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lire-casander · 2 years

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He compartido 11.207 publicaciones este 2022

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He etiquetado 4109 publicaciones en 2022

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Mis publicaciones más populares este 2022:

forever in a second too short (home is a heartbeat)

here it is! my contribution to @911lsbb! i hope you're ready for a ride! chapters will be posted once a day for twelve days. are you ready?

on ao3

chapters:

chapter #1: intro — on tumblr

chapter #2: first verse — on tumblr

chapter #3: first pre-chorus — on tumblr

chapter #4: first chorus — on tumblr

chapter #5: second verse — on tumblr

chapter #6: second pre-chorus — on tumblr

chapter #7: second chorus — on tumblr

chapter #8: solo — on tumblr

chapter #9: bridge — on tumblr

chapter #10: third pre-chorus — on tumblr

chapter #11: third chorus — on tumblr

chapter #12: outro — on tumblr

pairings: tk strand/carlos reyes, judd ryder/grace ryder, nancy gillian/mateo chavez, paul strickland/marjan marwani

characters: tk strand, carlos reyes, jonah, owen strand, enzo, judd ryder, grace ryder, nancy gillian, tommy vega, mateo chavez, paul strickland, marjan marwani, izzie vega, evie vega, gabriel reyes, andrea reyes, mitchell, alex, original child characters, original characters

warnings: alternate universe — au, alternate universe — with kids, alternate universe — future fic, alternate universe — school teacher, alternate universe — celebrity, alternate universe — movie, alternate universe — marry me (2022), vaguely inspired by the movie, angst, fluff, cheating (not between tarlos), past/reference drug addiction, grief, references to sister act 2, mentions of death, mentions of accidents, breakup, emotional hurt/comfort, fake dating, more tags to be added

disclaimer: the opinions expressed by certain characters in this work of fiction are not shared by the author.

rating: teen and up audiences

summary: tk strand is a famous singer who’s about to marry his beau alex fletcher onstage in front of around twenty million fans. carlos reyes is a teacher whose whole live revolves around his twelve-year-old daughter and his classes. when tk’s wedding ceremony goes south because of a video of alex cheating on tk with his assistant, their lives become a tangled mess. as they wade through life together by a whim of fate, carlos and tk learn to move forward from a past that haunts them both and into a future that could be everything they wanted it to be, if they just allowed themselves to be happy.

fun facts about writing this fic!

i’ve used transcripts for both the movie and some episodes of the show. here you have the links!

* marry me

* 911 lone star s01e01

* 911 lone star s01e03

* 911 lone star s01e10

* 911 lone star s02e04

* 911 lone star s02e14

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22 notas. Fecha de publicación: 26 de julio de 2022

six sentence sunday

the thing is, this is the last snippet i share publicly from the fic™ until it gets posted as part of the @911lsbb challenge. it's done at 108,763 words, only a few loose ends to fix and then the process of proofreading. so yeah, my baby is definitely grown.

since this is the last i'll be posting about the fic™, i wanted to tag some of the people who have made this possible. you guys rock! @tarlos-spain, @noxsoulmate, @doublel27, @moviegeek03, @meloingly, @marjansmarwani, @morganaspendragonss, @alilypea, @alidravana, @ravens-words, @aliceschuyler, @laelipoo, @breannacasey and everyone in our little discord family! this fic couldn't have been done without you, and i'm so grateful for all of you.

here, have the last offering of the fic™ until july... it's angsty, as you might have already guessed.

“What’s wrong is that I don’t have an answer to give Jonah whenever he asks me about why you guys aren’t in our lives anymore,” TK replies, voice tinged with something that’s rawer than pure feeling. Carlos stares at him wide-eyed. “What’s wrong is that I wish you��d be there but I know that I fucked up and I don’t deserve you, or Leyre, or the happiness we had. What’s wrong—” he trails off for a second, looking down at his feet until he seems to muster up enough courage to look back up at Carlos, who’s entranced by the passion that oozes from TK’s words. “What’s wrong is that every morning and every night,” TK continues slowly, deliberately, as though he’s measuring every single sound that comes out of his mouth, “I lie in bed wondering why you’re not beside me. That’s what’s wrong.”

