denise writes things

Treville the Vampire Slayer→

“You hunt vampires? Holy crap that’s so cool!” Dorothy exclaimed, bouncing on the spot like some excited six year old. “Can we join?”

“It’s more of a… Birthright.” Treville replied. “Not a social club.”

“Is this why you have a sword?!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, swords can’t kill vampires.” Treville scoffed.

“Of course, that’s the ridiculous part.” Ariana muttered, shrugging her shoulders when Portia elbowed her gently. “What?”

“Well i think it’s nice. Everybody should have a hobby.” Portia replied brightly.

“So…” Alex cleared her throat. “Are there many vampires around?”

“You’d be surprised.” Treville said. “It’s a rather popular area for them to gather.”

“Oh. That’s… Nice?” Alex frowned. 

Dorothy grabbed Treville’s hands. “Please please please let me hunt vampires with you.”

“You know she’s just going to do it anyway.” Alex pointed out.

Treville sighed heavily. “Fine.”

Dorothy practically squealed. “Wait until Breton hears about this!”

Stiles has sprawled himself out on the floor by the time Derek walks in, papers spread out and covering the new wood flooring of the Hale house as he shuffles through them, looking for a picture of a particular type of wolfsbane.

He chews on the orange peel in his mouth, finishing off the last bits of its delicious insides that still cling to the rind. It takes him a moment to hear Derek’s footsteps behind him, but when he does, it takes him by surprise enough that the peel falls absent-mindedly out of his mouth.

“Geez,” he says, staring crossly up at Derek, “you could have announced yourself, you know.”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “It’s my house. I don’t have to announce myself.” He stares at the plate next to him. “Oranges? Looks good.” There’s an expectant look on his face, and Stiles realizes that he wasn’t so much making a statement as asking for the last remaining slice.

To his credit, Stiles has been making an effort - he honestly has - to start thinking before he says or does something, especially around Derek where the consequences of not doing so were usually the worst -

But, well, he’s already started to speak when he remembers this. “They are,” he quips, picking up the last slice and shoving it into his mouth, flashing Derek an oversized orange-colored smile.

By the time he’s done all this, it’s come to his attention that no, that might not have been the best idea, because provoking Derek never led to happy endings, and he should start worrying now.

Before he has time to brace himself for whatever he has coming - Stiles is expecting his head getting slammed into the floor, head slamming is always a favorite - Derek’s face is suddenly very close to his - too close - and then his lips are on his, teeth nudging his mouth open further.

Stiles freezes, heart beating against his chest loud enough that even Stiles can hear it. (He doesn’t want to think about the fact that means Derek definitely can, too.) 

Derek’s tongue is sliding against the inside of Stiles’ mouth, just one slow swipe before he pulls away and stands back up, eyes firmly locked on Stiles’ the entire time, never wavering.

It takes Stiles a moment to realize that the orange slice is now clamped between Derek's teeth, and not his. “Thanks,” Derek tells him, and Stiles is able to do nothing but blink back at him, before Derek gives him a wink - Stiles is definitely not imagining this, Derek freaking Hale definitely just winked at him, and the world might be ending - before he walks away.

Stiles swallows thickly, and tries to turn his concentration back to the task at hand, but suddenly he can’t remember what that was anymore.

Boots, Chaps, and Cowboy Hats: Chapter Two
Summary: Getting shipped off to Middle of Nowhere, Colorado was the last way Stiles wanted to spend the summer before senior year; especially when it meant living on a ranch with relatives he hadn’t spoken to for years. However, he quickly finds out that not all of it is so bad - especially resident cowboy Derek Hale. Now, if only he could get the guy to open up and actually talk to him.

Chapter Summary: Stiles meets Erica and helps fix fence railings. Not everything goes smoothly.

[on Ao3]

jinxess  asked:

TeenWolf Apocalypse Fic

post-nuclear war; they’ve managed to survive, but the air is laced with radiation, and the wolves who are immune search for survivors while trying to conceal their immunity - there’s only so large a pack Derek could handle, and not everyone is ready for the powers that come with the bite. Especially not in this anarchy.

Stiles has managed to hang on, but the pack isn’t sure how much longer.

Derek rubs his thumb across Stiles’ wrist as he curls his other arm around his waist, holding him close, listening to his heart beat. It’s strong, for now.

