#ettersburg

[allthingseurope]

Ettersburg Castle, Germany

[unteriors]

Wilder Ridge Road, Ettersburg, California.

[akathecentimetre]

Two things: I really love your Avdul/Thomas fics, because otp! In tiny fandom! And music recommendation, bc I saw your fanmix and recognized familiar soul: Lest We Forget by Bright Brothers, bc it suits Thomas' history to the terrifying degree

Heee, thank you so much! I do hope others join me in writing the pairing at some stage. (I haven’t had just one OTP in a fandom in ages, it’s kind of awesome.) Lest We Forget is absolutely gorgeous, and I love that lyric line - ‘the judgment’s on us, lest we forget,’ ugh - though it might be a taaaaaaaaad too Americana for it to jibe well with Thomas in my head.

[Feel free to take my taste with a large grain of salt, though, given that I am also the person who, upon musing on the Black Library and the war and werewolves and just how bloody grim it all is, has decided that my Ettersburg song is Sam Lee singing The Devil and the Huntsman. Oh brother dear, let my bed be made/ For I feel the grip of the woody nightshade/ Many a man would die as soon/ Out of the light of a mage’s moon/ It’s not by bone but yet by blade/ That can break the magic that the devil made/ It’s not by fire but what’s forged in flame/ That can drown the sorrows of a huntsman’s pain - ]

[akathecentimetre]

Title: Wilder'd on His Darksome Way [oneshot] Rating: T/maybe M for violence Wordcount: ~3,730 Fandom: Rivers of London Pairing: Abdul Walid/Thomas Nightingale Characters: Walid, Nightingale

Summary: Abdul Walid learned everything he knew about PTSD – which was quite a lot – from taking care of Thomas Nightingale (who still insisted on saying ‘shell shock’ or ‘combat stress fatigue’ instead, but that was a battle for another day). Still, he had to admit that being sucked into a dream full of snow and blood and possibly-werewolves was a step right into the unknown.

Set near the end of Rivers of London; fits into my Gentleman’s Agreement AU.

Excerpt: Abdul breathed in, and his throat closed up from cold.  

He was standing on the edge of a snow-covered field, surrounded on three sides by trees, their bare branches heavy with white powder. A pale red haze lingered above the woods, signaling the onset of sunset.  

“Damn,” Abdul breathed, and his breath gusted out in front of him. He was wearing some sort of thick, half-woolen uniform, and a bag was over his shoulder, but he couldn’t see that they would keep him all that warm. 

In for a penny, in for an Ettersburg pound.  

There was a slight snapping sound behind him, and he turned – and Nightingale stepped out from the tree cover, squinting into the dying light.  

He was hurt, Abdul could tell immediately: his right hand was cemented to the ripped side of his dark green uniform coat, and the khaki sapper pants below them were splattered with mud and what had to be the blood of others. He was hatless and nearly colorless with cold and fatigue, and still looked more dangerous than Abdul could ever recall seeing him in his life. 

All that rather paled into insignificance, however, compared to the Browning pistol he had in his left hand, leveled straight at Walid’s chest. 

There’s already more! I’m in really damn deep! Send help! (No, don’t, I’m having so much fun.)

[schnippelboy]

Buchenwald

Nachmittags,auf dem Weg zum Bärlauch

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