char is a goddess

4

“O Goddess, do you hate your servant for what he has done? These evil hounds forced my hand and here I am before you in utter audacity seeking your guidance and balance still.
                                 “Forgive me.”  – Hieronymus “Ptolemy” Ptolemaeus

A Meracydian slave forced into service for the Allagan Empire, Ptolemy was one of many who was ordered to capture the Meracydian Goddess and place her in captivity. For his sins, the man suffered greatly by the hands of fate.

two birds, one stone

char is a goddess, and it is still her birthday (thank u time difference)

airport au, based on this, but not 100% similar. enjoy :)

“Yeah, dad, it’s only a short delay, I should be arriving at 7 or so,” Stiles said, tucking the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he scoured the crowded airport for a free outlet. “No, dad, you don’t need to pick me up, I can catch a cab home, I’ll be fine.”

“You think I’d let my only son take a cab home after I haven’t seen him for a year?” his dad’s tinny voice rang out sharply over the line, and Stiles smiled fondly. “I don’t know who you’ve been hanging around with, son, but I’m picking you up, and that’s the end of that. I even made sure they gave me the night off.”

“That’s great dad,” Stiles told him honestly, before his eyes widened when he caught a glimpse of a free outlet next to… was that Derek Hale? “I’ll see you tonight,” he blurted out, heading over to get a closer look at the sleeping guy. “Holy shit.”

“Language,” the Sheriff reprimanded, and Stiles winced.

“Sorry, dad. I gotta go, ‘kay? Love you,” he said absently, settling his backpack down onto the ground and unslinging his messenger bag from his shoulders, cursing silently when the strap got tangled in his earphones.

“Yeah, love you too, kid. Have a safe trip.”

At the sound of the click, Stiles ripped his earbuds out and fumbled to untangle them when his bag’s strap slid a few inches in his grasp, knocking against Derek’s bent knees. “Shit,” he breathed out, eyes wide and horrified. He waited for a few moments, unmoving, before letting out a relieved breath when Derek didn’t wake. He folded himself down a few steps away, cursing the fact that he had left his extension cord back in Beacon Hills, and his charger was unfortunately short, rendering him incapable of moving further out and admiring Derek from after, like he used to.

He let out a sigh at the thought of his first few years of high school. Derek had been the basketball team captain, two years older than Stiles, and the only reason he hadn’t tried out for the team was the burning fear that he’d trip Derek up by accident during the tryouts and spend the rest of his high school career eating his lunch next to the dumpsters. Sarcastic and terrifying tended to be Stiles’ type, evidenced by one Lydia Martin and Derek himself.

Although, looking down at Derek now, his lashes dark smudges against his cheeks and his mouth shut in a little pout looking all sleepy and adorable, he probably wouldn’t be able to tell that Derek had allegedly got the 6’6” football quarterback to cry and apologize to Jessica Rawlings, a girl in Stiles’ year. Last he heard, Derek had gone off to the East Coast for college, following the footsteps of all his older siblings.

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In the Rubble

Dust and the smell of smoke hung heavily in the air as they’d begun the arduous task of finding a needle in a haystack. Finding one person among countless corpses and mountains of debris was hopeless, but still they pressed on. Despite utter exhaustion, a select few of the Normandy’s crew were driven to continue, probably until they could no longer function. All for the loyalty, respect, and love of one Commander Shepard.

Garrus sighed heavily, taking a moment to try and check his malfunctioning omni-tool one more time. It was beyond frustrating that it wasn’t working properly, at a time when he needed it the most. Liara walked ahead, her face a calm veneer over what he knew to be barely contained panic. In the quiet of her passing and him staring in frustration at the broken device attached to his arm, he heard the faintest of rustles off to his right.

The turian’s head immediately snapped over in the direction from which the sound had come. His eyes roved over the pile of debris, wondering if what he’d heard had been merely a figment of his imagination. But then, just as he was about to look away and follow after Liara, a twisted metal beam trembled, as though something or someone under it was struggling to push it aside.

That was all the confirmation Garrus needed to close the distance and begin digging. “Liara,” he called aloud as he frantically began to peel back the layers of destruction to find the poor soul under it all. How someone might have survived after all this time and while trapped under all of this refuse was beyond comprehension, as far as he was concerned, but he intended to help them get out. It wasn’t until he revealed an armored limb adorned with a very distinctive red and white stripe that he truly felt the strange mix of dread, hope, and despair well up from somewhere deep in his core. “It’s her! She’s here!” With renewed strength and determination, he began lifting and tossing aside the charred wreckage that pinned the commander to the ground.

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