#Palazzo pants with tops

[seventh-district]

IRL photos jumpscare

[iamblvd]

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[ambrose123four]

FASHION THINGS TO DRAW #25: Palazzo Pants

[houseoffett]

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[jaipurkurti1]

We can already hear the wedding bells! And choosing what to wear to an Indian wedding is an important task, but it doesn’t have to be stressful. Indian weddings are known for their extravagance, traditional customs and rituals and celebration of love.

If you’re invited to a typical Indian wedding and you’re not sure about what to wear as a wedding guest then you’ve come to the right place. Jaipur Kurti has curated this special list of wedding wear suit sets featuring intricate designs to bold and beautiful colors.

[sillygoose067]

Charles’s Angel(s)

Ch. 44

Charles Leclerc x Reader

The summer heat was beginning to get to you, and you decided to don a pair of palazzo pants and a crop top as you got dressed for your boyfriend’s day out at the golf country club with his friends. Golf really was never your thing, and honestly, it wasn’t Charles’ favorite either, but hey, it made for a good excuse to spend time with friends and family.  

Charles steps out of your shared bedroom in a pristine cream polo and a pair of khaki shorts, his favorite sunglasses hanging from the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. “Y/n?”

You turn toward him as you finish gulping down your glass of water. “Ready to go?”

He nods and moves to grab the keys from the bowl on the counter. 

"Wait,"  you stop him. Rushing into the bedroom, you return with your favorite sunscreen. Charles stands still as you apply it all over his face, knowing better than to mess with you and your essential skin-caring steps. "Okay,"  you breathe. “All done. Now we can go.”

…

Arriving at the venue, you’re immediately greeted by a crowd of photographers and fans. They’d somehow managed to track down the drivers’ whereabouts– Again. Oh well, not much you could do about it now.  

Charles gently grabs your hands and helps you out of his car, pressing his lips to your knuckles in a show of open affection, giving the crowd something to watch and making you blush. Some of the girls in the crowd “oohed” and “aahed” and swooned at the action. 

 Carlos greets you at the entrance of the golfing grounds, Rebecca on his arm. She pulls you off your own boyfriend’s arm and tugs you toward where Kika is seated, a quaint little corner overlooking the grounds where you’d be able to watch over the boys. 

Grabbing one of the refreshing drinks set on the little table, you go to take a sip, when suddenly, you’re cut off by the ever-peppy Kika.

 “Soooooo, how are things going with Loverboy?” You sputter on your drinks, patting yourself on the head a couple of times out of habit.  

“Whatever do you mean?” you smirk back at her playfully. “I should be asking you girls the same thing. I’ve been seeing a lot of things on socials.” 

Now it’s their turn to blush.  

“Damn, you really didn’t have to throw that on us like that,"  replies Kika. She and Becca share about how their men have been making sure to give them the princess treatment, and you exhale internally—whew, that was a quick save. You didn't need them to know how you’d gotten railed seven days to Sunday.

…

“Hey Y/n, I’m going on an influencer trip in a few weeks to promote one of the brands that sends me their products. You want to come with?” Kika asks you out of the blue, pulling you out of the trance you’d been in watching Charles play golf.  

“Me? Oh, I couldn’t possibly.” 

“C’moooon, please? Pierre can’t come with me, and Becca here has another shooting. I don’t want to go alone; it gets so boring, and all I can do is talk to all the other people there who try WAY too hard to get famous. It’s honestly really annoying. Please come? All the expenses are already going to be taken care of, and it’ll be fun.” 

You bite your lip in contemplation. “But I’m not even,"  you gesture to yourself and then to her. “Like, you’re hot. I’m not like you. They probably would just kick me out and think I’m a stalker or something.”

 “Who’s not hot?” you hear from behind you, the voice sounding an awful lot like your boyfriend.  

“Y/N here says she’s not attractive enough to go on an influencer trip I want her to join me on,"  sniffs Kika disapprovingly.  

“She’ll go.” 

“I– I will?” 

Charles glares at you pointedly. “Yes.” 

“Oh. Why?”

 “Because I’m going to talk some sense into you when we get home.” 

You let out a breath and turned to Kika and Becca, who have been watching the exchange with interest. “Well, I guess I’m going then?”

 Pierre’s girlfriend squeals as she squeezes tightly. “Yay! Okay, I’ll send you all the details as soon as we get out of this heat.”

 Rebecca huffs from the side. “Yeah, I don’t know who decided it was a good idea to play an outdoor sport in this heat.”

 Both you and Francisca turn to her and glare. “Okay, maybe I DO know. But sometimes, I really question that man’s brain and why I agree to these kinds of things.”

The three of you giggle at that. “Cheers to that.”

[roboticchibitan]

I guess I'll post the things I made in 2023 since this seems to be a thing we are doing

Socks I knitted this winter! The blue ones were a Yule gift for my mom. She loves them and has said she'd love another pair in grey. The purple one I finished yesterday, Dec 30th, and I've just finished the heel on the second sock. These socks all have mismatched heels because both I and my mother have two different sized feet so we need a way to tell which sock is which.

Potholders I made as holiday gifts. Laying here on one of mt current WIPs, a pair of palazzo pants I am embroidering the hem of before I sew them together.

I dyed some yarn this year! I couldn't find a picture of the blacklight reactive yarn I dyed. And I'm too tired to go find it. The Royal blue was for my gf's still unfinished Yule gift 😅

Handkerchiefs! I tatted an edging for both of these and embroidered the violets on the purple one. DMC 550 is my favorite color so the violets and the tatted edge both are that color. The blue one came with the design on it already. I just tatted the edge.

Last but not least, I came up with this double moss stitch triangle shawl pattern. It still needs a good blocking. I'm going to tweak it a bit and write it all out and hopefully sell the pattern sometime next year.

Not pictured: the hot pink palazzo pants I made (currently wearing them) that I couldn't find a picture of, another pair of socks, several cat toys, and two band shirts I turned into crop tops. Also I mended a pair of pyjama pants I've been meaning to mend since literally last winter.

[carmenized-onions]

NEW CHAPTER, 14, new recap (can you believe the first one i recapped was chapter 5 oh my) lets rip some coke and goooo

“I thought it was a good bit!” “Cause I’m a piece of shit?” - IVE MISSED THISS

CHARMIN SOUNDS LIKE CHARMING 🥹🥹🥹

the deer in headlights bit is v funny, you’ll see when you see the memes (which i made before the chapter, i am nostradamus)

she is fruity for sure

nodding like i understand food talk (tf is a3)

unrelated but the same therapist thing reminded me about something i keep forgetting to bring up - RICHIE IS HR. so when you mentioned the bear needs an HR, well they do. and as long as carmy treats chip right i think he’ll accept the co-worker relationship (anything to be able to work with chippy)

THE CAT. he is those cute curly kitties. the shat, iykyk

the fact carmen wants to say ‘i love you’ this early (something he struggled a lot to say to his family) IS SOOOOOOOOO

OMG CHIPPY GOING TO WORK FOR THEM FOR REAL????:333333333

This has been Carmichael Burrowski, folks! Don’t call no one— — DNEKRKRIOELEKDKFODNEKE CARMICHAEL BURROWSKI

Ugh, boyfriend? What kind of word is ‘boyfriend’? That's fucked. - THEYRE SO SIMILAR AND PERFECT TOGETHER

And you cannot say you love him because that would be weird. - OH SHUT UP THEYRE SO

“I’m going to kiss you.” “Yeah, okay.” - THAT IS SO FUNNY SJDJFJKF

He’s fine with the touch of hair pulling, on your part— Possibly more than fine. — *giggles in meme*

“You’re so pretty.” You tell him anyway, speaking into his half open mouth.  Whatever thought he had, it’s dead now.“—Jesus fucking Christ.” - i need them to know how much i love them jesus fucking christ

“I’m not a fucking virgin.” - LMFAOEKRKKEOEKEKRNRKRKRKEKEKEKE

“It was a recent development, okay?” “Darn. Sorry I was late.” - 🥺🥺🥺 imagine -

“I want you in every sentence.” - FUCKING KILL ME WHY DONT YOU CARA MIA😭

to bite you like a cannibal - this man and his hickeys🤭🤭🤭

“Fak is still outside, I’m pretty sure.” - CHIP??1?2?2?3kr3kr3kr3kr838484kr4&4&4

“Wait— Are they?” Oh, so Richie’s here, too? Good. - oh great everyone’s here, bet squid is there too

NUZZLING NOSES

her old cat, her old pu-

Nuzzling your face into Syd’s cheek - squidink as she’s holding carm’s hand?? wild

“First of all, wrong placement.” - ofc it is

When shit happens, you call me - 🥺🥺🥺 bestie!!!

“Get your weird little hands off my Chip, you perv—” - LMFAOOOW DJEJEJDJDJ I LOVE HIM SO

and syd’s reply sidjdifi

“Y’know how going to a different barber is like cheating—?” - SJDJDJ GET HIS ASS CHIP. they swapped her for fucking ted fak???

