TK&Carlos4ever

New fic up! Just a little something about them confirming they'd rather be lost together than found apart.

E. | Tarlos | 6k

Summary:

"That's the same tree," Carlos says, tapping on the window. "Same how?" "Same like we passed it twenty minutes ago." "We didn't." "We did." "Carlos." "TK." TK's jaw tightens. His fingers curl around the steering wheel. *** On the way back from a wedding in the middle of nowhere, TK and Carlos' car gets caught in a storm. Dead GPS, two husbands, two very different ideas of "the way home"—it's going to be a long night.

1x05 'Studs' I 5x09 'Fall From Grace' 9-1-1 : LONE STAR

thank you to @carlos-in-glasses for the tag! another bit from Infinitely Yours, the Kindred Spirit sequel:

He lunges, grabbing at whatever Paul has in his hands. The two of them topple to the floor in a heap. Normally, Paul would probably be able to out-wrestle him, but he has the element of surprise on his side.

"TK, wait—" Paul yelps.

But it's too late. TK's fingers curl around what feels like a small box. He lifts it in the air triumphantly. "Aha!"

Paul reaches for it again, but TK is quicker. He hops to his feet, then scrambles on top of the mattress. Only then does he take the time to examine it.

He has no idea why Paul would hide such a thing from him. The box is covered in navy velvet, no bigger than his palm. It's unassuming and doesn't seem like the clue that will break this whole thing open, but there's a hinge on the side. A container of some kind. He opens it.

"TK, don't—"

TK gasps. Inside the box, nestled in a small, pale blue pillow, is a ring. Silver. Simple. Something that someone might... might propose with.

He sinks to his knees on the mattress, lip trembling. Tears fill his eyes when he pulls the ring from its base and finds the engraving on it. A leaf that matches the design of the very circlet sitting on his head. It matches because it was meant for him. This ring is meant for him.

Because Carlos was going to ask him to marry him.

"No," he murmurs, clenching the ring in his fist. It sits cold in his palm, and he can't help but think that's fitting. "No. No, Carlos." He wipes at his eyes. It's no use. They might as well be waterfalls at this point, washing out his sadness. "Oh, baby..."

Good morning everyone! Chapter 2 of No One Gets Left Behind is coming soon!!! Wanna dance?

TK and Carlos hold a hand of Jonah’s each, look down at him proudly as they shuffle and sway to what has become a bluegrass-funk-cheese blend. Jonah can be emotionally reserved and verbally shy around strangers, sometimes to an extreme, but he isn’t shy physically. He’s huggy and tactile and is the fastest runner in his kindergarten, and he’s always happy to move to music, even when people are watching. It feels like something precious to witness him let go, switching from imitating his papas’ shuffling two-step, to doing his own freestyle bop while still falling into rhythm.

With an excited shake, he twirls away from TK and grabs hold of Carlos’ hands. “Spin me ‘round, Papa!”

TK dances backwards, throwing shapes like he’s at an EDM rave. He makes some distance so Carlos can turn speedily on his heels while gripping Jonah and lifting him off the floor. They go around a few times like a fairground swing ride before Carlos pulls Jonah up and into his arms, smothering kisses across his beaming face.

Carlos holds his hand out for TK to take, brings him back to where he belongs, and they dance on with Jonah held up between them.

Open tag and tags below!:

There's something really amazing about Carlos going from "I don't want to rub their noses in it" to "My mom won't stop dropping by the home I share with my husband lol"

911 Lone Star: Friends With Benefits (2x04) | Impact (5x11)

No One Gets Left Behind

E, 20k. Chapters 1 of 5 now on Ao3.

TK and Carlos take Jonah on a night out to a very special place when the honky-tonk hosts a family-friendly event, but even while surrounded by all their closet friends, not everyone is happy to see them. When disaster strikes, Jonah unexpectedly becomes the evening’s hero.

Chapter 1: Kisses for Breakfast

“What’s happened, mijo?” Andrea asks. She’s wandered over, catching the tail of the conversation, and finds herself with a little nieto cuddling into her.

“There was a mean man,” Jonah says.

A squeeze to TK’s shoulder makes him jump, but it’s only his own dad here to find out what’s going on.

“A guy confronted you in front of Jonah?” Owen asks.

“Look. I don’t want to make a huge deal out of this,” TK says, and turns to Carlos. “I just think we have to watch our backs a little, babe. I’m sorry.”

“What do you have to be sorry for?” Carlos stares at TK with a face like stone, a living boulder about to crush its way down a hillside.