23 notas. Fecha de publicación: 5 de junio de 2022

wip wednesday

i'm presenting you today a new snippet of my 911ls big bang, that is slowly but steadily growing. now over 7k!

TK wakes up on the day of his wedding to fingers jabbing into his skin. He groans; he went to bed last night relatively late after spending most of his time after rehearsals playing board games with Jonah. It's way too early for anyone to be trying to wake him up so unceremoniously.

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty," Jonah says, his childish voice cheery and clear. "It's time for breakfast!"

"Oh, is it now?" TK replies, cracking his eyes open in time to see Jonah hovering over him. "C'mere, Jonah," he coaxes. He reaches out, but Jonah playfully bats his hand away.

"Not Jonah here," he says, faking a deep voice. TK smiles at the giggles that follow.

"Not Jonah? Then who are you?" he plays along.

"The Cookie Monster!" Jonah shrieks, dropping his whole weight on top of TK. For a moment they're both a pile of flailing limbs until TK decides on attacking instead of defending, and he launches himself into tickling his brother.

"Aaaah, the Cookie Monster is attacking me!" he cries out. "Time for revenge!"

It's not long before Jonah is reduced to a panting, laughing puddle over TK's covers. He smiles softly at his little brother, hair spiked in all directions and still laughing. "That wasn't fair," Jonah accuses him.

"All's fair in war."

"This wasn't war!" Jonah sticks his tongue out to him. “You were attacking an innocent child.”

TK tickles him some more before allowing Jonah to just lie down with his head on TK’s chest and his arms pinning him to the bed. He thinks it’s nice to have his little brother around. He should ask Enzo to bring Jonah over more often, even though he knows that his schedule is all over the place most of the time. But maybe now that Alex is finally finishing his tour and they’re starting a new page of their life together, TK can settle down enough for Jonah to start spending more time at the penthouse.

Maybe that way Jonah may get to know Alex and stop hating on him.

24 notas. Fecha de publicación: 9 de marzo de 2022

the dream of someone else

[4,700 words] [teen and up audiences] [beta’ed by @moviegeek03. you're the best, brit. i wouldn't have finished this without you.] [title from you’ve got mail] [carlos reyes, tk strand, original female characters] [alternate universe — college, alternate universe — coffee shop, alternating povs, carlos is a criminal studies major, tk is a health science major, vandalizing of public property, alternate universe — movie setting, loosely based on you’ve got mail au, mentions of past drug addiction, mentions of recovery] [written for @911auweekend, day 1: not your average coffee shop au, day 3: outsider’s pov tinder date au, day 4: writer’s choice and for my good things happen bingo square coffee shop au]

[carlos reyes wasn’t expecting a penpal out of his busy mornings studying at the cafeteria. tk strand hadn’t expected anyone to reply to his message left on a table out of boredom and struggling.]

the dream of someone else on ao3

The cafeteria is bursting with life when Carlos sets foot in the place, ready for a quick break in between his classes. He’s spent the past three weeks holed up in his room trying to finish one of his essays, and he’s made it in time, so he thinks he deserves a reward. However, he would have liked for the place to be a bit quieter. He eyes the tables warily until he sees one free table further inside the cafeteria. He makes a beeline for the table, dropping his messenger bag on top of it noisily. Whatever happens now, this table is his now.

He knows he needs to leave the bag on the table to go order, and he isn’t really so keen on doing so, but he doesn’t want to give up his table and he desperately needs caffeine. He grabs his wallet, checks that nobody would want to steal his secondhand Introduction to Psychology textbook, and runs to the counter. For all the people boisterously chatting across the cafeteria, the baristas are not too busy, so he gets his coffee and a bagel in record time and rushes back to his table. His messenger bag is still on top of the table, and it doesn’t look like anybody has come even close to it. He sighs, falling down on the chair while managing not to spill his coffee, and takes his book out of the bag.