“You’re still— We’re still sharing, right?” - SYD SHENJEHEJE

I’m sexually normal - very normal thing to say, it me tho

OMFG IF CHIP RECOGNIZES DONNA AND PETE FROM OUTSIDE THE RESTAURANT

“Baby’s do traditionally experience time, yeah.” “You n’ that smart mou—” - their dynamic is unmatched

You have to respect the power in that. “Damn.” - that reminded me of marcus

“Oooh, Charmin gets his first paycheck suddenly he’s all that—” “You wanna come up to my room or not?” - i was gonna comment on the charmin thing but HELLO1??1?23)kr3:kr

THEY CAN HANG. SURE BRO

THEYRE WATCHING RATATOUILLE OMGGGGG

Sleeveless black turtleneck? Maybe black palazzo pants - HOT

Please say yes to the white apron. Please say yes to his team. He'll get your initials monogrammed and everything. - *passes out*

the wonderful rat chef

ON GOD

“Yeah. I’ll answer.” - bc 🥺😭

“You’re fucking Carmen!” - GOODBYEEEE. not carmen outing them YET AGAIN

“So fuck you, actually.” - 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

“Fuck off! I’m already coming to fucking Time Square with you, don’t be whiny.”  - this is giving when dwight was like ‘of course i’ll get that stuff for you so just shut up’

“I nominate Carmen.” “I second the nom.” - tag-team<33

Don’t fuck in a fuckin’ Holiday Inn Chip’s worth mo - he’s so sweet and yet so???

HE CALLED CHIP BABY I REPEAT

It's absolutely going in Carmen's top five favourite expressions of yours. - 🕊️🕊️🕊️

“Syd said she will be knocking violently if I’m not back at midnight on the dot, yeah.” - SQUID GIVING HER GF A CURFEW

THE BERF SHIRT

“God, it’s over—” - squidink is so over rn😔

“Baby, just say you’re happy for me.” - BABY. THEYRE SO BACK

squid can stab men, a little, as a treat

You hand her your water bottle when you spot her looking at it. - 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

her instinct is to call chip, oh OH oh

“I didn’t ask you to be great.” Syd says it before she thinks it, and it’s enough to make your eyes water - MINE ARE RUNNING TOO ACTUALLY

God you’re dehydrated - *careless whisper plays* i mean what I SAID NOTHING

squid out🦑🦑

“It’s so crazy that you think that’s gonna happen—” - I LOVEEE SHEEE

Your shoulders touch as you both stare at the ceiling. - CUTIES

She hums, pointing to the popcorn tiles - namedrop! jk…unless?

“Oh my fucking God it’s that bad—”- GET THEIR ASSES SQUID

In front of everyone, accidentally while saying goodbye, off-handedly while hanging up, over text, and so on and so forth. - all of those are cute actually

“Now it’s three.” “Fuck, it’s gaining interest?!” - WE’RE SO BACK!!!!

“Wait, what the fuck, Syd, say it back!” - REAL!!

this was so cute!! just them and their adventures

LETS. GET. ROLLLINNGGGG!!!! (papers!!!) (we both can do drug jokes in this house!!!) (there will be a wip under all this as a treat I promise)

I’m honestly shocked Charmin isn’t a canon nickname (yet!!), cause like. IT DOES SOUND LIKE CARMEN!!! AND THE TOILET PAPER BEARS!!! AND THE TOILET PAPER BEARS ARE BLUE NOW TOO!!! WHAT THE HELL!!!

You are frfr an oracle with your memes, occasionally I look at em like hmmmmm,,,, this is gonnna be a lot funnier after the next one. My comedic Nostradamus genius. (the secrets of the universe ARE in the popcorn ceiling!! U!!)

The benefit about writing about food for people who did not come for food is that I also don’t have to fully understand what I’m saying. Had to look at a wagyu chart and make a lot of assumptions. I am not going to make steak with pop rocks to find out if it’s any good.

OKAY WHAT THE FUCK I S RICHIE’S JOB I’M BEING SO FR I DO NOT !!! Carmen’s Exec, Syd’s CDC/Head, Richie is… HR/Co-Manager/Host??? No wonder he can afford fuckin eras tour tickets bro is getting THREE DIFFERENT PAYCHECKS WHAT!!! But this does make sense. Bro IS THEE Human Resource.

Had to look up photos of sheep cats. Yeah that’s him. That’s Carmen but a Cat for sure.

RAHH. The held back I love yous are very. Very rah. Theres a lot of thought behind them for me but I shant share because I feel like that may give too much away I fear?

Carmichael burrowski is brought to you by seeing Carmichael company vans a lot and Mae Burrowski from Night in the Woods. Thank u both for ur service.

I completely forgot about the ‘that’s fucked’ convo with Fak until I saw a gifset and went OH YEAH…. It IS fucked. They are so stupid. They are also both unable to say I love you because that would be WEIRD!!!!!!!

I am so happy with the incredibly funny smooch because it was very much to mimic Carmen’s —

I think funny kisses are the way to go. There is something very charming (CHARMIN!) to me about awkwardly expressed consent.

YOU DIDN’T PUT THE RATATOULLIE MEME IN THIS ONE FOR THE PUBLIC TO ENJOY AND FOR THAT!!! YOU’VE DEPRIVED OUR PEOPLE!! i knew if I was gonna make him watch ratatouille and have him relate, he’d have to relate to more than just remy.

I’ll call them and let them know you love them, promise. Whenever they get out of the bathroom.

Carmen 30-Year Old Virgin Berzatto— Or 28-29, time line is UNCLEAR!! Regardless, I couldn’t take away my man’s one W. He fumbles most people, I had to let him have the one he canonically got. And also it was too fun to consider him absolutely STEWING as Tony recounts her emotional relationship with Mikey, just thinking in the background “I need to tell her I am in fact. NOT . a virgin!” I hate this man.

I WANT YOU IN EVERY SENTENCEEE RRAAAWHWHWHEHE!!! Loved that. Loved writing that paragraph. Love love. Love wanting to have someone so intrinsically in your life that in order for someone to know you they have to know them. WOOOOOO!!!!!!!! Carmen give her a hickey before we have to confront the emotional implications, GET HER BOY!!

Well how much did you bet on syd being there because now I owe you

CHIPS GOT TWO HANDS FOR A REASON BABY!!! I’m kidding the triangle would never work. But they should try anyways.

Whole Richie scene makes me :)) it’s fun to navigate these two going through like, so many internal emotions obviously over Chip’s trauma dump, and deciding what Richie would actually take a moment to comment on. And I think it absolutely has to be the ‘imagine your friends are dead’, bro 100% HAD TO BE HELD BACK FROM RAMMING THE DOOR DOWN TRULY TRULY. Don’t imagine I’m fuckin dead cousin!!!!!! I’m not a fuckin ghost!!! Call me!!!!!!!!! I am literally your guy!!!!!

Watching season 3 and seeing half of the season unnecessarily focusing on a Handyman (Ted) really had me clutching my pearls like. Bro. where’s my baby. Who the fuck does this guy think he is. This is CHIP TURF!!

BIG SHOUT OUT TO SYDNEY ‘THE SQUID’ ‘SEXUALLY NORMAL’ ADAMU!~

Donna!! Donna!! Finally semi-time that I have to face my white whale of writing,,, da mom… I’m still mentally tackling how to write her, but we’ll get there when we get there…. (truly thought she was gonna fucking die this season I didn’t think I was gonna have to DEAL WITH IT!!)

Everyone simultaneously did a record scratch at ‘do you want to come up to my room’ and I think that’s beautiful. I think that’s everything I wanted and more. They can hang bro. and watch ratatouille. Like hang out and be normal and fantasize about easily removable aprons with monogramming done.

Carmen is a certified shoe in his mouth yapper. Sugar, hand the crown to your brother, you may step off your throne; because this fucker has gotten caught like three separate times simply by being himself.

VERY DWIGHT Very like, sibling texting ‘fuck you I hate you what do you want from mcdonalds im omw home’. That’s the Richip dynamic to me. And then they kill carm.

Chip baby!!! This is not a drill he finally called her a pet name!! men, to your stations! And she didn’t even have the brain to COMPUTE IT, alas.

The post squid scene was so tough I was like, ‘do I cut this and just end on carmen?’ but then I knew, I’d never write this scene, cause spoiler alert, we’re doing a very slight time skip. So like. I just wanted Squidink to have their actual last beat to their sad no contact era because!!! So many feelings to be had over not contacting your boy in forever!!! But god its so OVER!

‘Didn’t ask you to be great’ is SUCH a punch to the gut, esp for a people pleaser like Chip (or me, man). Like. Fuckin. GOD. It’s the same sentiment Richie had in Just Dropped with ‘I’d love you even if you weren’t useful’, but like, this side of it is pre-useful. Like. Not only would I love you if you weren’t useful, I would never ASK you to be useful. HELL.

All of those I love yous are cute you say? Well I will have to up my game in coming up with something truly mortifying, then.

Shout out to me, directing on set, and demanding that my crew says it back when I say I love you. Genuinely my ‘Heard’ is a reciprocated ‘I love you’. No one call Richie/HR.

also the memes. immaculate as always. AND THE AUTHOR/CHIP COMPARISON,,, ART IMITATES LIFE, what can i say? if carmen/chip manage to live together at a point i really can't imagine him denying anything she wants. i think he would only have opinions on the kitchen and maybe efficiency of moving through spaces. (WE NEED TO PUSH THE COFFEE TABLE BACK!!! SIDLING AGAINST IT TO GET TO THE COUCH IS CAUSING A 3.4 SECOND DELAY IN MOVIE TIME!!!!) psycho.

