a diamond in the flesh



I LOVED this episode! Patti LuPone’s voice is so beautiful. I love it when the antagonist’s motivations are more fleshed out, and Yellow Diamond has become my favorite antagonist in the series so far. 

I still feel like Blue Diamond could possibly be an ally in the future or at least have a last minute change of heart. Regardless, I loved both diamonds and “What’s the Use of Feeling, Blue?” is probably my favorite song so far. I’m very glad we got to see some major plot advancement in this Steven bomb. 


Second installment of the Jasper Hale imagine series “Let It Pour,” requested by anon. “Hi there (: okay, do you think you can continue the Jasper imagine Let it Pour? Your wrote it months ago, but I just came across your blog and the way you ended it was amazing, you’re very talented. I just want to see how Jasper & y/n rekindle: he’d avoid her at 1st, she’s strong so she tries to move on,not onto someone else but emotionally(angst here), but eventually they come back to each other (end w/ fluff). Please and thank you (:” Hope you like it!

All past and future installments of this series can be found on the “The Story Continues…” page.

It was as if he had never crossed paths with you, never set foot on the dampened earth that coated the town of Forks like a carpet of waterlogged velvet. His presence had been eradicated completely from all but your memory. His family still attended school, though now without their brother by their side, the lot of them pointedly ignoring you as if you were nothing more than a shadow in the halls. Only Alice, whose eyes you caught on more occasions than one, paid you any mind; she was watching, always, though most of the time she averted her gaze faster than you could comprehend, but her stare was as searing as her silence was frigid. You couldn’t help but wonder if Jasper was having her keep an eye on you, or if perhaps her attentiveness was merely due to your presence fading in and out of her visions as both Jasper and yourself thought and retracted the thought of rekindling what had been tarnished to the point of dilapidation beneath the torrential fall of rain. Perhaps it was hopeless, allowing yourself to entertain the idea that so absent a figure in your life could be plagued by thoughts of your face, your name… but you couldn’t help imagining a man who had claimed he loved you just as much, if not more, than you loved him experiencing some degree of pain due to your separation. Lord knows it was borderline agonizing for you. You tried not to dwell on the thought of him, the halo of golden hair that shrouded so perfect a face, the honey of his eyes, the burning of his voice, the fire in his icy touch… no, it was best if you locked his memory in a vault. He clearly had no intention of returning. Maybe, just maybe, you’d be so lucky as to see him sometime after your ninetieth birthday, when he thought you were long dead and made his return to Forks. For now, you allowed yourself the thought of him racing through the trees of some dense forest, far enough away from human civilization that he could be completely free.

Your hand had fully healed, thanks to the attentions of a certain Carlisle Cullen, leaving the whisper of a scar left in the crease of your palm. You were sure the shining pink that now puckered your skin would fade, too, but until that time it would serve as a constant reminder of the simple mistake that had cost you something wonderful. Images of his inky silhouette straining against the glow of evening as it seeped through your window haunted your dreams; the tension held in his muscles was painful to witness, the hardness of his clenched jaw so rigid it was immobile. He spoke your name, and each night you ran to his side, watching portraits flash before your eyes with a patient sort of hysteria… his face resting gently against a bed of moss, streaked by the fall of rain, his smile growing wider as he reached for your hand in the halls of Forks High, his skin shimmering beneath the forgiving rays of sunlight, his lips pursed as he tampered with your fear from afar when you found yourself facing the truth of his immortality. You drank his features like sugared milk, retaining as much of him as you could bear as you fought the leaden darkness swarming your limbs to slow your pursuit, your fingertips outstretched to touch his shoulder… and he was gone. You woke each night in an empty bedroom, your hand falling absentmindedly to the divot he had created in your mattress, foolishly expecting to find his chest awaiting your touch. If it wasn’t his face, it was his temperature you found yourself missing; you were always feverish at nights, or struck with a sudden flash of heat, only you were now left without remedy. He was a ghost wandering the vacant halls of your memory, proving himself impossible to forget.

