From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series / Mexican Honeymoon but make it fluffy / Rated T / 400 words / prompt: citrus / AO3
what am I supposed to do, but sink my teeth in you?
“It’s not an orange, it’s a tangerine,” she informs him dryly.
“Oh, well excuse me, Miss Tangerine Queen. How ignorant of me not to know the difference.”
Kate rolls her eyes and pops another wedge in her mouth. He’s in a mood to tease, and it’s probably better that she keeps her mouth occupied or he’d be picking on her the whole way.
But an old memory surfaces - Scott, she thinks wistfully - and the temptation is too great to resist. Trying to keep a straight face, she pushes the wedge in front of her teeth with her tongue. And she waits.
He glances over a second later, catching her eye. Blinks. Stares.
She’s doing her best not to giggle. Waggling her brows, she silently dares him to say something.
“You,” he finally declares, “are a certified dork.”
“What,” she replies innocently, voice muffled. Then she slurps it down, a wet sound in the small space of the car. She is not embarrassed. “Watch the road,” she adds.
Seth makes a noise low in his throat. He stretches, wedging a knee between the steering wheel and door. His hands aren’t even on the wheel. But they’re still going straight, which soothes her somewhat. Show-off.
She rolls her eyes, popping another slice in absentmindedly, and isn’t expecting it when he reaches over.
Blinking, she looks around, just in time for him to grab her face in one hand and pull her in. She goes unresisting, eyes wide, and he kisses her, mouth opening hers wide, tongue sweeping inside and scooping up the piece of tangerine. He sucks it out of her mouth with a wet pop, and her entire body flushes as she watches him chew.
He smirks at her, licking the juice off his lips.
She swallows. “Are you allowed to do that?” She whispers a little unsteadily, eyes on his mouth. That same mouth had been saying and doing things to her a few hours earlier that she’d never dared imagine before; she’s still so new to all this. She doesn’t know the rules, if there even are any at this point.
She licks her own lips, and it’s there; sweet, sharp - and realizes he tastes like her now.
He leans back in his seat, grinning. “Baby,” he says lazily, stretching out like a cat, knee coming down from the wheel so that nothing’s touching it, “you have no fuckin’ idea.”
Tagged by @violettathepiratequeen thank youuuuuu 🩷🩷🩷 !!!
Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don't be shy and share anyway!
A note: many of these have not been published yet and are WIPS. But they ARE all projects I am currently - if slowly - working on.
You can go to my ao3 for the published ones.
1. "Chosen" as a stand-in til I can think of a good title - btvs/from dusk til dawn crossover fic; sethkate; spuffy
One thing that stands out is how the temperature dropped that day in late spring. She does remember that she’d been outside for most of it, pretending the low hanging branches of the oaks were villainous pirates that she hacked at with her pretend sword. Daddy wouldn’t let her go to the creek by herself, and he was busy working on a sermon. Mama was doing…something. Laying down, maybe, or making dinner. Nothing too special.
Except the temperature drop. She remembers that part vividly. The shadows were just growing long in the backyard, the trees’ stretching past hers by miles. She was swinging her sword around and around, listening to the wind whistle around it. Then, the cold. It curled across her bare shoulders, reached chilly fingers around her spindly little legs. At first she didn’t take much notice, distracted as she was. Wanting to hear more whistling, she began to twirl in place, stick held out straight in front of her. Laughing, she spun round and round on her heels, delighted at the noise, heedless of the creeping cold.
Then the thought took hold: what if she let go? How far could she make her sword fly? So. She let go.
At first she didn’t even see where her stick had gone; there was a dull crunch, and then…then came the cold. She shuddered convulsively, as if she’d dipped herself in an icy stream. Wrapping her little arms around herself, she remembered to look for her stick.
The long, skinny limb stood quivering right in the center mass of the oak tree at the far end of the yard. Curious, she took a shivery step forward, and then another, and finally came up to it. At first she didn’t understand what she was seeing. A knot in the tree seemed to have caught the stick, which stuck straight out.
It took her another minute before she realized: her sword wasn’t just caught on the knot. It was stuck halfway in it.
Her six-year-old self hadn’t thought too much of this beyond, well, now what will i do for a sword? Then she had the idea that she could maybe pull the thing out, like the Sword in the Stone. So she ran up to it, and wrapped her little fist around the stick - for some reason she could still feel the way the bark had scraped at her palm, the way her muscles bunched and flexed from her shoulder down her arm to her wrist, and she yanked -
The entire thing crumbled in her hands. Blinking down at the shattered wood that lay scattered across the toes of her sneakers, she felt tears inexplicably welling up. A shiver stole through her.
It was still very cold.
2. If I had a heart - asoiaf fic; pre-relationship sansan
He'd had his fill of nobility for the night. Pointless gestures and wasted words had done their damage; he had done his duty, and for what. To satisfy the golden prince, the brat he was slowly, uncomfortably beginning to realize would make as decent a king as Aerys himself. He did not care. He should not care.
With a snarl, he spat to the side as he made his way towards the darkened stables. Enough of people. He would rather pass what was left of the night among those that required nothing from him but a pat and a handful of hay. No breath required, no milords or your graces, no weapons or fists or armor.
Besides, he hadn't had time to properly clean either his gear or Stranger of that boy's innards. The stable boys no doubt had tried, but his gear was most likely destined to stink of butcher boy for weeks.
His destrier was situated in a far stall, away from the palfreys and mares, lest he be set off. All the big bastard wanted was to fight and fuck, and he couldn't blame him - it was all he wanted to do as well.
They were well suited, he and Stranger. As a yearling, years and years ago now, the stallion had cracked his right foreleg after picking a fight with the older, more seasoned gelding in the paddock adjacent to him. Lord Tywin had wished him to be put down - most horses with that sort of injury were no good as mounts, much less for being ridden into battle. The younger Sandor, more impetuous and outspoken then, had argued for the colt's life, swearing up and down that he would make it worth the Lannisters' coin, and that he'd see to the animal himself if he proved too far gone.
He knew why he'd done it; he wasn't in the business of lying to himself. From an early age the destrier had proved to have a wicked temper, and he stood out from the other spring foals with his size and ferocity. His mam had died giving birth to the bastard, and though he had allowed another mare to wetnurse him, he repaid her poorly, with strong teeth and sharp hooves. When he had been ready for breaking, he had been separated in a training paddock, neighbor to a calmer, older beast, all according to procedure. It had proven to be an unwise decision.