Anyways. As always, a pweasure to hear your thoughts. I am hoping next weekend will finally be the fucking weekend I put something out. It’s hard slugging through this next chapter because it’s basically our so much fucking dialogue chapter, and navigating action and meaning AROUND that has been a nightmare. I think I’m probably over thinking the fuck out of it, to be fair. I feel so bad making y’all wait, so here is a juicer snippet.

THANK YOU LOVE YOU APPRECIATE ALL UR PATIENCE AND ALL UR THOUGHTS I LOVE TO HEAR FROM YALL!!

[myrmyrtheorca]

Myeeeeell! Hi, hi~!! I hope you're doing well, dear! I'll ask about my personal favourite: Lidija. "What would your character wear if they were told they had to gussy up?", "Would your character prefer something bought or made personally?" and "What type of environment does your character like best?"

Hello Momo 🩵🩵 boredom at work strikes again so it's time to be productive and keep answering questions~

Putting this under the read more jail because Lidija has a lot to say about dresses LMAO

- What would [Lidija] wear if they were told they had to gussy up: ok disclaimer, I've never heard of this expression before so I had to look it up, hopefully I understood the assignment here and answered correctly if not please feel free to tell me if I missed the mark 🙏 if there are any subtle meanings to the phrase I'm pretty sure I didn't catch them lel

After freaking out from the excitement of being invited to some event where she can dress up and taking approximately one week (in the best case scenario) to choose what to wear, our little princess will be up and running ready to blind you with her sparks! This sounds like PR and it is, this is a Lidija-sponsored post here we celebrate the marshmallow

Her favourite choices include long dresses, because she feels really uncomfortable when her legs are showing, even if it's just the ankles. The puffier/larger/more full the skirt is, the better: anything too tight will show her silhouette and hinder her when it's time to ✨dance✨ (she's convinced it's an established part of every social gathering) So no cocktail or sheath dresses, and mermaid ones only when she's super confident about it.

She has much less problems with showing her shoulders and arms, though, and this makes her a big fan of strapless dresses! I'd say her perfect fit would be a strapless top with a gown-like lower half, and an empire or basque-style waistline.

You'll probably notice I've only talked about dresses, and that's because it's her favourite thing to wear. Long palazzo pants are the most daring piece of clothing she'll wear. She's a big fan of blouses knot right under the bust though! So if it's a more informal type of gathering, she'll probably attend with one of those and a long high-waist skirt.

As for shoes and accessories, high-heel boots are her go-to for anything. In general the higher the heels are, the better. She likes to style her hair a lot and has scrunchies/pins/circlets for every occasion. She must stand out, she's royalty!

Favourite colours: pastels, shades of red, ABSOLUTELY NOT PURPLE.

Favourite patterns: polka dots, Scottish,plain with sparkles/small shiny decors, lace.

- What type of environment does [Lidija] like best: the bustling streets of a big city! Much like Myr, Lidija likes places full of stimuli (and shops). She's very extroverted and feels at ease in the crowd. Bonus points if it's one of those picturesque villages aimed at tourists like Cortina d'Ampezzo.

- Would [Lidija] prefer something bought or made personally: if you make something for her with your own hands she'll find that very sweet and thank you profusely.

Having said that, if you bring her to one of those fancy malls and there's a Celine or Yves Saint Laurent boutique... she'll find that VERY sweet and will thank you PROFUSELY.

May the lord himself financially help whoever she ends up with.

Ok memes aside, she really values it when someone takes the time to make stuff for her, because it doesn't really happen often. But if given money, she's a menace and spends it in the blink of an eye, so letting her indulge in her shopping habits by giving her a hand would also make her super happy.

[iamblvd]

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[salty-medley]

Time for a new redesign with my fave victim, Miss Beifong.

We rarely see her with anything else than her iconic uniform, sometimes pajamas or coat ( Zaofu doesn't count, it's not her wardrobe) except for Varrick's wedding. And if it wasn't the worst outfit in Legend of Korra, it could be way more original as well.

So let me present you my version:

The main ideas here are:

Pants. These ones are pleated palazzo pants, something which looks like a skirt but isn't.

Metal parts she could easily use for emergencies. I initially though about jewelry and hair pin but... Way too classic and obvious. Better have a whole arm decoration you can bend as you want and redesign as you wish.

Comfortable yet luxurious materials. I don't picture Lin as someone who show her wealth, she's not Su. She likes quality, not quantity. Mulberry silk for the top maybe?

Flowers, something related to spring. We see mostly her as a metal bender but she is in some way more balanced between earth and metal than her sister, and earth isn't limited at rocks.

Something pink. Green is pretty much common for earth benders, but in Toph's noble outfit in ATLA, we can also find some beige, cream, light yellow and pink tones. Pink, mostly peach one, looks good on Lin when it's in little touches.

Here, three versions:

The "basic" one

The basic with the metal arm decoration.

The alternative, closer to what she usually wears in the serie.

Which one is your favourite?

Hello, maybe you could also help me with my Legend of Korra OC? https://www.tumblr.com/salty-medley/712306749909172224/could-you-help-me-with-that-legend-of-korra?source=share

[apoptoses]

written for vckinkweek: edge play

It’s 8:34 pm when Armand ascends from the bowels of Night Island and seeks out Daniel. It’s a masterpiece of a house, even he has to admit. A modern palazzo with every amenity a mortal could ever crave, and all the newest fittings. Plush carpet floors muffle his footsteps as he takes a sweeping staircase up to the second floor, where he can feel the bright pulse of Daniel’s heart calling to him like a beacon.

Sometimes when he wakes Daniel is still lounging in bed, or in the pool. Or settled in the living room, asleep on the sofa with a glass of half drunk whiskey on the table. Tonight, though, Armand’s unnatural senses place him in the office. Which isn’t entirely unusual. It’s just that usually Daniel is in there during the day, leaving Armand to pluck the memory of what he’s accomplished from his mind.

And so it’s a rare treat to see him like this, seated behind the great oak desk Armand had imported from Europe. Dressed in his suit and pinching the bridge of his nose, Daniel could almost pass for a businessman.

But only almost. No self respecting businessman would be in a white linen suit, or have his shirt unbuttoned to expose the better part of his chest. Probably they wouldn’t have their bare feet kicked up on the desk either, but Armand is hardly going to reprimand him for that. He has entire regiments of actual business professionals working for him. He only has this one Daniel.

Armand leans against the door frame and takes in the way Daniel’s blond chest hair catches the light, the strands of it glowing as golden as the metal wrapped threads that had decorated Armand’s clothing in his youth. His mouth burns at the sight of it. He has the urge to go over, to bury his face in it and drink straight from Daniel’s beating heart.

Daniel pulls a lighter from his breast pocket and settles a cigarette between his lips. The acrid scent of smoke fills the room.

“Look, if you’re here to bitch at me about getting up and going over to the mainland for the opera or a movie or whatever it is I’m sure you’ve got tickets to, you’re gonna have to shelve it, okay?” Daniel says when he notices Armand at the door. “I have another call to make and it really can’t wait.”

Armand gives a dismissive wave. “I had no such intentions. The film will still be playing tomorrow.”

There’s a whole mess of items on the desk. Scattered papers, an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. The glass of whiskey that’s mostly empty now, the single ice cube in the center melted down so small it’s barely visible. Armand stacks some of the papers and puts them aside so that he can perch on the edge of the desk, right beside Daniel’s feet.

The tops of them have gone tan from Daniel spending time outside in the sun. Armand traces over a lighter strip of skin that runs from the space between Daniel’s toes, across the top of his arch. The pale shadow of where his sandals lie, painted on his skin by the daylight.

Armand’s fingers look monstrously white in comparison to Daniel’s living skin. He cocks his head and drags his nail over a lavender vein, and listens to Daniel’s heart race at his touch.

“I’m working,” Daniel warns. “I have to take this call.”

“Yes, you said so already. What does it pertain to?” Armand asks as he traces around the jut of Daniel’s ankle.

And then his fingers drift upwards, toward the hem of Daniel’s pants leg. The fabric is wrinkled from being worn all day, the starch melted away by the humidity of Miami, and so it’s nothing to push his pants leg up and drag his fingers through the fine hair on Daniel’s calf.

He massages at the thick muscle there. Against his will, Daniel lets out a quiet groan and melts into the great leather office chair.

God, I can’t get shit done with him around. I should really kick him out.

“Taxes. The guy who did our forms fucked up, not that I can blame him- our finances are a wreck,” Daniel mutters.

“We have plenty of money-“

“Yeah and that’s the problem, plenty of money with nowhere to trace it back to, no records for half the shit you’ve stolen and sold. And so I’m stuck here well past dinner time untangling this mess.”

Daniel ashes his cigarette and picks up the glass of whiskey, downing the thing in one swallow. When Armand pinches the back of his calf for his pertness he digs his heel into his thigh in a sort of half hearted kick.

Beneath Armand’s fingertips his pulse rushes. Armand wonders if perhaps he can overwhelm him, convince him to give up the call and let him sink his fangs into his sunkissed neck.

