#BCS Fanfiction

[drabbles-mc]

Pick-Up

Jesse Pinkman & Ignacio "Nacho" Varga

For @narcosfandomdiscord Book of Near Misses: fanwork with two characters from the same show who have never met

Warnings: 18+, language, no plot just vibes

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: do you ever think about the fact that these two never got to meet? because i sure do!!!!!! i feel like there is more down the line that i would like to do with these two in a different story. but for now there's this! also my first time ever writing for Jesse so 🫡

“Yo!” Jesse banged on the safehouse door. “Open up!”

He didn’t hear anyone calling back to him, didn’t hear any movement from the other side of the door at all. Letting out a deep sigh, he started to make his way around the house. All of the curtains were covering the windows, all the locks on them secured. The only car in the driveway was his own, and for a moment Jesse couldn’t help but to think that maybe Mike had sent him off on some sort of wild goose chase. Punishment for whatever he’d done most recently that had annoyed him.

When he wound up back at the front door again, Jesse was about to turn around and walk off. He’d been through enough bouts of hazing and pointless trips. What he didn’t want, though, was to get into deeper trouble because he didn’t do what he was supposed to. There was still always the off-chance that this was all legit.

Standing halfway between the front door and the car, Jesse took out his phone and dialed one of the four numbers that were programmed into it. Bringing the phone up to his ear, he let it ring. His shoulders slumped, head tilting back as he waited to be sent to voicemail, to a voicemail box that probably wouldn’t even let him leave a message.

“What?” Mike’s voice came through on the other end of the line, as unamused as he ever was.

“Did you even send me to the right place?” Jesse asked.

“Did you go to the right place?” he rebutted.

Jesse rolled his eyes, able to picture perfectly Mike’s expression even though the two of them were miles and miles away from each other. “I think I can match a house number and a street name.”

“Okay, then, you’re in the right spot.”

“Does your guy know I’m coming, then? Because I’m out here banging on the door and—”

“Did you really think that banging on the door was the best course of action? For a man that’s currently a fugitive and on the run from—”

“Alright, alright. So,” Jesse shrugged, “what, then?”

“There’s a number in your phone that you’ve never had to call before.” He paused, a meaningful silence that lasted just long enough for Jesse to put two and two together on his own. “Call it.”

Jesse opened his mouth to respond, something along the lines of, “How was I supposed to know?” or “Why wasn’t that part of the directions?” But before he could say anything the line went dead. He huffed before navigating his way through the umpteenth flip phone that he’d had and gone through.

He hovered over the contact saved into his phone as only NV. He looked back up at the windows on the front of the house, hoping to catch some movement in the curtains and getting nothing. Finally, he hit the dial button.

When the person on the other end of the line answered, they didn’t say anything. Jesse could hear the faint waves of static, but no breathing, no voice. “Look, I’m gonna wait out here for five more minutes and then I’m turning around and going home. I’m only out here because Mike—”

“Mike sent you?” the man on the other end of the line finally spoke up at the sound of a familiar name.

“Yeah,” Jesse said, rolling his eyes. “Sent me because he’s too busy doing other shit, I guess.” He paused, waited for the man to say something else, and when he didn’t, he said, “Four minutes, dude.”

Jesse waited for a response but it never came. Once more he was faced with a dead phone line and he briefly wondered if there would ever be a time in his life again when people actually gave him a response of some kind before hanging up. A simple “Got it” or “Thanks” would work in lieu of a real goodbye, but he never seemed to get anything these days.

He stood there and continued to stare at the front of the house. He watched the windows, the curtains still not showing any kind of movement. He wasn’t really close enough to hear the sounds of any scuffling around inside but he still strained an ear just in case. Another minute had almost ticked by, which never really felt like a long time until Jesse was standing aimlessly in someone’s driveway, and the front door still hadn’t opened.

Finally hitting the point where he felt like he’d either been set up for failure, or was about to fall into some sort of trap, Jesse shook his head and mumbled a quiet, “Fuck this,” to himself before continuing the trek back to the car.

Just as his fingers wrapped around the handle of the car door, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning in the direction of it, he saw a man walking out from behind the house. He had a bag slung over one shoulder, and a gun clutched with both hands pointed at the ground. Jesse’s face scrunched in confusion as much at the gun as at the state of the man in general.

Mike hadn’t told him much of anything about the errand that he was on, which was typical. He definitely hadn’t given Jesse a description of the person that he was supposed to be transporting which, looking back on it seemed like just as much of a security measure as it was a liability but there was nothing that he was ever going to be able to do about that.

Whoever this guy was, he certainly wasn’t dressed like a man on the run with the exception of the gun in his hands. He didn’t fit the bill for a guy who had been hiding out in a safehouse for who knows how long. Even though his shirt was dingy and wrinkled now, Jesse could see that on a better day, it was nicer than anything that was in his own closet. The boots on his feet weren’t the kind made for the types of treks they would most likely find themselves on.

There was no shortage to the number of comments that crossed Jesse’s mind to make as the man walked closer to him. The one he settled on, however, was emphasized with a perplexed look as he said, “Dude, what are you doing?”

The man mirrored his expression, though there was more annoyance etched into his features than Jesse’s. “What?”

Jesse nodded towards the gun that he was holding. “What are you doing? It’s just,” he held his hands out, gesturing to the space around the two of them, “just us. Gonna pop your ride out of here?”

He kept both hands on the gun still, however the muscles in his arms lost a little bit of their tension. “If you’re my ride,” he said, giving Jesse a pointed once-over as he did, “then yeah, sorry if I don’t wanna just take my chances.”

“You think Mike would send me all the way out here just to—”

“Even if you’re not here to kill me, I don’t exactly trust that you’re gonna be able to stop someone else who wants to,” he explained. He didn’t want to say it, but he also wouldn’t put it past Mike or anyone in their business to send someone all the way out to where he was just to get rid of him. Whoever this kid was that Mike sent didn’t seem like the kind of guy he’d send for that kind of job, but he knew better now than to say things like never.

Jesse rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” Finally reaching and pulling the door open, he said, “Get in. Or don’t.”

Jesse had hardly sat down in the driver’s seat before turning the car back on. He was half-expecting whoever this guy was to turn around and walk back towards the house. Jesse wouldn’t have stopped him. Leaning across the console, Jesse stared out through the passenger window to see what the guy was doing, and found him doing another scan around them before finally opening the door and getting inside.

He watched the man as he set his bag on the floor between his feet. Jesse contemplated offering for him to throw it in the back seat, but the gun still being held in one of the guy’s hands was telling Jesse that the level of trust probably wasn’t quite there yet.

“Jesse,” he said as he shifted to reverse.

“What?”

Jesse looked at him before continuing on to look over his shoulder to back out of the crumbling driveway. “My name is Jesse. This is, you know,” he put the car into drive, “the part where you tell me who you are, what makes you so special.”

He stared at Jesse skeptically for a moment as he started off down the road. The car rattled slightly, filing what would’ve been deafening silence otherwise. He sat and he stared until Jesse turned to give him a quick glance before locking back onto the road. “Dude, it’s gonna be a long-ass drive if you’re just gonna sit there and stare at me in silence.”

He narrowed his eyes just slightly before finally saying, “Nacho.”

