a blowtorch or kitchen torch works in a pinch but I don't recommend it, don't bother with a lighter; it's not worth it, also optional but VERY strongly encouraged)

[recipe under the read more]

Rosół is cooked differently in each household; sometimes according to tradition but usually to taste so the ingredients I'm about to give are tentative and should be adjusted

Ingredients:

about 3lbs Meat

1 Onion (charred)

1 or 2 Parsley roots

1 Carrot

1 Celeriac / Celery Root (large)

1/2 a Leek or as much as will fit in the pot

1 bundle of Fresh Parsley

2-4 Celeriac Stems (optional)

12 whole grains of Peppercorn

1 whole grain of Allspice

1/2 a Bay Leaf

A lot of how the end result will taste depends on the meat used in cooking, that includes both animal and cuts. Traditionally rosół is made with beef cuts such as the shank (or flank) and brisket (you're looking for chewy cuts and ones with some fat on them, tho usually the cheaper the meat is, the better it will do) (as an aside, traditionally when an old dairy cow would die it's meat would be used for rosół among other things, so don't be concerned about the general quality and age of the meat you're using) and poultry wings (including wing tips) and necks such as chicken, duck, or goose. Something more controversial nowadays but still very traditional would be horse tail and horse meat, both it and oxtail is a really good choice if you can get them cheaply.

Beef adds a little bit of sourness to the broth so it should be balanced by either adding in a little bit more carrot or about 1/3 of it's weight in turkey. I'd advise against using only turkey as it makes the broth too sweet in my experience, but it remains a great addition for balancing. The gamyer the meat the more intense in flavor and light in feel the broth will be, so for special occasions getting a goose or duck can make for an amazing dish.

Preparation:

Peel and wash all the vegetables thoroughly, make sure to get the dirt from in between the leek leafs (I usually use a high pressure shower head but I'm sure a sink is sufficient), and to get all the nooks and crevices of the celeriac (tho don't cut off the knotted part it's not imperative you keep it but it is a bit wasteful to do so)

chop the root vegetables into thumb sized dice, this includes; the parsley roots, the celeriac, and the carrot. Do Not chop the onion.

Char the peeled onion! Set it onto a source of open flame so that it is touching the onion directly but is not engulfing the onion and wait about a minute or 5, then turn the onion over and repeat the process. Do not try to scrape off the char, it's supposed to stay. (skip this step if you don't have an open flame handy)

Tie the parsley into a knot so it will stay together while cooking.

Cooking:

Put all the meat into the largest pot you can muster, anything you could fit your head in (or maybe even a bit smaller) will work, and pour water into it so that it covers the raw meat completely. Add the peppercorns, allspice, bay, and the onion. Put the pot on high heat and bring it up to almost a gentle boil before cutting the heat completely. If you want to, you can strain the broth to get rid of the meat fuss, keeping all the spices and the onion, or just let the fuss settle to the bottom of the pot. I've also seen people use a smaller strainer to skim the fuss off the top. Put the pot on low heat and watch if it tries to boil, if it does, add a table spoon of cold water to quiet it down and lower the temperature, ideally your soup should be moving but not quite boiling, do not stir as it'll only damage the onion and redisperse the fuss. If at any point the onion begins to disintegrate simply pull it out so it doesn't make the soup cloudy, you can eat it as is or add it back later and have it with the soup. After at least an hour, or after the meat can be pierced with a meat fork, start putting in other ingredients in order of cook time: first the Parsley root, then the carrot, then the celeriac, the leek should get added at the very end with all the herbs (parsley and celeriac stems). I like to wait an hour between each ingredient but not everyone has 6 hours to make soup, even if you don't have to watch it, so ration your time accordingly. The soup is ready when the leak is cooked through or about half an hour to an hour after putting it in.

Plating and further processing:

Rosół is generally eaten with noodles, any size and shape will do but short thin strands are the most common. You can eat it as a 2 course meal with the broth and noodles as soup and the less chewy meat from it as the second course, my favorite way to eat it is with horseradish sauce made with the broth for which I will provide a recipe later!