So he had nursed the damned thing himself, seeing to his treatment and recovery, taking precious time and coin out of the Lannister's pockets - so Lord Tywin had pointed out. Yet he had allowed it, the beast had recovered, and Sandor paid back the time spent by putting himself and his newly acquired mount to work. Skirmishes and tourneys were won - at least the tourneys without Ser Jaimie in attendance - and he had eventually been granted the privilege of guarding the young Prince and Princess.
Then Tommen had come along, and rather than being stretched thin between the three heirs, Tywin had made the decision to have him sworn to Joff.
3. Unnamed 90s HS AU - From Dusk Til Dawn AU; mainly SethKate, some RichieKate
She eyed herself critically in the mirror: Hello Kitty babydoll tee, olive cargo pants and some shiny black Doc Martens. All new, all not-Kate. At least, not Kate-from-Bethel. She’d used some of the money the Geckos had given her for the Docs, the rest of her new wardrobe was from her allowance. Not that there was much of one, anymore. Daddy didn’t earn nearly as much as he used to. The rest of the money she’d earned - and she had earned it, lying wasn’t usually one of her strengths and it had taken a lot for her to go through with it - she put away in her ceramic teddy bear bank. For a rainy day.
Heaving a sigh, Kate cast one more anxious eye over herself before shrugging into her baby pink windbreaker, zipping it up over the shrunken tee shirt. Hungover or not, if Daddy saw it he’d have a conniption. And she was determined to be this new Kate, Kate who lied for petty thieves and snuck into movie theaters and didn’t hide behind her fingers every time there was a gun on-screen. Everything was different now. She was different.
She went and gathered up her father from his post in the la-z-boy, and Scott from his room - it looked as if he’d used up an entire bottle of gel on his hair, so not attractive, but who was she to tell him that? - and off they went.
4. With Teeth - Van Helsing; MASSIVELY AU; future Julius/Vanessa
The noises had been coming from a warehouse three places down from the bar, situated right in the middle of the run-down block. Behind him skulked Cole, the weedy little man that had come to fetch him. Kept an eye on things so the rest of them didn’t run amok in the streets announcing themselves to all and sundry. Some nights were more difficult than others – tonight, for example.
Cole had seen the three teens slinking into the place moments before; usually not something worth mentioning, as the place had been abandoned for a few years now. But he’d spotted what they had with them, and that – that had been worth mentioning. If those knuckleheads got any of them caught, he would personally stake them down on a roof somewhere and let them watch their last sunrise.
You didn’t touch little kids. Full stop. Dmitri’s rule, Dmitri’s reasoning. It was part of what kept them safe and hidden. People kicked up a fuss over missing kids, and there were plenty of other ways to get your food, one of which he’d just been enjoying. The busty Hispanic girl was a regular down in the Pit; bought and paid for, to better fund her habits. When Cole had come up behind him, he’d very nearly taken his head off. Fucking rude, interrupting someone’s dinner.
Well, he was just going to have to return the favor, wasn’t he. If those brats had been fed on, he’d have to kill them, if they weren’t dead already. That was the rule. The only living witnesses were those paid to keep their silence, in one form of currency or another. The system was in place for a perfectly practical reason, and it worked.
He stopped a few yards away from the dock entrance; one of the accordion doors was partially open, leaving a good couple of feet of clearance. Sloppy, he thought in irritation. Then he cocked his head, sure he’d heard –
A scream cut through the humid night air, and was silenced just as abruptly. It was followed by a tremendous crash, wood splintering, as if a body had been thrown into something, then the brassy clang of something metal hitting the floor.
5. Secondhand Sparks - Transformers; MikaelaxSam; MikaelaxBarricade (this is the unreleased chapter 8!!)
"What's my name?"
It took Mikaela a moment to swallow past the guilt in her throat. "That's the thing, see. Um. What…would you like to be called?"
He was very still as he stood gazing out the bay window. Slowly his hands clenched into fists at his side, his head lowering. "I used to have a name, didn't I? I feel as if I did. I couldn't have just come from nowhere."
She took a deep breath through her nose, and edged closer to him, coming to stand by his side. She looked out at the island, the shrubbery and sand and trees in the distance. Past it all was the ocean, glittering in the sinking sunlight. She thought about where he had come from, and what he might have brought with him from wherever that was. She shrugged crookedly, wrapping her arms around herself. For the life of her, she couldn’t think of a thing to say to him that wasn't a pleasant lie.
"I've been attempting to access memory files. Files that apparently don't exist. How do I know where they should be? And why do they no longer exist?
And if I could, why do I feel as if I should be furious?"
Her eyes and throat burned. She shook her head. "It's in the past. You have a chance at a new life here. A new beginning. You can be whoever you want to be."
A beat, then he cut his optics towards her. "Why did you create me?"
A breath that was more of a sob rose in her throat. "Because…" because I was bored, because I wanted to prove to myself and everyone else that I wasn't just the girlfriend, because I could. God, I'm such an idiot. "Because we need you. You are…special. You are very special. There are things you can do that no one else can. If you help us - " Then what? Why should he? Give him something, Mickey, anything.
6. Stolen - 10th Kingdom; Princess Riding Hood III x OMC
The horses were growing tired; just in time, for the sun had begun to set. Behind her she could hear Master Tomas’ gelding huffing as he pulled himself up the hillside, and her own mount was lathered in sweat. She could see her breath coming in little white puffs in front of her. Vee couldn’t wait until they set up camp for the night, so she could settle into her luxurious fur-lined bedroll and doze in front of a roaring fire.
The princess tugged on her cloak, pulling it up around her neck to ward off the chill. Autumn in her kingdom was a beautiful time of year, but the cold was one aspect she had never enjoyed. She rose up in her stirrups, impatient to get a better look at the top of the hill they aspired to. They were so close! The copse of grandfather oak trees hid the small hunting lodge, but she knew it was there. Her toes curled in weary excitement, eagerly awaiting a respite from numbness.
Master Tomas finally caught up with her, reining in his mount to keep pace. “I see that you are as eager as I to sit back and enjoy some roast duck.”