The chuckle that Jesse let out at that was reflexive. It was far from the strangest nickname he’d heard, and given the circles that he’d found himself running in lately he should know better than to laugh. But he couldn’t stop himself. He shook his head slightly as he reined in the other laughs that wanted to sneak their way out, an undeniable smirk on his face.

“Nacho,” he repeated with emphasis that was only amusing to him, “right on, yo.”

Jesse sat and waited for another moment longer, wondering if Nacho was going to have anything to say in response to that. He wasn’t looking for the guy’s life story, but he was wondering if Nacho was going to divulge anything about why they were in their current situation. Maybe even say how he knew Mike, or why Mike gave enough of a crap about him to have someone go out and fetch him, but didn’t give so much of a crap to come out and rescue Nacho himself. He’d settle for anything, but as Nacho settled back in his seat, gun still in his lap, Jesse knew that he wasn’t going to get any information that he didn’t pry or dig for.

“Right,” Jesse muttered under his breath. Not wanting to just listen to the rattling of the car on the road, and since his temporary partner didn’t seem to have anything to say, Jesse reached and turned the radio on to fill the void.

Music blared from the speakers for about forty seconds before Nacho shook his head and reached forward to shut it off. Nacho scoffed at the noise, and Jesse rolled his eyes at the lack of it.

Silence persisted for another minute or two before Jesse started to improvise, drumming his hands on the steering wheel. The rhythm didn’t feel familiar to Nacho, and he wondered if Jesse even had something in mind or if it was just stream of consciousness at this point. Nacho turned and looked at him as he drove and decided that there was no forethought happening there.

“Turn it back on,” Nacho finally said with a shake of his head.

“What?” Jesse asked, looking over at the man in the passenger seat.

“The radio.” He leaned so that his elbow was propped on the tiny ledge built into the car door. “Turn it back on,” he repeated as he propped his chin in his hand that wasn’t holding onto the gun.

Jesse rolled his eyes but he did as instructed, just glad to have something aside from his own thoughts to listen to. “Alright.” With both hands back on the wheel, he still found himself tapping his thumbs against it but it wasn’t audible. Eyes still trained on the road, he said, “Should’ve known that Mike wasn’t sending me to pick up anyone fun.”

“I—”

“If you’re looking for fun I think you’re looking in…the worst places possible.”

The sound Jesse made next wasn’t quite a chuckle, just that short, sharp exhale through his nose to prove that he’d heard and understood what Nacho was saying whether or not he agreed with it. Something about the response made it all click for him in a way, why Mike had sent Jesse out to the middle of nowhere to pick this guy up. Nacho might not have been in the divulging mood, probably wouldn’t ever be based on what Jesse had seen so far, but he didn’t need to know anything else to see how the web tangled itself together.

Leaning back in the driver’s seat, Jesse reached to turn the volume up two more notches before letting his hand fall onto the center console instead of back on the steering wheel. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nacho give another shake of his head, but neither of them said anything to the other. The ends of Jesse’s mouth curled upwards as he continued on down the road, preparing for a long, quiet drive back home.

[manicpixiedgoblin]

Nervous Young Inhumans

Jesse Pinkman/OC/Jimmy/Saul

Chapter One

Halloween, 2004

"Hold still," she said, sitting between his crossed legs while he laughed. One of his hands on her waist, the other reaching behind her for the mirror where three lines were left.

She was finishing the eyeliner on him when he looked down behind her.

"Jesse!" she pulled away.

"What?" he kissed her, before putting the coke between their faces.

Ellie rolled her eyes and plugged her right nostril, grabbing the half of the straw they'd been using and snorting one of the lines while Jesse held them. He snorted the one next to it and set it down behind her again. Her legs were spread on both sides of Jesse's torso, their faces up close. She laughed and bit his shoulder.

"Now stop moving and let me finish this," she said.

***

2008

They'd been best friends in high school, and maybe something more, though it remained undefined. When Ellie moved across the country for college, they kept in relatively in touch. Kind of. Aside from him, she had no reason to visit Albuquerque. Her grandmother had died their senior year, and she'd grown up with her.

Now she'd been back for two months and she hadn't even let him now. She was working full time in the hospital, spending her weekends with the other doctors she'd met there, and pretending not to look for him in every face she met through the town. She hadn't bumped into his friends.

She'd visited his parents, who were happy to see her, proud she wasn't dating their junkie kid anymore, but was successfully finishing her surgerical residency. Though they didn't understand why she'd choose Albuquerque when any hospital in the country could've been a better choice.

It's true, there was nothing other than him keeping her there, and he wasn't even there. But even so, he was more than reason enough.

She was still in light blue scrubs when she pulled up at Jesse's house. Rather, his parent's house, the place she'd grown up calling his. From the passenger seat she grabbed the cookies she'd gotten as a thank you from a patient's family. Jesse's mom opened before she'd locked the car and ran out.

"Let me help you with that, sweetie!"

"Oh, it's really-"

"Diane? Is she here?" Adam called from inside.

"Hi Mr. Pinkman," Ellie called out while Diane took the cookies from her.

The two of them walked inside and she gave both of them a hug.

"Is Jake home?" Ellie asked.

"Yeah, yeah, he's upstairs, but he'll come down soon," Diane smiled, always fluttering, moving. She led the three of them to the dining room.

"Sorry I couldn't get changed before dinner, I finished my shift thirty minutes ago and just rushed over!"

"Nonsense! It's so good to see you like this! Isn't it, Adam?"

"Truly. We're so proud of you."

Ellie smiled. They kept talking while Mrs. Pinkman set the food on the table and called Jake down. The four of them sat down to dinner, for the third time since she'd moved back. She couldn't tell who was getting more from this, them or her. In either case, for all of them it was a substitute pleasure. What they all really wanted was the one person who none of them called.

"Well, rules are rules I guess," Diane was saying over dinner.

"Sure, rules are rules, I'm all for that," Adam replied, "but I'm telling you: you really shine on that oboe. You have real talent and I'm not just saying that."

Jake smiled proudly. "Thanks," he looked shyly at Ellie, who smiled back encouragingly.

"Do you like it then? The oboe?" Ellie asked.

"Uh, yeah. I think so."

"He's really talented," Diane insisted.

"Hey, uh, so how was soccer practice?" Mr. Pinkman asked, when the sound of the gate scraping outside made them all stop.

Ellie put her fork down, her heart raced. Diane and Adam looked at each other then back towards the sound.

"I think that was in our backyard," Mrs. Pinkman said.

The four of them stood up. Ellie moved faster than any of them and reached the door to the backyard, throwing it open while the whole family stood behind her inside.

"I'll check," Mr. Pinkman said.

Ellie walked down the flight of stairs, Adam behind her.

"Who's there?" he called.

She kept walking quietly, looking around. Her heart was beating quickly but she kept walking towards the lump laying in between the furniture.

"Get up," she snapped.

"Oh," she heard the relieved sighs behind her. She'd known from the first fucking sound.

"Shit," Jesse rolled over and looked up at her, "is this real?"

"Yes, it's fucking real. Get up."

He stumbled up, his foot caught on the lawn chair.

"Jesus," Ellie shook her head.

"El-" Jesse started but his mom cut him off.

"What are you doing here?" she shook her head, but unlike Ellie a small smile appeared on her face. The curse to being the parent of an addict is the codependence that never lets you forgive but also forces you to forget. You resent them, but you also love them to the point of madness, of wishful thinking and short-lived hopes.

