12-07-2018, 11:09 PM
<link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Playfair+Display' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'> <style type="text/css"> .woolf_container { position: relative; z-index: 1; background-color: #1E1F21; width: 600px; padding: 0 0 0 0; border: solid 1px #6b899570; box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px #000; } .woolf_container p { margin: 0; } .woolf_image { position: relative; z-index: 4; width: 600px; } .woolf_gradient { position: absolute; z-index: 5; top: 553px; left: 0px; width: 600px; height: 200px; background: -moz-linear-gradient(top, rgba(0,0,0,0) 0%, rgba(30,31,33,1) 100%); background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(0,0,0,0) 0%,rgba(30,31,33,1) 100%); background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(0,0,0,0) 0%,rgba(30,31,33,1) 100%); filter: progid
XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#00000000', endColorstr='#1e1f21',GradientType=0 ); } .woolf_text { position: relative; z-index: 6; width: 580px; padding-top: 10px; margin-top: -110px; } .woolf_message { position: relative; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: justify; color: #859191; padding: 20px 35px; } .woolf_quote { position: relative; text-align: center; width: 60%; color: #5b686c; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.3em; letter-spacing: 1px; padding-top: 10px; padding-bottom: 20px; border-bottom: solid 1px; } .woolf_name { position: relative; text-align: center; color: #2a3439; width: 100%; font: 40px 'Playfair Display', serif; text-transform: uppercase; line-height: 1.3em; letter-spacing: 20px; padding-bottom: 10px; text-shadow: 0px 0px 0px #000; } .woolf_quotetwo { position: relative; text-align: center; color: #5b686c; width: 45%; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; font-style: italic; letter-spacing: 1px; padding-top: 10px; padding-bottom: 20px; border-top: solid 1px; } </style> <center> <div class="woolf_container"> <img class="woolf_image" src="https://s15.postimg.cc/bpsaehnrf/jaroslav-devia-715052-unsplash.jpg"> <div class="woolf_gradient"></div> <div class="woolf_text"> <p class="woolf_quote">bitterness is thick like blood and cold as a wind sea breeze <br>if you must drink of me, take of me what you please</p> <p class="woolf_message">
If he is concerned for the pain she experiences, the way that it rips through her like claws through paper, it doesn’t show on his impassive face. His mouth remains still and quiet, emerald eyes hard beneath the muss of his mulberry forelock. Her memories are easy enough for him to pick through, easy enough for him to discern, and he watches her trek through the different lands, through the frozen tundra, back up the mountain without comment. If he feels an unfamiliar bite of jealousy at the sight of her and her stallion companion, he says nothing and doesn’t comment further on it, instead tilting his head toward her.
This was more than just cold from a storm.
This was more than just a fire could fix.
Still, he laughs slightly under his breath, obliging her request with a huff. “You’re feeling demanding,” he comments dryly before stepping forward and then lowering himself next to her. His body is massive, a body built for war and built to sustain winters such as this. His bulk curls next to her and he splits open his shoulder almost lazily, letting the blood drip down the harsh angle of his shoulder to hit the ground between them. The air around them rises several degrees in temperature and his breath blows out hot as he directs it to her, letting it ripple across her ice-bitten flesh, wondering at what changes within her.
“I can’t counteract it completely,” he says, almost apologetic, arching his neck and letting his breath warm her neck where he reaches over her. The truth is that he doesn’t know what would happen if he was to battle the cold within her aggressively. Would she melt? Would he inadvertently attack what was now twined around her very core? He frowns, mouth pinched, as his mouth drops slightly, lingering on her shoulder. Remembering himself, he pulls back again slightly, leaving at least a little space between them.
“I will do what I can though,” he says quietly. “Do you trust me?”
</p> <p class="woolf_name">woolf</p> <p class="woolf_quotetwo">I am loathed to say it's the devil's taste </p> </div> </div> </center>
XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#00000000', endColorstr='#1e1f21',GradientType=0 ); } .woolf_text { position: relative; z-index: 6; width: 580px; padding-top: 10px; margin-top: -110px; } .woolf_message { position: relative; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: justify; color: #859191; padding: 20px 35px; } .woolf_quote { position: relative; text-align: center; width: 60%; color: #5b686c; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.3em; letter-spacing: 1px; padding-top: 10px; padding-bottom: 20px; border-bottom: solid 1px; } .woolf_name { position: relative; text-align: center; color: #2a3439; width: 100%; font: 40px 'Playfair Display', serif; text-transform: uppercase; line-height: 1.3em; letter-spacing: 20px; padding-bottom: 10px; text-shadow: 0px 0px 0px #000; } .woolf_quotetwo { position: relative; text-align: center; color: #5b686c; width: 45%; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; font-style: italic; letter-spacing: 1px; padding-top: 10px; padding-bottom: 20px; border-top: solid 1px; } </style> <center> <div class="woolf_container"> <img class="woolf_image" src="https://s15.postimg.cc/bpsaehnrf/jaroslav-devia-715052-unsplash.jpg"> <div class="woolf_gradient"></div> <div class="woolf_text"> <p class="woolf_quote">bitterness is thick like blood and cold as a wind sea breeze <br>if you must drink of me, take of me what you please</p> <p class="woolf_message"> If he is concerned for the pain she experiences, the way that it rips through her like claws through paper, it doesn’t show on his impassive face. His mouth remains still and quiet, emerald eyes hard beneath the muss of his mulberry forelock. Her memories are easy enough for him to pick through, easy enough for him to discern, and he watches her trek through the different lands, through the frozen tundra, back up the mountain without comment. If he feels an unfamiliar bite of jealousy at the sight of her and her stallion companion, he says nothing and doesn’t comment further on it, instead tilting his head toward her.
This was more than just cold from a storm.
This was more than just a fire could fix.
Still, he laughs slightly under his breath, obliging her request with a huff. “You’re feeling demanding,” he comments dryly before stepping forward and then lowering himself next to her. His body is massive, a body built for war and built to sustain winters such as this. His bulk curls next to her and he splits open his shoulder almost lazily, letting the blood drip down the harsh angle of his shoulder to hit the ground between them. The air around them rises several degrees in temperature and his breath blows out hot as he directs it to her, letting it ripple across her ice-bitten flesh, wondering at what changes within her.
“I can’t counteract it completely,” he says, almost apologetic, arching his neck and letting his breath warm her neck where he reaches over her. The truth is that he doesn’t know what would happen if he was to battle the cold within her aggressively. Would she melt? Would he inadvertently attack what was now twined around her very core? He frowns, mouth pinched, as his mouth drops slightly, lingering on her shoulder. Remembering himself, he pulls back again slightly, leaving at least a little space between them.
“I will do what I can though,” he says quietly. “Do you trust me?”
</p> <p class="woolf_name">woolf</p> <p class="woolf_quotetwo">I am loathed to say it's the devil's taste </p> </div> </div> </center>