Carlos opens the book at the page he last marked, realizing he needs to take more notes from the book than he initially expected. He huffs; he’s been attending class these past weeks, but the stress of having to hand in an essay on Violence in Society has made him slack in his other classes. He needs to be ready for his class in around an hour and a half — he’s still cursing the planning he made at the beginning of the year, but he thought it’d be great to have such a span of time to relax and do nothing. If he could travel back in time and tell Carlos from three months ago that he wouldn’t have a moment to himself even with the ninety-minute gap between Introduction to Criminal Justice and Introduction to Psychology. He’s grateful that the building where he has most of his classes holds a cafeteria so he doesn’t have to run around campus and waste a lot of time. He skims over the last of the notes he took in class, which should be complementing the ones he takes out of his book, and reads that, according to what he jotted down a week ago, the professor announced they would be paired up for an upcoming project today.

Carlos doesn’t really want to work with anyone these days. He’s a perfectionist, he doesn’t like how other people work, and he ends up taking more than he can manage in order to finish the assignment in time. He’s been lucky to ditch working with peers for the past three months; he guesses his lucky streak ends this afternoon.

With a shake of his head, he focuses back on his textbook. He notices that the paper where he’s been writing down a few ideas is almost full, so he puts the book downwards and sticks his hand into the half-open messenger bag on top of the table. He fishes for a notebook and his pencil case, only to come up with just the former. He mutters to himself, “I know I put it somewhere in here,” before proceeding to turn the bag upside down — careful as to not slosh his coffee out of the cup. The movement makes the few contents inside the bag spill over the table, and as he finally sees his pencil case, falling onto the surface with a thud that gets somewhat lost in the background noises of the cafeteria, he also notices there’s scribble on the table.

He frowns. He isn’t one for vandalizing public furniture, but the presence of whatever message that’s on the surface makes him feel a bit icky about the cleanliness of the cafeteria. “What the—” he refrains himself from swearing, still under the spell of his mother’s words about gentlemen and swearing. He leans in, face almost against the wooden surface, so he can read the black-inked words, so different from his usual chicken scratch.

Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.

He repeats the words slowly in a soft voice, for fear that someone might overhear him and think he’s gone crazy. They roll nicely on his tongue, and the message behind them reaches Carlos’ heart. He’s moved by the force of the verses, which he recognizes are from Henley, and before he knows it he’s grabbing a sharpie and writing in the best handwriting he can muster the following verses to the poem.

In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed.

He feels a wave of accomplishment at having followed the poem with the next few verses — conveniently forgetting he’s just written on public property with permanent ink — and sets to re-read his book and jot down a few notes that could help him study for his test.

There's a calmness in the cafeteria right before closing time that TK cherishes. He spends his days running around campus, attending classes or volunteering at the in-campus LGTBQIA+ association he discovered during his very first day of college. And, since about a week ago, he's had to juggle that with having to meet with Carlos Reyes for their joint Psychology project.

Sometimes he hates his life.

He waves at his favorite barista, who's wiping down at the counter, before he approaches her. "Hey, Anne," he greets, leaning onto the surface. "How's the day been?"

"Hectic as always." Anne smiles at him. "Your usual? I can even throw an avocado and Philadelphia bagel in it."

"You haven't run out of them today?" TK beams at her. Those are his favorite treats, but his schedule doesn't allow him to be at the cafeteria before everyone else's gone through the supplies of avocado and Philadelphia bagels.

"Let's say I got one for you," Anne tells him with a wink. "C'mon, TK, I'll bring you your coffee and your bagel to your table."

"You're the best!" He lifts his fingers to his lips to send her an air kiss before turning to his usual table by the far end of the place.

He flops down on the chair, immediately checking the surface for new words. TK knows he shouldn't have done it, but he'd come to the cafeteria one night after his weekly meeting at the local NA — a requirement from his parents in order for him to go to college three thousand miles away from them — and he hadn't felt all that good. He'd taken out his sharpie, and before he'd known it, he'd been scribbling down the first four verses of his favorite poem about remaining whole in the face of adversity. He'd needed the reminder. Anne had almost had a conniption when she'd seen how he'd written on the table.

But, the following night, TK had found the next four verses of the poem scribbled beneath his own four, and his heart had done a giddy somersault. He doesn't know who's behind the chicken scratch, but for a whole week straight he's been exchanging verses and messages. It's been a wild seven days, and there's been some sort of weird comfort in the knowledge that there's been someone at the other end of a sharpie ready to read TK's thoughts and whines.