"Hey mom, dad," Jesse tried to untangle himself from the chair, "I see you got new furniture," he looked back at Ellie, confused.

"I think I'm going, thank you for dinner," she said curtly, turning around.

"Ellie, wait," Jesse called but she gave a tight smile to both his parents and walked out of the house before he could catch up with her.

It wasn't until she parked her car outside the apartment building she lived in that she realized she could hear the blood flowing and her heart beating and she'd been crying on the drive home.

***

Diane must've given Jesse her phone number.

"For someone who doesn't want me dating her son, she's easily convinced," Ellie thought.

Thirteen missed calls since last night. It was a good thing they couldn't give him her address. Or was it a good thing? She didn't know how to feel. He'd clearly been high last night, sneaking into his parents house. Had he planned to knock or was he there to steal? She knew from him calling he was probably still there.

It was six thirty in the morning, he wouldn't be awake if she called him back anyways. Unless he was really coming down from something bad and was too tweaky to sleep. But she shook her head and put her phone away. She took a shower, packed herself some lunch and drank half a pot of coffee. Went through the motions of a normal day before work.

Didn't call.

Drove to the hospital, clocked in. Checked in on the patients, socialized with the staff.

Didn't call.

Lunch break. Surgery at 1:00. Surgery at 5:00.

Didn't call.

So went the day, Jesse's absence defining it as much as his presence.

***

Halloween, 2004

"Done," she smiled.

Jesse looked in the mirror smudged with both their breaths, flecks of coke.

"I look like a dick!"

"You look hot. Bowie in Labyrinth was my childhood crush."

"We've watched that movie like a hundred times, I know."

She laughed and kissed him, pulling his hair back and upwards.

"I should've gotten you a wig," she joked.

"Fuck you," he smiled.

She crossed her legs around his torso, pressed herself up to his chest. Nose to nose, her hands around his neck and his on her waist.

"I love you, dick," she whispered.

"I love you too."

He kissed her on the shoulder, on her neck, below her ear. He smiled before kissing her mouth, biting her lower lip slightly. They were constantly laughing against each other's necks, lips, biting and pulling each other's hair, childish, playful, the way they loved each other.

"We should get going," Ellie said.

"We should stay," he complained.

Her grandmother's apartment was practically hers at that point. She was living full time in the hospital now, even in between chemo sessions.

"What about Petey and Badger?"

"They'll manage."

"We're all dressed up," Ellie looked down at her white dress, nudged his made up face with her nose.

"I can fix that," he mumbled, pressing his face to her chest before starting to undo the laces of her dress.

Their senior year of high school she thought the world started and ended there, in that bed. Four years later and she still didn't know what else was supposed to be important to her.

[somebodylovesyougcv]

chapter 6 of you must have been looking for me is up now!

fandom: better call saul

pairing: jimmy mcgill/kim wexler

rating: M

chapter summary: Chuck McGill returns home to Chicago to host a mixer for prospective law students and the Chicago legal community. In attendance? Kim Wexler and Howard Hamlin.

read from the beginning here

[art-by-jas]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Better Call Saul (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca/Original Female Character(s), Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca & Original Female Character(s), Ignacio "Nacho" Varga & Original Female Character(s), Domingo "Krazy-8" Molina & Original Female Character(s) Characters: Eduardo "Lalo" Salamanca, Ignacio "Nacho" Varga, Domingo "Krazy-8" Molina, Original Female Character(s), Daniella Molina (OFC) Additional Tags: Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, First Meetings, Best Friend Ignacio Varga, Canon Compliant, Cousin Domingo Molina Summary:

𝖣ɑ𝗇𝗂𝖾𝗅𝗅ɑ "𝖣ɑ𝗇𝗂" 𝖬𝗈𝗅𝗂𝗇ɑ, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝖣𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗈 "𝖪𝗋𝖺𝗓𝗒-𝟪" 𝖬𝗈𝗅𝗂𝗇ɑ, 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝖾𝖽 ɑ 𝗍𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖤𝗅 𝖬𝗂𝖼𝗁𝗈ɑ𝖼ɑ́𝗇𝗈, 𝖭ɑ𝖼𝗁𝗈 ɑ𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗌ɑ𝗀𝖾. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗌𝗌' 𝗇𝖾𝗉𝗁𝖾𝗐, 𝖤𝖽𝗎ɑ𝗋𝖽𝗈 '𝖫ɑ𝗅𝗈' 𝖲ɑ𝗅ɑ𝗆ɑ𝗇𝖼ɑ, 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗉𝗅ɑ𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖻𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 ɑ𝗌 𝗎𝗌𝗎ɑ𝗅. 𝖧𝖾 𝗍ɑ𝗄𝖾𝗌 ɑ 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖣ɑ𝗇𝗂 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗍𝗋ɑ𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌 ɑ𝗇𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝖾ɑ𝗋, 𝗎𝗇𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇. 𝖭ɑ𝖼𝗁𝗈 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 ɑ𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖣ɑ𝗇𝗂 ɑ𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗐ɑ𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗆ɑ𝗄𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁ɑ𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝗋.

[thekimspoblog]

Sheepdog: "Elevator"

Kim continues to doggedly drag herself across the hallway of the courthouse. The elevator is still several yards away, and other people in suits have already packed themselves into it. Just as the doors close and the music begins to fade out, Howard’s voice pierces through the commotion like nails on a chalkboard.

“Kim! Kim! Aha! Was almost worried I wouldn’t catch up to you”

Our heroine just nods, counting the seconds that this exchange has to drag on.

Howard continues, “Wow… Look at you!”

“Look at me…” she parrots, praying the sarcasm is hamfisted enough that he’ll take a goddamn hint.

“It’s just… I had no idea!” the pompous little prince apologized.

“It’s a funny story. Neither did I!” replied Kim.

“How… How do you feel?”

“My back hurts, my boobs hurt, my feet hurt, nausea, dizziness, fatigue. All the hits; all the classics. Truth be told, I feel more beaten up than when I wrecked my car. Then again, they gave me Percocet when I wrecked my car…”

“Well you look great,” Howard had to push it, “You’re glowing”

“Wish I could return the compliment, Howard. But really, you look like hell. I mean you’ve always kind of looked like a wax mannequin, but lately it’s like you’re melting under the lights!”

“How’s the solo practice working out? No offense, but oftentimes even if pro-bono work can be spiritually validating, financially it can feel like a fisherman who’s limited themself to minnows”

“Well, that’s one reason we didn’t spring for a big ceremony” Kim responded through a gritted smile, “But I’ve found my own ways to still put bread on the table. Bootstraps and elbow grease and long nights, and all that”

“You know, I know how difficult it can be to quit smoking. Believe me, it took multiple tries myself. But I was recently reading yet another medical journal emphasizing the harm cigarettes and other tobacco products can do to an unborn child. You have no idea the stress it puts…”

This was a good point for Kim to cut him off, “Howard, are we friends?”

“What do you mean?”

“Because if we were friends, this level of concern would be very touching,” her eyes widened, “But if we’re not friends, this exchange could be interpreted as intrusive, and condescending, and overbearing, and… annoying”

“Well…” Howard’s face broke into a deep frown, “Chuck’s gone… If you and I aren’t friends… I guess I don’t have any friends…”

The elevator finally returned to the ground floor.

“Congratulations, either way…” Howard shrugged, sounding wistful, “Give Jimmy my best”

Kim lugged her heavy briefcase into the compartment and turned around. “This conversation was a treat. I’ll tell you everything, how about next Thursday? We can go over it over tequila shots!”