It was injury enough that he had taken the liberty to erase himself from your life, but worse a wound when, weeks later, he finally returned to school. It was as if your heart had stopped in your chest, finally as still and as silent as his own, when you saw the familiar width of his back straining against the tightness of his shirt. The glorious waves of his hair hung like loose threads of spun gold, suspending diamonds of fallen rain as effortlessly as ever, holding the gems of a storm like an embroidered bodice. You were frozen where you stood, your backpack weighing heavily on your shoulder, your hands limp at your side. He, too, was still; he remained unmoving as Alice’s eyes fell, unmet, upon your face, her hands attempting to guide him further down the hallway. You knew enough about his condition to understand that he could smell you, and therefore knew you were present. Hell, he could’ve smelled you a mile away… and yet he proceeded, somewhat rigidly, down the hall, increasing the distance between you, without once turning to meet your eye. You burnt a hole in the back of his head with your stare, watching him abandon you without so much as a second thought. You held yourself upright by some miracle of gravity, your body sapped of all energy, your limbs lifelessly numb as the world passed you by, your eyes following the glow of his hair as he waltzed away from you. You realized now how generous he had been to disappear; it was far worse to have him here… to have him here and not here all at once, to watch his sister lead him away from the risk of reconciliation, her fingers claw-like as they pierced the muscles of his forearm, ushering him away from one outcome or another that she had foreseen. You knew her intentions were goodhearted, but you had never felt more betrayed than in that moment. You hung, suspended in the air, until the bell rang and pulled you from your trance.

That afternoon, you stepped into the rain with full intent to drown yourself in the downpour. You didn’t care enough to shield your hair with a hood, nor your body with an umbrella, as you pushed through the doors separating the safety of the school from the hellish storm beyond the walls. You were among the first to rush from your classroom, though your movements were far less vibrant than your classmate counterparts. You moved like the dead, swift despite your numbness, eager to escape the social confines that made it impossible to cry freely without suffering the judgement of others. You longed for the serenity of your home, the quiet of your bedroom, the calm of an environment you knew would keep the spilling of your emotions a secret. Walls couldn’t talk. Students, on the other hand… well, there wasn’t much else the average high schooler was universally good at. You trudged through the sheets of icy rain towards the promised warmth of your car, your hair sticking in strands to your cheeks by the time you reached the driver’s side door. You slid behind the wheel, your brain on autopilot, fighting back the burning image of his back as it bit at the vault door you were so desperate to spin shut. All you cared to do was survive the drive home through the Friday rush of reckless drivers and lose yourself in the unattached surrender of sleep. You drove with practiced precision, peering almost unfeelingly through the falling rain until you pulled into your driveway, proceeding to enter your home without so much as an absent thought. You were off, it seemed, moving and breathing with just the basics to survive, your cheeks burning with the pressure of your mind scorching against the wall you had erected. No, you wouldn’t spare him any tears. You wouldn’t spare him a single sliver of your mind. You flooded your brain with void blankness, pulling your comforter back before throwing yourself in all your rain-slick glory onto the cushioned comfort of your mattress, steering clear of his side of the bed as you pulled the cotton canopy over your head. Your mind was good to you. Merciful, even. You slept easily.

Your dream was tainted by the events of the day. His silhouette was turned away from you, shielding the heavenly image of his face, your feet carrying you as desperately as ever toward an uncaring, guarded figure cut from the darkness by the dull glow of his diamond flesh. You whisked away the images of his smile, the echo of his laughter, your brow furrowed with determination as you raced, unhindered, to his back. Your hand grasped his shoulder, thrilling at the contact, spinning him to face you, his golden eyes burning with shock, his adoration unhindered by the surprise that painted his features. Your palm cradled his cheek, the ice of his skin melting effortlessly into the fabric of your subconscious, watching his parted lips sigh into the ghost of a smile. His shoulders angled toward your body as your dream snapped unceremoniously to the evening of your waking reality. You sat bolt-upright, disoriented by the passing of time, your eyes falling quickly on the figure that was perched on the ledge of your windowsill, his body freezing to see you waking so soon. He was exactly as you remembered him; of course he had remained unchanged, but it was more than the flawless resistance of time that struck you as familiar… he was rigid, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes locked painfully on your own. You exhaled quickly, the wind forced from your lungs by the sheer surprise of his presence, both of you remaining unchanged outside of your frozen astonishment for an endless minute. He had not parted his lips to speak, but the manner in which he held himself suggested he had fully intended to explain himself. Then, with your next inhale, he was upon you, moving with impatient and inhuman speed to mold his body to yours, his palms guiding your lips to his with the ease of familiarity. The floodgates burst, and the river roared in.