“And what’s the worst that could happen, should you do nothing? I can take care of anyone who comes here making demands of you,” Armand says.

Daniel barks out a laugh. “Take care of them? This isn’t the 19th century, you can’t just murder every IRS man who comes knocking. People will notice,” he says. “The best thing you can do is play secretary for me and get me another glass of whiskey, and then have a seat until I’m done here.”

It’s a dismissal if Armand ever heard one. He stands and lets Daniel’s foot go crashing toward the floor.

Fine. If Daniel wants a secretary then that’s what he’ll get.

Armand ignores the way Daniel swears at his sudden movement. He takes the glass of whiskey to the bar cart in the corner and busies himself with making his drink. Not two fingers worth- closer to three, almost four. Daniel’s been drinking more since they arrived at the island but Armand ignores that too, pushes that worry to the back of his mind in favor of focusing on his more immediate desires.

By the time he delivers the drink Daniel is on the phone muttering formalities to a stranger. Apologies for calling at the late hour, gratitude for offering his services last minute. Armand tunes the details out as he tidies up the desk.

He knows how to do this. How to make a show of himself, how to bend over as he empties the ashtray into the garbage can. It’s the same tricks he played five hundred years ago to distract his master; only the accouterments involved have changed.

It had only been a movie Armand was intending on taking Daniel to see and so he’d dressed for the occasion. A soft, slightly worn t-shirt from Daniel’s drawer on top, on the bottom a pair of cut off jeans. Armand is aware of how short they are. He doesn’t need a mirror to know they ride up when he bends over because he has Daniel’s mind for that.

Daniel’s mind, which is now a jumble of thoughts. He’s half focused on what the man is saying about something called a W-2; the other half of his brain fixated on the bone white curve of Armand’s rear end, peeking out from beneath frayed denim.

Where did he get those? Does he have any idea how obscene they look on him?

Yes. Armand is well aware of how obscene they look, because judging by the way Daniel’s heart is hammering beneath his sternum he’s aroused despite Armand barely even touching him yet.

Armand pretends he’s missed the trash can, that he’s dropped a cigarette butt on the carpet. He gets to his knees on the floor and hunts around for a thing that doesn’t exist.

Daniel’s pen clicks on the desk over and over, following the rhythm of his heart. Armand reaches beneath the bar cart and feels around, spreads his knees wider so he can really reach and-

“I’m sorry sir, could you repeat that?” Daniel asks. His throat clicks as he swallows. “No, no, I can hear you just fine. It’s just that my secretary distracted me for a second.”

Armand smirks at the carpet. He gets up and rakes his hair back from where it’s fallen into his face, and watches Daniel’s eyes track the movement of his fingers as he drags them through his own hair.

He fluffs the flowers in their vase. Reaches high to push a book into place on its shelf and, via Daniel’s mind, sees the pale flash of his own stomach exposed by his t-shirt riding up. He straightens the paper in the fax machine and then, out of cleaning tasks to do, turns his attention back to Daniel himself.

Daniel, who’s chewing at his lower lip as he hums little sounds of acknowledgment to the man on the phone. He’s got a notepad out but all he’s managed to do is scribble a line over and over as his gaze lingers on Armand’s thighs.

Armand tugs on the arm of the chair until it spins and Daniel is no longer facing the desk. Before he can say anything, he drops himself straight into Daniel’s lap.

“I’m sorry, could hold for just a moment?” Daniel asks and then puts his hand over the receiver on the phone to muffle his voice. “I said I’m working.”

Armand blinks at him innocently. “Yes, and you also said to take a seat. You neglected to say where.”

Daniel narrows his eyes. For a moment it looks as if he might argue, or try to shove Armand off. Before he can do either Armand reaches right down between his legs and squeezes.

The sound Daniel makes- it’s as if someone has punctured his lung. Between a groan and gasp, choked off so that the man on the phone doesn’t hear it. Armand strokes him through the thin linen fabric and Daniel has to bite the heel of his palm to keep from reacting again.

He’s hard- not completely, not just yet, but Armand can fix that. He doesn’t bother with teasing, with building up to make Daniel beg for it. He just grips his cock firmly through his pants, rubbing his thumb over the tip in little circles until Daniel is squirming in his chair.

“Daniel,” Armand leans into murmur directly into his ear. Goosebumps race over Daniel’s skin at the chill of his breath. “Continue your phone call. Taxes are rather important, I’d hate for our business venture to fail before it truly begins.”

Daniel sucks in a sharp breath when Armand unzips his pants and reaches his cold hand in. “You’re so full of shit.”

“And you have a man waiting for you to return the call. We’re paying him by the hour for his advice, are we not? Which means the more you fuck around the more of my money you’re wasting.”

Armand hardly ever swears. He only does it to get a reaction out of Daniel, and what a reaction it is. His heart leaps up into his throat, his pulse rushing impossibly fast at the swear word leaving his lips. It affects him almost as much as the feeling of Armand’s fingers curled around his cock. Almost as much as the touch of his lips on his neck.

Daniel takes a deep breath in. He closes his eyes and tries to count to ten in his mind. He fails miserably at five when Armand licks over the stubble at the edge of his jaw.

“You’re a pitiful businessman, Daniel. You’re lucky I love you well enough to keep you working for me,” Armand teases, delighted by how easily distracted he is. “Now finish your call before I take the phone from your hand and do it myself. I’ll simply hang up on him.”

Daniel rolls his eyes, and whether it’s meant to be sarcastic or just a reaction to Armand’s thumb swiping across the leaking tip of his cock, Armand doesn’t know. “You wouldn’t be so rude.”

“Try me, lover.”

For a second they sit there and take the measure of each other. Daniel contemplates ending the call himself. It would be easy enough to fake an emergency, to call the man back during normal business hours and yet-

It would be kinda hot, having him jerk me off while I’m on the phone. This guy would never know what’s going on.

“Yes, so long as you keep quiet,” Armand says. “If you can I’ll give you a reward. I’ll let you drink from me for as long as you wish.”

Daniel jumps at the reminder that Armand is in his head. “And if I can’t?”

“Then I get to taste you first.”

Daniel mulls it over. He opens his mouth and then realizes nothing he can say could change the trajectory of this conversation or keep Armand in line and so he thinks better of it. He drops his hand from the phone receiver and turns his attention back to his call.

“I’m so sorry for that,” Daniel says and clears his throat, covering up the groan threatening to escape him when Armand resumes stroking him. “Anyways, as you were saying about our employee forms-“

Armand doesn’t listen to anything he says after that. He lets Daniel’s voice become a low rumble, just a tangle of noises that cause his chest cavity to vibrate pleasantly beneath Armand’s palm. He rests his free hand over his heart, absently toying with his chest hair as he strokes him slow and determined.

Daniel is such an all encompassing experience. He has no idea what being close to him is like, especially not when he’s aroused. It’s not just that his cock is hard and easy for Armand to touch. It’s the way the sweat begins to collect on his skin, smelling of salt and pheromones, something unique to his chemical make up; that only exists in Daniel’s cells.

Armand runs the tip of his nose over his throat and then follows it with his tongue. He gets the scent of him and the taste all at once and this time it’s him that nearly moans and alerts the man on the phone. He bites the sound back, though, and bites his own tongue instead.

A taste of his own blood. Not nearly as good as tasting Daniel’s but enough for now, enough to distract the thirst; to send the urge to bite Daniel into the back of his mind so that he can concentrate on distracting him instead.

Not that it’s difficult. Armand tugs at Daniel’s chest hair and Daniel has to put his hand over his mouth to keep from letting out a shocked gasp. He’s not even looking at anything anymore. His eyes are closed, head pushed back into the deep, plush leather as he mumbles something about assets or income or some other financial term Armand has never had to care about even once in his life. Daniel isn’t even certain he knows what he’s talking about anymore.

He’s unraveling quickly. Which is fine with Armand, who’s been burning with the thirst since he first saw this man in his suit, with his heart shamelessly exposed by his open shirt. It puts them on even ground, makes the challenge more enjoyable.

Enjoyable for Armand, at least. Daniel looks tormented when he lifts his head and catches a glimpse of his face. His expression is drawn tight enough to crack, and it quite nearly does when Armand twists his wrist and lavishes attention on the head of his cock.

He’s gorgeous like this. Like a saint in anguish, with his mouth dropped open and his eyes shut tight. Armand ignores the protest of his zipper and sneaks his other hand down his pants to fondle at his sack. It’s a light touch, Armand makes sure to be gentle, but it still has Daniel digging his heels into the carpet hard enough the chair rolls back from the desk.

‘Slow down,’ Daniel mouths at him silently. Armand furrows his brow, pretends not to understand, and strokes him faster.

It’s no longer like the touch of a mortal. It’s too precise, too methodical for a human hand and that’s the kind of thing that drives Daniel right to the edge. He’s thinking about it, jumbled words like unnatural and monstrous and jesus fuck it’s like being jacked off by a machine-

Lucky for him the man on the other line is busy explaining something- monologuing, really, so all Daniel has to do is make noises of acknowledgment. But he’s barely able to do that. When Armand tightens his cold hand around him his casual ‘uh huh’ becomes something closer to a ‘hngh’ and Armand can’t help but bite back a smirk.