The doors closed before that life-sized Ken doll could get another word in edgewise.

________

At around 9:45 pm, over 13 hours and several scenes later:

Wexler-McGill are engaged in some blandly cute preoccupation; lavender swaying in the breeze, warm milk, and reveries, all that jazz, when the landline rings…

“Hello?” Jimmy answers, “Oh hey, Ernie! Long time, no talk. I'm going to put you on speakerphone”

“Hey Jimmy… Did Howard ever visit Alamogordo? Trinity Test Site? Was he ever anywhere near White Sands? You and Kim knew him longer than I did”

“Trinity?! Um, no. He never mentioned anything like that. Can you really imagine him mucking around in the desert in his Bontonis?”

“I just didn’t know who else to talk to,” sighed Ernie, “I’ve still got friends at HHM, and they’re all kind of panicking, because they know they’ve basically lost their jobs. But it’s all just so weird! The examiner keeps asking me questions, and nobody here knew him well enough to have any answers”

“Ernie, what are you talking about?” Jimmy tried to interrupt.

“At first, it seemed like a heart attack, or maybe the flu. He was in a cold sweat when he collapsed. Then, early test results were saying kidney cancer, and it went undiagnosed? But apparently - they can’t explain it - the body’s radioactive. Like he walked too close to a power plant. Or he picked up a piece of radioactive glass, or something? His hair was falling out; now the doctors are saying it was radiation poisoning”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down. You’re saying Howard is sick? He’s in the hospital?”

“I’m sorry!” Ernie stammered, “I assumed you’d already heard… Howard’s dead”

“That’s impossible. Kim talked to him this morning”

Kim averted her gaze.

“He refused to take a sick day, said he’d just sleep it off on the couch. He said he felt great afterwards, everything went on as usual, then just as they were all packing up, he was saying something to Marci when he just… dropped. The rest of the employees are fine, but the doctors called in some people with Geiger Counters, and their readings are over 5,000 on Hamlin. A-apparently that’s high…”

“Ripley's…” Jimmy mumbled, quite perplexed but still fundamentally apathetic about any loose threads involving his former boss, “I’m sure more will be in the news in the coming weeks. But needless to say, Howard and I weren’t close, especially not these past few years. I’ve got my own plate full, otherwise I’d offer to hire those poor mailroom comrades who are now out on their asses. This is real spooky. Keep me posted, Ernie”

After a few more patient nods, Jimmy put the receiver down. He looked over to see Kim running her hands over her middle, disturbed. Wasn't this what she wanted? Didn’t she wish for Howard to drop dead? Since yesterday, every obstacle in her path seemed to be courteously moving out of the way. And there was only so much that could be blamed on serendipity.

[thekimspoblog]

Me, after watching Season 5: "Oh boy! Call it dorky, but one thing I'm looking forward to about going to law school is that now I can write more detailed and accurately about Kim Wexler doing her job. Because I love the scenes where she's a titan of the field, but it's so hard to write courtroom drama when your only frame of reference is other cliché courtroom dramas. This way I'll have first-hand knowledge when writing-"

Season 6: "She quit her job and confessed to a felony."

Me, still with three years of school ahead of me: "😤 O....kay... That's FINE! I'll just think of other reasons for her to be in court, then. Like... as a defendant"

We don’t talk enough about how fanfiction writers love to give character large amounts of non-specific paperwork they hate doing

[shaftking]

Ao3 is actually massively culturally important and very very good at being what it is. I’m so serious when I say that ao3 needs to be protected as the anti censorship, by fans for fans, nonprofit, volunteer run, expertly designed archival site that it is. You don’t have to read or like fanfiction to understand that on principle, ao3 is a site that should be defended.

[turtletoria]

i wanted to try drawing older Mabel and Dipper !

[gutsby]

Bigger in Texas

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel won’t fit.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Size kink (seriously, don’t read if you hate big dicks / disgusting descriptions) Penis and pussy pronouns. Virginity loss. Age gap. Praise kink. Daddy kink. Joel ‘hung like a fucking horse’ Miller is a soft dom and also a good teacher. Competence kink (?)

Note: Somebody made a fic challenge to use penis pronouns, and I can’t for the life of me remember who it was. If y’all find them please show them this and tell them I love their brain 🫠

Update: @sp00kymulderr you’re a legend for this. Dick pronouns are engrained in my brain, and I’m forever grateful.

Word count: 2.3k

This wasn’t the life Joel Miller had pictured for himself.

The dead coming back to roam the world and eradicate most of its population, for one. The cold. Finding his baby brother way out here in Wyoming with a wife and a child on the way. The looks he was getting these days. It’s not like he’d asked to get mixed up with a girl your age. It just happened. And since damn near every-fucking-thing that had “happened” to him since outbreak day fifteen years back had been bottom of the barrel, full-blown nightmare territory, the second he saw a good thing fumble across his path, he’d seized it—you.

You, who were young enough to be his daughter.

You, who’d never seen a man fully before meeting him.

You, who hadn’t squeezed so much as a finger in herself.

But much like his past, Joel Miller was a sordid and sick kind of man, and he had the cock to prove it: presently weeping precum at the site of your softest, tightest hole, smearing the pearly-white slick through your folds with a sound so sweet it was nauseating. Begging for entrance.

“Oughta have a boy your age pop your cherry, kid.”

It was simple.

“Ain’t right havin’ a man my age all in your guts.”

And true.

The head of his cock made another wet, sickening noise through your folds, and as though instigated by the sound, your eyes flitted to the source. You smiled.

“Probably. But I want you,” you answered. Soft.

Joel got harder, and he hadn’t thought that was possible. His gaze joined yours, and the sight nearly finished him.

Beneath him, your legs had spread wider, showcasing that perfectly glistening seam alongside the head of his cock. He looked huge. Or you looked small. Or perhaps it was both, and he was old, and he really shouldn’t be doing this at all, but then his hips stuttered a bit and his length pushed in. Joel hissed and seized the headboard.

It wouldn’t even go in. The tip just stretched the rim.

“Baby, fuck—” Joel whimpered.

“He’s so big.”

Three little words from your lips, and it almost did him in.

Again.

You wriggled your hips and flashed another happy grin.

“He wants in, daddy. I can feel him pulsin’ like I am.”

You volleyed a look up to Joel as if to say, ‘So that means we’re ready, right? Will you let me have him?’

And, strangled by guilt as he was, Joel couldn’t resist.

He let his big, bulbous, leaking head sink in the tiniest bit, and he let out a groan. Your walls were so tight. This was him, too—his tip was oversized, just like the rest of him—and when it notched in an inch, Joel could see the pain flash quick in your eyes. His hips moved to retreat.

But then your heels were lifting and digging in his ass, and though strained, your voice made it out, weakly:

“Don’t, daddy. I want him.”

Joel couldn’t dream of refusing.

And his vision blurred more at that word, him.

“I-I know. He wants you too, baby—”

Another quarter-inch.

“—so, so bad.”

“Daddy!”

Joel had to blink to try and wake from his daze. His tip was so warm, hugged so perfect and snug and wet, that he didn’t even realize that was all that fit. He was stuck.

You whimpered again.

“‘S’too big, daddy. Just make him go in.”