But it won’t be for much longer. He can smell it on him; Stiles’ scent is normally all nervessweatanxiousyoung, a potent mixture of emotions that makes up the fingerprint of Stiles.

But there’s a foulness bleeding in at the edges, the stench of disease, of death, and there’s no mistaking what it means.

He noticed it a week ago, but stayed silent; doubtless Stiles has felt the effects, has endured the weakening of his bones, the shaking of his lungs. Stiles knows, and Derek will let him come to terms with it on his own.

And he will, eventually. He’ll let Derek sink his teeth into the fragile flesh, marking him, changing him, binding him.

Sometimes, after Stiles’ breaths have evened in slumber, Derek lets his teeth graze over the place on his body where he knows he will bite him, and it’s hard to pull away. But Derek can wait.

It’s taken the end of the world to give Derek the chance to make Stiles his. And even though he knows it’s wrong, he doesn’t regret it at all.

umbralillium replied to your post: so I’m writing now but writing is hardddd can we…

I don’t know all your fandoms, so I’ll go with Teen Wolf, prison cellmates. I don’t even know where that came from. LOL

Stiles doesn’t know what he was expecting from his cellmate, but it wasn’t this. “Oh, yo,” says the man on the other cot, brushing floppy brown hair out of his eyes, “new roommate! Awesome.” There’s a lop sided grin on his face, and he seems genuinely pleased to see Stiles, who is currently thanking his lucky stars that he got a cell with some unlucky kid here on pot charges.

As it later turns out, he’s even luckier - Scott isn’t here on pot charges, and he’s in charge of one of the largest gangs in the complex, and the luxuries this affords Stiles makes him think that he’s doing this whole prison experience wrong - but, well, he’s certainly not complaining.


juliahoffman-md replied to your postbtw I might as well ask DOES ANYONE HAVE ANY…


Angelique eyed the woman standing before her, stock still and eyes wide like a deer caught in a trap. Well, Angelique noted to herself, she was caught in a trap - body still and rigid by the force of Angelique’s magic.

“I knew I would win,” Angelique said, circling the woman who struggled to trail Angelique’s movements with her eyes but could not make a single muscle budge. “You were foolish, you know, to try to fight against me.”

Angelique came around full circle, standing in front of Laura once more. She leaned in to study her face. “This was the only inevitable outcome.”

Laura didn’t react. Of course she didn’t react; that was the whole point of the spell. Either way, it felt wrong to Angelique, having a prey that could not squeal beneath the sharp steel teeth of her trap.

“This is awfully boring,” she remarked to herself, before muttering beneath her breath just so, and then Laura’s face wasn’t still anymore - it was full of frenzied motion, expressions kept frozen flashing to the surface suddenly.

“You will regret this Angelique, I will break free, I will destroy you - ” Laura began to scream, but Angelique merely sighed.

“I did hope you would be more entertaining than that,” she said to herself.

Laura merely laughed. “Even if you do defeat me -”

“ - which I obvioulsy will - ”

“ - you still won’t have won,” Laura spat out. “I know what you want - you want that Barnabas, don’t you? I may be a phoenix but I still have a woman’s heart, I can still see clearly what it is that you desire…”

“I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret,” Angelique remarks, growing more irritated at Laura. She was better when she was silent after all.

…“and you will never have him, Angelique, never.

This is the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

Suddenly, Angelique is upon Laura, and her body is screaming in pain that has no obvious source but must be the witch in front of her, magic streaming from her body in an uncontrolled rage.

“You are wrong, phoenix, you know nothing of what you talk about,” she hissed.

“Believe what you want, Angelique,” Laura spat out. “It won’t change a thing.”

There was silence, then - a heavy silence that hung between the two of them, a space that Laura was suddenly uncomfortably aware was so, so small.

Angelique breathed heavily, and the warm puffs of breath caressed Laura’s cheek. Her blue eyes pierced into her - and if Angelique had given Laura the ability to, she would have leaned forward and erased the gap between them - 

But she didn’t have to. Angelique was the only to lean forward, grasping at Laura’s hair, pulling it tight against her scalp as lips crashed furiously with her own in a searing kiss that was not gentle in the least but full of passion and rage and fire.

When Angelique released Laura’s mouth, it took her a moment to regain her breath. “See,” Angelique sneered, “I have just won you - you, who are my enemy, seconds away from a death by my hand. If I can win you,” she says, turning then from Laura to stare out at the window, “who says I can’t win Barnabas?”