And he’s not unaffected himself. His throat is burning with the thirst as he wracks his memory for something, anything that will break Daniel’s resolve and get him to moan outright. Armand can hardly hear the man on the phone for the sound of Daniel’s heart jack hammering beneath his sternum.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s fine, whatever you think is best,” Daniel rambles, unsure of what he’s even agreeing to. “You can-“

When Armand slips his other hand back his words cut off. The stitching on the fly of his trousers pops as he gets his hand back, back until his thumb is rubbing up against the hot flesh of his perineum, his fingertip is pressing up against Daniel’s hole and-

Daniel’s pulse jumps. He spreads his thighs wide without thinking and before he can stop himself a low groan escapes his throat.

It’s unmistakable. A sound of pleasure, the trigger Armand had been waiting for. The thirst is so strong he barely takes a second to take in Daniel’s blushing cheeks, his expression wracked with embarrassment, because he’s too busy darting in toward the thick artery that stands out on his neck.

“Fuck, fuck, Armand,” Daniel chokes out when his fangs pierce his flesh.

The blood spills over Armand’s tongue like liquid fire. Sharp and metallic and tasting of something that’s entirely Daniel, the flavor of his hormones and the sweat on his skin; more sumptuous than any of the fruit Armand had tasted in his master’s home. He swallows a great mouthful of him, and groans with relief when Daniel’s heart pulls back and fights against the draw of his mouth.

The phone clatters to the floor. Daniel’s hands fist themselves in his hair just as he spills, hot and wet down the backs of Armand’s fingers and that-

It’s like Armand can taste his orgasm too. The shudders pass through Daniel, into his blood and down Armand’s throat so that he shudders too. Daniel’s hips roll up and out of instinct Armand grinds back down against him.

And he should lift his head. He should stop drinking but Daniel is curled around him, gone limp in the leather chair, and his heart- every time Armand swallows it pounds harder. Daniel is a fighter; even as his body goes slack as a willing victim, his organs war against the pull of Armand’s mouth. It seems to take an age before the drumbeat of Daniel’s pulse matches his. His heart struggles, it sends blood rushing thick over Armand’s tongue and then begins to slow. 

It would be easy to drag him down now. Armand is so caught up in the taste of him that nothing else seems to exist; not the leather chair beneath his knees, nor Daniel’s hands on his back. His fingers had been twisted in his shirt but they’re beginning to go slack as he goes weak with blood loss. All Armand feels is a vague stroking over his shoulder blades and then a distant tap as he drinks another mouthful of this boy down.

“Armand. Armand, I think I’m gonna pass out,” Daniel slurs.

He should stop now. He should really pull away while Daniel is conscious and able to speak but Armand can’t.

One more swallow, another taste, he tells himself- Armand is as addicted to Daniel as Daniel is to his blood, and this boy has no idea. He’d take that last beat from his heart. It would be so delicious, swallowing the last spark of his life but this is Daniel. There’s only one of him. No one else would be such a willing and conscious victim, no other would love the monster in his lap and so Armand lifts his head.

He licks the wound closed but makes a sloppy job of it, addled as he is. A drop of blood mars the white linen suit collar in brilliant red.

“Jesus,” Daniel huffs. He’s pale, his pupils are blown. He looks as though his eyes might roll back at any second, and so Armand cradles his blond head in his hand; fingers warmed now by his lover’s blood. “I guess we won’t be doing any more business with that guy.”

The phone is on the floor, dial tone screeching from the receiver. The man had hung up on them.

As Daniel reaches for the cord he laughs. His fingers are shaking too badly to get ahold of it, and so Armand picks it up for him. He sets the phone on the receiver with a dull click and then turns his attention back to Daniel, dragging his fingers through his feathered hair.

“You know, Daniel, you weren’t wrong,” he murmurs.

Daniel’s eyelids flutter, blond lashes casting shadows on the dark circles beneath his eyes. “Wrong about what?”

“That I was a terrible secretary.” Armand says, words slipping out between the kisses he presses to each of Daniel’s eyelids. The bridge of his nose. His cheeks, which have gone unnaturally pale. “And so I think you should gather what strength you have and put me on that desk to teach me a lesson, don’t you?”

Daniel swallows thickly. Armand hears the click of his throat. He feels the tremble in his fingers as he reaches down, grabs hold of his backside and hauls him up onto the desk.

The desk is wide but Armand still has to wrap his legs around Daniel’s waist to keep from slipping off the edge. His auburn curls spill in a waterfall over the other side of the thing, beveled wood digging into the back of his skull as Daniel leans over him to kiss his neck.

“I guess work can wait after all,” Daniel murmurs, lips tickling Armand’s throat. “You know one day you’re not going to just get your way with me so easily.”

Armand smirks up at the ceiling while Daniel can’t see. “Yes, beloved. Whatever you say.”

[clarepreed]

Home Invasion

Story Content and Summary - 4,933 words. Sam surprises an intruder. Her husband Ian finds her barely clinging to life, only to watch her slip away moments after his terrible discovery. Violence, tension pneumothorax, on-site resuscitation.

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Sam

Sam stretched her legs out in front of her, leaning back in her patio chair as she read. The warm air relaxed her, while the shade of the tree canopy protected her skin from getting burned in the sunlight.

She wore earbuds, listening to over-loud indie classical music while she read. Sam had chosen comfortable clothing for her relaxing afternoon: soft palazzo pants with no underwear, bare feet, and a tank top with no bra underneath.

Reaching up, Sam gathered her long, dark-blonde hair into her fist, briefly lifting it off her neck.

The watch on her wrist buzzed.

Sam sighed, reluctantly setting her book on the patio table and climbing to her feet. She tapped a finger on the face of the watch to stop the timer, then slipped in the backdoor of the house she shared with her husband, Ian. Sam had taken the day off work, but laundry called.

The washer and dryer lived in the finished basement, so Sam trudged down the stairs, pleased that all she had to do was switch clothing from one machine to the other.

She made quick work of the task, pulling out a few tops to hang up and then starting the dryer. The shirts she draped over a wooden clothes-drying rack before setting a new timer on her watch.

Sam climbed the stairs and headed for the bathroom, the closest one being in the primary bedroom suite. Music still blaring in her ears, she was completely unprepared to find a man crouched in the bathroom.

Sam let out a shriek as the man stood. This man was not her husband. Ian was tall and slim; this man was broad-shouldered and stocky. The man was oddly dressed for a home invasion, wearing khaki pants and a gray polo. He could have been a neighbor.

But he wasn’t a neighbor, and he didn’t belong in her house.

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” she shouted, her legs locking her in place.

The man stared at her in shock, blinking like an owl before looking around the room as though seeking an exit. The only exit was the doorway behind Sam. He stared directly in her face, then, and muttered: “She’s seen my face, now.”

A chill ran from Sam’s scalp down to her pelvis, her heart rate climbing rapidly. She took a few steps back the way she came, hands coming up in front of her as she digested exactly how much danger she might be in. A few more seconds passed, and she reached up and tapped one of her earbuds, pausing the music.

“I won’t remember what you look like!” she exclaimed. “I’m practically face-blind! I swear!”

None of that was true, but she was willing to say or do just about anything to get him out of the house.

Then she turned, intending to run. 

The man got to her before she could get out into the hall, his hand grasping a fistful of her loose hair. Pain ripped across her scalp as he jerked her backward, ignoring her yelp and throwing his arm around her throat. Sam reached back with her hands, clawing at his skin. She kicked and stomped, making the man curse. He shook her, hard, making her teeth rattle and her head snap back on her neck. Then he grabbed her by her hair again and slammed her face first into the doorframe.

The pain overwhelmed her, stars shooting across her vision. She lost her footing, felt her body weight pulling at her scalp. He let go, dumping her on the floor. One of her earbuds slipped from her ear and skittered across the floor.

What time is it?

Sam, what time is it?

“What time is it?” she shouted. The man hovered above her, taken aback. She felt blood well up in the corner of her mouth.

She glanced at her watch and started talking fast, nearly tripping over her words. Her lips were numb. “It’s almost five-thirty! My husband will be home any minute! If you take the time to kill me, you won’t be able to get far. He consults with the police department. He has friends there! If you leave now, you’ll have more time to get—”

The man kicked her in the chest, hard. The air rushed out of her in a long, hoarse wheeze, and her body instinctively curled in on itself. Cold pain knifed across her chest.

He kicked her again, before she could draw breath, and her body went limp, eyes rolling back. The next few kicks she barely felt, though she had a distant awareness that he was doing real damage.

Then, as far as she could tell, he was just… gone.

Sam drew a short, shallow breath, then another. Pain spread from her left ribcage up and down her side and across her body. She felt her heart beating hard and fast.

Ian…

Where’s my phone?

Her brain served up an image of her phone on top of the dryer, all the way down in the basement. Sam let out a small sigh and closed her eyes.

Ian will be home soon.

Time crawled by. As the minutes passed, Sam found it harder and harder to breathe. The pain in her chest was sharp and stabbing.

Panting, Sam opened her eyes. The ceiling above her rotated drunkenly. She tried to take a deeper breath, couldn’t. 

Her heart was flying in her chest.

Over the next several minutes, Sam grew more and more detached. Her eyes fell closed. The pain in the left side of her chest was paralyzing.