Your eyes rolled with indignation and overwhelming pleasure alike, and your hips squirmed again. This time, you tried to nudge him in deeper, but your body simply wouldn’t budge; you’d reached the widest part of him.

“Honey, it’s—”

“Hurtin’! I need you inside me.” you cried, impatient.

“Just takes a little time to get there, darlin’—”

“Well, get to it, then. A tip ain’t enough.”

Joel’s face flushed. He might’ve been forced to bite back a laugh under any other circumstances, but this was your virginity. His bed. Your naked bodies, together, tonight.

He wasn’t about to rush it now and fuck everything up.

“This tip’s about to paint your pretty insides white and make you wait til next week to try again if you keep it up.”

That made you go still.

You shook your head while Joel released the headboard from his grip and took your hip in it instead. He grunted.

“Sweet pea, you gotta see—” he resumed, voice low, “—it won’t feel good for you or me if I just…push right in.”

You sighed, feeling his hold tighten.

“Tongue and fingers only do so much. You gotta learn.”

You whined, digging your feet in deeper when his tip drew back to your entrance. Looking a bit squeamish.

“Be brave…and patient for me.”

From the look in your eyes, Joel could tell you probably hated him right now. That was just fine. He adjusted his hips to a more comfortable place, and then he pinched your hip bone. He nudged you back, and he let you wait.

Then, right when you opened your mouth, he sank in.

Joel thrusted with only his tip, the size of a small lime, and he fucked your hole gently. Back and forth. Shallow.

It did enough. You squeezed both his forearms.

“Oh, daddy.” Your bottom lip trembled as you said it.

With his free hand, Joel smoothed your hair back.

“Yeah, what is it, baby?” he murmured, dulcet as ever, “Thought you said the tip ain’t enough for you, sugar.”

His words came slow. His strokes were delivered quick, though tenderly. Your brain appeared to be in a fog, or a trance, as your chin dipped down toward your chest, and you watched him breach the first inch of you repeatedly.

“Curious little thing.” Joel couldn’t fight the chuckle now.

“He’s so…” you trailed off.

You squeezed his arms, and he squeezed your hip back. He let you watch him fuck you with only his tip, and when your head began to tilt back from the strain, he reached up with his other hand and held the back of your neck. He felt you clench at that, and you both groaned.

“So…big,” you finished, eyes glazed.

“I know.”

This went on for the longest time: Joel stretching the first precious inch of your pussy with the head of himself, you watching and breathing deeply, whimpering occasionally, and him holding at the nape of your neck like a softer touch might lose you to him forever. Was this teaching? When you clenched again, he reckoned it was.

“That’s it, honey. Watch her swallow me.”

“Stretches real pretty for the tip, doesn’t she?”

“Bet she can’t even fit another inch of this cock.”

Suddenly, your head was jerking up under his hold.

Eyes flaring with a hot, juvenile kind of anger: “I can!”

Joel clicked his tongue against the backs of his teeth and pretended not to hear. He also had to feign indifference when your walls tightened and all but choked his head and a wave of new pleasure surged up through his body.

“She can, Joel, I’m serious!”

Another two seconds of this and Joel sensed he might see tears. Though his gaze had trailed up to yours, and the look in his appeared stern, deep down, he was just as quick to want to cave. He just hid it better than you did.

“You think so, sweet pea?”

“I know so. I need it.”

“Need him?”

“Y-Yes.”

How sweet you seemed. How naive you must be.

Joel might’ve been mean, but he wasn’t cruel. He also liked teaching lessons as much as he enjoyed showing you the way, so in the next second, he obliged. He took the last shallow thrust of his tip and sank into your cunt.

As he filled you, you whined. It only took an inch or two.

“Da-a-ddy. Please.”

You must’ve been begging for lenience. Joel retreated.

Then, much to the man’s surprise, you kicked your feet. Not in relief but in protest, shaking your head up at him:

“Put him back. Please. D-Deeper.”

It was as though Joel’s brain had exited through the back of his head and all rational thought escaped him, for the moment. The only voice he heard was yours. It was pleading. And in between your legs, you were soaked.

So drenched to allow him another inch. Then another. Then another. Joel fucked in gently and felt a seismic wave of pleasure seize his limbs—and likely yours, as well. It was as though in two blinks, you’d forgotten the pain altogether. You were suffused with need instead, eyes wincing and lips curling and sounds leaving your throat like an animal in heat. Want him deeper, please.

Joel sawed back and forth with just those five or so inches and made you writhe underneath him. Felt you clamp down on his thick, slippery cock and heard the remnants of your shared arousal making sounds as your body accepted him. Stretching wider. Getting wetter. Bringing him closer to the edge with every breath.

“She’s doin’…so good f’me,” Joel told you, brainless.

His thumb drifted to your clit. He rubbed it gently. No sooner had he finished the first circle around that nub when your hips were stirring again—this time incensed.

“Daddy.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

Joel kissed the top of your head, thumb insistent. When his eyes met yours, he was surprised to find them wet this time. Tears pooling and streaking down to your temples while your body bounced gently beneath his thrusts. A whimper trembled out, and Joel slowed.

He could tell from that look you didn’t want him to stop, though. It just felt so good. So, instead of dropping his pace too much, Joel cupped your chin in one hand, and with the other, he kept thumbing at your clit. Humming.

“Poor thing’s never had something this big in ‘er, huh?”

You shook your head. Cried a little more.

Joel kissed the tears on one side, lips smiling as he did.

“I can tell, baby. But she’s taking it so well.”

“Y-Yeah?”

His hips sped up a little. The thrusts were still shallower than they normally would be, given your state, but they seemed to be working well enough. You winced again.

Joel kissed the other side of your face to take more tears.

“Uh-huh,” he answered, “Openin’ up real nice for daddy.”

It was like his words worked as well as his thumb on your clit. You whimpered again, lips parting a little wider now, and the sound that came out was as desperate and feverish and fuck-drunk as Joel had ever heard it.

“S-Say it again,” you pleaded.

“Say what?”

“That he’s…stretchin’ me open. Makin’ me his.”

The soft, slick resonance between your body and his seemed to amplify even more—you were getting wetter, and Joel’s thrusts all but shook the bed with their force.

His eyes darkened when he felt you tighten again.

“Yeah? You like hearin’ all the filthy fuckin’ things your daddy’s doing? The way he’s breakin’ you in for him?”

You nodded. Your throat constricted with a moan.

And, just when a fresh set of tears seemed to be close on the horizon, Joel lowered himself to you. He held you to his chest, hips working relentlessly, and he watched your face screw up in pleasure. A trace of pain surfaced again, but it was soothed with a kiss. Joel grinned against you.

Between your thighs, his cock was throbbing with a feeling just as big. He knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer. Hurting and aching and needing as you were, he had to make sure that you would cum first.

When his cock grazed a fleshy, sensitive patch inside your walls, he knew it wouldn’t take much. He went on:

“C’mon, sugar. Daddy’s split you open on his cock so nice, least you can do is cum for him. Can you do that?”

His nose brushed yours. His thrusts sped up. You nodded, quickly, and when he shifted in the bed with his thumb still on your clit and his lips and his stubble grazing your mouth with every push of himself, he felt it.

It was a small pulse, at first.

