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chase_acow
No really, there's no excuse for this. I'm sorry. Challenge points!
Teen Dragon Age
In which Teen Wolf is a medieval fantasy ala Dragon Age
slight Derek/Stiles
<1000 words
"Cheer up, Scott," Stiles said, trying to remember which pouch he'd stored the fire-starter in. Scott might be a mage, but Stiles didn't want to duck from any more misplaced fireballs than he had to. "It could always be worse."
Scott whirled around, his hair bigger than normal, proving he was letting electricity build up. "How?" he demanded, throwing his hands in the air as he started to pace. "I'm a known apostate. The douchiest Templar in town is after my blood because you couldn't keep your eyes off his girlfriend. My girlfriend may or may not be an Orlesian spy, and we haven't heard from your dad since the battle at Denerim! So, you tell me. How could this get any worse?"
"There could be a darkspawn behind me," Stiles said, pulling out the flint device with a flourish. He glanced up and did a double take at Scott's pale face and the stare he was sending over Stiles' shoulder. "There's a darkspawn behind me, isn't there?"
"It's definitely a something," Scott squeaked, then let loose a stream of chain lightning that caught Stiles right in the chest.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"I can't believe you didn't recognize Derek Hale," Stiles said, only slurring a little when Scott propped him up against a fallen log.
Scott scowled, and let Stiles bump back harder than was strictly necessary. "Excuse me that I didn't have a giant crush on the dude for years," he said, then cut his eyes to the side to keep Derek in sight. "Also, in my defense, he was hairier and had red eyes at the time."
"I admit, the whole werewolf thing is new and different, and potentially sexy-"
"Stiles, I can hear you," Derek growled, mystical smoke still curling up from his shoulders.
"Though, in hindsight," Stiles continued as though he hadn't heard. "He always did have more of a pelt than an actual hair style."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Stiles stuttered to a stop, and threw out an arm to stop Scott from stumbling forward into a trap. "Just a second guys, I'll take care of this," he said, dropping to a knee beside the trigger mechanism.
"Is he really qualified to do that?" Boyd asked, his low voice drifted through the forest. "He's kind of a spaz."
"Better at it than you, Mr My-Sword-Is-So-Big-I-Must-Be-Compensating-For-Something," Scott shot back, instantly going to Stiles' defense.
"I may not be a Templar, Apostate, but I can still send you to meet the Maker," Boyd said, and even Stiles could tell it wasn't a threat. This particular Grey Warden didn't make threats, he made promises.
Before it could get out of hand or break Stiles' concentration, Derek stepped in between the two and played the peacemaker. Stiles would never have guessed from the first couple of days they spent trekking through the wilderness, but Derek settled into the leadership role and left Stiles free to engage more of his sarcasm skills.
He tied off the excess slack and cut one more wire before he stood up and raised his arms in victory. "Trap disarmed, plus two-hundred and fifty experience points!' Stiles yelled, smiling at the begrudging amusement on Derek's face.
Then the second trap activated, and a wide net jerked the four of them up high in the air.
"Well, shit," Stiles mumbled, hoping he wouldn't suffocate with his face mashed into Derek's belly. So close, and yet so far away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"This is the stupidest plan your ragtag little group has ever come up with," Jackson sneered, gesturing for Lydia to follow him out of the hovel they'd been squatting in.
Erica showed her teeth, using a wicked looking dagger of Dalish origin to clean under her fingernails. Isaac kept between the Templars and Scott, though they would love to take down a wild elven mage as much as they one that had been hiding under their noses for years. Boyd and Derek were ready off to the side in case Jackson or Danny decided to smite first and ask questions later.
Only Lydia and Stiles were still looking over the maps and lists of troop movements.
"Sweetheart," Lydia said, snapping her fingers at Jackson without looking away from the simulated Thedas before them. "They're not the ones who pissed off an Antivan into controlling you with blood magic. The Chantry wants you just as dead as the mages over there, so stop glowering at them."
Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw Danny put a hand on Jackson's shoulder and they both finally sheathed their swords and swung their shields over their backs. He relaxed his hold on his own weapon, even though it would be satisfying to pop the bully from his childhood right between the eyes.
Derek stepped behind Stiles and propped his chin on the light armor covering Stiles' shoulder as he studied the table. He curled his arm around Stiles' waist and held him close. The plan was all they had, but there was little chance of them all making it out alive.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Am I too late to join in the fun?"
Stiles cut down another spell-controlled darkspawn and looked wildly about for the person that went with the voice. He finally looked up and a grinned, spitting quickly when some blood got in his mouth. "Allison!" he called, swinging his short sword over his head. "You're right on time!"
She swooped down, guiding her a troop of griffins as she shot arrow after arrow at the retreating hoard. Apparently, the Grey Wardens really knew how to make an entrance.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"So, what are we going to do now?" Derek asked, smugly gazing over the campsite filled with their friends and semi-reluctant allies. The dwarf Finstock had been a real eye-opener, but nothing beat the shock of Lydia pulling off her robes and giving up to sisterhood to stay by Jackson's side.
Stiles curled up tighter to Derek's side, watching while Allison taught Scott and Isaac how to care for her griffin partner. Having two Wardens with them would either make things easier or much harder, but he figured it was better for the outcasts to stick together.
"I hear there's some fun going on in Kirkwall," Stiles answered, feet already itching to get to the next adventure.
