911 Lone Star Complete Rewatch: Group Watch Thread
Episode: 4x10 Sellouts
Please join us in the comments of this post to discuss this episode!! We will be hosting a group watch here on Monday at 8pm EST/5pm PST. If you’re unable to join the group watch feel invited to drop your thoughts into the comments throughout the week or make your own posts and tag the Complete Rewatch! Throughout the rewatch, we'll be tracking the following tags: #911ls complete rewatch & #911 lone star complete rewatch
-Join us in this thread at 8pm EST/5pm PST on Monday to discuss the episode as we watch together!!!-
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most of the time I just want to post a picture of life as is without the obligation of having it to be instagram-mable.
so here you go: this is me and my home.
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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!
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.
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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.