Vee flashed him a smile, half-hidden beneath her red cape. “And I see that you still can think of nothing but your stomach.”
The elderly man, thin as a sapling and spry as a man a third his age, shook his head in mock disappointment. “Tsk. Young lady, we do not speak of such primitive bodily functions. It is unbefitting of a princess!”
From behind them came a snort. “Yer fighting a losin’ battle, old man. Girl’s more of a barbarian than the barbarians.” Weapons-master Kent put his two Royal Reds in.
The teacher and pupil turned as one to stare down the grizzled older man, who sat grinning atop his mare. The weapons-master was one of the very few who dared speak that way of the royal family, but the man was as much a member of the household as Master Tomas. Both had instructed the Princess since before she could walk, and never let a chance pass by to remind her of it.
Tomas’ mouth pursed. “You would know, wouldn’t you,” he retorted with a sniff. Vee stifled a giggle in her muffler as the two continued to bicker, and she turned back around to watch as her mount gained more ground. Her mother always said those two reminded her more of an old married couple than anything, and she was inclined to agree. They never saw eye to eye on much of anything, unless she did something wrong – which unfortunately happened more frequently than she cared to admit.
Finally they hit the plateau, and she sat back in her saddle gratefully, letting her legs and back relax from the uphill climb. She popped her spine quickly before Tomas could catch her, and craned her neck to watch as the last of the entourage caught up to them. She knew there were at least two other riders in the trees below them, rear and flanking guards that would remain by the perimeter of the campsite.
7. better days (just around the corner) - Asoiaf; pre-sansan
Shae came bounding into the room. "What, what? Is it another roach?" She waved her magazine around threateningly. "I came prepared this time!"
Sansa groaned; apparently she'd shrieked louder than she thought. "No, Shae, and put that down before you take out my lamp. It didn't do anything to you."
Her roommate scowled, tossing her copy of Highgarden Glamor on to the bed. "Then what? That was even louder than the time you got your invite to Loras Tyrell's birthday gala."
With a sigh, Sansa finally let go of her waistband, and gestured to the jeans that currently hung open around her hips. "Do you remember the last time I wore these?" Shae would know. She had an eye for clothes like Arya did for cars.
Shae's brows flew towards her hairline. She leaned back, eyeing Sansa critically. "Half a moon ago, brunch with 'Randa. Why? Wait." Slowly she circled, coming around to Sansa's other side, and together they studied her reflection in the full length mirror.
Other than the jeans, she was clad only in a loose green camisole. Was that feeling snug as well? To her horror, Sansa felt her eyes burn. Oh, gods no, I refuse to cry over this. It's ridiculous.
Shae was looking at her waist, at the opened waistband. "They don't fit." She was nothing if not blunt. But it was still better than Arya. Gods, if her sister was here, she wouldn't have dared make such a fuss. Arya would have laughed her ass off. At least her's is nice and skinny.
That was unkind. She willed the tears to go away, and rubbed her hands over her face, groaning. "Not so much, no," she said to her palms.
8. To the Rythym of Eternity - asoiaf; sansan
She leaves the necklace on her nightstand, in her pretty pink clam shaped dish reserved for her day’s worn jewelry. As she turns off the lamp, she swears she can see the rubies glittering in the sudden dark, on the backs of her eyelids. She really should put it away, but, as it had all night, something stops her. It feels right to keep it near her.
Tonight, she dreams.
—-----
In the dream it is so clear: she is not dreaming.
—-----
The snow is familiar. Home, she thinks. But the castle - a keep, a fortress, really - is not. She knows this place, but only as a museum. In it there are glass cases with delicate brass placards that dryly list the contents. Tapestries, painstakingly repaired or replicated, hang throughout. Deep blue velvet ropes that politely tell the visitors to keep their hands off the priceless, delicate heirlooms, please.
Instead, there is life. Overflowing, overwhelming. The smell of musty hay, many bodies closed in together, wet earth and smoke. And wet dog.
They come bounding around a corner, out of the dark and suddenly there's a weight on her chest and the air leaves her in a startled oomph. Warm and wet invades, swiping at her face, leaving her sputtering and she shoves at it, feeling warm, rough fur and solid muscle.
She teeters, and falls backwards, straight onto her rear. The invading force follows with excited yips and pants. “What in the -”
Someone is laughing. Two someones. She looks up and over the wall of wiggling fur. She can just make out the laughing face of a boy, a thin face under curling dark red hair, and flashing blue eyes that remind her of someone - Bran. And the toddler, a smaller version of him - Rickon.
I know you, her heart says, and she can feel the dissonance in her head - no, I don't, how could I?
Of the two, her heart is resoundingly louder.
9. Undertow - The Legend of Korra; equalist!Korra AU; amorra
Kody grunts in as much pain as irritation, fixing him with a bleary glare. "Just gimme the drugs, Mr. Bossy." She's slurring now, and it looks like she may pass out. He can't allow that; with that head injury, there's a very real chance she might not wake up. He fixes her against the wall where the cot is pushed against, pressing down on her shoulders for a brief moment to ensure that she stays put. She mutters something incoherent but most likely disparaging of his intelligence, and he nods in satisfaction, releasing her.
The penicillin is first, quickly followed by the painkillers. Kody doesn't even flinch when the shots are administered, which is somewhat worrying; she hates hospitals and any and all sharp objects correlating to such. He swabs the punctures quickly, and continues to undress her.
The uniform is made to be form-fitting, which makes it that much more difficult to slide her out of it. Her lashes flutter closed two different times, only to be jostled back open when he comes across a particularly savaged area.
Fucking Satomobiles. Right now he wishes the damned things had never been invented, and that Sato himself were here so that he could bend the genius straight out of him.
By the time he's finished removing her uniform, all the while calmly going through a mental litany of curses, she's more alert. And smiling. The painkillers must be kicking in.
She beams up at him, reaching out to pat his shoulder. "Normally," she says, still slurring a little, "I'd object to this, but I think I'm dying. At least I can say one man has seen me naked."