His lips crushed against yours with a passionate fervor you had never witnessed in the man, his hands moving to your waist to cement your body to his own, all but pulling you from your bed as he lavished your mouth with his. His fingers tangled in the silk of your hair, his thumb caressing the curvature of your cheekbone as he breathlessly mobilized his apology. Your hands closed easily at the back of his neck, all but clawing his skin as you forced yourself ever closer to him, running your palms along the broadness of his back, clinging breathlessly to his shoulders as his tongue traced the curve of your lower lip. He finally pulled himself away, separating briefly before resting his forehead against your own, his hands on your cheeks once more. He shook his head, visibly torn by the anguish that so obviously ravaged his body, his ragged inhales moving against your beating heart. You breathed in the luxury of his scent, your eyes absorbing every minute detail of his body, the vault door blown from its hinges as you matched every aspect of him to the memories you had suppressed. He exhaled raggedly, his eyes burning brightly as they met your own, the gold of his irises molten with adoration.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he breathed, his voice breaking under the weight of his guilt, no more than a whisper in the darkness, his pained features illuminated only by the moonlight streaming in through your window. “I’m so sorry, Y/n. I can’t believe I-” He choked on his apologies, his thumbs working over your jaw, his lips finding yours once more, his urgency bleeding through his skin and into yours, your hands spreading smoothly over the hardened expanse of his chest. He caught your hand as it rose along the center of his chest, stopping your movement as your fingertips kissed the angled neckline of his sweater, holding your palm over his unbeating heart. He moved from your lips, then, his eyes dropping to your palm, his fingers turning your hand in the darkness as he searched for the remnants of your minor injury. After determining that you were fully repaired, he lifted your palm to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to the thin layer of scarring that remained, your skin electric under the softness of his lips. His eyes met yours as he tipped his face downward, inhaling deeply at your wrist before lowering your hand between your bodies. He sighed then, as if emptying himself of sorrow, releasing freely into the bliss of the moment. “I’m sorry I left you,” he whispered, his tone grounded with the power his volume lacked, compensating with resonance rather than expose his presence to your sleeping parents. “I thought, stupidly, that staying away from you would prevent what almost happened in the woods from happening, more severely, in the future. I couldn’t bear the thought… if I had been any slower, any less on guard, what might have happened to you… I realize now how selfish that was, to remove myself without any regard to your emotions, to leave you stranded in the aftermath, to trust my own judgement over anyone else’s, especially yours… and despite how selfish it is for me to be here now… I can’t stay away from you any longer. You can’t imagine… or maybe you can, how much I missed you. I can hardly bear to think about leaving you again come morning… that is, if you’ll have me.” You pressed your lips to his, both of you moving as one, your thoughts aligning exactly as if you had never been parted. You spoke, your lips a breath away from his, your mind clearing like inky clouds after a rainstorm.

“I can’t believe you thought I’d let you leave in the morning,” you whispered, his smile stopping your heart in your chest as he spun you in his arms, his lips peppering your exposed skin with elated kisses, his joy clear in his breathless, suppressed laughter.

“I’m here until you send me away,” he grinned, his eyes alight with glee. “I love you,” he breathed, his words ringing with the passion of an oath, the fortitude of a vow, his voice painfully tender. His arms wound around your waist, holding you strongly and softly to his chest, his lips in your hair as you melted in his embrace, listening to the sound of raindrops striking your window as the day’s storm opened once more, washing the world of misery beyond the glass, Jasper’s hands smoothing over your back as you watched the trickling of rain bleed into a downpour.

“I love you.”

