12-24-2018, 01:26 AM
<link href='https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Alex+Brush' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'> <style type="text/css"> .wallace_container { position: relative; z-index: 1; height: auto; background-image: url('https://i.postimg.cc/5t14Lp8k/wallace-bg.png'); width: 600px; padding: 0 0 0 0; border: solid 2px #000; box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 1px #000; } .wallace_container p { margin: 0; } .wallace_image { position: relative; z-index: 3; width: 600px; } .wallace_text { position: relative; z-index: 5; width: 560px; margin-bottom: -200px; border-left: solid 1px #000; border-right: solid 1px #000; } .wallace_message { position: relative; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: justify; color: #000; padding: 30px; } .wallace_quote { position: relative; text-align: center; color: #dadada; font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif; font-style: italic; letter-spacing: 1px; padding-top: 30px; } .wallace_name { position: absolute; z-index: 9; color: #979797; text-align: center; font: 100px 'Alex Brush', cursive; margin-top: 730px; margin-left: 280px; text-shadow: 0px 0px 10px #979797; }</style> <center> <div class="wallace_container"> <div class="wallace_text"> <p class="wallace_quote">this time I’m torn, please wake me if I lose that face <br>search in these eyes: there’s still fire in the darkness </p> <p class="wallace_message">She was glad she would never have to admit how the sounds he made caused her heart to skip and race and panic. He seemed only semi-conscious, consumed in his exhaustion. She would scold him when he woke, perhaps, for wearing himself so thin. What would he do if she weren't here to watch over him, as useless as she may be?
Or maybe she would pretend it never happened.
He groaned and protested her leaving, pulling her in against him and sending wild heat scorching through her nerves along with the pleasure of being wanted, wanting her near him. That was so new, so wonderful. She never wanted to let it go. The rest of his speech was lost in her skin, his lips soft on her and feeling way too good. It didn't help at all to see how it softened his face to have his mouth against her this way.
<i>"Not when I've just found you again,"</i> he added with a sneaky, sexy smile. <i>"You promised me a date."</i>
She grinned suddenly, her smile bright and icy-rimmed brown eyes shining. "You have been stealing memories, Woolf," she accused him. He must have been digging into her mind to find such a specific detail, and although she blushed for it, she oddly didn't feel bothered by it just then. Not especially when he stole her breath away, made her gasp softly as he left a kiss on her shoulder, along her neck. He was so damn beautiful and she hated it.
<i>"Did you forget? That's not kind, Wallace."</i>
She took a breath and swallowed, breathed, gathered control of her damn pulse as best she could. His head drooped against her again and she was too quickly getting accustomed to feeling him so near, to touching him and brushing his hair away from his handsome brow.
"Technically," she corrected him with a clever little smiling bite to his neck, <i>"You</i> promised <i>me</i> a date." The smirk in her lips was smug, playful despite that he was hardly even conscious. Perhaps she wouldn't have been so at ease if he were lucid, but he was almost vulnerable this way and it made it easier.
She blushed though, glanced away, her smile fading. "I hadn't meant to dream of you again. I wish I could sleep and never dream." Dreams were stupid, left her hurting or hopeful - which was worse. She dreamed of Sabrael too, and Reilly. Kerberos. Tiphon. Unfair fantasies that would never be true. Nothing as real and alive as her last dream of Woolf had been, as he'd so wickedly been stealing from her mind, the rat.
"Shut up and rest now," she huffed at him in a soft breath, turning back to him again and tucking his dark hair precisely where it looked best. Fine, which was basically anywhere at all. Still. Away from his vivid eyes at least. "You're an impossible man," she swore at him, pushing a subtle sharpness in her voice in a pathetic attempt not to feel anything too deeply.
Impossible. Just like any future for her.
</p> </div> <div class="wallace_name">Wallace</div> <img class="wallace_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/Wz056fby/wallace.png"> </div> </center>
Or maybe she would pretend it never happened.
He groaned and protested her leaving, pulling her in against him and sending wild heat scorching through her nerves along with the pleasure of being wanted, wanting her near him. That was so new, so wonderful. She never wanted to let it go. The rest of his speech was lost in her skin, his lips soft on her and feeling way too good. It didn't help at all to see how it softened his face to have his mouth against her this way.
<i>"Not when I've just found you again,"</i> he added with a sneaky, sexy smile. <i>"You promised me a date."</i>
She grinned suddenly, her smile bright and icy-rimmed brown eyes shining. "You have been stealing memories, Woolf," she accused him. He must have been digging into her mind to find such a specific detail, and although she blushed for it, she oddly didn't feel bothered by it just then. Not especially when he stole her breath away, made her gasp softly as he left a kiss on her shoulder, along her neck. He was so damn beautiful and she hated it.
<i>"Did you forget? That's not kind, Wallace."</i>
She took a breath and swallowed, breathed, gathered control of her damn pulse as best she could. His head drooped against her again and she was too quickly getting accustomed to feeling him so near, to touching him and brushing his hair away from his handsome brow.
"Technically," she corrected him with a clever little smiling bite to his neck, <i>"You</i> promised <i>me</i> a date." The smirk in her lips was smug, playful despite that he was hardly even conscious. Perhaps she wouldn't have been so at ease if he were lucid, but he was almost vulnerable this way and it made it easier.
She blushed though, glanced away, her smile fading. "I hadn't meant to dream of you again. I wish I could sleep and never dream." Dreams were stupid, left her hurting or hopeful - which was worse. She dreamed of Sabrael too, and Reilly. Kerberos. Tiphon. Unfair fantasies that would never be true. Nothing as real and alive as her last dream of Woolf had been, as he'd so wickedly been stealing from her mind, the rat.
"Shut up and rest now," she huffed at him in a soft breath, turning back to him again and tucking his dark hair precisely where it looked best. Fine, which was basically anywhere at all. Still. Away from his vivid eyes at least. "You're an impossible man," she swore at him, pushing a subtle sharpness in her voice in a pathetic attempt not to feel anything too deeply.
Impossible. Just like any future for her.
</p> </div> <div class="wallace_name">Wallace</div> <img class="wallace_image" src="https://i.postimg.cc/Wz056fby/wallace.png"> </div> </center>