Laura wants to respond, but she can’t because instead her whole body is searing with pain - with the sharp, stinging pain of not a burn but of ice -

and then -

juliahoffman-md replied to your postbtw I might as well ask DOES ANYONE HAVE ANY…

dr. hoffman is brought in as a UNIT consultant

Julia is always ready for things to take her off guard - how could she not be, living amongst the Collins as she had? - and yet she is truly surprised when they come. 

If her life were truly stereotypical, it would have happend in the middle of the night, but as it is, they come just as Julia is sitting down to lunch. Elizabeth calls her nervously into the study, and at first she thought nothing of it, because this is Collinwood and there is always reason to be nervous -

Yet the sight of men in military filling the study was not at all what she was expecting. “Can I help you?” she asks, not able to think of anything better to say.

One of the men steps forward, more decorated than the others and obviously the most senior in rank. “You are Dr. Julia Hoffman?” he asks, his words coming with a heavy British accent.

“Yes, I am,” she says, standing straight and chin raised. This was obviously meant to intimidate, but she had dealt with vampires and werewolves and more than anyone could imagine, and she was not going to be intimidated by a few men in uniform. “And what is it you want from me?”

“Your services,” he said simply. “I’m afraid I can’t explain more at the moment - ”

“Well,” Julia interjected, “I’m afraid I can’t go anywhere without more.”

The man fidgeted. “I’m with UNIT, a top secret British agency which I’m afraid I don’t have the clearance to explain fully to you as of yet, but there are things going on that I’m afraid you would not understand if I tried right now - ”

Julia had to fight not to roll her eyes, and instead elected to cut the man off once more. “I’ve seen more than you could possibly imagine. I highly doubt you have anything to offer that would seem terribly out of the ordinary for me now.”

He was clearly taken aback, and took a moment to respond. “Well - it’s just - there’s this man - alien, I suppose, if I’m to be really frank with you right now - and we know you are a specialist in hypnosis, and we need those specialties in order to have a few witnesses… remember all of the details.”

Julia smiled. That was all she needed to know. She didn’t say anything, just went to the door before shouting behind her, “I’ll pack my bags immediately. I can be ready in a half hour, I’m sure you’ll have the car waiting for me when I return?”

juliahoffman-md replied to your postbtw I might as well ask DOES ANYONE HAVE ANY…


This was true euphoria, Trask thought to himself, looking on at the sight before him. True euphoria can only be found in doing the Lord’s work, in protecting the innocent from the evils of witchcraft -

There was nothing else, he reminded himself, nothing else at all in his happiness besides this. It had nothing to do with the beautiful woman before him, bound tightly to a tree and her bosom heaving from the effort of struggling against the bonds - 

No. Such evil thoughts were beneath him, especially when on such a holy mission. “Angelique,” Trask began, “you are a witch - you have committed heresy - and so you must be punished in the eyes of the Lord!”

His words were only met with a small smirk. “Really, now,” the witch ground out, “I’d like to see you try.”

“Witches,” Trask boomed, confident in his upper hand, “can be destroyed by fire. And so - ” he paused, lighting a match, “your reign of terror shall come to an end.”

But Angelique gave no discernible reaction, which puzzled Trask before - everything spun, and then, he wasn’t standing in front of a witch bound to a tree but standing before a witch standing free. Where did the tree go? How did she -

Trask went to move towards her, but his efforts were hindered by a force against his arms and midsection. Realization dawned on him. No.

“Sorceress!” he cried, struggling against the same binds that had just moments before been used to keep the witch at bay.

“Funny, how you thought that would work,” Angelique said, approaching him, reaching out a hand to caress his jaw.

“Take your hands off of me - you - ” but he couldn’t finish his sentence, because all of a sudden lips were on his, so soft and yes so demanding, forcing his open, a tongue sliding in to sweep across the inside of his mouth before retreating once again.

“Evil, you say?” Angelique remarked, with a raised eyebrow. “You may say that, but…” she leaned in, her hand reaching for - no - this was wrong, so wrong, and yet so right -

“…I see other parts of you seem to disagree.”

“We need to try to recali- ” Stiles try to get out, but it was no use. Sharp fangs grazed against the skin of his neck, and - well, to be perfectly honest, he was helpless to resist. “De-rek," he protested.