This isn't the strangest thing he's ever heard her say, but he still chokes, a laugh forcing its way through. He shakes his head at her, bemused, and starts peeling the uniform away from her upper body. Then her words actually make sense, and he stops cold for a second, hands hovering over her chest binding. She's never been with a man. Despite his iron control, he hesitates a moment longer, taking in her blown pupils and drowsy grin. His fingers curl into fists briefly, and he takes a sharp breath to regain his equilibrium. Time enough to think on that later. He finishes undressing her, doing his level best to maintain professional distance.
The right side of her chest is mottled and bruised from the seatbelt, and her belly is the same. Some good it did her; seconds after the initial crash the belt had snapped, and then the vehicle had continued its forward movement, and rolled twice. And then landed on its roof. Fucking metalbenders hadn't even stopped to check to see if they had been injured; they'd moved on to apprehend the mobile full of Chi blockers behind them. He realizes he shouldn't be as upset over that as he is; after all, it had allowed them to escape while the police had been busy elsewhere. His own wounds aren't nearly as severe; his belt hadn't snapped.
9. Jericho - fdtd; season 2 au; sethkate
Though they physically shared a bed, this was the first time she’d been in his lap since those first nightmarish days after the Twister. She had missed it, though she’d scolded herself not to.
She lay sprawled in front of him, back to chest, legs draped across each other in a warm tangle. She could feel his heartbeat thrumming through her limbs, he had her pressed so firmly against him.
The Terminator was playing on the old box TV in front of the bed, dubbed in Spanish, but Seth knew the movie back to front and kept saying the lines over in English. It was low-key adorable, though she faked exasperation to save face. She’d never seen it before - sleepovers mostly consisted of horror movies and raunchy rom-coms, not action flicks. It seemed pretty interesting, and Seth kept her informed whenever she started to get lost.
She popped another sour gummy worm in her mouth and chewed slowly, letting the light sting flood her mouth with saliva before swallowing it down. She was halfway through the bag, though it wasn’t entirely her doing; Seth kept ‘helping,’ relieving her of the green and orange ones with zeal. He was lucky she preferred the blue and red ones, and she told him so.
He kept his hands laced over her stomach when he wasn’t sneaking her candy; she could feel their heat through the material of the hoodie that was actually his. He kept drawing abstract patterns across her belly with his fingertips, and she did her best to ignore the flurry of - not butterflies, don’t say butterflies - something that shivered through her every time his fingers made a pass over her. She prayed he didn’t notice.
I'll tag @the-archivist-14 so they can show off some of their work. It can be wips or just random Snippets like mine!
✦ missing scene from good men die, too (I'd rather be with you). Yes, the High School AU; they're all teens in this. Yes, it's cringe. Do Not Perceive Me. | AO3
truancy for beginners
Kate pushed herself off the pillar, wobbling slightly. Laughing, Richie caught her, steadying her with a lingering touch. She grabbed at his hands, holding tight, and with a smirk he slowly drew her out onto the pathway, letting her get her bearings.
Sunlight flickered through the leaves overhead, dappling them as he finally let go of her waist, but she still clung to him, fingers clamped tight over his. She wobbled again, the inline skates awkward on her feet.
“You’re thinking too much,” Richie laughed, squeezing her hands. “Just move. One-two, like I showed you.”
The park was quiet, the wind in the trees hushed. Nobody was here this Tuesday morning; either at work or school. Skipping had been Richie’s idea, naturally. Seth had grumbled, but caved when Kate, in a fit of whimsy, had pleaded with him. Studying for finals was all well and good, but also killing her slowly. They deserved a break, she told herself.
“I need a helmet,” Kate muttered. Richie grinned.
“Just don’t fall. Problem solved.”
Behind them, Seth snorted. “I still can’t believe preacher’s daughter is skipping class. The world must be ending.”
Kate ignored this in favor of not falling on her ass.
Ahem. It's snippet Sunday; you know what that means!
For everyone who's been waiting for the next chap of Bloom...have a lil slice. :3
bloom
Five years. That’s how long it’s been since he’s had a real drink. Since he’s worn something other than a jumpsuit. Since he’s had a shower all to himself. Since he’s had a good fuck.
He winces to himself, even as he makes his way to the bar. Jesus. Vanessa. He hasn’t given her a second thought since this shitshow with - with the RV started.
It isn’t that he regrets it, exactly. He had already decided, before he’d even gotten out, that they needed to part ways. Trying to get all three of them across the border was too big a gamble, and - fuck. As much as he’d missed her…he hadn’t. Not really. Not the way she thought he did.
They’d had some good times, for sure. But for every good memory, there were about five shitty ones waiting to overshadow it. From smashed dishes across the head to misunderstandings to out-and-out death threats, they had plenty to pick and choose from. He couldn’t go back to that. It had been a pipe dream, something to while away the endless hours on the inside. But as much as he was in the habit of dissembling to himself, when the time had come to leave, he had decided once and for all that a clean break was what was needed. He’d pass on the money, say his goodbyes, and then it would be end scene.
Of course, getting some during the course of those goodbyes had been on his maybe to-do list. He had missed her, after all, and she’d been more than willing. And it was one the only things they’d ever been good at together, really. So he’d gotten his, she’d gotten hers, and that had been the end of it. Where she is now, he hasn’t a clue. Maybe she escaped. Maybe she’s halfway to Florida with her four mil right now, planning on getting that bar. It had been more her dream than his, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t seen the appeal.
Or she could be locked up right now, and that piece of the take is now back in the hands of Uncle Sam. The thought has him gritting his teeth. What a fucking waste, if that’s what happened.
So here he is, in a brand new suit that’s already been through hell and back, and feeling restless, an itch just beneath his skin, despite the quickie.
At least he got his shower. And there’s a fucking bar.
He makes his way towards it, Jacob on his heels. He grabs up a bottle of rotgut tequila, determined to raise his alcohol level tolerance back up to its former glory.
And comes to find out, after a quick back-and-forth with the barkeep, that this is Carlos’ place. His territory. Jesus, this day just keeps getting better and better.
After making a deal with the bartender that he isn’t half as confident in as he portrays, he leads a quietly seething Pastor Fuller back to a table where the rest of his brood is situated. Where she is.
He still can’t think of her by name, much less say it. At any rate, he hasn’t tried to, and that’s just fine with him. Pretty soon she’ll be going one way, and he’ll be going the other, and that will be all there is to it.