He checks the surface, but the wood looks pristine — not a single word inked in black and blue.

Anne comes by with his coffee and his bagel, and sighs when he looks up at her helplessly. "Anne—" he begins, but she cuts him off.

"I couldn't stop it," she explains with a shrug after she's left his coffee mug and his bagel with so much as a small droplet of liquid sloshed on the otherwise clean table. "I know it's been some sort of escape these past days, but my manager said she couldn't afford having any table littered like that."

"It's not—" TK bit his lip before raising his voice. He's gone to enough anger management sessions to recognize the signals and try to appease them by breathing in deeply through his nose and exhaling through his mouth before continuing, "I didn't think when I started doing it. I'm sorry. But this is the only way I could communicate with this person," he says in a small voice. He doesn't even know if he's penpalling with a guy or a girl, but he knows the other person might as well be his soulmate, be it romantic or platonic.

"What about you stick to post-it notes?" Anne suggests. "You can place it under the table, make sure it doesn't fall down."

"If it isn't on the surface, how will the other person know where to look?" he asks, frowning. He has a stack of post-it notes, but he isn't sure the glue on the paper will hold for longer than a few minutes. "And won't it be taken away anyway?"

"What's under the table isn't checked that often," Anne offers. "Plus, Abigail from the morning shift thinks she knows who your penpal is," she continues in a conspiratorial voice. "She can always explain where to find the next note."

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30 notas. Fecha de publicación: 22 de marzo de 2022

Mi publicación más popular de 2022

the fire within

[1,718 words] [teen and up audiences] [beta'ed by @meloingly] [mateo chavez, judd ryder, captain tatum (house 129), captain andrews (house 122)] [character study, angst, spoilers for s03e02, mentions of collapsed buildings, mentions of rescues, mateo-centric]

[the fire has robbed him of so many things. the fire gave and the fire took, and mateo isn't about to let the flames burning in his soul consume him without having fought back.]

the fire within | on ao3

a sense of family series

Mateo wakes up every morning right with his alarm. He gets out on the bed, steps into the ensuite bathroom in the room that was TK’s but it's now his, brushes the morning breath out of his teeth, and comes back outside ready to make the bed. It's his routine — his schedule for every single day that he's got a shift, no matter his schedule, he never fails. It's simple and yet effective; he's never been late a day in his life, not even when his teachers back at school thought he wasn't the most brilliant pea in the pod and he was lacking motivation. He likes having a structure in his life, and he's been thankful for his ingrained habit ever since the 126 station had been red-tagged for demolition.

He wakes up. He brushes his teeth. He makes his bed. He has some oatmeal and orange juice. He grabs his keys and drives to the 129 firehouse every single shift.

He still feels empty inside.

Switching firehouses — being cast separately from the rest of his friends at the 126 — has taken a toll on him. It'd taken him so long to actually believe in himself, in his abilities, and he'd needed Captain Strand and his northern vision to flourish. He'd found a family in the 126, in the outcasts and the abandoned, in the diversity that painted every single corner of the building with bright colors of acceptance and tolerance. He’d felt like he belonged, for the first time in his life — like there was nothing wrong with him, like he was worthy of being loved. When the 126 got closed, the building fit for rezoning, he thought they had a chance at fighting. He thought they could overcome anything if they stayed together.

He’d been so wrong.

They’d drifted away from the very beginning. Paul, Judd and Marjan had been placed together at the 122, and TK and Nancy had followed Captain Vega first to save the world during a dust storm and then into the private sector so they could remain together. Captain Strand had accepted some position in the higher-up ranks as to be able to get the 126 up and running through a shortcut that, instead of working, backfired on them when Billy Tyson used Captain Strand’s arguments to demolish their hopes and their future.

Captain Strand had demolished Tyson with a well-placed right hook, and that had been the beginning of the end.

And he — he’d become stranded at the 129, with people who hadn’t respected them in the beginning, but who had learned to treat him like a human being after saving his new Captain’s life out of a sense of duty; not because he thought the Captain deserved to be saved when he’d given him so much grief, but because this was — is — who he really is. A first responder. A firefighter.

A damn hero like the movies he loves so much.

