The year is 1883. TK has been a member of the Keyes outlaw gang for five years.
On the run after a job gone wrong in Georgia, the gang lands in the vicinity of Austin, Texas, where TK meets Carlos, a man running his family’s farm after the sudden death of his father.
As tension escalates within the gang and TK grows closer to Carlos, he starts to wonder if the life he has is the one he really wants, and he faces a test of loyalty that will endanger not only his life, but those of the people he loves.
Thank you for the tag, @carlos-in-glasses @ladyknight1512 @afiendishthingynisba @aprettygoodteam 💝
This is... not what I usually post but is for a fic for The Pitt I've been working on recently:
“I understand that.” Robby nodded. “We are unable to discharge you just yet, given the amount of alcohol that was in your system when you were brought in. If there’s anyone you need to call and let them know where you are, now would be a good time for that.”
“No, that’s okay.” Corra shook her head. Robby and Abbot exchanged a look before Robby sat down on the edge of the bed.
“I’ve known your mom a long time, Corry,” he said gently. “And I’m pretty certain she doesn’t know where you are. And she should.” Both doctors watched the different emotions wash over the exhausted teenager’s face like a tidal wave.
First surprise, then confusion, then she just tossed her head back on the pillows and muttered, “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.”
“Why does the doctor know your mom?” April whispered. “And I thought only your parents called you Corry.”
Corra groaned. “More people did when I was little.” She sighed, still not looking at Robby or Abbot. “Both of them worked with my mom. She used to sort of… be the charge nurse here.”
“A lot more than sort of,” Robby interjected. “Best charge nurse there is.”
“Better hope Lena doesn’t hear you say that.” Abbot snorted. “We are still waiting for your mom to come join us again, though.” Abbot added.
“Yeah, join the club.” Corra shook her head. “She doesn’t have enough to do at home, and she’s been a real pain in the ass the last few months.”
Robby let out a low whistle. “Well, no one will ever doubt that you and your mother are related.”
“That’s for sure.” Abbot agreed.
“And I have no problem calling her,” Robby said, steering the ship back to the matter at hand. “But Corra, you are more than welcome to. I think she’d rather hear it from you.”
For the first time since he sat down, Corra met Robby’s eyes. “Are you nuts? She knows I’m here, she’ll know I lied to her about last night. She’ll kill me.”
“Not sure how her finding out would be avoided, when you’re in her workplace of over 3 decades,” Abbot mused.
No pressure tagging - I tag @anewkindofme @actualalligator @kiankiwi @chicgeekgirl89 @firstprince-history-huh @neverthesamebird @whatmaydraws @carlossreaders @henrygrass @heartstringsduet and anyone else who hasn't shared yet and wants to- open tag 🫶
My fucking cat has figured out how to gently dig his claws into my eyelid and pull my eyes open while I'm sleeping. He does this. It does not hurt. He is remarkably precise and gentle. I however am asleep when it happens and do not appreciate being clockwork oranged by a needy clingy goddamn animal who thinks he needs attention.
I would like to clarify that this animal self feeds and is not being denied breakfast by my sleeping in. He doesn't do this to anyone else. Everyone else simply gets increasingly invasive headbutts and even thats a fairly rare occurence. This fucking cat needs to cuddle with me specifically, And he is decided that the best way to do it is to gently shove his claws underneath my eyelashes and pull. There is no way I can train him out of this because believe it or not shoving your fingers in somebody's eyes to wake them up has the desired reaction.
We have come to a compromise. One that neatly illustrates the reason I'm not wearing an eyemask.
If I have a hair tie on my wrist, my darling sweet baby boy, love of my life and apple of my eye, can gingerly dig his teeth underneath and grab it in his mouth and then back up. and pull. And Snap the hell out of me with the elastic. Again, he is very gentle and precise, there are never teeth touching my skin. This is not a fluke, he managed this several times in various circumstances and positions.
This is worse than a toddler. We are approaching diabolical machinations hitherto undreamt of by domestic felines.
Thank you @carlos-in-glasses @actuallylemon and @ladyknight1512 for the tags! I haven’t been writing much lately, so here’s some mostly finished drawings that I’ll probably never post bc some steps I used early in the process feel like cheating so I’m iffy about posting them.
tagging @pimento-playing-hopscotch and leaving an open tag for anyone else!
From mythical (which is concerningly like 80 something k now). Thanks @actuallylemon @books2beach @ladyknight1512 @carlos-in-glasses @tgmsunmontue
Callie groans loudly as Nat makes a noise of protest. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“How imaginative,” Reuben adds, with an extremely judgemental eyebrow raise.
“I think true love might be dead, actually,” Mickey says, although he sounds genuinely upset about it.
“Nah,” Billy chimes in, patting Mickey on the shoulder in apparent consolation. “Just remember that whatever the fuck Bradshaw is doing, he’s probably doing it wrong.”