That thought sits oddly in his throat, an obstruction he has to swallow around. It stands to reason, he supposes, that yeah, he’d be a little fucked up about that. You wait seventeen years to meet someone - and understand, you already know they’re gonna hate you - but you wait that long, suppressing all kinds of stupid shit: daydreams, little fantasies you’ve constructed in your head, and bitterness starts to creep in. You tell yourself that despite everything else you believe about the world, that one person can’t possibly be your destiny, your sole purpose in life, ‘cause where’s the fun in that? The world is too wide, too vast for it to be narrowed down to the existence of a single, solitary being.
So he keeps reminding himself. Some days it’s easier to lie than others.
But it’s been seventeen years. He’s been waiting all this time, denial or no, and now it’s just - what, wham, bam, thank you ma’am? He doesn’t know a damn thing about her. If ‘Kate’ is short for something. What her favorite dessert is. If she prefers summer or winter. He’s tried so damn hard not to build up a construct of her over the years, but little things have slipped through. For some reason, at one point he had got it in his head that she was, in fact, left-handed like him. Like they’re supposed to be this matching set. Which is a dangerous thing to assume, as it leads down a slippery slope towards hope. No thanks. Seth could do without the Disneyfication of his life.
It’s these thoughts that force his hand. There’s a chair by Jacob. He could have sat there, out of her orbit, far enough away where he couldn’t feel her heat, smell the chlorine in her hair.
Could have. He doesn’t.
Instead he parks himself right beside her, sets the bottle of tequila between them. It puts his back to the majority of the room, which makes him itch between the shoulder blades, but it’s worth it.
I'm saving the cherry pie scene for AO3, forgive me. It's nothing ground-breaking or awe-inspiring, but it is my own version, and I quite like it.
Thanks ever so for reading! ❤️If you enjoyed this, try the whole thing here on tumblr or on AO3.
Yep, it's another missing scene from good men die too. (The 90s teen High School AU) I'm having fun shut up shut UPPP
For @10daysto1k 🩷
From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series / Rated General Audiences / 500 words / prompts: sunset, festival, neon, lyric, roar, blush, cloud / AO3
all the bright things
The sun was sinking beneath the clouds in a haze of pink and gold, a sight Kate appreciated as the three of them plunged into the crowd. She clung to Richie’s hand, as much to anchor herself as to make sure he wouldn’t wander off without them. Seth lagged a few steps behind, head on a swivel.
“So what did you wanna do first?” Richie put his mouth to her ear so she could hear him over the dull roar of the crowd, tugging her along after him down the causeway. The evening air was filled with the smell of popcorn, spun sugar, and too many bodies pressed in together. Kate took a deep breath, letting the scent catch on something old and fond and just out of reach.
She shook it off, focusing on the feel of Richie’s hand in hers. “I want a snack and a stuffed animal,” she declared, clutching him tightly.
“What is this, kindergarten? You gonna need a nap, too, Fuller?” That was Seth.
Kate rolled her eyes, reaching back with her other hand. “Stop with the whole looming bodyguard thing and get up here. I don’t wanna lose you.”
He widened his stride until he drew parallel to them on Kate’s far side. “Not a chance,” he said gruffly, and took her offered hand. She squeezed it, and got a tighter grip in return.
“Cotton candy dead ahead. That work?” Came Richie’s voice near her ear again. She turned, and he was right there, the neon lights reflecting off his glasses and his grin.
“Yes, please,” she beamed up at him.
Then, snack procured, she dragged them off towards the games. “Shooters,” Seth insisted, and Kate agreed.
The balloons popped one after another under Seth’s aim - sharp cracks that cut through the low, constant din of the crowd and rides overhead. Kate and Richie whooped as he nailed the final one.
“Show-off,” she accused, laughing.
“You love it,” Seth said, smirking back at her.
The lights flickered brighter as the last of the sun dipped below the horizon, neon bleeding into everything - pink, blue, electric gold. The air felt thicker now, louder, alive in a way that made her head spin a little.
The airy music swelled - kiss me beneath the milky twilight - and she sighed happily, taking it all in. Arms now full of stuffed tiger, she handed her half-eaten cotton candy to Richie, who proceeded to inhale it.
“Great, he’ll be bouncing off the walls all night,” muttered Seth.
“You’re welcome,” Kate laughed. He tweaked her ponytail in retaliation.
Grinning, Kate hooked a finger into his belt-loop, steadying herself. He went still, and she leaned up, aiming for his cheek.
At the last second he turned, about to speak, and she caught the corner of his mouth instead. She felt his breath catch against her.
Posting this lil idea here first. It's far from done - I need to rewatch the titty twister/temple eps to make sure I've got it all right.
SethKate Soulmate AU reimagining of the show. Older man/younger woman; red string of fate; alcohol/drug use; Mostly canon compliant; Angst and fluff and smut; angst with a happy ending
I’ll tell y'all something: I don’t normally like rehashing canon and going over the same scenes that have already happened, and I don't usually like reading about it, either. AND YET. Here we are. This was begging me to write it, and who am I to deny the muses?
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Bloom
She marvels that whatever eventually comes out of her mouth, no matter how many times she changes it in her head, no matter what she finally chooses…whatever she says will be on that man’s body somewhere. The very thought gives her chills.
And it is inevitable. She felt the mark burn the minute he closed his mouth, the second he was done uttering those damning words. She wonders what it looks like now; tiny, hideous buds of some secret flower furled in their little shells, waiting, with the patience of death itself, to come into bloom.
They’ve been there since birth, the words on her skin. Permanent and unchanging, bright and clear on her forearm: Time’s up, princess. Ominous or reassuring, she’s never been certain. It isn’t Kyle; it never will be. But regardless of whoever she’s got waiting for her down the line, she knows one thing: it’s God’s will.
Six months and one road trip to Hell later, she’s not so sure she even believes in God anymore. How could a loving, benevolent Father have let her family die, let such unnatural creatures walk the earth?
And why, why for the love of all that was holy, would he ever intend her for a man like Seth Gecko?
And I loved her, all of her,
For how i watched her crawl
Beneath my skin and into my
Soul. and I loved her, all of
Her, for how she would glide
Over my dark fields and leave
Trails of roses left to grow.
And I loved her, all of her,
For how she devoured me whole
And made sense of all my bones.
