Vampyrles
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Summary
Domingo is alright with leaving before breakfast, he is fine with them keeping it on the down low. He likes Nacho’s distance, likes the scarcity of his affection. And just when Domingo’s successfully convinced himself that he doesn't even dare to get closer to Nacho anyway, he sees this.
Bookmarked by Vampyrles
26 Jul 2026
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Varga. Ignacio. Nacho. Nachito. His clothes were tailored—flashy, but tasteful. He never boasted or blustered, never made a fool of himself. Intelligent. Diligent. Every move he made was thought out and carefully executed. A lost prince—kidnapped as a child, maybe, who grew up impoverished, waiting to claim his birthright.
Lalo liked that. But if Nacho was a lost prince, what did that make him? There weren’t many fairy tales with two princes.
Lalo finds out about Nacho's girls.
Series
- Part 4 of Only You
Bookmarked by Vampyrles
24 Jul 2026
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“Bleeding heart, eh? I see big things for you, Ignacio. But you have to detach a little. You’ll wear yourself out caring so much.” With that, Lalo slaps his shoulder and turns away, going back to work.
The point of contact seems to burn and Nacho thinks: You should’ve seen who I used to be. You would’ve liked that version of me. Before your family did this to me.
Bookmarked by Vampyrles
24 Jul 2026
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"This is just when Nacho gave up, thinking that was all the information he was going to get on the matter of where they're going, when Lalo suddenly looks at him seriously. He gestures with both hands, palms bent in with all fingers pointing towards himself, "When Eladio calls you, you answer." And spreads his hands out in front of himself, as if he is presenting the answer; as if that explains it. It doesn't. "
Ignacio once again rises to the demands the cartel presents to him.
Bookmarked by Vampyrles
20 Jul 2026
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Price, a wall of authority even when seated, had his cigar clamped between his teeth, the smoke curling around his focused face like a wavering battle standard. His own cards were held close, a secret he guarded without apparent effort. His eyes, sharp and ice blue, seemed to see right through the thin plastic-covered paper of Gaz's cards and into Gaz’s very thoughts.
“Your bet, Sergeant,” Price said, the words rumbling around the cigar.
or: it's not strip poker, but someone's still getting stripped-down.
Bookmarked by Vampyrles
17 Jul 2026