She thought she heard the garage door, then she was swallowed up by the gray.

Ian

Ian parked his SUV in the garage and reached up to press the button programmed to close the garage door. He ran about ten minutes later than he’d expected; traffic on the interstate had been especially heavy. He’d tried calling Sam several minutes ago to reassure her that he was almost there, but she hadn’t answered.

He let himself into the house, dropping his keys and wallet into a bowl by the door. 

The garage door opened into the kitchen. He could see the back patio from there; Sam’s usual seat was empty, though he spotted a book face down on the table. 

As he made his way through the kitchen, he spotted something unusual: mail on the floor, fanned out haphazardly. Ian crouched down and scooped it up, depositing it on the kitchen island.

He could hear the faint rumble of the dryer downstairs; opening the basement door, he called out: “Sam?”

He listened, raking his hand through his shirt, ginger hair. “Sam! You down there?”

Maybe she’s in the bedroom putting away laundry, he thought, heading for the bedroom they shared.

Ian found Sam just inside their room, sprawled on her back on the floor. Utterly still, she laid there with her eyes closed and blood on her face. Her hair fanned out around her head. He couldn’t immediately tell if she was breathing.

Ian’s body seized up for several seconds, his mind struggling to make sense of what he was seeing.

Then he broke free of his paralysis, sucking in a sharp breath and shouting: “SAM!”

Ian dropped to his knees beside her, reaching out to gently graze the swollen side of her face.

Ghost pale and sweaty, her eyelids fluttered.

“Sam?” He brushed the hair off her face, his other hand hovering, afraid he would cause her more pain. “What happened? Can you hear me?

She was barely breathing, inhaling in shallow pants.

Ian gripped her shoulder, relieved when that didn’t seem to hurt her. “Where are you hurt? I can see your face, but…”

She made a small, injured sound. He could see the veins standing out in her neck, and reached down to take her pulse. He could barely feel it, fluttering against his fingertips.

“Sam! Sam? Open your eyes! Hey!” Ian patted the uninjured side of her face, but she didn’t respond.

Look for other injuries, he thought. He didn’t see any blood other than that was on her face. He patted down her sides, then smoothed his hands down the front of her tank top. The fabric looked dirty, almost like someone had stepped on it. He pulled the bottom hem of her shirt up, then quickly yanked it above her breasts.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, feeling both shocked and sick. The left side of her torso was swollen and dark with bruising. His hand shook as he grazed the purpling skin with his fingers.

That was when he realized he couldn’t hear her panting anymore. Her chest was still.

“Sam!” He planted his hand in the center of her chest, leaned his ear close to her mouth. “Take a breath, Sam! Wake up!”

Nothing stirred against the side of his face. He moved his hands to her forehead and her chin, tipping her head back to open her airway. No change.

“Fuck! Come on Sam, please!” Ian dug his phone out of his back pocket, unlocking it with his thumb and dialing 9-1-1. As the call connected, he pinched her nose closed and sealed his mouth over hers. Her lips were tacky with drying blood.

He blew a breath into her, watching to see if her chest rose. Her breasts rose, unevenly and less than he expected, considering the actual breath didn’t require much force. Still, it had to be better than nothing. He gave her another breath. 

“9-1-1, please state your name and location.” A man’s voice, coming from Ian’s speakerphone.

Ian pressed two of his fingers into her neck, checking again for her pulse.

“Ian Holter, 568 Sunset Circle… oh God, no, I think her heart stopped!” Ian clasped his hands together, straightened his arms, and pressed the heel of his bottom hand between Sam’s bare breasts. He rocked his shoulders over his hands and then pressed down, hard. He’d taken CPR before, but this didn’t feel like pumping the chest of a mannequin. “One, two, three…”

“Sir, I need you to remain calm. Tell me what happened.”

“…fifteen, sixteen, uh… I found her like this! It looks like… it looks like someone hurt her. She’s bruised up. But she stopped breathing and I can’t find a pulse!”

He leaned over again, sealing his mouth over hers and blowing two quick breaths into her damaged chest. Her mouth was slack under his.

“One, two, three…” The way her ribcage flexed under his hands felt strange, the structure of her chest stiff and crackling. She made huffing sounds each time he forced her sternum down two inches, her breasts wobbling and her stomach rippling.

“Sir, are you performing CPR? I hear you counting.”

“Yes! Thirty!” He caught a glimpse of Sam’s face as he bent close to breathe for her. Her lips were turning blue, her face grayish. “Her chest… only half of it is rising when I give her breaths!”

“Don’t worry about rescue breathing, sir. Give her chest compressions at a rate of one hundred per minute. Press down two inches and come all the way up each time.”

“O-okay…” He rose over his wife’s unresponsive body, his hands pressing into her sternum. “One, two, three, four…”

“That’s the right speed, sir. I have an ambulance close by, four minutes out. We need to let the paramedics know how to get into your home.”

“…two, three… The front door! There’s a key under the welcome mat! One, two, three, four, five, six… Come on, Sam! Oh my God…”

“Keep counting, Ian! Help is on the way.”

“One, two, three…” Her head rocked and her shoulders jerked with each compression. He couldn’t help but look down at the horrible, dark mess blooming under her skin. He knew enough to suspect she’d been bleeding inside this entire time. “…ten! One, two, three, four…”

What happened, Sam? How did this happen?!

The garage door leading into the kitchen had been locked, he was sure of it. He thought about the mail on the floor, but wasn’t sure if that signified. He hadn’t checked the back door. He hadn’t known there was any reason to.

“Ian, are there any weapons in the house?”

“…five, six… I have a gun safe in our home office, I haven’t checked in there yet. She knows the combination, but I don’t see any guns laying around her… Eight, nine, ten! One, two, three…”

“I’ve dispatched both police and paramedics. Right now, the paramedics are going to arrive first. Is anyone else in the house with you and your wife?”

“No! Or… I don’t think so… God!” He was breathing hard, his arms burning. He kept thrusting his hands in to Sam’s chest as hard and as fast as he could, feeling like each second that passed was a weight on the scale against her surviving.

He heard a pop, not unlike the sound of a knuckle cracking, and felt something give in her chest. “Oh, I think I just broke a rib—”

“Ian, it’s important that you continue chest compressions. Keep counting.”

“FUCK! One, two, three, four, five six, seven, eight, nine ten! One, two, three…”

“Two minutes on the ambulance, Ian. You’re doing a good job. Keep pushing her chest down two inches each time, that’s a good rate.”

“…seven, eight, nine, ten! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten! One…”

We were going to have a nice evening. She marinated steaks. I was supposed to come home on time this evening and spend time with her…

“…eight, nine, ten…”

Ian knew movie CPR was fake, that people didn’t just start breathing after a few weak pumps of their chest. It didn’t stop him from staring at her face, willing her to open her eyes and take a breath. Her head had fallen to the side, away from him, forcing him to look at the extent of the bruising and swelling of her face. Her lips were puffy, her cheek round and red. Her eye swollen shut and bruising already setting in beneath it.

“…three, four…” He could feel her bones under his hands, and the softness of her skin. His own skin was wet with sweat. 

He heard the sound of a large vehicle pulling up to his house.

“Ten! I think… I think the ambulance is here! One, two…”

“Stay on the line until they’re in the room with you.”

“Okay! …five, six, seven…”

He heard his front door open and shouted: “IN THE BEDROOM! THROUGH THE KITCHEN!”

He heard their shoes on the floor, kept pumping Sam’s still, battered chest.

Don’t die, please don’t die!

“Ian Holter? We’re here to help your wife. You can stop now; we will take over.” Ian felt a hand on his elbow, encouraging him to move back. With a gasp, he lifted his hands from her chest, snatched up his phone, and scooted several feet away.

“They’re here,” he said, not looking at the phone as he spoke in the general direction.

There were three paramedics, and they descended on her quickly. Two of them checked her pulse in her neck and one of her wrists, while the third asked: “Sir, my name is Chris, can you tell me what happened?”

His mouth itched, and he scrubbed his sleeve across it, trying to wipe his wife’s drying blood from his face. “I don’t know! Someone hurt her! I got home and found her on the floor… she was conscious and barely breathing, but then she stopped, and I couldn’t find her pulse…”

One of the medics, a tall woman with close-cropped coils, resumed chest compressions on Sam. From this angle, he could see how much her stomach bulged, watch as her breasts shook with the force. The line of her ribcage bobbed with each brutal thrust. Even at that distance he could hear the air rushing out of her. Another medic assembled a bag-mask apparatus and reopened Sam’s airway. He waited until the first medic called out “Thirty!” and pressed the mask to her face, squeezing the bulb twice.

“Uneven chest rise,” the medic said, connecting the mask to a small oxygen canister as the forceful chest compressions resumed.

“Continue CPR while I get her on the monitor.” 

Ian watched while Chris cut her shirt off and applied large, white pads to her skin. The medic operating the mask strapped a blood pressure cuff to her arm and started pumping the bulb to inflate it. When the lead medic plugged the pads into the monitor, a loud, two-toned alarm filled the room.

The medic looked at the monitor for several seconds before pressing a button on the monitor and silencing the alarm.

“V-fib. I’m going to defibrillate. Charging to three-sixty.”