Happy Birthday Dandeliononfire

Originally posted by asktheboywholived

@dandeliononfire here is your wonderful bday gift courtesy of @katnissdoesnotfollowback! We know it’s late in the day, but we also know we’re not too late since you live in Alaska. ;) Enjoy this read and have a fabulous rest of your special day!! EBD

The woods still make him think of hidden dangers. Wolf mutts, fire projectiles aimed at his head, buzzing insects, and terrible images. But as he stands on what used to be the edges of the District, a hasty fence in the process of being erected to keep the predators out, he feels drawn to the trees. To the shadows that hold the secrets to life and sustenance as much as they do to danger and death. What if he went out there? Just walked through the gate and went into the woods. He could do it now. Nothing would stop him. He’s faced two arenas, his own death, been tortured to shreds and slowly put himself back together.

He could do it. He could survive it.

Keep reading

chloebeale  asked:

i have a prompt for you. bechloe & royal. do with that what u will 👀

oh my gosh a prompt from the chloebeale… 

“Chloe,” Beca said, coming out of her bedroom. She stood on the landing, one hand rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She knocked on Chloe’s door. “Chloe!”

“Yeah?” Chloe said, poking her head out of her own door.

“It’s 9am.”

“Ah ha?”

“Please, for the love of all that is holy, stop singing Lorde,” Beca said. “You’ve sang Royals five times in a row. I need you to stop.”

“But Beca… I’ve never seen a diamond in the flesh.”

“Oh my god.”

I cut my teeth on wedding rings in the movies.

“I hate you,” Beca said going back into her room.

Chloe leaned against the door and sang louder.

And we’ll never be royals!

Royals!” Fat Amy joined in, on her way to the bathroom.

“I’m moving out! I hate you all!”






anonymous asked:

Mike, take that off right now!

“What?  I think I look pretty good with a little red to go with my blue,” he says with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“You look ridiculous,” she says, unamused from where she sits perched on the couch.  Her hair is swiped to the side of her head, and her barefeet are pulled up to rest on the cushion, enclosing herself with her own limbs.

“And if I look good in this, shit, think of how good you’ll look in it,” he teases with an air of truth in his voice, as he plops down next to her, grabbing hold of one of her knees as he goes, the wedding ring adorning his finger adding a shiver to her legs with his touch.

“I’m not doing it, so you can just take that off, and get back into the colors we both know you belong in,” she says with a twist of her head and a determined look shadowing her lips.

“Gin,” he says gently, removing the cap from his head, smoothing down his hair.

She refuses to look at him, instead focusing on the glittering rings adorning her own hands, twisting them around her finger, a nervous habit she’d adopted the minute the diamond had found its way to her hand years ago.

The calluses rubbing against the shiny metal, a contrast she was never able to wrap her mind around, the idea of having gotten everything she could’ve dreamed of as a kid not quite sitting right with her.

“Alright, let’s hear it.  What are you scared of?”  He pries, chewing on his gum, twisting himself to face her with a grunt, as she continued to stare at her hands.

“Scared?  I’m not scared of anything, old man,” she says with a false bravado that he wasn’t buying for a second if the puff of air against her face was any indication of the silent laugh he was bolstering at her.

She peeks at him through her lashes, his face patiently waiting for her answer, he real answer.

With a deep sigh, she lowers her legs, his hand remaining on her knee even as it hit the cushion.  Her hands stilling, this time busying themselves with his hand, wrapping them both around his large one, the diamond resting atop the pyramid of flesh.

“Is it so wrong to just be happy and not want to move?”  She questions, glancing over at him, her big brown eyes begging for answers.

They’d been married for years at this point, survived his retirement, endless gossip, and family drama, their relationship the last thing she was worried about.  His opinion something she valued, had since the beginning.

“No,” he answers with a bearded grin.

“Then why does everyone keep second guessing my decision?” She throws out frustratingly with a shrug of her shoulders.  The hope that one day people would take her word for what it was, and not assume they knew better.

“I remember your rookie year, you telling me that Chicago was a good opportunity…”

“No, no.  I very distinctly remember begging you to stay,” she says with a dimpled grin, not even about to deny that she had never wanted him to leave.

“Okay, fair enough.  But I don’t think people are trying to tell you what to do, just making sure that you’re turning down something for the right reasons,” he assures her with a squeeze of his hand.

“What are the right reasons?” She says, her eyes wide, every trace of stubborn harbored momentarily to the fear of making the wrong choice.