Rosół is also a base for many different dishes. You can use the broth as a base for other soups like żurek, and the tougher, stringyer peaces of meat can be ground into pierogi filling, but one of the simplest ways to enhance another dish with it is using it in a horseradish sauce recipe:

ingredients: a table spoon of unsalted butter, a teaspoon of flour, 2 table spoons of rosół (substitutable with any kind of broth), horseradish paste (I use jarred, if you plan on grinding the horseradish yourself add a little bit of cream)

Into a very small pot on low to medium heat add the butter and melt it. Before it burns add the teaspoon of flour and wait for it to brown slightly, stir constantly to make sure it doesn't burn. Quench the rue with the broth, it should foam slightly so try not to spill any, and after it deflates a bit add the horseradish paste to taste. I tend to go for 2 table spoons (quite spicy) but make sure to make the sauce as spicy as you want it to be, the more horseradish the spicier it'll be.

Pour your sauce onto one of the tender peaces of meat extracted from your rosól and enjoy. This seemingly simple dish always fills me with great glee and a sense of accomplishment. There's nothing quite like a peace of meat with horseradish sauce, both a result of delicious soup.

[hollow-vok]

Ohh im obssesed

[jaeyleo]

LOCKS OR KEYS: PART 9

YOU CHOSE: KEYS: TAKE THE CAR AND ESCAPE

Your choices leave your character lost. He has no choice but to succumb to the will of his captor.

CWS: non human whumper, whumper is also caretaker, captive whumpee, failed escape attempt, sick whumpee, brainwashing, torture, dehumanization, delirious whumpee, suicidal ideation, force feeding alcohol, hallucinations and delusions of bugs crawling on and into whumpee’s body, hypnosis. let me know if i should add more!

Masterlist.

Tag list (lmk if you’d like to be added or removed, my apologies for forgetting about it the last handful of parts): @skid-row-seymour @welcome-to-the-whumpfest @the9645archives

sorry this one is kinda long, but i felt like y’all deserved a bigger part for waiting so long to hear from this series :cryface:

. . .

The keys hang on the wall, the car sits outside. It’s time to go.

In one swift motion, Chase sheds the blanket off his shoulders and snatches up the keys. He strides outside the house, making easy and confident steps down the porch. Getting in the car is easy, starting it is easy, driving is easy. For once, he isn’t afraid.

The puppet opens his eyes. Now that he’s pictured his half assed plan, he can begin the attempt.

He sheds the blanket onto the couch, feeling a rush of cold air hit his skin. For a second he pulls it back, but ultimately elects to fold it and leave it on the couch. Maybe Pseudo won’t be as angry with him if he doesn’t leave a mess. Maybe he’s just stalling.

Once finished, he begins his steps towards the keys. They’re clumsy and painful, causing him to fall into the arm of the couch before he even leaves the living room. He manages to get to the keys, and with a trembling hand, he plucks them from the wall.

He feels nauseous.

Is he really doing this?

He could turn back at any moment, and Pseudo would never know. He wouldn’t question it, because Chase would still be in bed when he got home, and the keys would still be on the wall. He could turn back. He could be safe.

But instead he opens the door, against everything inside him. He can hear his inner “Pink voice” crying inside his head, “bad idea, bad idea, bad bad bad idea!”

But he is ignored, and Chase finds himself in the driver’s seat of the car.

It takes him a few minutes to muster the courage to start it, and then a few more just to remember how. His whole body shakes in cold and fear, and he feels like he could vomit at any given second. His nervousness cracks him down to his core, splitting through every cell and piece of tissue there is to have inside a human. Once the car rumbles to life, he adjusts the mirror, and sees Pseudo in the back seat.

“Fuck!!”

Chase whips around to look at him, but finds the car empty.

The relief, the fear, the sickness, the fighting Pink and Chase, God, he can’t take it. He can’t tell if what he saw was real or fake, if he’s just hallucinating or if Pseudo’s onto him and is just toying with him. But he’s come this far, and what he can’t take even more than the situation he’s in now, is staying another day here in Denmark. He wants to go home.

Chase puts the car in drive, and starts his terrifying journey.

. . .

If starting the car was difficult, driving should be its own category of horrendous.