A noise of agreement goes up from the group at large as Bradley unwraps his arm around Jake’s shoulders and makes a ‘what the fuck?’ gesture with both hands. “Wow," he scoffs. "Thanks, everyone."
“Friends don’t let other friends give their boyfriend the ick,” Nat says, inadvertently throwing an atomic bomb into whatever fragile peace Jake and Bradley have been maintaining by simply not talking about it. “Do you want him to break up with you?”
Thanks @actuallylemon and @carlos-in-glasses for the tags!! A biggish chunk of my draft — because I couldn’t decide where to cut it — for this teen tk & toddler Jonah AU. It’s a Tarlos fic, and a TK & Jonah fic, but maybe more than anything it is a TK & Gwyn fic. Because I love them!!
He’s just about managed to drift off when the door opens again.
“Oh, my god, what?”
“Soup,” says his mother.
TK puts an arm over his eyes. “Mom. I just want to sleep.”
“Sorry,” she says. She doesn’t sound sorry. “You still haven’t had any water.”
“I had a little!” he protests.
She eyes the nearly-full bottle skeptically. “Have some more. Here, take your pill.”
“I told you I don’t want anything,” he says.
“Not for the flu. Take your pill,” she repeats, and he takes the Lexapro and tosses it back with a sip of water. He’s desperately thirsty, it turns out, but his throat is raw. “Good job,” she says. “Now soup.”
He sighs and takes the bowl she offers, bringing a shaky spoonful to his lips. Despite the flavors being muted by congestion, the matzoh ball soup is as warm and soothing as it always. “Thanks,” he says reluctantly. “It’s good.”
“Of course it is. Jewish penicillin is good for everything.” She watches him eat a few more mouthfuls, then stop to cough and wipe his eyes. “You poor thing. What am I going to do with you?”
He rolls his eyes and keeps eating, slowly in case his stomach decides to rebel, too.
Undeterred by his lack of response, she continues, “What were you even thinking? Look at you, you can barely sit up. It’s raining, were you trying to get pneumonia?”
He scowls at her, not in the mood for a lecture. “No.”
“What was so important about going out tonight? What did you have planned?”
She’s giving him her lawyer-mom cross-examining gaze. It drives him nuts.
“What, did you think I was trying to go out partying or something?”
“Were you?” she demands.
“No!” he says, his voice cracking. He swipes his wrist across his eyes angrily.
“Okay, okay, that’s not what I thought, anyway,” she says, the deposition demeanor dropped in an instant as she puts a palm on his cheek, her fingers combing through his hair. “I just don’t get why you were trying so hard to go out in this condition. You were that desperate to defend your honor at that Invaders of Catan game?”
“It’s Settlers of Catan!” he shoots back. “And no, I don’t know, I just wanted to see – everyone.”
She sits down on the edge of the bed, and he moves over and lets her settle down beside him, her arm around his shoulder. “Everyone, huh?”
“Fine. Maybe especially Carlos.”
“Ah, the truth comes out,” she says, pulling him close and kissing his hair. “He did look very nice tonight, didn’t he? Turquoise is a good color on him, don’t you think?”
“Ew,” he groans.
“Oh, you don’t think it looked nice on him?” she says innocently.
“You’re being so mean to me, I’m sick,” he complains.
“You poor thing.” It sounds decidedly more sarcastic than it had the first time she said it. “So does he usually dress that nicely for game night, or did the two of you have plans?”
There’s no use trying to hold back, she’s going to get it out of him sooner or later. She’s like Buttercup with a snuffle mat when she wants information from him.
“We were just going to get food first,” he admits. “I don’t know. It seemed like. Kind of a date.”
thank you @afiendishthingynisba @actuallylemon and @carlos-in-glasses for the tags! for my latest wip, the kindred spirit sequel:
Carlos kneels before TK, lowering his head in the ultimate show of respect he could give. He did all of it for him, and it is indescribably satisfying to know that out of all the competitors, his victories are what has put Texas in first place. The blood, sweat, tears—all of it for his prince.
TK places the crown of flowers on his head with a delicate touch, fingers brushing as much as they dare against Carlos' curls. Instantly, Carlos knows the crown was not just another symbol of victory meant to be handed out to the athletes—TK grew it himself. The poppies woven into its intricate braid are too vibrant, too beautiful to be grown with anything other than the prince's magic. Fiery oranges and reds stained with dark purples and blacks at their centers. Pure things being stained to make it more perfect than before.
Carlos feels himself heating up on the inside at the notion. He thinks, ridiculously, that this was all TK's design for him. TK put up with the royals, the manners, the endless hoops to jump through to please everyone and prove whatever it is they wanted to see, just so that he could stand here and crown Carlos the winner. He hates the decorum, loathes the formality. He rolls his eyes whenever someone points out his un-prince-like behavior. And yet, he did all of that for him.