“She’s hypotensive. Sixty over forty,” Samir said. 

“Kendra and Samir, you’ll switch after the shock, and I want her intubated while I get an IV going. Alright, pause compressions, everyone off of her. Clear, shocking now.” He pressed a flashing button on the monitor-defibrillator and Ian watched as Sam’s bruised chest flinched. The two-toned alarm resumed.

Samir slid into place, pumping Sam’s chest hard. His hands were larger than Kendra’s, dwarfing Sam’s chest as he crushed down her sternum. His shoulders bobbed with precision, Sam’s abdomen bulging and rippling with each harsh thrust.

At Sam’s head, Kendra squeezed two breaths into her lungs despite the ongoing compressions, then sat the bag down, reaching for a large white packet laying to one side.

Chris had Sam’s arm pulled to one side, sliding a needle into her arm just below a tourniquet. “Administering epinephrine…”

Kendra opened some kind of scope, sliding it into Sam’s open mouth. Ian was struggling to keep track of everything that was happening, torn between watching a tube descend toward Sam’s open mouth, the IV bag the paramedic appeared to be hanging from a door hinge, and the rhythmic way Samir forced his wife’s heart to beat.

“Pause compressions,” Kendra said before sliding the tube down Sam’s illuminated throat.

Ian sat slouched on the floor by the bed, his hands caught up in his hair. He couldn’t help but stare at his wife’s pallid, bruised, exposed chest as Kendra held a stethoscope bell against her ribs. She squeezed the bag and said: “I’m in, but breath sounds are limited on the left side.”

“Still in v-fib. Charging to three-sixty. Samir, switch with Kendra after the shock.” The multi-toned alarm was screaming again. Samir leaned in, performing a series of rapid-fire compressions before Chris said: “Stop compressions. Everyone off… Clear, administering shock!” 

Sam flinched again. 

“Rhythm check…” Ian heard a different alarm now, while everything else when silent for ten long seconds. “Asystole.” 

Ian knew what this meant, and he curled his hands into fists, pressing them to his mouth. Kendra straddled Sam, Samir squeezing the bag rhythmically while Kendra shoved her hands down between Sam’s exposed, wobbling breasts.

“I’m administering another milligram of epinephrine and then prepping for a needle decompression for suspected tension pneumothorax,” Chris said. “Those are good compressions, Kendra, keep it up.” 

Over Chris’s shoulder, Ian saw movement. Two uniformed police officers stopped just outside the bedroom. There wasn’t much room for them to get by, so they waited, one of them speaking into his radio while the other looked back and forth between Sam and Ian.

When Ian looked back at Sam, Kendra had paused compressions while Chris inserted a needle into Sam’s upper chest. Shortly after, a rush of audible air escaped the catheter and Chris pulled back, dropping the needle into the sharps kit.

“That was it. Continue compressions, rhythm check in thirty seconds.” Chris glanced up at the officers.

“Is he the one who called?” one officer asked, jerking his chin in Ian’s direction.

“Yes. The husband. He was giving her chest compressions when we arrived. If you’ll excuse me…” Chris turned back to Sam. "She’s still asystolic. I’ll take over compressions; Kendra, get me her pressure.”

Chris pressed his interlocked hands between Sam’s breasts and started pumping. The compressions were hard and fast, and Ian watched as her ribcage bobbed and flexed under his hands. He could see the force travel down her arms and legs, making her hands twitch and her bare feet sway.

“Pressure’s ninety over sixty,” Kendra said. She reached over and pressed two gloved fingers into Sam’s neck. Her other hand slid inside the waistband of Sam’s pants. “Good pulse with compressions.”

Samir squeezed the bag every several seconds. Ian could just hear the whooshing sound underneath everything else. He couldn’t see much of his wife’s face at this angle; mostly her neck, hyper-extended, and her lips white around the tube.

As he watched the medics work on his wife, the cops finally squeezed past Chris, who was still bent over Sam’s lifeless body, rocking his shoulders rhythmically.

“Ian Holter?” one of the officers asked.

Ian looked up, automatically wiping moisture from his eyes. 

“Yes, I…” His eyes drifted back to Sam. Chris’s compressions were relentless, shifting her petite, limp body over and over and over again. 

“I know a lot is going on, sir. We’ve met before, right? You’re an independent contractor. I need you to tell me what happened.”

Ian drew a few shaky breaths, nodding. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, but he said: “I don’t know. I came home and found Sam—my wife—on the floor… at first, I thought she’d fallen, but then I pulled up her shirt and it looked like someone had beaten her…”

Chris stopped compressions, looking at the monitor and almost shouting: “V-fib! Kendra, charge to three-sixty! Samir, you’ll take over compressions after the shock.” 

Chris was already performing compressions again, and Ian heard him say: “Come on, you can do it…”

“Hey, McCool, someone’s rummaged through all of the dresser drawers over here.” Ian heard the other cop speaking, but his eyes were on Sam. 

“Don’t touch anything. The detective will kill us.”

“Alright, everybody off. Kendra, administer the shock and then take over ventilation.”

“Clear! Administering shock!” Chris slid around Sam’s body as she jerked, and then Samir kneeled over her body, one foot flat on the floor as he put his weight into his arms. “She’s still in v-fib, administering another milligram of epinephrine.”

Ian ground the heels of his hands into his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I’m gonna give him a minute, he’s not in any frame of mind to talk to me,” the cop closest to Ian said. “Show me what you’re talking about.”

Ian lowered his hands. Part of him wanted to climb to his feet and pace, but he didn’t know how the cops would react. He didn’t actually recognize either of them; he tended to deal with detectives. He was also feeling dizzy, probably because his heart had been racing since the moment he’d found Sam on the floor. 

Dammit, Sam. What the hell happened? 

Ian wished he could tell her he loved her. He had before he left that morning, leaning over the bed to kiss her. She’d smiled sleepily and whispered that she loved him, too. He didn’t want that to be the last time. He raked his hair back with shaking hands. Samir was partially blocking his view, but Ian could still see her stomach distending each time his shoulders heaved. He wondered how much of that her body could take, along with the damage that had already been inflicted.

“More cops,” Ian heard Samir say. He looked up and saw someone he did recognize, a detective from the precinct. She called the beat cops out of the room, watching as they squeezed past the medics before pointing them toward Ian’s kitchen. Then she slipped into the room, crouching beside him. 

“Ian.”

“Detective Leonard.”

“Call me Meg tonight. Look, I don’t know what happened, but I know what time you left the precinct and how long it takes to get here. I also know what time you called this in.”

Ian darted his eyes over to her. Her face looked grim, her own eyes on the ongoing resuscitation efforts.

“You won’t be stopped when it’s time to go to the hospital. In fact, I’ll take you there myself. Okay?”

“Thank you,” Ian said, his voice hoarse. “Meg.”

“We’re going to shock her again,” he heard Chris say. “Charging to three-sixty!”

Samir continued to pump Sam’s chest until Chris told everyone to move back. He climbed off of her, breathing hard. Ian saw sweat dotting the other man’s forehead before he swiped it away with his forearm.

“Everyone clear. Both of you will be switching. Administering shock!” Sam’s torso jerked and her limbs twitched. Then Kendra was kneeling beside Sam, straight arms thrusting into her battered chest. The catheter protruding from her upper right chest waved slightly with each compression.

This continued for about fifteen seconds, Sam’s ribcage bobbing and her stomach distending, head wobbling with each hard compression.

“Hold compressions!” Chris called out. He pressed his gloved fingers into Sam’s neck, and Ian realized the alarms had stopped sounding without anyone silencing them. “She’s got a pulse! Sinus rhythm on the monitor! Samir, keep bagging her, but at a rate of once every five or six seconds. Folks, we’ve got return of spontaneous circulation. Excellent work!”

Ian let out his breath in a rush, leaning forward. They’d stopped compressions, and now he could see her chest rising and falling each time Samir squeezed the bag. The catheter sticking out of her chest rode the wave of her breaths. The medics left the defibrillator pads on, but they weren’t quite large enough to mask the extensive bruising up and down her side, into her abdomen, and between her breasts.

“Sam,” Ian whispered. “Please, now you just need to wake up.”

Det. Leonard reached over and patted him on the back. “In my experience, if they get someone back on scene, the victim has a better chance of surviving. There’s hope, Ian.”

Ian, three days later

Ian stood outside of the ICU, struggling to pay attention to what Det. Leonard was telling him. The doctors were reducing Sam’s sedation levels, and he wanted to be there if she showed any signs of waking up.

“…your neighbor’s doorbell cam,” the detective. “Plain as day. He’s got priors, too. Assaulted two ex-girlfriends, breaking and entry.”

That caught his attention. “You know who hurt Sam.”

“We don’t just know; we have him in custody.”

Ian brought his hands up to rub his face, relief and anger fighting for dominance. Det. Leonard squeezed his shoulder. 

“I see you’re angry, Ian, and I don’t blame you. I saw how bad it was. How bad it is. Save that anger for later, okay? How is she doing?”

“They took the chest tubes out this morning, and they’re weaning her off sedation. She needs to be awake for the breathing trial to get her off the ventilator, but they already told me that might not be today.”

“Do you have any family coming?”