He’s completely forgotten how. For the first ten or so minutes he either goes too fast or too slow. He almost drives off the side of the road into the wooded areas, (which he absolutely scratches the car), and at one point, he nearly crashes when trying to turn too fast on a curve. As time passes, the sun falls farther and farther beneath the trees, to which Chase panics when trying to find the switch for the headlights. He considers pulling over for a while just to cry about it all, but he gets the hang of most of it. He gets the hang of most of it, and he drives just fine for a while, despite having no idea where he’s going.

As Chase drives and drives, he starts seeing a house in the distance. Pseudo’s house.

Did he drive in a circle?

The roads don’t curve like that, do they?

Chase speeds up, terrified to be met with this fate so soon. He hopes he’s hallucinating again.

The same woods and lake and curves meet him again. He tries harder this time around to make sure he’s careful, taking different turns as not to end up in the same place. This cant be for nothing.

The same stretch of time seems to pass for Chase, though he can’t say for sure as Pseudo’s clock is stuck at 10:05. It all feels like the same terrifying drag to him either way.

Eventually, even with his precautions, he’s met with the house again.

He speeds up once more, gripping the steering wheel as tight as he can. He tries the same plan again, taking different roads or even going straight through the woods wherever the car can fit. At this point, he’d try anything to go home.

But once again, the house appears in his view.

Tears blur his vision as he tries again. He pleads to get free, more afraid of the punishment than anything at this point. If Pseudo isn’t on to his escape, then his lack of driving skills are going to be his downfall.

Again, the house appears, and again, he tries to drive.

He cries as he keeps the car going. It’s hard to see as it is, but he might need to pull over if his emotions keep getting the best of him like this.

The next time he gets back to he house, he sees Pseudo standing there, watching him. His hands are in his pockets and he doesn’t look upset, although Chase knows better than to assume. He knows he’s been caught, and that driving would be useless now. But he cant stop, this cant be for nothing.

He drives around again, and Pseudo stays put. Their dance continues, Chase driving, Pseudo waiting, until enough turns have happened that the puppet accepts his defeat. On the last drive, the car comes to a stop, but his tears don’t.

Pseudo approaches, opening the door and tilting his head at the doll. Chase has yet to stop crying.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” says Pseudo.

The puppet covers his face, smashing tears into his fingertips. He feels like Pink. Or maybe wants to be Pink. Pseudo is nicer to Pink.

“You know what happens now, don’t you, dolly?”

Chase feels sicker and sicker. He covers his mouth just in case.

“I asked you a question, Chase.”

The name names his skin crawl. Pseudo doesn’t call him that anymore, not unless he’s in serious trouble.

“Yes,” Chase whimpers. He wipes the tears from his eyes and looks up at his captor, hoping to reason with him. “Yes, I’m sorry. I don’t- I don’t know what I was thinking, I was just scared and-“

Pseudo puts a finger to his lips. “Hush. You know where you’re supposed to go. I’ll be in there later.”

“But-“

Pseudo smacks Chase on the mouth, and the puppet shuts up. He leans in close to his doll, making sure their eyes meet and the attention is captured.

“Hush.”

He then unbuckles the seatbelt that ties Chase down, and takes the keys from the ignition.

“Put these back on your way in.”

The monster drops the keys in his puppet’s hand, and leaves him to follow his commands. But Chase is paralyzed.

He stares down at the keys in his hand, shaking like a leaf about to fall from a tree. He pictures the cellar, he pictures the garden, he pictures the car, the vague idea of children he forgets the names of. He pictures the stupidity of his decision, and how much easier his life would be had he just stayed in bed to sleep like he was told.

But there’s no point in picturing.

Chase stands up and shuts the door. With each step he takes he feels knives digging into his feet, roots trying to plant themselves in the ground to make him stay away from his punishment. He starts losing his breath from the panic, and while his hands go numb, he simultaneously crumbles to the ground. The keys find a home in the grass, and Chase’s mouth begins to salivate from the need to vomit.

He covers his mouth, trying to take deep breaths and prevent a mess. He can’t stop shaking, can’t stop crying, can’t stop thinking about what’s going to happen to him.

It takes him a few minutes to gather his strength again. Soon enough, he’s entering the house to place the keys back where he found them, and heading out the back door.

He wipes the tears from his eyes and looks at the cellar. Why, why, why did he have to be so stupid? Why can’t he just listen?