“I just–”

“No.” Carlos slides off his barstool cooly. His cowboy boots clink as his feet meet the floor.

“Babe?”

“This is our place, and our night, with our family. Just as much as anyone else’s.”

Read on Ao3

Good morning!! ☀️ Thank you for the tags @carlos-in-glasses & @ladyknight1512 💕 Y’all are queued 💛 I have started working on a World Cup fic centered around Carlos & Gabriel, grief, remembering loved ones, and Carlos & Jonah. Sharing a very rough bit…

Carlos is deeply familiar with the sensation of chasing a memory. The practice of digging through those moments in your mind, ones that felt ordinary in the present, that become larger than life once they transition into a piece of the past. Preserving them. Perfecting them. Trying again and perfecting some more.

It’s more than memorializing. It’s a time-tested testament; reinforcing the bond between the living and the dead.

He grew up watching his parents do it. His mother, spending hours painstakingly working the dough of her pan de muerto with floured-fingers, the tackiness of the dough smoothing out beneath practiced hands. Each element symbolic in its own way: the crossbones, the heart at the center, even the ball of dough itself.

She could easily purchase the bread from the family’s favorite panadería — the one that did Carlos’s sisters’ quinceañeras and his and TK’s wedding cake — but she prefers to make them herself. Her own way of keeping the connection between life and death, cooking food to honor her beloved deceased ones, while nourishing the ones that are still here.

His father did it by building the ofrenda in the den, covering it with the hand-woven serape he bought on a trip to Moriela when he was a teen to watch his beloved Atlético Morelia play the Clásico Michoacano.

Carlos and Paul became quick friends after Paul, still new to Austin, asked Carlos to help him find an African grocery store so he could buy the correct cut of goat meat for his grandmother’s curry recipe. He made it with her as a child, standing on a stool in her Chicago kitchen, he still remembers the smell of her curl conditioner, the slice of the knife in her hand dicing onions so thin they were almost translucent. He’s been iterating the recipe for decades. Carlos has been a beneficiary over the years. Every time it’s good, just not quite the same as hers.

He’s done it himself. For a long time after his dad died, Carlos thought he needed to honor his father’s memory by ceaselessly investigating his murder. He didn’t stop until he solved it. Until his father’s murderer lay dead in the dry Presidio desert just north of the Mexico border.

He didn’t feel closer to his dad in that moment, though. With nothing left to investigate, no justice to chase after, all he felt was immense emptiness. His dad was gone. No amount of detective work or righteous anger was going to bring him back.

What did help, though, was cooking his chili verde.

Thanks for tagging me @carlos-in-glasses! This week, another snippet from Dallas Carlos, which I'm in the home stretch of (...I think).

He can’t hide in the ensuite all night. With the towel TK folded, Carlos mops up the stray drops of water around the basins and then leaves the bathroom, flicking the light off on his way out. It leaves the bedroom outlined in the dim light of the waning moon. TK’s already in bed, turned away towards the wall, his shoulders a tense line at the edge of the blankets that say he doesn’t want to be touched.

Carlos slides into the bed carefully. He can tell that TK isn’t asleep yet, but he still doesn’t want to disturb him. On his back, staring up at the ceiling, the empty stretch of sheets between them feel like a chasm.

“I love you,” he murmurs into the dark, because it deserves to be said, even when they’re fighting. Maybe especially then.

TK lets out a small, resigned sigh. “I know you do.” There’s a pause in which Carlos swears his heart stops, and then, so quiet he almost can’t hear it, “I love you too.”

Thanks for tagging me @carlos-in-glasses! This week, another snippet from Dallas Carlos, which I'm in the home stretch of (...I think).

He can’t hide in the ensuite all night. With the towel TK folded, Carlos mops up the stray drops of water around the basins and then leaves the bathroom, flicking the light off on his way out. It leaves the bedroom outlined in the dim light of the waning moon. TK’s already in bed, turned away towards the wall, his shoulders a tense line at the edge of the blankets that say he doesn’t want to be touched.

Carlos slides into the bed carefully. He can tell that TK isn’t asleep yet, but he still doesn’t want to disturb him. On his back, staring up at the ceiling, the empty stretch of sheets between them feel like a chasm.

“I love you,” he murmurs into the dark, because it deserves to be said, even when they’re fighting. Maybe especially then.

TK lets out a small, resigned sigh. “I know you do.” There’s a pause in which Carlos swears his heart stops, and then, so quiet he almost can’t hear it, “I love you too.”