#jim diamond

[berenixium]

Hi Ho Silver (Remix) - Little Fable -

https://soundcloud.com/littlefable/hi-ho-silver-no-telephone-remix

[theblisterdoesntexist]

| rock sound, march 2003 issue

credits go to the stonesoursanctuary website

[chaoticgayomens]

“drinking shampain / made by the angel / who goes by the name / of glittering gabriel” (lyrics from the song “shampain” by marina)

[sapphiel]

Fun facts about King Cornelius or Jim Horner if it's not too much trouble and I love your art :D

King Cornelius already done, so here's Jim:

Jim Horner is your average run-of-the-mill Diamonds civilian, working on his farms to provide for himself and his family. One day, however, he found his calling after being assigned as the Heralder for the King and Queen of Diamonds. He really loves his new job.

His horn is his pride and joy, and cleans and maintains it quite regularly. He's even quite protective of it.

He tends to not be bothered by the cold weather of his home, sometimes even going outside wearing nothing but his undergarments without so much a quiver.

He's gay, but single. He wants to settle with someone some day, but is patient with his future.

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 2: Traitor Jim

From: The Banes of the Ball Series

Pairing: Jimmy Dobyne x Heiress! Reader

Summary: Jimmy’s good at keeping his own secrets, but can he keep yours?

Word count: 2,513

Content/warnings: institutional misogyny, 1920s debutante ball themes, southern speakeasy themes, alcohol consumption, mean!Jimmy (more like defensive, but still), secretive reader, allusions to a a want to disrupt the social structure, cross-dressing?

Author’s Note: So in my research, I found out that this movie universe occurs during the prohibition, so even when they drank in the movie, it was illegal. Therefore, I guess I made an illegal bar scene? Idk, I guess that there were gin distributors in Memphis during this time, so we’re gonna roll with that.

I’d love to hear you’d feedback in all forms! Comments, reblogs, and asks are so appreciated.

Dividers by

< Prev | Series Masterlist | Next >

Your invitation to Fisher had brought her back into the social circles, earning a few more opportunities for run-ins through the end of the debutante season. As you opened your ears and walked through the venues, you could tell not many wanted to entertain the young, socially exiled heiress, but from the apparent liking you took to her, they felt her inclusion was an obligation.

Outside of this environment, you were nowhere to be seen by the young men and women of town. That was by design, but for now, you walked through the ball, seeking your next hiding place. For this one, there was an upper level balcony pseudo cut off from the mingling areas by an appetizer table. It had already been picked through after you had made your first set of appearance rounds, making it perfectly unpopulated. You looked down upon the dance floor, counting the minutes, and the songs that would need to pass before you could acceptably leave, off to your more desired….obligations.

In your shroud of curtains and tiered food displays, your eyes wandered over the crowd below. New loves were being formed as men asked for a dance, secrets and gossip shared between spinsters-in-training along the sides, and jokes or plans to obtain the next jar of moonshine whispered amongst the men. Absolute fools. Everyone thought they were so sly, but you read their lips and body language easier than a book. It was almost as if they wanted their plans known, or better yet, spoiled. It wasn’t going to happen at your hand though. You didn’t have need for that right now, but should you, it would be easy to ruin any soul in this dated, yet fancy ballroom.

You turned around to find the punch bowl on the upstairs table. Perhaps if you were lucky, the boys had already spiked it and you wouldn’t have to pull from your own reserve tucked under your dress.

You knew they had gotten to it by taking a single step forward, the smell easily reaching your nose and burning the sensitive hairs. Perfect. You quickly made a cup before heading back to your balcony and looking down among the crowd. Hopefully it was good quality alcohol in the bowl and didn’t make you go blind. How ever could you properly interact in society then? Tragic.

As you sipped, you looked down at the crowd again, seeing the tops of heads flow and weave between each other. No one ever looked up; it was human nature. If you could find an exit route now, it would be your great escape.

As you moved to set down your cup, though, you saw something in the corner of your eye that didn’t fit the patterns and waves formed by the other party-goers. It was a man, stopped in the middle of the dance floor. His bright blue eyes looked up at you, piercing through the foliage and decor that often left you covered. He must have been searching specifically for you.