With trembling hands and closed eyes, he opens the doors for his consequences.

. . .

Pseudo takes a long time to come downstairs.

Chase isn’t sure if he’s just letting the tension build, or if his punishment is being locked in here for an unknown amount of time. God knows he’s spent long enough down here, weeks at a time, and every memory makes him more and more afraid of what’s to come. He tries not to focus on that part. Instead, he drags his hands against the wall for balance while he paces.

And paces, and paces, and paces

and paces and paces

and paces.

He paces until his feet ache from the weight of his bones. Until he has to cover his face and kneel on the ground, considering ending his life before Pseudo can come down to start the pain. But that thought leaves his mind as light drips heavy down the steps, and Chase becomes a lightening bolt to sit in the chair he’s supposed to.

His eyes lock on the drain below him. There are still stains on the concrete from his own blood, but more recently, from the man who was planted in the garden. Chase shivers as he pushes the thought from his mind.

Pseudo comes down the stairs with his eyes trained on the chair, pleased to see the seat taken. His stride is easy and comfortable, but there’s some kind of itch in his fingers that twitches as he gathers tools onto his little cart. He takes his time to think about his supplies, and what is or isn’t chosen. Chase steals a glance, but turns away when he sees a stun gun thud onto the surface.

“I don’t know why you do this to yourself,” says Pseudo, still focused on his task. “It’s like you enjoy being punished, I don’t know. Or maybe you’re just dumber than I thought.”

He places a few other tools on the cart, but Chase keeps himself blind to what’s there. Once finished, he rolls the cart closer to his prey, and stands in front of him to speak.

“Which one is it, Chase?”

The puppet frowns, shaking his head. “I-“

A hard smack to the face cuts him off. Chase goes reeling to the side of the chair, but is yanked back by his hair. The man cries out in pain, leaning as far into Pseudo’s grip as he can to avoid extra pain.

“If you speak again without permission, I’ll sew your mouth shut. Am I understood?”

Chase nods.

Satisfied, the monster lets go, and the puppet’s hands come up to soothe the pain in his cheek and scalp. The relief is short lived, however, as Pseudo grabs his wrists to strap them to the arms of the chair with thin metal wire. It digs trenches into his skin, so he tries not to squirm.

His ankles are met with the same restraints, and he clamps his jaw down as hard as he can to avoid pleading. His eyes unconsciously drift to the tool cart and he catches the sight of a Sjambok, which he can already feel the sting of. He closes his eyes and keeps his head down, but Pseudo doesn’t like that.

“Look up. Look at the cart.”

The puppet chews on his tongue and obeys. His eyes scan over what he sees, and the pit in his stomach doesn’t stop growing.

The Sjambok. The stun gun. Gardening scissors. Barded wire. Needle and thread. A small jar of table salt. Shards from the plate he broke. Whiskey. A nail-gun.

Chase’s breath picks up as he scans the cart. Tears sting his eyes, and he chews and chews into his tongue. His head swims with the anticipation and anxiety of it all, heart thumping like a bird’s inside his chest. Once he’s gathered the sight of what will be used, he turns back to his captor to see him staring like a stalking, hungry dog.

“What do you think, trouble- maker? Was it worth it?”

The man shakes his head. He feels pathetic and afraid. He only wishes he could go back in time to stop himself from being so stupid.

Pseudo nods in response.

“Good. I’ll tell you what though, doll. Once I use a tool, I’ll put it away. But everything will be used. Got it?”

Chase’s eyes glance to the stun gun. He nods his head, feeling sick all over again.

“Good. How about you pick first then? Since you like making stupid decisions so much.”

He rolls the cart closer to Chase so he can get a better view of it, and perhaps to point with his eyes what he wants. But Chase shakes his head, a hum of fear crawling up his throat against his will.

“Hey, come now. You want to make choices, so make one. Pick something.”

The man brings his head back up to meet Pseudo’s gaze. He pleads with his eyes, with his frown. He doesn’t want to. Don’t make me, please?

Pseudo tilts his head, waiting.

“Pick.”

Chase blinks tears from his eyes and turns back to his options. He points with his eyes, and says what he wants in his head, just in case Pseudo is listening.

Whiskey.

