sprins

In recent news of Suriel-the-gossip-girl.com
  • The Suriel: Word around the streets says that our own version of Serena Van Der Woodsen, Feyre Archeron, has been forced to go back to the Sprin- hOLD UP WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS NO BITCH LET ME GET MY GUCCI PURSE WE GOTTA GO SAVE MY BITCH
To the Lilacs


Tender flowers,

Delicate colors,

Covering spring

In floret bright skin.


Merciless lilacs blossom again,

Counting my days till the end.

How many times can I walk down this lane?

What will the autumn portend?

Your beauty’s unswerving from year to year,

While my sunny days are long gone.

The children around you, in decades, will cheer, still cheer,

When my life and my name will be shadows bygone.

© illirein 2017

10

THIRD PART ( 5 parts - 40 pictures in total )

We arrived on top of the Hoher Kasten mountain / Switzerland. The pictures above you can see a river, one side it’s Switzerland and on the other side we can see Austria and the Liechtenstein.

The last picture, Switzerland one side and then the Bodensee (lake) and Germany on the other side.

The revolving restaurant, all around the Europe Rundweg (Europe circular path ) as we can see 4 countries. 9th picture, I was sitting on the stairs and admired the panorama. 

As you can see there are many paths, little roads to go up the mountain but it’s better in Sprin/Autumn when it’s less warm. 

archiveofourown.org
Rose Petal Hands | Chapter One of Four Archive of Our Own
Summer, 1776: Nathan Hale's spy mission leaves tomorrow, why does it feel like this is the last time he'll ever see Benjamin Tallmadge?
By Organization for Transformative Works

American Revolution RPF, American History RPF, 18th Century CE RPF

Nathan Hale (1755-1776)/Benjamin Tallmadge

Tags: Young Love, Last Kiss, Brief Smut, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Emotional Roller Coaster, Cuddling & Snuggling, This is the last time they ever see each other, Foreshadowing Death, Fight Scene, Tags will be updated

Part 2 of the Early American History | Stories They Won’t Tell series (fics places in the series get rearranged by date in happens in)

Words so far: 2,002

Chapter: ¼

____________________

September 14th, 1776 || 6:48 p.m.

6 days, 16 hours, 2 minutes till Nathan Hale’s death

“Reviv’d a little by your letter,

With hopes of speeding better,

At length I venture forth once more

But fearing soon to run ashore.”

_______________________

         “Pythias?“

         “Damon!”

         Two bodies lunged themselves together in the translucent twilight, filling the hollow emptiness between their chest and arms. Benjamin Tallmadge recognized straight blonde locks cascading down the back of Nathan Hale’s azure uniform and his heart skipped a beat mere seconds prior; he could recognize him from anywhere. The slightly taller man’s hand folded behind the shorter’s back and looped their fingers together, tugging their stomachs together and breathing in every single bit of each other. There was comfort now, in the brief alteration witnessed by rows of tents stretching out across the valley’s sloping hills.

         Ben buried his nose in Nathan’s collar, shutting his eyes briefly, leaning deeply into the interaction, “Pythias…”

         Breath on the back of his neck and a cheek held against his ear, “Damon…”

         Not wishing to cause a scene, they reluctantly tugged off one another, a shock attempting to displace them back together. They both hadn’t caught a truly extraordinary sight of one another’s faces quite yet and the tips of their noses brushed slightly as they extracted from one another, maintaining proximity, grasping hands on each other’s forearms as if they were afraid each other would let go. Releasing, staring point blank at one another. Passion flashed in Nathan’s sky blue eyes and Ben swore he saw lightning flash across his pupils; the once boyish glare that his face owned was replaced with war like bags almost painted underneath his eyelids.

         At the same time, Nathan wished to trace the imprint of his thumb across the two wrinkles that now were forming at the center of his lover’s brow, those weren’t there before. Those two little wrinkles most likely from the New Yorker’s uncanny ability to scrunch his face quizzically ever so often. Some stubble ran across the line of Nathan’s jaw, a craving to kiss that bone didn’t subside, I’ll have to wait till later. Subsequently, Nathan gazed down to trace over the curve of Ben’s lips and his mouth began to grow ravenous–here he was, after weeks and he couldn’t even kiss him, let alone brace him for extended than a few meager seconds. His chest began to grow cold and he ached with longing for an extended touch. Their glares met wildly, holding depths so familiar, Ben was already plunged.

         The corner of Nathan’s thin, pale lips curled up, coiling his knuckles around that man’s bicep, “You’re here.”

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