Not that he feels much like it right now, in front of the collapsed building that once was Providence Pasture Church, waiting on Captain Andrews from the 122 and Captain Tatum — his own Captain, now — to tell them what to do. He can’t stop replaying the exact moment when the building crumbled around Paul, engulfing his brother-in-fire and sequestering him from the light and the safety of the open spaces around the building. Objectively, he knows the dangers they all face every single day — he’s learned the hard way exactly what they might encounter out there during a call, after what happened to Tim — but it’s very different to see it happening to one of his own. With Tim, he’d been far from the scene, Captain Strand being the only one who actually witnessed the ball of fire impacting against Tim’s chest. With Paul, he’s seen first-hand the collapsed roof giving out beneath Paul; he’s been witness to Paul disappearing in a mist of rubble and dust.

It’s giving him a headache.

“Cap, we gotta get in there before USAR boys put a red tag on the whole building,” Judd is almost shouting at his Captain, who’s having none of that. Captain Andrews goes off about how it’d be safer for all people involved to let the building be red-tagged and start a snail-paced rescue who’d end up being a recovery instead. He sees the moment Judd snaps, the vein in his neck pulsating against his skin as he spits, “Well, with all due respect, Sir, that would take a couple of days.”

“That’s better than the roof of Damocles crashing down on your heads right now,” Captain Tatum retaliates, looking really satisfied at his punch line. His radio cracks to life, a voice requesting his attention, and that’s the moment Captain Andrews chooses to intervene again.

“Judd, you saw what happened the last time we went in. We don't even know Paul or that girl's status. Much less where they are in the pile.”

Judd looks crestfallen for a second, but if Mateo knows him well enough — and he does, because he’s grown up with the old 126 — Judd’s just gearing up for a comeback. “Okay, well, hey, Cap, Cap, Cap, Cap,” he begins, almost breathlessly, gesturing back to where Lindsey’s parents are shivering under the snow. “Hey, look, if we lose their little girl, I wanna be able to look 'em in the eye and say to 'em we did everything we could to save her. And right now,” he continues, “we cannot do that. However, if we go in there and we're quick and we tread lightly, we can take a look around before USAR shuts this whole scene down.”

There’s a pregnant silence, heavy with all the words that are kept unsaid between them, like a wordless conversation that Mateo is still trying to figure out. “Okay,” Captain Andrews concedes. “But if they make the call I want your word, you get your butts out of there right away."

For a moment, Mateo fears Judd's just going to flip off his Captain, but after some tense seconds, he says, "Deal."

Captain Tatum chooses that moment to come back, announcing that the 129 is required somewhere else — Mateo isn't paying enough attention. He's staring back at the building, debris and smoke in equal parts calling his name.

"Chavez," he hears Captain Tatum calling him. "You got a wax build-up? Your house is on the move."

Mateo stares back at him. Suddenly, the whole world has slowed down enough that he can feel the twitching of the Earth under the soles of his boots. He can feel the icy bite of the snow already plummeting from the skies. He dares a glance at the collapsed structure, the broken metal a heap of devastation in front of his eyes.

The fire has robbed him of so many things. The fire took the house he shared with his inconsiderate roommates, but it gave him a home with Captain Strand. The fire sent the 126 tumbling down in between well-placed explosions, but it provided him with a renewed sense of purpose. The fire destroyed Carlos’ condo, but it gave Mateo a new family to come back home to. But when the fire that burned deep within them had finally caught in flames around them — sending millions of sparks igniting around TK as Carlos finally walked out barely hours before Captain Strand made a beeline for Hill Country — then the fire had given Mateo anything but grief and despair.

The fire gave and the fire took, and Mateo isn't about to let the flames burning in his soul consume him without having fought back.

He’s a phoenix rising from the dust that settled in his soul when he got swept away from the place he called home. He’s a supernova ready to explode.

He makes the decision in the split second that takes him to understand the difference between duty and love.

"The 129 may be my house," he says clearly, shocking everyone. He’s staring at his captain straight in the eye. "But Paul's my family.” He takes a deep breath, but he’s not backing down. If anything, he’s soaring. “I have to help rescue him, sir.”

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31 notas. Fecha de publicación: 16 de enero de 2022

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