Pseudo points at the stun gun. “This?”

Chase shakes his head. No, no, whiskey. He moves forward slightly to stare harder at the bottle.

“This?”

The gardening scissors.

Chase shakes his head again, pleading, pleading, chewing on his tongue. Whiskey!

Pseudo lands on the whiskey, and Chase nods and relishes in his relief.

“Alright...”

Pseudo opens the bottle, and presents it to Chase’s mouth. “Drink.”

The puppet obeys, drinking swig after swig after swig, until its spilling over his mouth and down his chin. He starts coughing and spitting it up, but Pseudo keeps it trained on his lips. He begins to feel like he’s drowning in the alcohol before it’s pulled away, and Chase’s throat is left to burn like a hungry fire while he coughs out the poison.

“Catch your breath… it wasn’t that bad.”

It takes him a few minutes of back patting and condescending encouragements to finally settle down. He tries breathing through his mouth to calm the burning in his throat, but Pseudo takes it as an excuse to pour more poison into his body.

The same motions repeat, and the bottle is halfway gone by the time Pseudo pulls it away again. But the cap goes back on, and just as Pseudo promised, its put on the bottom shelf of the cart.

“That was an easy one… so I think I’ll pick next.”

He picks up the nail- gun, and places it to Chase’s shin.

The puppet sits up, and the wire that holds him down digs into his skin. With eyes wide and breath fast, he shakes his head, clamping down his jaw to keep himself from speaking up. His tongue endures more abuse from his teeth.

“Which leg pressed the gas?”

Chase shakes his head again, tears falling down his face as the fear takes over him. Please, please, no. He shrivels into himself like a raisin, and the wire once again digs deeper and deeper into his flesh.

“Which leg, dolly? Point with your eyes.”

The doll sobs a little harder, shaking his head.

“No? Maybe I’ll just hit both, then…”

His eyes shoot open to stare at his right leg, tears blurring his vision. At this Pseudo chuckles, tilting his head and keeping his eyes on the doll’s face.

“I’m just messing with you,” he smiles. “But it would’ve been very interesting had you pointed at your left.”

As soon as he finishes speaking, a nail goes shooting through Chase’s tibia. It digs down as deep as it can get, cracking the bone with the force.

He screams as loud as he can muster. His already burned throat doesn’t do well with the strain, but its even worse when another nail goes shooting through just below the first one. He can’t stop himself from crying about it.

The nail- gun drops into the bottom shelf, and Pseudo calls his puppet back to focus. He coos at him, tapping his face, until Chase gets the hint.

“It’s your turn, puppet.”

The doll looks at his leg. His pants are soaked with blood and alcohol, but he cant see the nails from this angle. Perhaps thats a good thing.

He turns back to the cart, and makes his choice.

Salt.

Pseudo points at the Sjambok. Chase shakes his head.

Pseudo points at the gardening scissors. Chase shakes his head, leaning closer to the salt.

He points at the stun gun. Chase loses his breath, and leans even closer.

Salt!

“Mh, I’m just not sure what you’re saying. I suppose I’ll pick..”

Pseudo picks up the glass shards, and starts shoving them one by one into Chase’s thigh. He uses the last one to give his doll’s cheek a little cut, and tosses it into the cart. The remaining shards stay planted in flesh like sprouting seeds. It hurts, but it feels like a break compared to what he just felt.

Next, Pseudo picks up the Sjambok, and stands up.

“Lean forward.”

Chase groans, shivering. He feels dizzier and dizzier, and the world feels harder to navigate. Is he getting drunk already?

“Don’t make me ask again, dolly. You don’t want this to hit your face, do you?”

The doll succumbs and does as he’s told. Once he’s in position, Pseudo waits to watch his puppet just breathe. His chest rises and falls fervently in his lap, just barely grazing the glass. After enough tension builds to make Chase whimper, he strikes his back hard.

A large slice of blood erupts from the source, and the doll screams into his knees. Another three strikes are given, and the Sjambok is tossed to the floor.

Chase sobs like a child. He can’t get enough air in his lungs, and the tears seem to be never ending. Everything already aches, and there’s still so much to do. He feels dizzy and faint, unsure if its the blood loss or the alcohol, or both. But before he can get his bearings again, the wounds on his back sting bad enough for him to wail all over again.