But most of all, I loved her,
All of her, for healing my
Pieces and guiding them all
Back home.
-rm drake
“Come on out, Kate, no point in putting off the inevitable.”
Richie’s voice calls from outside the bathroom door. Kate fumbles at the zipper of her jeans. She’s trying, but her fingers shake so badly she can barely get a hold of anything properly. Fear is an ice-cold fist in her gut; her thoughts are turning themselves in circles. How could this be happening? Who are these men? And why them, why her family? This is something that happens in the movies, not real life.
Eventually she gets the pants situated, wiping her hands down her thighs to get rid of the clammy sweat that’s overtaken her. She looks up into the mirror, into green eyes with pupils shrunken to pinpricks. Tries to swallow, once, twice before it finally works; her mouth and throat are bone dry.
She reaches with trembling fingers for the lock, fumbling for a moment before managing to open it. As it swings open she shrugs into her plaid overshirt, pulling the sleeves down past her fingertips out of habit. The words mean less than nothing, right now, but she can’t help but want to protect that part of herself from these men. Time’s up, Princess, she thinks wanly. And it is. It is.
“Do you, Daddy? Really?”
“Kate, what the hell,” Scott hisses, but the other man, the older one, is speaking now, and she ignores Scott in favor of obeying the man with the gun.
Despite her current feelings towards her Daddy, she can barely stand to watch him go. At least he’s going alone, without a gun at his back. She takes a seat over at the table by the window, folding her hands demurely in her lap. She’ll be a good little hostage, if only for her family’s sake. It’s not like she’s got any kind of superpowers or hidden abilities that will magically get her out of this mess.
Scott and Richie are next, and she’s left with the leader - with Seth. It’s what she heard Richie call him. Richie, that freak that was currently with her little brother. She feels herself heat all over at the thought of the things she’d told him. God, Kate, sure, just blab your deepest darkest secrets to the first cute guy that looks your way! That’s not shallow or desperate at all!
Kyle barely figures into her thoughts; how could he, right now, with so much going on?
Absently she rubs at her wrist, where her mark sits. No, Kyle doesn’t get too much of her time these days, and after yesterday? Screw you, Kyle, she thinks vindictively, and that’s the last she thinks of him for a very long time.
Then she realizes something: she’s barefoot. She’s been running her feet along the carpet, back and forth, the whole time she’s been sitting there. With a little sigh, she reaches down, picking them up from where she had placed them under the table.
As she’s tugging them on she can feel the shift in the man’s focus; he’s watching her now. He’s intense, but in a different way than Richie, who seems to have a few screws loose. This guy likes control, likes power; it’s clear he gets off on it. Whatever his deal is, he’s just as terrifying as his brother.
Obstinately, she makes a meal of tying her shoes, making sure the loops are nice and even, the tongues fully out. She hears him sigh as he watches her. “Oh-kay,” he mutters, as if to himself. Then he clears his throat to get her attention.
“Time’s up, Princess. I think you’ve got ‘em good and tied.”
What.
Her brain. Stalls.
Everything else- her breath, her body, her heart - freezes as well. She doesn’t move from her position bent over her shoes, lips and fingers gone numb. The laces sit pathetically in her limp grasp. Distantly, she feels a dull, burning sensation begin on her inner right wrist.
“Hey, kid, I'm talking to you.”
She jerks back to life at the proximity of his voice. He sounds closer now, and then she sees the tips of his shoes appear in her line of vision. That, more than anything, animates her, and slowly, agonizingly, she sits back up. To her horror, she can feel tears threatening behind her eyelids. She blinks them away frantically. She is not going to cry in front of him.
When she sits up, he nods, twitching the gun towards her. “Good girl.”
Something in her stomach twists painfully. This can’t be happening. Maybe it isn’t. Maybe this is just one of those lucid dreams she’s heard of. Based on her life lately, Mama dying, Daddy guilty of something she’s afraid to put words to - it’s likely she’s cooked up this little fantasy all in her head.
Except. She can’t escape the burning, pinching feeling on her forearm. Something is growing there, she knows with this with a dreadful, all-encompassing certainty. Something damning and repulsive. She couldn’t make this up if she tried.
She can still feel his eyes on her; her skin crawls with the familiarity she feels imbued behind the weight of his gaze. It’s so wrong, it’s - it’s all wrong. This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen.
She was supposed to go to college. Maybe she’d drop her pen in one of her classes, and some handsome coed in front of her would turn around and pick it up for her, smiling a dimpled smile. The test would just have ended, but she’d take it back from him with a smile and she’d try to scribble in just one more answer, and he’d say -
That dream is dust, now. For I eat ashes as my food, and mingle my drink with tears, she thinks dully. The taste of them coat her tongue.
Her wrist still throbs.
He’s talking to her again, completely unaware of the monumental paradigm shift he’s just set off within her. She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, trying to shake off the shock. He. Has. A. Gun. Idiot. She reminds herself savagely. She can’t afford to lose track of anything he says or does. It’s not only her life she’s playing with, now. She has to think of her family.
Oh, God, what would Daddy have to say about all this?
Then she reminds herself that she doesn’t much care what her Daddy thinks at the moment. He may or may not have caused her Mama’s death, and she can’t forget that. She won’t forget that.
But he’s still talking to her. “Did…my brother didn’t," he hesitates, sounding oddly unsettled, "do anything to you, did he?”
That’s…not what she was expecting. Slowly, she shakes her head, eyes rising to meet his.
They’re dark, with thick, fluttery lashes and equally dark, heavy brows. Right now they’re creased in what might be concern, if it were anybody else. There’s something in her, some insidious little voice, telling her to soothe it, to tell him she’s alright. But she can’t speak. If she does, he’ll know. The mark will burn, and bloom, and everything will be in ruins.
She marvels that whatever eventually comes out of her mouth, no matter how many times she changes it in her head, no matter what she eventually chooses…whatever she says will be on that man’s body somewhere. The very thought gives her chills.
And it is inevitable. She felt the mark burn the minute he closed his mouth, the second he was done uttering those damning words. She wonders what it looks like now; tiny, hideous buds of some secret flower furled in their little shells, waiting, with the patience of death itself, to come into bloom.