“My parents are in Germany. Hers are on their way; her mother is in a wheelchair, so it is taking them extra time to come in from across the country. They may be here this evening.”

“Let us know how she’s doing, okay?” Leonard squeezed his shoulder again and released it. “You should get in there, I’m sure you’ll want to be there when she starts to wake up.”

An hour later, Ian sat at Sam’s bedside, both of his hands wrapped around one of hers. 

Nurses and doctors flowed in and out of the room, checking her vital signs and letting Ian know that so far, everything was normal. 

The gown and sheet masked most of her injuries, though she still had a lot of dark facial bruising. He thought her mouth around the ventilator looked sore. She had a lot of lines and tubes trailing off of her; IV, leads, urinary catheter, and a few things he didn’t know the name of. 

Ian cleared his throat. He’d mostly gotten over feeling self-conscious talking to her like this. He tuned out the nursing staff, his eyes on her face. 

“Sam, it’s Ian. Got some good news today, but l will tell you about it when you’re feeling better, okay? Your parents are on the way. Mine send their love. Everyone sends their love. Especially me.”

“Keep it up, husband,” one of the nurses said. “It’s time to get her attention.”

He squeezed Sam’s hand, then reached out to gently stroke her face, fingertips carefully avoiding her bruises.

“I love you, Sam. I’m right here. They want you to wake up, okay? I’m sure it feels better to sleep, but they need to run some tests, and I would like to see your beautiful eyes.”

Her head moved incrementally, tipping toward his touch. He felt her fingers twitch in his grasp. “Sam? That’s it, Sam. It’s going to be okay.”

His voice shook, and he swallowed hard.

Her eyes moved under her eyelids, and the nurse said: “There she is.”

Sure enough, her eyelids fluttered open.

Sam squinted, blinking rapidly. The doctor hovered close by, but they waited, giving her time. Her eyes found his face, focused.

“Hey!” He wanted to say more, but his throat was threatening to close. His eyes burned. He stood up from the chair and leaned close, pressing a kiss to the soft skin of her forehead. A tear slipped from his eye, dropping onto her face. “Welcome back, baby.”

Table of Contents

[staceart]

Here's another thing that I forgot to share - my first sewing project! I made the Sasha Starlight cocoon jacket for my friend's wedding back in June! Thankfully there was a video tutorial I could follow because this was a challenge for a beginner like me! I am really happy with how it turned out.

[Image description: Four photos. First three photos feature Stace standing outside in a garden. They are wearing a cocoon jacket made of green leafy print fabric, a cream colored shirt, a necklace with a rectangular pendant, black palazzo pants, and black shoes. The last photo is of a table with the paper patterns of the cocoon jacket on top of the green leafy fabric.]

[ji-ja]

I haven't published something for a while now except for reblogging and I haven't planned to, but I'd like to share something or rather someone to y'all

I can't draw so I tried to recreate my vision of the character in Picrew.me

Meet Sylo, my first full OC! When I roleplayed I always used myself or a version of myself(kid, genderbend etc.) or a character I knew well enough, but a few weeks ago an idea of him came to my mind. I never thought that I could create something like that before, though I tried.

Anyway, I've been watching and reading stuff about writing your character and I hope to receive some critics and questions. Keep in mind that I still haven't quite thought about their story.

Sylo - automaton, who you can't tell from a regular human visually. He eats only non organic materials to repair and keep himself alive. Yes, they buy regular goods, but they only eat the packaging and give away food to shelters and orphanages. The staff doesn't trust Sylo enough for them to bring already opened products (it could be poisoned), but they're already used to it, so the automaton opens it only when he arrives. The orphanage employees don't understand why he takes the "trash" back with him, but they just stopped questioning it. They thought that Sylo recycles it and started giving him other non organic stuff (washing it priorly of course), the robot doesn't mind. They've been living among humans for quite awhile, working at the service industry. Sylo doesn't have real emotions, he only imitates them by analysing other people so it's easy for them to keep a friendly smile in front of clients, he's boss's favorite employee.

!Important!: Sylo doesn't have emotions and doesn't want them, they're great like this. And they give away food "cause they noticed someone doing it.

Sylo has chocolate-colored skin, purely white hair (eyebrows and eyelashes too), black eyes with somewhat long eyelashes, fluffy messy chin length hair that is tied in a really long ponytail. Their body isn't masculine but isn't feminine either though they have nice pecks, waist and thighs. He wears a black halter turtleneck with loose heavy white shirt on top, dark blue palazzo pants, white socks and a pair of white loafers. He always has his a black shoulder bag.

Sylo regularly surfs the Internet, analysing sites and people in it, studying how to act like a human (that's where they found about charity. It's not profitable for them to be a "bad person"). Automaton can't just suck up ALL the information in mere seconds, but he's still faster then humans, so he doesn't know everything.

Pronouns: any, main ones are he/him and they/them.

Gender/sex(yes, biological too): gender-neutral. What did you expect?

Full name: Sylo Mack. No last name ¯\_(ツ)_/¯, he doesn't have anyone to gain it from.

Sylo doesn't lie and it's difficult for them to detect lies. They don't lie so they won't be seen as a "bad person" in people's eyes, but they do understand what lying is and why it exists.

They're punctual and decent, but I wouldn't call Sylo a perfectionist, it's only for convenience and to please others.

Sylo has friends, but he doesn't know about their existence. If you ask his friends about him, they would describe him as a cute, open and thoughtful person, though they won't be able to say anything personal. If Sylo was asked about their friends, then the automaton would get confused and they'd ask who are you talking about. When you'd specify he'll tell you lots of information about them, it's easy for him to win over people. The robot will imitate excitement, realizing that he's talking about his "friends", but in reality he doesn't feel anything for them.

Sylo doesn't need food, but there's always something in the fridge for the guests. Usually it's wine, snacks for it and something for tea or coffee. Wine is probably the most expensive thing he owns, not counting the furniture 'cause he doesn't really need anything else.

The automaton can't distinguish the taste of anything, so they don't really have favorite food, but if you count something that they consume the most, then it'll be remainings of electronics and plastic. That way his technical hobbies are surfing the internet and donating to charity.

Sylo's goal is to survive and keep his identity of an automaton as a secret. They think they're doing a good job even though they often get confused by human's reactions, not understanding their emotions. His fatal flaw is the lack of humanity in him.

Sylo has some habits. For example he literally puts his fingers, head and other parts of his body in place, but from the side it seems like he's just cracking his neck or knuckles and stretching. Sylo gnaws on pens, literally eating it sometimes, they tend to fix their clothes and hair frequently to look more presentable for other people. They often flirt with people by accident because the automaton doesn't know how people will react to words and compliments that he found on Internet. Sylo walks almost silently sometimes scaring people accidentally and then apologizing.

The robot always has his handbag with him, where he always keeps some non organic snacks for himself, a hairbrush, his keys and also anything spare for others (bandaids, power banks, chargers, pills and many more).

Sylo's hands and body are cold most of the time, but if needed they can turn on the heater inside of them. Also they can change font which they're writing on paper with, but mostly they use "Comic Sans" :).

P.S.: actually its just one of the most popular font and it's easy to use for someone with dyslexia, that's why he chose it.

If no one's around Sylo they're mostly silent with a poker face, but as soon as someone interacts with them the automaton starts to smile and ask anything about the person. There're some exceptions. When he's analyzing his surroundings and notices a person with a problem, then he's most likely gonna come up to them and help, but only if there's any observers around and the robot knows how to act in this situation. Technically Sylo is an egoist. He's more of a listener than a teller, not counting situations when he explains something to clients. Sylo speaks pretty fast, but if you'll ask he'll slow down and repeat what he said with ease. He's straightforward and he always looks in the eyes when talking to someone. They don't use metaphors, sayings or others figures of speech because he doesn't understand it's importance for them. Their speech is formal, but they try to switch to informal when speaking among non colleagues, though they still can't really distinguish situations when they need to use someone's full name, nickname or diminutive-affectionate version or a name. People around Sylo find him funny by the way he talks sometimes, but when he tries to tell a joke, usually the one he heard or found on the Internet, no one's laughing, because the joke is probably old, not funny or not to place.

Fun facts about Sylo:

Sylo uses these 3-in-1 shampoos.

He was hit by a bus once.

Sylo doesn't sleep.

It won't take much to make them "evil".

They can't sit properly (they're trying to figure out which pose to take).

Sylo is smart, but also dumb.

He doesn't shower for 2-3 weeks (tidyness and lack of "product waste" help staying clean)

Sylo doesn't know when or why should he apologize.

Sylo is asexual (what a surprise).

They have no idea when someone is in love with them.

Sylo can walk in heels and platforms with ease.

When he only started living among humans he was often confused with different shops, so yes, he tried buying clothes in the soup store.

Well, maybe someone will see this ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[meya-lily]

Elon garak is making you an outfit what is it

First of all, I'm cracking up at the autocorrect So first second, I am in love with Garak's red outfit

I'm thinking something inspired by the color scheme of that.

In terms of like structure and everything, I think I'd want something a cardassian would think is slutty on top as long as it's structured and not too loose. Perhaps a shoulderless turtleneck? And then super wide-leg palazzo pants with a similar pattern (very dense pattern at the bottom and it gets more sparse at the top)

Is this anything?