Joel thought you might be adjusting—clenching—again, when the lips that were trembling against his own parted more. Your arms wound around his neck, and suddenly the throb of your walls around his member got tighter and tighter and tighter. One more second and your cunt might’ve squeezed the hot, sticky seed right out of his body and flooded your insides with it, but then came release. The ‘o’ of your mouth let out a shriek, at last, and your body went soft around him, beneath him, whining in turn, ‘Daddy, daddy, please’ while the muscles once taut and unflinching gave him reprieve. Fluttering repeatedly.

Joel fucked you through it. He talked you through it.

He stroked your hair, and he held you tight. Called you his sweetheart, pretty thing, perfect girl, you’re doin’ so good f’me. Keep going. That’s right, cum all over daddy. He told you to take what you needed, and without another word, he felt just that. Your cunt spasmed around him, and you consumed every inch he gave and drank every drop of spend shooting out in thick spurts.

You fell boneless on the bed when all was said and done.

You looked happy, and that made Joel even happier.

He stroked your cheek, and you leaned into it, clearly drained while your gaze held his in a weak sort of look.

It was soft. Loving, even. It could’ve been romantic.

Then Joel’s hand slipped down to the nape of your neck again. Your muscles were limp, like all the rest of you, but somehow, he was able to hold you up. Tilt your chin a bit.

Make you peer down between your shaking legs, where his cock was still sheathed inside you—partly, anyway.

Your eyes widened. Joel grinned.

“You did great, baby. Ready for the other half of him?”

can y’all believe this image is what inspired this fic HA

it’s only Thursday i’m sorry 😔

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[drabbles-mc]

Should've Seen It Coming

Nacho Varga x F!Reader

For Day 5 of @whumpril's 2023 Challenge: dragged, defiance

Warnings: 18+, angst, kidnapping, language

Word Count: 4k

A/N: This is the first piece I ever published for Nacho! I have a longfic in the works for him, but idk when that will be ready. In the meantime, have this! I feel like there's more I want to do with this but I can't put my finger on it. Hope you enjoy!

BCS Taglist: @garbinge @hausofmamadas @narcolini (I'm essentially just tagging the few people I've talked to about this fic, but if in the future anyone else wants to be on the list, let me know!)

You walked up to the table you’d been waiting on for the last stretch of your shift. The man hadn’t ordered much. Truthfully, it seemed like he was more there for any scraps of conversation that you could offer him rather than anything else. If it had been a quieter afternoon, you probably could’ve done a better job of indulging him in that.

He didn’t seem to mind, however, didn’t seem to take it personally. Each time you walked over to refill his coffee, ask him if there was anything else that you could get for him, he always greeted you with a wide, charming smile. You couldn’t help but to notice the singular tattoo he seemed to have, the and that went around his forearm. While it wasn’t something that you would typically pay a whole lot of attention to, it stood out solely because it was the only one. Something about him seemed familiar, but you couldn’t quite place it. His voice was smooth, but not quite what you had been expecting. There was a hint of humor to it. You wondered if maybe he’d been here before, but just got lost in the sea of faces that you saw every day.

Stopping at the end of the table, you tucked your hands into the pockets of the apron that was tied around your waist. “I just wanted to stop and see if there was anything else I could get you before I head out.” You gestured towards the register where one of your coworkers was standing. “My shift is over so I’m handing you off to Stacey.”

“Leaving so soon?” he replied with a grin and a laugh.

You smiled and shook your head. “You wouldn’t think it was so soon if you’d gotten here when I got here this morning.”

He laughed, perhaps a little harder than what your comment warranted, but you didn’t mind. “That’s true.” He lifted his coffee cup to his lips. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your day, then.”

You nodded. “You too.”

Walking to the counter at the back of the diner, you swapped out your apron for your purse and finally started to head out. You waved goodbye to Stacey as you made your way for the front door of the diner. It didn’t even cross your mind to look at the table where the man had been sitting. If it had, you would’ve seen the way that he was casually stirring his spoon in his coffee mug, but his eyes never left you. You might not have been paying him all that much mind, but he had made sure that you never left his sight.

The bell above the door chimed as it swung shut behind you. He gave you a few moments, watching you walk across the parking lot through the window next to his table. He watched as you reached into your purse, pulling out the keys to your car but also a pack of cigarettes. There was a small smile beginning to curl his lips as he watched you pull one cigarette out of the pack.

Standing up, he tossed enough money on the table to more than cover his bill and the tip. He silently made his way to the door, slipping out without a word or anyone seeming to notice him. He went down the short stretch of steps that led to the diner, his shoes hitting the blacktop of the parking lot without much of a sound.

Your back was to him, shielding your lighter from the wind as you tried to light your cigarette before getting into your car. You never seemed to smoke inside of it, which was an odd line in the sand in his mind, but he respected it. For a brief moment he thought about waiting, letting you get a few drags in, but it was too late to hit the brakes now.

You turned around at the sound of footsteps approaching from behind you. When you saw the semi-familiar smile on his face, your body relaxed as you let out a stream of smoke. “Oh, hey, are you—”

The rest of the sentence was lost and buried as the entire world went black.

Nacho was putting the rest of the shop back together, back to its formal glory, when his phone started to ring. He checked it quickly, and he knew immediately who was calling him. He didn’t want to answer, knowing that it wasn’t going to be anything good. Still, he knew that ignoring it was only going to cause more problems.

Bringing the phone up to his ear, he said, “Yea?”

“Oh, good. Was worried that you weren’t going to pick up.”

Nacho drew a deep breath in, knowing that whatever that hint of mirth in Lalo’s tone was, it couldn’t spell out anything good. “Well, I did.” He paused, and when he was met with more silence, he shook his head and continued. “What’s going on?”

“I thought I made it very clear to you,” he kept his tone casual almost to a fault, “that I’m a patient man but I do run out of patience eventually.”

Despite the pleasantness in his voice, Nacho’s heart immediately dropped into his stomach. Men growing impatient never spelled out good things for him, or for the people that he cared about. He remembered the dread that nearly incapacitated him when he was trapped in a car and forced to watch helplessly as his poor, unknowing father was threatened. No matter who he was working with, working for, no one he cared about was ever safe.

He walked to the back of the shop, his tone hushed but urgent as he spoke into the phone. “What did you do?”

Lalo laughed. “Who said anyone did anything, hm? No one said—”

“Don’t fuck with me.”

“Ooh,” Lalo feigned being impressed before letting out a laugh. “Okay, okay.” He paused, letting the silence last longer than necessary before saying, “I see why you like her. She’s very sweet.”

Panic shot through every nerve in his body. He couldn’t even will himself to say anything in response. He opened his mouth a few times to try and say something, but each time he came up empty. Taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat. “Please, don’t.”

“Don’t what? I told you, Nacho, no one is doing anything.”

“Let,” there was a shake to his voice that he wanted to get rid of and couldn’t, “let her go.”

“I can do that,” he took a deep, dramatic breath, “but you have to do something for me first.”

Nacho couldn’t believe that his heart hadn’t completely stopped. “Whatever you want.” Showing that amount of desperation with his words and his tone was nothing but a sign of weakness, and he knew that, but there was no stopping it. The same way he would’ve done and promised just about anything to save his father, he was willing to burn it all down to save you.

“You know what I want.”

The panic was quickly transforming into anger the longer that he talked to Lalo. The façade of lightness in the man’s voice was enough to make anyone’s blood boil on a good day, let alone a day like the one Nacho was now having. More often than not, he was willing to do the song and dance required to work with Lalo. But not this time, not when he’d laid a hand on you.