“Alright,” he says, checking his watch, “showtime.” Then he looks up at her; she can see him from the corner of one eye. “Hey, look at me,” and his voice is gentler than she was expecting; not cruel or demanding, but almost entreating.
So she looks, doing her best not to flinch. “Just remember, you do what I say and when, and you’ll get outta this, no bumps or scrapes. Okay?”
Again, she nods, watching his face. He gestures at her, gun held loosely in his fist, and she gets up, goes to the door, the strap of her backpack held in a deathgrip.
He blows out a hard breath through his nose. “Alright, he mutters, and puts the hand with the gun against her back; she can feel the cold of the barrel seep through her layers of clothes, and tries not to shudder. “Here goes nothin'."
IS THIS ANYTHING??
Dividers credited to @saradika-graphics ❤️
Moodboard designed by me (not my graphics; found on Pinterest)
Kate Fuller/Seth Gecko; Soulmate AU; angst and fluff and smut; angst with a happy ending; older man/younger woman; HEA; canon compliant; to a certain extent!; red string of fate; drug use; alcohol use
This is a first draft, so apologies if there's any mistakes or if it seems choppy. I'm just posting snippets, for now.
She marvels that whatever eventually comes out of her mouth, no matter how many times she changes it in her head, no matter what she finally chooses…whatever she says will be on that man’s body somewhere. The very thought gives her chills.
And it is inevitable. She felt the mark burn the minute he closed his mouth, the second he was done uttering those damning words. She wonders what it looks like now; tiny, hideous buds of some secret flower furled in their little shells, waiting, with the patience of death itself, to come into bloom.
Part One
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Bloom pt.2
When she spots the Ranger, she freezes again. Everything, the wind, her own breath, the beating of her heart, all slows to a crawl. From out the corner of her eye, Seth moves, stepping out of the doorway into the Ranger’s view.
And then time starts moving at breakneck speed; Seth’s scooping her up in one arm, hauling her up against him, and for the most terrifying, hysterical moment she thinks he means to put her out in front of him as a shield.
But he doesn’t. What he does is swing her out to one side, still flush against him, and she scrambles frantically for his arm to keep herself upright, otherwise she feels as if she’ll go careening away into freefall.
Gunfire; her ears feel as if they’ll never stop ringing. They dive back through the door they just came through, and he pushes her into one corner, placing himself in front of her, an arm across her chest. “Just stay put and do what I say, remember? No bumps or scrapes.”
She gives a frantic, jerky nod, still not daring to say anything. The only thing that crosses her mind, in the moment, is that he’s put her behind him again. There’s something off about this, but beyond that, she can’t think. There’s no room for error here; he’s seriously on edge and trigger-happy, and one wrong move could result in her very untimely demise.
Distantly she can hear more gunfire, steadily moving closer. Then, without warning, one long leg careens through the busted-open door to their left, and there stands Richie, own pistol brandished and ready to use.
“Goddammit, Richard, do you want a cap in your ass? Next time fucking knock or something. Would go a long way towards your not getting shot.”
Richie ignores this. “RVs been moved around back, it’s ready to go.”
“It’s what? Why?”
“Just trust me, brother. I know what I’m doing.”
“Jesus Christ, Richard.”
Then everything is moving loud and in fast-forward, and before she realizes it, Richie is scooping her under his arm and hauling her away from Seth as he fires back at the Ranger.
One more bang, and then comes the blood, misting pink in the air. She screams, shrill, panicking. Not him, please not him.
She doesn’t have time to process what she’s thinking, simply reacts to whatever Richie is telling her to do, moving on autopilot. Everything inside her is screaming to run back, to see if Seth -
Her thoughts are broken and scattered and mean nothing. Later, she’ll resent them for what they are - the soulmate bond doing its job. As far as she can tell, they got that part of the lore correct, though it’s been disputed, just like everything else about it. No one can seem to decide on any one theory as one hundred percent canonical.
Yet the bond hasn’t been sealed. It’s still one-sided, laying open like a circle that forgot to grasp the other end. And she. Can’t do it. She can’t speak to him, or it will all be over. Her life as she knows it has already been turned ass over teakettle, as her uncle likes to say. To close the circuit would be - she can’t fathom it.
So why it should already be working its will, she couldn’t say. It’s already trying to drag her, kicking and screaming, towards him. The thought makes her almost ill. Something inside of her, some unknown entity, stirring from its lifelong slumber, activated by three innocuous words - yes, something foreign is inside of her right now, making her think and feel things she never could have before. It’s the soulmate bond. It’s got to be.
Does she even want him to live?
The thought shocks her into stillness. Of course, she thinks to herself. Of course, she doesn’t want anyone to die. What a horrible thought.
Still. She probes at her own thoughts, wondering, turning them over. If he were dead…if he were gone…would Richie leave them, to avenge his brother? Most likely, from the little she’s seen of him. He seems the type; he’s completely off his rocker.
Or - and this truly terrifies her - would he blame her family? Would he avenge Seth by killing them off, one by one, horribly, slowly, painfully? Or would it just be a bullet, swift and brutal? She shudders. She doesn’t like the path she’s headed down in her head, so she attempts to focus on something other than - than her soulmate, what an insane thing to be able to say - dying.
Not to mention the chill it leaves in her gut, at the thought of it. The immediate repulsion she feels at thinking it. He can’t, she thinks, trying not to panic.
So she focuses instead on where Richie is. Up front, talking to their Daddy in low, threatening tones. Ok, so now she knows where the danger is. Now, Scott.
He’s sitting tense and still next to her, eyes on Richie’s back, the same as her. Probably doing the same thing; watching for the more, immediate danger should things go South.
The gunfire has ceased, which is…worrying. Who won? The good guys or the bad? And does that make her family bad guys, too? Surely not.
Out of nowhere, there’s a resounding thump on the roof of the RV. She and Scott both flinch, looking up. Footsteps, grunts, and the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh. Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me, she thinks distantly.
Then there’s a stretched pause in which everyone seems to hold their breath. Then she hears it: a rap at the back of the RV. She tries not to let her relief show. Relief! At the thought that their kidnapper made it safely back to them.
This soulmate thing is going to drive her crazy, she just knows it.
Seth eventually crawls in through the cracked-open door, slamming it behind him in obvious relief.