Salt, salt, salt, like trails of snow, poured into his open wounds. Pseudo holds the back of his neck to keep him in place.

“Stop!” Chase weeps, squirming and crying like it’ll do something useful. “Please, please, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry!! Please stop!”

Pseudo clicks his tongue three times, finishing the last row and putting the salt away.

“You just can’t get enough of this, can you, sweetheart?”

Chase sits up once free, writhing in pain. He sways as the alcohol takes over the remaining of his control, and the pain takes its place close behind. He can’t press his back to the chair, but cant lean forward, either. Everything hurts. He’s too dizzy, he feels drunk already. His wrists ache and look as red as his crying face does.

Pseudo plucks the needle and thread from the cart.

“Quiet, dolly, or this will hurt a lot more than you’d like it to.”

“Nonono, please, please!” he weeps. “I wont do it again, I won’t ever do it again, I’ll do everything you say, I’m s— ah!!”

Pseudo smacks Chase on the mouth hard enough to shove his back into the chair.

“Enough. You’re being awfully stupid..”

The needle comes up from his bottom lip first, snaking its way to the top lip. Row after row, sob after sob, every sound that comes out of Chase’s mouth becomes muffled. Blood drips down his chin to follow the paths that the alcohol took beforehand. The salty tears sting the cut on his cheek, and whatever wound from the stitches that they can get into.

The gardening scissors cut the remaining thread, and both tools are tossed to the bottom of the cart. At least his fingers wont have the same fate as Richie’s.

The next tool that’s chosen is barbed wire. Pseudo uses it to wrap around Chase’s torso and arms, making sure to roll up any clothing so the razors meet his skin instead of fabric. Then, the stun gun finds his hand.

Chase’s head swims. He shakes his head, his cries becoming weaker but more afraid by the second. He’d take anything over the stun gun. Even the nail- gun. The sensory hell that comes from electricity is simply too much for him to take right now.

“Readyyyy?” Pseudo sings. “You’re almost done.”

But Chase isn’t, nor will he ever be, ready for the stun gun. He shakes his head again, a pathetic sob bubbling up from his throat. He sinks deeper into the chair, regretting everything he’s done within the last two days. He wants to wake up in the attic with the sun on his face and be confused about what’s happening again. He wants to be hypnotized and treated like a doll, to be coddled and loved and doted upon for whatever fucked up reason Pseudo has for doing it. He wants to be Pink, he wants to be Pink, he wants to be Pink.

Pseudo aims at Chase’s shoulder, and shoots.

His entire body tenses up from the electricity. What little control he had before has now left him, and he is left to scream and endure for 10 seconds.

15.

20.

Chase opens his eyes to see Pseudo standing over him. He can’t breathe, he cant see, the world swims and twists in his eyes. The room spins and there are fire ants crawling across his entire body, with burrows dug deep into his flesh. He looks down at himself, seeing bugs crawling all across his skin.

“Mmm- mmmm!!!”

Chase writhes and hollers like his life depends on it. There are bugs on his skin!! He can feel them burrowing into his flesh, into his shin, his wrists, his torso, his mouth, his thigh!!!!! They’re everywhere!!!

He screams and screams and screams as they take over his whole body, making a home inside every space they can. Pseudo grabs hold of his doll’s face, forcing his eye contact and attention.

“Settle down,” he commands. “You’re alright. Deep breaths, Pink. Deep breaths.”

He keeps squirming and fighting, keeps sobbing and sinking deeper into the chair as the bugs eat him up like candy. But Pseudo comes soothing, and kind, and Chase feels heavier and heavier until the whole world feels too far away to focus. But Pseudo is there, and Pseudo is helpful. Pseudo gets the bugs away.

“You’re okay, Pink. Listen to me now, deep breaths. You’re all done.”

All done? All done?

Pink shivers. He remembers what he did, how stupid and dangerous that was. He can’t believe he’d do such a thing, especially when an angel like Pseudo is here to take care of him. What’s wrong with him?