The anger that was bubbling up in him gave him enough nerve to push through the panic, desperation giving way to defiance. “I’m not doing shit for you until you let her go.”

Lalo laughed. “I don’t think that’s true.” He paused. “You weren’t doing anything for me before she was with me. So, I think that this might actually be the one thing that gets you moving.” He expected Nacho to argue, but when he didn’t, Lalo said, “I guess we’ll find out.”

Nacho could feel that Lalo was about to hang up. “Where are you?”

Lalo chuckled into the other end of the line. “Somewhere you know very well.”

Nacho could feel the sweat beginning to clam up his palms. “If you hurt her—”

“What exactly would you do then?” he asked like it was a joke to even think about.

“Don’t hurt her and you won’t have to find out.”

Lalo chuckled. “I’m sure that I’ll see you soon, then.”

Nacho was about to try and argue when the line went dead. Snapping his phone shut, he took a deep breath as he rubbed his eyes for a moment. Shoving the phone into the pocket of his jeans, he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, shutting them tight as he did so. He forced himself to take a few more deep breaths before opening them and letting his arms drop back to his sides again.

Forcing his hands to stop trembling, just as much from anger as from fear of what Lalo may or may not have already done to you, he started to make his way towards the door of the shop. He slipped by other workers without a word, most of them too wrapped up in what they were doing to even notice that he was going by them.

It wasn’t until he reached the door that someone noticed that he was making a break for it. His father looked up from the register, confusion on his face as he spoke to his son. His voice was as soft as it ever was as he took in the frazzled look on Nacho’s face, the tension his son was carrying throughout his entire body.

“Leaving, mijo?” he asked, although the answer was quite clear.

Nacho cleared his throat, trying to sound as normal as possible as he replied, “Yea. Something, uh, something came up.” He hated lying to his dad but there was no way that he could tell him what was going on. The list of things that Manuel would never truly be able to forgive him for was already a mile long, but Nacho was certain that this would be a step too far. His father wouldn’t be wrong to feel that way either, but Nacho selfishly wanted to put off that outcome for as long as possible. “I won’t be long.”

“Todo bien?” The sadness in his eyes conveyed that he already knew the answer.

Nacho nodded. What was one more lie? “Todo bien.”

For as much as he wanted to try and stop him, try and get him to say more, Manuel knew that it was no use. A sad smile crossed his face, an odd acceptance of defeat. “Be safe, Ignacio.”

When Nacho saw the look on his father’s face, he couldn’t help but to think about the fact that all Manuel had ever done was worry about him. He didn’t have the time to ruminate on it. Nodding, he pushed the door of the shop open. “I will.”

Within minutes of making that promise to his father, Nacho was tearing down the street in his car at break-neck speeds. He felt like he’d already wasted too much time in trying to get to you, he wasn’t going to let speed limits and traffic lights hold him up any longer.

Your breathing was ragged against the rag that was tied around your head and stuffed in your mouth. You had no idea who this man was, or what he wanted with you. All you knew was that when you came-to, you were lying in the back of a van that had no windows in the back. You’d tried to figure out some sort of escape plan, tried to call for help, but there seemed to be something thwarting every attempt you made to try and accomplish anything. Your wrists and ankles were bound so you couldn’t move, rag tied and snug against your mouth so you could scream. And on top of it all you had no idea where you were being taken.

Tears were streaming down your cheeks as you tried to get your breathing under control. It felt like your entire body was shaking and you couldn’t get it to stop. You managed to wriggle yourself so that you were sitting upright at least. Your forehead was slicked with sweat—you could feel it starting to trickle down the sides of your face.

“Good!” The man in the driver’s seat looked at you through the rearview mirror, a smile on his face. “You’re up!” He saw the panic in your eyes but it didn’t seem to faze him at all. “Don’t worry,” he reassured, “everything is going to be just fine. I called our mutual friend and he’ll be here soon to sort everything out.”

You had no idea who you would have in common with this man, not a single clue who your mutual friend could be. Truthfully, as you sat and tried to keep from tipping over, you were struggling to think of anyone that you knew at all, let alone someone you knew that this man might also know. Panic stripped every single name from your memory. If the man in the driver’s seat had handed you a phone and told you to call anyone in the world to come and get you, you didn’t think that you would’ve been able to think of a name and a number.

“Varga never mentioned me then?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

It felt like your throat was closing up as you processed what he said. Even if you had questions to ask, it wasn’t as though you’d really be able to say them because of the rag in your mouth. More tears welled up in your eyes as you thought about Nacho, about what all of this could possibly have to do with him.

“I guess I can’t blame him.” There was still a smile on his face as he spoke, his eyes trained on the road as he drove the two of you to wherever your destination was. “Don’t worry, though—he’ll have a chance to explain himself to both of us soon.”

If he meant that to be reassuring to you in any way, it wasn’t. All it did was make you worried about Nacho as well as yourself. You forced yourself to take a slow, deep breath in through your nose as you tried to figure out what to do, if there was anything you could do.

You didn’t know how long you’d been driving around. You tried to focus on the buildings passing by the windshield but there was so much going on in your head that you couldn’t really dial into any of it. It couldn’t have been that long—there was no way you’d been out long enough for him to take you that far away. Also, realistically, if he wanted you as some sort of enticement for Nacho, then he had to be planning to stay at least somewhat local.

For as much as you wanted nothing to do with this man now, you wished that you could at least spit the gag out of your mouth so that you could talk to him. It was so easy to have so many things to say when you weren’t going to have the opportunity to say any of them.

He reached forward and turned the radio up as he drove, nodding his head along to the beat like he was simply going for an evening drive. That was one of the most terrifying details of the entire thing—he seemed so comfortable. You didn’t know what to do with that. If there had been any fight left in you to begin with, it was certainly gone now, because anyone who felt this at home doing whatever he was planning on doing to you wasn’t someone you saw yourself winning against.

Almost as though he could read your mind, he spoke up and said, “Don’t worry, we won’t be driving much longer.”

You didn’t know why that statement caused more tears to spring into your eyes. It should’ve been reassuring in its own weird way. It wasn’t like you were going to be any use to this man if you were dead. He’d have to keep you alive at least, right? If he was almost to wherever he was going, you were at least one step closer to figuring out what the fuck was going on.

When he pulled off the road and into a lot, you caught a quick glimpse of the building he was parking by but it didn’t make any sense. You were expecting him to pull into somewhere abandoned, somewhere at the very least off the beaten path. If your eyes hadn’t been deceiving you, he’d pulled into a restaurant. It seemed outlandish at best, stupid at worst. Why would he bring you somewhere where there would be people?

You tumbled over when he threw the van in reverse and backed up to what you were assuming was going to be a back door of some kind. With what little you could move your feet, you tried to quickly situate your legs as you got yourself upright again. Your breathing was ragged, heart pounding in your chest as you heard him pull on the latch of the door.

He greeted you with the same warm smile he had at the diner, only now it was difficult to see the warmth you originally thought you had. As he reached in, still grinning, and grabbed onto your arm, you felt like you’d been so foolish to believe it before, to fall for the smile and easy-going demeanor. You couldn’t have known, but you felt like you should have.

You stumbled out of the back of the van, kept from toppling to the ground solely by his grip on you. If he hadn’t hooked his arm under yours so effectively you would’ve been eating the pavement. The binding of your ankles left you some room for movement, but not enough. The man was still essentially dragging you through the door and into the back of the restaurant.