“Told you,” says Richie, smugly.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re a fucking genius,” says Seth rather breathlessly. He swivels, taking in the position of everyone. “Everything copacetic here?”
“Running smooth and right on schedule.”
They lean in closer, speaking in low voices that Kate can’t quite make out. But they both seem satisfied by the exchange, and to her relief, it’s Seth that goes to keep her father company. The less contact she has with him, the better, she tells herself. Richie takes a seat in front of them, gun held loosely on the table.
Sometime later, she’s not sure how much, she’s rubbing her arm again. It still itches, though not as much. She wonders what it looks like now. That’s when she has an idea.
“I need to use the restroom,” she says softly to Richie, using her big, limpid eye routine.
He shrugs, “Sure,” and stands to walk her over to the door. “Don’t take too long,” he warns her, but there’s no real heat behind his words. They’ve been making somewhat polite, stilted conversation - after Scott was done antagonizing him, of course - and she’s grateful that they’ve managed to keep the peace for this long. She has no real idea how long this trip from Hell is going to take, and it would go much more smoothly if everyone could just be cool.
She ducks into the bathroom, unsure whether to lock it behind her. He didn’t say she couldn’t, but she’s too nervous to attempt it, so she doesn’t. She doesn’t really care how that looks.
Ok. Moment of truth, Katie. Holding her breath, she slowly slides her overshirt off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. She raises her right forearm. Pulls up the sleeve of her blouse. Looks. And feels something in her chest constrict painfully.
Thorns. They’re short little nubs at this point, twining delicately around her words, but it’s obvious that’s what they are. In the corner, at the end of Princess, there’s a single, tiny, furled bud. Just one.
Roses? She thinks wildly. Roses. Fucking. Roses. It has to be. She can't think of any other flower that has thorns at the moment. She wonders what color it will be. Oh, Lord, anything but red. She knows what red means. She’s read up on soulmate marks over the years, knows there’s all kinds of plants that could bloom, not just flowers. Knows they all mean something different, that their different colors also have their own meaning. For her thirteenth birthday, her Mama had given her a book on Victorian flower meanings, that she’d read until the spine cracked in two and fell apart.
And roses…well. Their colors all signify something different, but the main one? It’s unthinkable. Impossible. The mere thought that she could - that he could -
Her head is spinning. You can’t think about this right now, she tells herself frantically. You can’t let this distract you. You’re in danger, you airhead. This isn’t the time to start swooning over flowers and dangerous men with guns. This isn’t a cheap paperback novel.
She’s read plenty of them; bodice rippers, her mama had called them with a giggle. Trashy soulmate romance novels that she’d hidden in the back of her closet, about dangerous, lone-wolf men that met their soulmate, usually some sort of damsel in distress type, and were somehow magically changed for the better through the power of True Love.
She feels bile rise in the back of her throat; her nostrils sting with it. This isn’t it, Kate, she reminds herself forcefully. This is real life. Stuff like that just doesn’t happen.
Like getting kidnapped at gunpoint? A little voice in the back of her head whispers. Like finding out your soulmate is actually your kidnapper? ‘Cause that’s not something that would ever happen in one of your books, it continues derisively.
Oh, God, she’s going to puke.
Kate has to swallow several times to force it back down, trembling hands pressed to her face to stymie the tears. She thinks about praying, but it’s too much right now. She can’t find the right words. Help me, Lord. That’s all she has in her. It’ll have to do, for now.
She sucks down a few shaky breaths, willing herself back to some semblance of calm, and picks her flannel shirt back up, slipping it on, making sure the sleeves are pushed down all the way. She barely remembers to flush, and runs the water for a moment. Then she slips from the bathroom, not looking at Richie, who looks as if he’s been standing there the whole time. Embarrassing much? She’s glad she didn’t actually have to go.
Scott glances at her as she takes her seat. “You good?” He mutters to her, as Richie also sits, gun once more pointed in their general direction.
She must still look somewhat distraught, because Richie cocks his head at her, waiting for her to answer. She nods, not quite trusting her voice, and manages a small smile in her brother’s direction. She wraps her arms around her middle almost absently, tucking her right arm underneath the left, clutching at it protectively.
But now she sees, from the corner of her eye, Richie’s brows furrow. He’s staring at her, and he’s got that look on his face she remembers from the pool, when he’d talked about her Mama.
Oh, oh no. Not now. He can’t possibly know anything’s wrong, can he? There’s no way he can know.
Richie’s eyes narrow, and he leans forward, gun seemingly forgotten. He opens his mouth, but Kate beats him to it.
“I started my period, okay?” She snaps in a low voice, shunting a look to her brother. As she thought he would, he makes a face, and leans back in his seat. In front of her, Richie’s brows shoot up, but he just nods, reclining as well, looking satisfied.
Kate takes a slow, steadying breath, and tries to look discomfited. It’s not hard. She tightens her arms around herself and ducks her head, thinking of the blossoming mark on her arm, and the color of roses.
Might start a new religion (you and I making bad decisions) (3845 words) by glitterswitch
Chapters: 1/?
Fandom: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series, Night World - L. J. Smith
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Kate Fuller/Richard Gecko/Seth Gecko, Kate Fuller/Seth Gecko, Kate Fuller/Richard Gecko
Characters: Kate Fuller, Seth Gecko, Richard Gecko, Scott Fuller
Additional Tags: OT3, Polyamory, Threesome - F/M/M, Soulmates, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Robbery, blood drinking as an aphrodisiac, Magic as a coping mechanism, References to Christian Religion & Lore, what if the Geckos were vampires from the Civil War era, what if Kate was a lost witch, AU-gust | August Writing Challenge 2025, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Unbeta'd
Summary:
Kate's life is going fine. Lonely and small, but fine. She's learning all she can about her magical heritage, and it's going pretty well, she thinks.
Then two cocky vampires walk through the door of her shop, and her fine life is turned ass over teakettle. Richie is unnerving, and Seth is just an asshole. But apparently she's supposed to help them, according to some tea leaf reading (really, universe?), because it's her destiny. Or whatever.
Also, what the hell is a soulmate?
Written for AU August 2025! Prompt was witchcraft. Also? Unbeta'd. 🫠
Dividers by @saradika-graphics | moodboard by me (graphics not mine)