"You can recalibrate tomorrow,” Derek urged, sliding a hand under his shirt, fingers grazing against his skin, before finally reaching his nipples - and, yes, now he was pinching them, and there was no way Stiles could do the calculations like this.

“If you keep this up, we’ll be lost out here with no communications back to base and no way to reinforce gravity,” Stiles warned, but as he said the words he could feel the smirk spread across Derek’s face, who was currently pressing himself against Stiles’ back, hard. In more meanings than one.

“I don’t see the problem with that,” he said, tone far lower than it had to be considering it was just the two of them in the depths of space with no one around for thousands of miles - and evil still, the sound went straight to Stiles’ dick.

And honestly? He couldn’t see the problem with it, either.

spieqels  asked:

quentin/vicki, 1920s new york. DOES THAT WORK? IT SHOULD WORK.

Vicki runs a hand over her hair, as if to brush a lock behind her ear that was no longer long enough to do so, unused to the new length (but Maggie had insisted on the cut; it was all the rage, and she didn’t want to be left behind, did she?) When Quentin walks in, a package tucked under his arm that is doubtless another dress that she does not need but he insists on buying nonetheless (and she has learned by now not to ask where the money comes from, and she pretends not to notice the scent of liquor that lingers on his breath), his eyes light up as she asks, “So, what do you think?” He laughs, sweeping her into a kiss and leaving her breathless (just as he had for every one of the hundreds of kisses before it) and tells her: “On you - my dear, it’s timeless.”

all their own: a ds/moonrise kingdom crossover

for the sake of making this work, Dark Shadows continuity has been cherry picked to my liking. basically: Quentin is still immortal but there’s none of that memory loss BS and he hasn’t come back to Collinsport yet, Cassandra is there after the events of 1897, and for simplicity’s sakes we’re ignoring the werewolf drama and other such things.

it’s over 4,400 words long which is like 2,400 words more than I was expecting to write and I’M REALLY TERRIBLY SORRY FOR ALL THE MISTAKES I’M SURE ARE IN THIS. 

in any event, HERE YOU GO:

all their own

When Amy comes to live with them at Collinwood, Elizabeth is optimistic that having a companion his age will mellow David out. Roger is certainly hopeful that it will, because while Vicki may have the patience of a saint with the boy, his is wearing incredibly thin.

As it turns out, it doesn’t. 

Keep reading

juliahoffman-md replied to your postbtw I might as well ask DOES ANYONE HAVE ANY…

Willie Loomis cannot enjoy his sandwich.

Willie stared at the plate in front of him, the meal a well-deserved break from all of the errands Barnabas had made him run, of all the things he had made him hide…

And yet, he couldn’t. The cries of Maggie echoed throughout the house; the desperate pleas for release ringing in his his ears, just as clear as they were when Maggie was actually here.

She may have escaped Barnabas’s grasp, and her voice now may have been just a distant echoe in his mind - yet it could never escape him, because Willie knew it may not be an echoe for very long. Barnabas was planning something else, something soon -

Willie couldn’t stomach his sandwich knowing that one day, one day soon, her echoes would be replaced by another girl’s screams.

juliahoffman-md replied to your postbtw I might as well ask DOES ANYONE HAVE ANY…

roger’s alcohol-fueled adventures in smarmery while away at school! anything bill/liz ugh! tom jennings/julia why not gosh


Roger swirled the beer in his hands, shooting it a distasteful look. “Really, this is the swill you offer to me?” he asks, distain clearly evident in his voice.

The guy behind the bar shoots him a look. “Whatever, man,” he says, clearly not sober himself despite the fact he’s running the bar in this sad excuse of a party. “This is what we’re serving, take it or leave it.”

Roger rolls his eyes in an exaggerated fashion before, not bother deigning the inebriated fool with a response, turning from him and grabbing the other drink he ordered from the bar. He could, he thought himself, live through a bit of bad beer for the girl waiting for him; the night, he told himself, was full of promises still waiting to be fulfilled.

Besides, there was a certain thrill in drinking cheap alcohol in run down houses with equally run down company. Roger could have all the expensive alcohol surrounded by all the class he could dream of at home; the point was to break away from all of that while he was at school. Cheap beer, cheap company, and even cheaper girls; all this with not a hint of judgement for all of it - wasn’t that, truly, the ultimate luxury?