“Only you’d know that, Rookie,” he says, placing the cap he’d discarded onto her head.

“Red’s not really my color,” she says, freeing her hand, her finger tracing over the bill.

“Sounds like a good enough reason to me,” he jokes, hitting the bill, tipping the cap into her face.

“Smooth,” she says dryly.

“You’re not a rookie anymore, you can choose what you want,” he says, tilting her chin up to see her face hidden underneath the hat.

“I don’t want to take the deal,” she says, firm, concrete.

“Then it looks like we’re staying here,” he confirms, lacing their fingers together.

“Yep,” she agrees, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“But for the record, red is definitely your color.”

Leave the first sentence of a fic in my ask box and I will write the next five sentences.

anonymous asked:

playlist: i miss him but fuck him tho

Next Time It Rains - Melanie Martinez

Leave You Lonely - Tara Carosielli 

Shhh - Raye

This Is Not About Us - Banks

Like Home - JOY

Don’t Hurt Yourself - Beyonce


Hermit The Frog - Marina and The Diamonds

Everytime - Broods

Flesh Without Blood - Grimes

It Ain’t Me - Kygo & Selena Gomez

Silly little creature couldn’t have loved you. The second she knew what you were, she spilled your secrets like an idiot schoolchild. She was a cockroach. A wretched, crawling thing like this one. And you, my glittering girl, are a diamond. Stone cannot love flesh.

born with a void, hard to destroy

– a natalia romanova playlist made with only songs by women 

invincible - pat benatar // let the flames begin - paramore // gun - chvrches // the wolf - phildel // raw sugar - metric // valley of the dolls - marina and the diamonds // yellow flicker beat - lorde // break the chain - oh land // flesh without blood - grimes // youth without youth - metric // the beast - imogen heap // alive - sia // everything at once - lenka // lullabye for a stormy night - vienna teng // poltergeist - banks // howl - florence + the machine // castle - halsey // you’ve got time - regina spektor // bravado - lorde // rootless - marina and the diamonds // i’m a fantastic wreck - montaigne // bury it - chvrches feat. hayley williams // ain’t gonna drown - elle king // renaissance girls - oh land // make me a robot - tessa violet // titanium - david guetta feat. sia


And we come back. We treat our bodies
like it’s an underground of made-up moons. Our skin

like green moss vomit,  some rice fields of sunlight
spaces of how we became gentle the same way

our mother’s hands learned how to turn water
into tears and tears into strength. How she molded

life into a milky way galaxy of street lights and metal,
a set of burning lace, a candle melt of teeth and smile.

This warmth: to be both a stone and a cloud, to hold
lightning like its a spark, to allow fangs and French kisses.

This devour and creation of lungs. This coming home.
So we walk back to the bodies we once were, healing flesh

and diamond bones slowly, and ever so slow, we knock 
on our chest’s door. We hold the pair hands we once had to let go.

—  Kharla M. Brillo | After We Learn How To Forgive Ourselves
The Selection + Lorde
  • The Selected: Royals
  • (I've never seen a diamond in the flesh // and I'm not proud of my address, in the torn up town / no postcode envy // and we'll never be royals / it don't run in our blood // let me be your ruler)
  • The Elite: Team
  • (wait till you're announced / we've not yet lost all our graces // call all the ladies out / they're in their finery // and everyone's competing for a love they won't receive / 'cause what this palace wants is release / we live in cities you'll never see onscreen // livin' in ruins of the palace within my dreams / and you know, we're on each other's team // I'm kind of over getting told to throw my hands up in the air / so there / I'm kind of older than I was when I reveled without a care / so there)
  • The One: Still Sane
  • (everything I say falls right back into everything / I'm not in the swing of things / but what I really mean is / not in the swing of things yet // we're still sane / I won't be her, tripping over onstage // promise I can stay good // I'm little but I'm coming for the crown)
I Feel Like This is Important, People...

Count Hannibal Lecter, VIII, M.D. (our favorite cannibae) is an Elizabeth Taylor fan.

Because OF COURSE he is…

Originally posted by dontmesswiththeleprechaun

Originally posted by dialnfornoir

Originally posted by mymovieblogx

(Attention: @devereauxsdisease​)