"Sir Reyes," TK says, and Carlos tilts his head up to look at him. The look in his half-lidded gaze says everything that Carlos wants to hear. He's proud, he loves him, he wants him in every way. There's not a thing Carlos could do wrong. Nothing could sully this moment, or the way TK sees him. Carlos is his knight, his protector, his lover. His.
Carlos tilts his chin up further, imagining what it would be like to lean in and take him into a kiss. He holds himself back, but only just. When he refocuses on TK's face, it's clear the man is thinking the same thing.
"Congratulations," TK whispers, and it's only for him.
I've been thinking lately that perhaps when this is done being written (currently sitting at an unedited ~55k! wow!) I might commission an artist to do a little drawing of one of the scenes. if any of u have suggestions, lemme know ;) also hopefully one day I'll decide on a name for this bad boy
for my tags today: @smallbirdrising @annoyingcloudearthquake @ladyknight1512 @morganaspendragonss @heartstringsduet @emsprovisions @alrightbuckaroo @henrygrass @reyesstrand @strandnreyes @guardian-angle22 @goodways @welcometololaland @whatmaydraws and an Open Tag!
There's something special about reading a fic in your current fandom and then realising it was written by an author you followed in a fandom 15 years ago and haven't spoken to since.
Thank you for the tag @carlos-in-glasses 💕 From the upcoming Chapter 3 of Otherside of the Game 💛
“So,” Marjan says, once they’re sitting at a table by the front window. Pastries are spread out before them. Marjan’s giant cinnamon roll, beignets, three fruit tarts. Two cream-filled puff pastries. For some reason, an entire tuxedo cake. She drops her fork into the center of the cake and takes a bite. Pausing to emit a satisfied hum before continuing her thought. “I found Sofia’s ex.”
“You what?” Paul stutters, the Windows crash error screen practically flashing behind his eyes.
Critical System Error Located.
The System Needs A Reboot.
“Hold on a minute now, Marj.” His raspberry danish hangs suspended in air, halfway to his mouth.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she says while she pulls her phone out. “It was easy.”
“That does worry me.” Paul says while TK asks, “How easy?”
“Well. I found her from Sofia’s page. She didn’t tag her but I did a reverse image search. Her account was private but I friended her.”
At Paul’s frown she clarifies with a wave of her hand.
“Not with my own account. TK and I have a burner.”
"You guys–" Paul groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You guys have a burner Instagram?”
“Yeah, man, a finsta,” TK says earnestly.
“No.” Marjan shakes her head. “I told you. This is not that.”
“Do I want to know your burner name?”
“It’s Mark Strawani,” TK says with a self-satisfied smirk.
Thanks for tagging me @carlos-in-glasses! As of this morning, Dallas Carlos is at almost 16,400 words – so much for my plan to write short one-shots between long fics, but I guess in comparison to Wild Hearts, which was just over 80,000 words, 16.4k isn't that many. Here are a couple of paragraphs from Dallas Carlos that I wrote a few weeks ago.
The world is a blur: a wall of noise as the crowd screams, a sea of red and white Clippers jerseys in the stands, dotted with Mavericks blue and green. Underneath it all, the smack of his shoes on the wooden floor and his own harsh breathing.
Everything seems to slow down in the way that it does sometimes, but it’s only seconds between Carlos catching the ball and reaching the key. He takes three big steps when he reaches the free throw line and leaps, already bringing the ball down to slam it through the hoop. He hears Nate yell his name a split second before the Clipper who’d been chasing him down collides with his back.
It wouldn’t be so bad if Carlos weren’t hanging in mid-air.
Good morning everyone! I'm excited to have something new to share this week! This is a moment from a fic coming soon! In which Jonah might have got a little confused between styles of dancing:
“I’m a Texas Ranger,” Carlos explained, at which the man smiled, impressed. Older men like this cowboy are always very impressed when they learn what Jonah’s papa does, Jonah has noticed. They kind of go all swoony. It’s funny.
“Are you going to be a Texas Ranger like your daddy one day, young fella?” the man asked.
“Um. No…” Jonah replied pensively. “I’m going to be a tap dancer like my other papa.”
This was news to TK and Carlos, who looked down at Jonah with surprise. Never had Jonah expressed any interest nor knowledge in the subject of tap dancing. Neither had TK.
Without wanting to embarrass Jonah, they played along. TK found himself telling the man that he was forced to retire early from his tap dancing career due to a tendon injury.
“That must have been devastating,” the man said.
“Yes. I was very upset,” TK replied while Carlos refused to make eye-contact.
“A Ranger and a tap dancer.” The man nodded. “How did you two meet?”
if you're sitting on a fanfic idea because you think it's "too weird" or "too niche" I need you to understand something: the internet is VAST and FULL of people with your exact brand of weird. that crackship that makes sense only to you? there are at least 50 people who will read it and go "oh my god FINALLY." but even if there were ZERO? you still deserve to write the thing that makes your brain light up.