Making your way inside, your eyes were darting around frantically as you tried to see where you really were. It wasn’t like you’d been in the backs of many restaurants before. There was nothing that was unique enough to really clue you into what place you’d been brought to exactly. What you did notice, though, was that it was quiet. It was practically silent. You didn’t hear any customers, but even stranger than that, you didn’t hear any sounds coming from the kitchen. You knew enough to know that even if a place wasn’t open, there was always commotion in the back. Not here, though, and it made your stomach sink.

“Here,” he said as he pulled you into a storage room and let go of you. He lingered in the doorway, same slick grin on his face as he said, “Don’t go anywhere.” The tinge of laughter in his voice made bile creep up the back of your throat.

Right after he pulled the door shut, you heard the lock clicking. You hadn’t had a fool’s chance in getting out to begin with, but there was something so much more hopeless settling into your bones once you heard that. Your body wanted to move, but you couldn’t. All that anxious energy and you couldn’t even channel it into pacing. Trying to blink back the tears in your eyes, you found a bare stretch of wall and slid down and sat on the tile floor.

Time was lost on you once more as you sat in the silence of the storage room. You were anxiously tapping your head back against the wall behind you when you finally heard some noise coming from the other side. It wasn’t typical restaurant chaos; it wasn’t music or the like. But you heard something. There were too many walls between you and them to make out who it was or what exactly they were saying, but you could feel the energy off it. They must’ve been loud if you could hear them, their yelling muffled but the anger was clear.

You wanted to scream, call for help. You wanted to be able to actually cry and let out everything that had been bubbling within your chest and threatening to drown you. But you couldn’t do any of that, simply forced to sit silently next to the door and pray for an outcome to it all that panned out well for you.

The sound of the gunshots had you yelping against the gag in your mouth. The tears you’d been trying to fight off with varying levels of success all came tumbling down your cheeks. It was the closest you’d ever been to gunfire and it was way too close for comfort. You tried to scramble to your feet, but in your panic only ended up making it harder for yourself. Your heart was thumping so fast you were sure it was going to stop altogether.

But that’s when you heard it. Distant and panicked but you finally heard Nacho’s voice. The relief that went through you brought a fresh wave of tears. The closer he got, the more you could hear what he was actually saying. The sound of your own name had never been something to bring you so much comfort. You wished that you had any control of your arms and hands, because you would’ve been pounding on the door for all that you were worth. As it stood, you just had to sit and try to cry out against the rag in your mouth in hopes that it would be enough for him to hear you.

The sound of the lock being undone wasn’t loud, but it felt as though it was echoing. You shimmied, trying to get to your feet on your own as you waited for him to get the door open. The light that came pouring through the door as it opened was only broken by Nacho’s silhouette as he stood in the doorway.

“Oh my god.” He didn’t even sound like himself as he instantly buckled to the ground next to you.

His hands immediately felt their way to the back of your head, loosing the knot that had been keeping your gag in place. He gently pulled it away from your face. His fingers ghosted over your face for a moment, making sure it was really you and that you were really in one piece. As much as every single fiber of his being wanted to hold you, he fought the urge as he maneuvered himself around you so that he could free your wrists and your ankles.

The second you couldn’t feel the pull of the restraints against you anymore, all of the fight left your body. You collapsed into Nacho, slumping against him with a sob as he knelt in front of you. Without hesitation he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in close. It took you a few moments to feel like you really had control over yourself again, but once you had the strength to move, you slipped your arms over his shoulders and around the back of his neck. You pulled yourself tight to him, sobbing into the crook of his neck and letting out all of the emotions that had been tied and gagged inside of you.

Nacho shut his eyes tight as he squeezed you closer to him. One of his hands spread across your back, the other resting on the back of your head. He could feel the way that your body was trembling and his heart sank knowing that all of this had happened because of him. What was even worse was that he couldn’t even try to tell you that it was over—he couldn’t promise you that.

Turning his head just slightly, he pressed a kiss to your temple. He did his best to take a deep breath as he kept you held tight, feeling the unsteadiness of your entire body and trying not to succumb to his own.

“I got you,” he murmured softly, the most honest thing he could tell you. “I promise, I’ve got you.”

[manicpixiedgoblin]

Nervous Young Inhumans Masterpost

Jesse Pinkman/OC/Saul Goodman

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

[somebodylovesyougcv]

chapter 4 of you must have been looking for me is up now!

fandom: better call saul

pairing: jimmy mcgill/kim wexler

rating: M

chapter summary: New year, new beginnings

read from the beginning here

[willgrahamscock]

fanfiction is amazing because I can experience every universe where they choose each other!! each a little different, but at the end of the fic I know they will come together.

[thekimspoblog]

Fanfic idea: "Last Clear Chance Doctrine"

Cannon divergence from "Black and Blue" (6x05): Kim shows up to box Howard instead and confronts him - point blank - about why dragging out the Sandpiper case is unethical and how, because HHM kept stealing cases out from under Wexler-McGill, their options have been limited to (1) continuing to live paycheck-to-paycheck, (2) taking on high-paying but unsafe clients, or (3) stealing Sandpiper back by any means necessary. She explains how - animosity aside - the sabotage is not about revenge; she's tired of needing Howard's permission to start her own practice and live her life.

See here's my reasoning... Yes, Jimmy confronted Howard earlier in "Fall" (3x09) trying to convince him to do the right thing. But because this show is all about ambiguity, unbeknownst to Jimmy, Howard is coming fresh off a nasty fight with Chuck and wasn't really open for another debate. And Wexler-McGill went directly from that to deciding to sabotage the case... because they are crazy people and this is a wacky tv show. But it does make you wonder if, had they appealed to Howard one more time after Chuck died, if things could have gone differently.

There are two potential endings for this fic:

Howard sees reason and decides to settle, and we follow what that means for HHM and for his pride. He's redeemed, but is tragically killed in some other freak accident because my HC is that this character is just straight-up marked by the reaper.

Or (more likely) because in case you haven't noticed I don't really like Howard, it would be a character study; on the breakthroughs he is (or isn't!) making in therapy, wtf his problems with Cheryl are, and most importantly why he CAN'T risk HHM's finances by settling, because the legacy of the firm is all twisted up with his baggage about his father and about Chuck. And the rest of Season 6 proceeds as it canonically did. But now with the vindication/absolution that what Jimmy and Kim did really was the only way the old folks were going to see justice in a timely fashion. Probably a little bit of me on my soapbox about late-stage capitalism a bit by the end.

The great thing about BrBaBCS fanfiction is that it takes every possible moment of the timeline, and spirals them out into fractals of missed opportunities and roads not taken. And one of those missed opportunities was making your testosterone-fueled, fan-service, explicitly-canonically-resolved-nothing, plot-cul-de-sac of a boxing scene slightly less pointless by at least showing off what Rhea's biceps can do.

Like Jimmy just is a (supposedly cis) man; so anything he thought he had to prove by fighting Howard was just stupid machismo. Kim on the other hand... her beef with Howard is specifically tied to how Howard is a bit sexist and constantly overlooks her. So even if she lost the boxing match (she totally wouldn't), she'd still have won by calling his bluff and pressuring Howard to hit her as hard as he was prepared to punch Jimmy.

[voguewoozi]

tag what kinds of fics you wrote if you answer yes! i would love to know