10-25-2018, 12:13 AM
<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">
He doesn’t stop to think to ask what she’s doing.
He doesn’t stop to think to ask why she’s here.
Everything melts away until it is, as it should always be, just the two of them and their strange magic pooled between them. He can feel his blood dripping down his broad shoulder and onto her. He can feel the way their magic pools together, roping and twining around one another. It gives him a thrill to feel the way his own magic doubles when combined with her own, the power that they can leverage in this moment. He wants to tip his head back and breathe it in, bathe in the experience. He wants to forget this mission and catapult them back into the stars, in the heavens; let them once again float through cosmos.
But whatever this is, means too much to her for her to abandon it now.
He knows at least that much.
So he doesn’t try to pry her away, pressing harsh fingers under her jaw and peeling her from this moment. Instead he just continues to focus, handsome face contorted with concentration. He doesn’t even see the boy now pressed to her side. Everything condenses, his vision zeroing in on the problem before them.
Whatever curls inside of the magical block of ice refuses the help and doubles down on its own power and Woolf, unused to be tried, snarls, lips pulled back to reveal predator teeth, tongue pressed against the wicked curve of them. He draws the edge of his power against his flesh again, this time across his hip, the skirt here so unused to splitting open. It splits now though, the edges of it nearly charred with his fury, the blood welling instantly and then dripping down the unstained flesh. It bites but he’s used to the pain, and it gives him—gives them—more of a reservoir from which to draw their power.
He feels the added depth, and he pushes it toward Bright, letting her redirect it as she wishes.
Her command rings through his deaf ears and he discards it, setting it down for another time.
Instead, he lets his own ring out:
“Stop being a coward,” a vicious, biting growl. “Stop hiding.”
</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"> He doesn’t stop to think to ask what she’s doing.
He doesn’t stop to think to ask why she’s here.
Everything melts away until it is, as it should always be, just the two of them and their strange magic pooled between them. He can feel his blood dripping down his broad shoulder and onto her. He can feel the way their magic pools together, roping and twining around one another. It gives him a thrill to feel the way his own magic doubles when combined with her own, the power that they can leverage in this moment. He wants to tip his head back and breathe it in, bathe in the experience. He wants to forget this mission and catapult them back into the stars, in the heavens; let them once again float through cosmos.
But whatever this is, means too much to her for her to abandon it now.
He knows at least that much.
So he doesn’t try to pry her away, pressing harsh fingers under her jaw and peeling her from this moment. Instead he just continues to focus, handsome face contorted with concentration. He doesn’t even see the boy now pressed to her side. Everything condenses, his vision zeroing in on the problem before them.
Whatever curls inside of the magical block of ice refuses the help and doubles down on its own power and Woolf, unused to be tried, snarls, lips pulled back to reveal predator teeth, tongue pressed against the wicked curve of them. He draws the edge of his power against his flesh again, this time across his hip, the skirt here so unused to splitting open. It splits now though, the edges of it nearly charred with his fury, the blood welling instantly and then dripping down the unstained flesh. It bites but he’s used to the pain, and it gives him—gives them—more of a reservoir from which to draw their power.
He feels the added depth, and he pushes it toward Bright, letting her redirect it as she wishes.
Her command rings through his deaf ears and he discards it, setting it down for another time.
Instead, he lets his own ring out:
“Stop being a coward,” a vicious, biting growl. “Stop hiding.”
</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>