Pink whines as he’s set free from his restraints. As all the barbed wire is peeled from his body and the glass shards are plucked out one by one. He sighs, especially thankful, when he’s able to take a breath through his mouth as the thread is cut away. He has no choice but to lean into Pseudo when scooped up into his arms, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He wants to be good now, and he’ll promise that once he’s allowed to speak again.

“You’re alright, Pink. I’ve got you back now, hm? You’re alright.”

Pink whines once more, feeling overwhelmed with the urge to fall asleep.

. . .

Oh, his head hurts.

Where is Pseudo?

Pink opens his eyes to find himself alone in his room. His body feels heavy and beaten, and everything hurts. Upon seeing the sun shine through the window, he is overcome with a wave of nausea so strong that he has to lean over his bed. When he tries to sit up, however, the pain in his back and ribs is enough to make him cry out. The nausea gets worse until he gags, covering his eyes and mouth and pretending Pseudo is there to coach him through it. Once it passes, he opens his eyes, half expecting to see Pseudo already there and waiting.

The puppet groans, observing his empty room. He wants to call out for Pseudo, but closes his mouth upon remembering he’s not supposed to speak. He wishes he could ask for some water, or a hug.

Instead he asks for attention by knocking on the wall. Everything in his body hurts, so standing up to make noise doesn’t feel like a safe option for him. He just hopes that Pseudo notices soon, whether that’s through annoyance or wanting to be by his puppet. He can’t take much longer without seeing his angel.

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, says Pinks room.

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock.

The knocks are eventually returned at the door, and Pink hears a key turn into the lock. The door opens, and Pink smiles dopey and adoring.

“Ps-“ he starts, before covering his mouth. He wants to say sorry, but then he’d have to say sorry for saying sorry, and then sorry for saying sorry for saying sorry. So he just clamps his jaw shut, and prays that Pseudo forgives him for his near mistake.

“My Pink,” Pseudo croons. The key is concealed inside his pocket, and he makes his way towards his doll. “Do you feel sick this morning?”

Pink nods, sighing and relaxing when Pseudo comes to sit beside him. As if that weren’t enough, Pseudo runs a hand through Pink’s hair, and the doll leans as far into his touch as possible. He wants moments like these to last forever.

“Poor thing… but you’ll be good now, won’t you? No more slip ups like yesterday.”

Pink’s face burns in embarrassment. He can’t believe what he did; the regret consumes him. He shakes his head, holding Pseudo’s hand and kissing his palm to show his devotion.

Pseudo smiles and runs his hand through Pink’s hair, and the puppet basks in the attention. He can’t get enough of it. He isn’t sure why he ever tried to leave in the first place. Stupid, stupid puppet.

“That’s precious.. but, I have to make sure you’re being honest, don’t I?”

Pink nods. That makes sense, and he’ll do anything to prove himself.

“Good. Because if you’re good..”

He runs a hand through Pink’s hair, and a thumb across his cheek bone. The puppet melts.

“Then I’ll bring you back home, and I’ll spoil you rotten.”

Pink smiles. This time, he blushes from contentment. From adoration.

“But if you’re bad, if you show me you want to escape again, I’ll make sure you end up alone. No one will take care of you.”

Pink frowns, afraid. He points at Pseudo, and shakes his head. Not even you?

“You’ll be alone, Pink. Out of your head,” he pets Pink’s hair again, “and all alone. Do you understand?”

Yes. Pink nods.

“Good. Then I should see you soon, dolly. Don’t fret about it when you get there, hm? Nothing to be afraid of if you’re a good puppet.”

Pink wants to ask where he’s going, but is left to wonder until it happens.

[seariii]

I was stressed but now i'm more chill and really sleepy...

[huni-bii]

I think I messed up guys :)

[pallas-cat]

i can't quite identify if my passive suicidal ideation (which i have constantly on at the background and vomit on here every two days) is to be taken seriously right now as it's becoming more active/clear. i mean i'm Like That at few times a month so it's just me having the Mental Illnesses but something feels worse right now. it's weird because i don't hate every aspect of my life but i don't like anything in it either and i want to escape and give up everything right now.

[gemharvest]

[immamapletreekid]

work anxiety starting before work itself hahahahaahahahahahahhhaha

[mielgf]

all of the women at work have treated me with nothing but respect and given me so many compliments but one (1) man expresses judgment and i come home crying… pathetic