After your previous conversation with Jimmy Dobyne, you didn’t feel as though there was much to say. Based of the fact that he was looking to catch your gaze, you had figured that he was looking for a read on whether or not you had shared his secret. Evidently, you had not. You were never a fan of loose lips.

You lifted your skirt and ran down the back staircase to the rear door of the mansion. You had planned to leave through there and walk around the front of the house to your car as to not have to encounter anyone else, especially that certain farm boy.

Before you could reach the bottom of the steps, though, you were stopped in your tracks.

“Wonderful to see you this evening, miss.” The blue eyes had come to cut you off and pierce more harshly than before. His entire demeanor was in juxtaposition to his kind words, jaw clenched, gaze hard and unyielding with an unspoken demand. You maintained your formality, though, praying it would serve you well on your way.

“Good evening, James. I apologize, you have just caught me on my way out.” You hurriedly ducked past his shoulder just to be followed through the nearly hidden French doors at the rear of the house. Jimmy followed you out and down the stone steps and into the garden.

“That’s no problem, I was going to ask Fisher to leave soon, as well. I actually wanted to speak to you.”

You walked as fast as you could without reaching a run, getting into the front seat of your car and starting it. Luckily, your chauffeur had taken your bribe to leave you the vehicle, like most other nights, unbeknownst to your family.

“Perhaps another time, James. I really must be going.”

You could see the way his shoulders tensed forward in anger at your deflection of his statements and attempts to ignore. He began to run alongside the car as you weaved around the others in the driveway of the house.

“No. I demand that you stop and speak to me. I want you to never bring up what happened again. It was all fine. Fisher got her earrings back.”

Not from his command, but more due to shock, you slammed on the breaks of the car, causing you to lurch forward and Jimmy to skid to a stop in the gravel. He caught his footing quickly, though, taking the opportunity to open your car door and get in.

“You have no jurisdiction to demand anything of me, Mr. Dobyne. And you well know this is not about the earrings. Now I have somewhere to be, so either you go back to your fiancé, or you deal with me dropping you off in the middle of nowhere. What’ll it be?”

Jimmy closed the door to your car and settled into the passenger seat, looking straight forward. “Drive, go on.”

You rolled your eyes and huffed, continuing down the long road of the manor. You looked briefly over at him before you spoke up.

“I have no interest in becoming your next sexual encounter if that’s why you insist on being here. I’d never do that to Fisher and I most definitely have no desire to be the next Vinnie, who, speaking of which, just sent out invitations for an engagement party. Did you receive one?”

Jimmy’s jaw clenched again as he turned to face you in his seat. “Stop doing that!”

You feigned confusion. Men always believed you never quite understood what they were talking about, anyway. “Doing what?”

“Changing the subject and trying to make me feel bad.”

You simply shrugged, continuing to stare ahead. “I have no desire to make you feel bad. If that’s the way you feel, then I assure you it’s all self-inflicted. So tell me, James. Do you yourself feel bad for your actions? Maybe you ought to repent, or at least tell someone of your dirty little secret. I find it quite distasteful to take a woman’s hand and to not be honest with her. To keep things from her.”

Jimmy scoffed and rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms. “You have no place to speak about keeping secrets. I see the way you leave half of these events early. Never sticking around and never to be seen by anyone around town. I’m sure that’s a secret worse than my own.”

Your nostrils flared and your lips tightened. Sure, you taunted him on his private matters, but yours were to remain untouched. He didn’t know what was going on, or technically even if something was going on at all. “Careful where you step, James. I do not have another to care for. And what I do with my free time does not concern you, so I suggest you rethink your attempts at refutal when it comes to me.”

He huffed as you pulled to the side of the road to let him out. You were at the edge of town. Walking or finding a ride to wherever he needed to go shouldn’t be too difficult from here.

“We shouldn’t be too far that you can’t walk back to dear Fishy. Give her my best and do not come looking for trouble again. I am more than happy to greet you politely at gatherings, but your accusations leave a sour taste in my mouth. Good evening, James.”

You drove off and left Jimmy in a cloud of dust before heading to the other side of town. Right about now, the restaurants would be closing, making room for the nightly patrons and gangsters to move through. It was no place for a lady to remain after dark, but to them, you were no lady.