Teen Dragon Age
In which Teen Wolf is a medieval fantasy ala Dragon Age
slight Derek/Stiles
<1000 words
"Cheer up, Scott," Stiles said, trying to remember which pouch he'd stored the fire-starter in. Scott might be a mage, but Stiles didn't want to duck from any more misplaced fireballs than he had to. "It could always be worse."
Scott whirled around, his hair bigger than normal, proving he was letting electricity build up. "How?" he demanded, throwing his hands in the air as he started to pace. "I'm a known apostate. The douchiest Templar in town is after my blood because you couldn't keep your eyes off his girlfriend. My girlfriend may or may not be an Orlesian spy, and we haven't heard from your dad since the battle at Denerim! So, you tell me. How could this get any worse?"
"There could be a darkspawn behind me," Stiles said, pulling out the flint device with a flourish. He glanced up and did a double take at Scott's pale face and the stare he was sending over Stiles' shoulder. "There's a darkspawn behind me, isn't there?"
"It's definitely a something," Scott squeaked, then let loose a stream of chain lightning that caught Stiles right in the chest.
"I can't believe you didn't recognize Derek Hale," Stiles said, only slurring a little when Scott propped him up against a fallen log.
Scott scowled, and let Stiles bump back harder than was strictly necessary. "Excuse me that I didn't have a giant crush on the dude for years," he said, then cut his eyes to the side to keep Derek in sight. "Also, in my defense, he was hairier and had red eyes at the time."
"I admit, the whole werewolf thing is new and different, and potentially sexy-"
"Stiles, I can hear you," Derek growled, mystical smoke still curling up from his shoulders.
"Though, in hindsight," Stiles continued as though he hadn't heard. "He always did have more of a pelt than an actual hair style."
Stiles stuttered to a stop, and threw out an arm to stop Scott from stumbling forward into a trap. "Just a second guys, I'll take care of this," he said, dropping to a knee beside the trigger mechanism.
"Is he really qualified to do that?" Boyd asked, his low voice drifted through the forest. "He's kind of a spaz."
"Better at it than you, Mr My-Sword-Is-So-Big-I-Must-Be-Compensating-For-Something," Scott shot back, instantly going to Stiles' defense.
"I may not be a Templar, Apostate, but I can still send you to meet the Maker," Boyd said, and even Stiles could tell it wasn't a threat. This particular Grey Warden didn't make threats, he made promises.
Before it could get out of hand or break Stiles' concentration, Derek stepped in between the two and played the peacemaker. Stiles would never have guessed from the first couple of days they spent trekking through the wilderness, but Derek settled into the leadership role and left Stiles free to engage more of his sarcasm skills.
He tied off the excess slack and cut one more wire before he stood up and raised his arms in victory. "Trap disarmed, plus two-hundred and fifty experience points!' Stiles yelled, smiling at the begrudging amusement on Derek's face.
Then the second trap activated, and a wide net jerked the four of them up high in the air.
"Well, shit," Stiles mumbled, hoping he wouldn't suffocate with his face mashed into Derek's belly. So close, and yet so far away.
"This is the stupidest plan your ragtag little group has ever come up with," Jackson sneered, gesturing for Lydia to follow him out of the hovel they'd been squatting in.
Erica showed her teeth, using a wicked looking dagger of Dalish origin to clean under her fingernails. Isaac kept between the Templars and Scott, though they would love to take down a wild elven mage as much as they one that had been hiding under their noses for years. Boyd and Derek were ready off to the side in case Jackson or Danny decided to smite first and ask questions later.
Only Lydia and Stiles were still looking over the maps and lists of troop movements.
"Sweetheart," Lydia said, snapping her fingers at Jackson without looking away from the simulated Thedas before them. "They're not the ones who pissed off an Antivan into controlling you with blood magic. The Chantry wants you just as dead as the mages over there, so stop glowering at them."
Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw Danny put a hand on Jackson's shoulder and they both finally sheathed their swords and swung their shields over their backs. He relaxed his hold on his own weapon, even though it would be satisfying to pop the bully from his childhood right between the eyes.
Derek stepped behind Stiles and propped his chin on the light armor covering Stiles' shoulder as he studied the table. He curled his arm around Stiles' waist and held him close. The plan was all they had, but there was little chance of them all making it out alive.
"Am I too late to join in the fun?"
Stiles cut down another spell-controlled darkspawn and looked wildly about for the person that went with the voice. He finally looked up and a grinned, spitting quickly when some blood got in his mouth. "Allison!" he called, swinging his short sword over his head. "You're right on time!"
She swooped down, guiding her a troop of griffins as she shot arrow after arrow at the retreating hoard. Apparently, the Grey Wardens really knew how to make an entrance.
"So, what are we going to do now?" Derek asked, smugly gazing over the campsite filled with their friends and semi-reluctant allies. The dwarf Finstock had been a real eye-opener, but nothing beat the shock of Lydia pulling off her robes and giving up to sisterhood to stay by Jackson's side.
Stiles curled up tighter to Derek's side, watching while Allison taught Scott and Isaac how to care for her griffin partner. Having two Wardens with them would either make things easier or much harder, but he figured it was better for the outcasts to stick together.
"I hear there's some fun going on in Kirkwall," Stiles answered, feet already itching to get to the next adventure.
