everything carries me to you: part one (thorcid) - featherpluckn

Author’s Note: Hi! I’m new to the fandom and slash writing in general. I just had some feels that had to come out apparently. Any constructive criticism is definitely welcome.

This fic is hopefully the first part of what I plan to be a three part story. There is some language and adult situations but nothing too explicit.

The title of the story comes from “If You Forget Me” by Pablo Neruda.

Happy reading :)

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smile at strangers (and you just might change a life) (Acid Betty/Thorgy Thor)

A/N: Hey guys! First of all, I want to thank everyone for all the likes/comments on my last fic – I’m glad you enjoyed! Coming at you now with some MORE Thorgy/Acid – this time, based on the prompt:‘i’m pretending to be ur bf bc u looked VERY uncomfortable with that person at the bar hitting on u’. I used boy names/male pronouns for those not in drag (in this fic, Betty/Jamin), and drag names/female pronouns for those IN drag (i.e. Thorgy Thor). Chris/BTDQ gets a bit of both! Hope that makes sense!!~kinga

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Dresden Files, End of the Line
  • Storm Front: My name is Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden. Conjure by it at your own risk. When things get strange, when what goes bump in the night flicks on the lights, when no one else can help you, give me a call.
  • I'm in the book.
  • Fool Moon: I reached for the phone and started spinning the dial to Susan's number. Mister batted at my hand approvingly.
  • "Or maybe I'm just too stupid to get out of trouble's way, eh?"
  • Mister rumbled a deep, affirmative purr in his chest. I settled back to ask Susan over, and enjoyed the warmth of the fire.
  • Grave Peril: The Council is going to be furious at me, but what else is new.
  • Susan doesn't call. Doesn't visit. But I got a card from her, on my birthday, Halloween. She only wrote three words.
  • I'll let you guess what three.
  • Summer Knight: "All of those faeries and duels and mad queens and so on, and no one quoted old Billy Shakespeare. Not even once."
  • I stared at Billy for a minute and started to laugh. My own aches and bruises and cuts and wounds pained me, but it was an honest, stretchy pain, something that was healing. I got myself some dice and some paper and some pencils and settled down with friends to pretend to be Thorg the Barbarian, to eat, drink, and be merry.
  • Lord, what fools these mortals be.
  • Death Masks: Maybe somethings aren't meant to go together. Things like oil and water. Orange juice and tooth paste.
  • Me and Susan.
  • But tomorrow was another day.
  • Blood Rites: I frowned at a giant green bag and asked Thomas, "Hey. Why did you get large breed Puppy Chow?"
  • Dead Beat: I stopped and blinked--first at the candles and then at my burned hand.
  • "What?" Butters asked.
  • "Nothing," I said, and opened the book to look over it. "You know, Butters, for a mortician you're a pretty good healer."
  • "You think so?"
  • I glanced at the warm, steady flame of the candles and smiled, "Yeah."
  • Proven Guilty: "You want me to drive us?" he asked.
  • I bowed my head in reply. "I'd like that, sir."
  • White Night: I looked around the place for a minute more. The coffee girls were having a private conversation, evidently, discussing us, if all the covert glances and quiet little smiles were any indication.
  • I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing, and it felt good.
  • Small Favor: "An excellent answer," she murmured, her dark eyes huge. "One that should, perhaps, be further explored."
  • I rose and held out her chair for her, and helped her into her coat.
  • As it turned out, the rest of the night was good for the soul, too.
  • Turn Coat: Will swung the door open wide, and we went inside, where I introduced Butters to everyone and produced several bottles of Mac's best ale.
  • See, here's the thing. Morgan was right you can't win them all.
  • But that doesn't mean that you give up. Not ever. Morgan never said that part--he was too busy living it.
  • I closed the door behind me, while life went on.
  • Changes: *Nope it's spoiler territory to the umpteenth degree*
  • Ghost Story: Demonreach stirred. The pale tendrils and roots began withdrawing themselves from my arms, leaving small, bleeding holes behind.
  • "For what?" I asked.
  • "For the journey to my court, Sir Knight." She paused and looked over one shoulder at me, green eyes bright and cold. "There is much work to do be done."
  • Cold Days: Thunder rumbled over Lake Michigan, unusual in November.
  • I settled the new black leather duster over my shoulders, picked up the long, rough branch I'd cut from the island's oldest oak tree a few hours before, and started back up the hill, toward the former lighthouse and future cottage. I had preparation to me.
  • There was a storm coming in.
  • Skin Game: Maggie was warm and soft beside my heart. Mouse stirred for a moment, and shifted until his big shaggy head was lying on my foot before going back to sleep. Behind me, the Carpenter household was settling into the quiet, stable energy of a home going through a familiar pattern. Bedtime.
  • Sometimes you realize you’re standing at a crossroads. That there are two paths stretching out ahead of you, and you have to pick one of them.
  • Without a word, I took Amoracchius and settled it where I could reach it easily when it was time to stand up.