You pulled off near a corn field on the side of a rarely traversed road and opened the trunk of the car. Under a panel, you found your bag and pulled it out, grabbing the trousers and button-down shirt and laying them out over the door. You worked quickly to shuck off your dress before carefully folding it and placing it in the trunk, over the panel. You slipped into the trousers, followed by the leather boots. After shrugging on the shirt, you dug into the pants pocket to pull out a ribbon and pins. You pulled your hair up tightly and tucked it under a cap. Others would have a fit they they saw a woman in this wear, especially you. You were meant to be at a ball, sitting like an ornament of your father’s legacy, not in the slums of the city.

Now, although your family would have called it the slums, it was far from it. It was where the workers hung out. It was where savvy businessmen were making the most of the country’s prohibitory situation. It’s where you were learning everything it might take for your future plans to come to fruition.

You walked up the creaky wooden porch, your head on a swivel as you entered a pawn shop. At least, that’s what it was during the day. You made your way through the shelves and display cases to the curtain in the back, opening it to a bustling bar full of men both young and old.

With your makeup removed and a few light smudges of dirt here and there, your look matched theirs quite well. That was another benefit of staying out of the private eye as much as possible: none of them saw you enough to be able to identify you in this state. You just seemed like another farm worker.

You took your usual seat at the end of the bar, ducking your head to put your focus on the conversations going on around you. This environment gave you a completely different level of information than what your house maids would give you.

Usually, from here, you could catch anything from farmhands, to gin runners, to business men discussing what was going on. The true way the town was running. And that’s exactly what you wanted: an understanding of who was in control of business proceedings.

From your calm demeanor and regular appearance in this environment, you were known, but not much past a pseudonym you had fed them and the fact that you did odd jobs on your family’s estate. That was enough, though. Enough for you to seem unassuming and trust-worthy. Enough for their lips and morals to be loose around you. Enough for you to use very soon for your plans.

Men were stupid and again, you were in awe of it. None of them could recognize you. And for the ones that could? Well, they were already drunk off their asses. Problem solved. That’s how you were able to preserve your pub-dwelling Saturday nights for the foreseeable future.

As your drink was served, you felt a presence come up and sit in the stool next to you. You were used to that, men did anything to strike up a conversation and save themselves from the monotony of their lives. If only they knew how truly monotonous a life was when you weren’t allowed to perform half the duties that they’d spit upon when given the chance. They had so many options, but your empathy is what they wanted, not proof of their lack of hardships. Not yet, at least.

You put all those thoughts aside, though, taking a swallow of your drink before putting on your best smirk to strike up conversation. It was time to get to work.

Except when you turned your head to your left, you weren’t facing any old nobody. Well, to these guys, he would’ve been, but to you, it was someone starting to get on your nerves for invasion of privacy, someone with tumultuous, pained currents, not unlike the rivers run, for eyes: Jimmy Dobyne.

He opened his mouth to speak, but not before you slammed your hand over it while giving him a warning glare. “Careful with your mouth James. I know I wasn’t exceptionally stealthy tonight, but I thought you’d be smart enough to avoid a place like this.”

The bartender came over and you ordered a drink for Jimmy so he’d leave you alone to speak in privacy. “Now think before you speak. You’ve invaded my personal space and business already.”

Jimmy leaned in, speaking to you with anger that you knew came from your constant reminders of his wrongdoings. “You need to stop it with that and just tell me exactly what you know.”

You looked at him, keeping your face even bedsides the slight disbelief in his audacity. “I hold a keen eye, James. Keep your voice down and do be careful of who sees you and to whom you lend your trust.”

You turned back to the bartender to thank him for dropping off Jimmy’s drink.

His fists unclenched just for enough time for him to grab the glass and shove it away from himself.

“I ought to tell your father his daughter is out here disobeying him. A woman like you should not be in a place like this. Drinking much less!” The lowered volume didn’t make his voice any less cutting. You wouldn’t stand for that. You were trying to be nice. It seemed like neither your kind words, nor stern requests seemed to work on him. Perhaps threats were better.

“I ought to tell everyone you’re poor and loose with your belt buckle! But I won’t. Now accept a drink on my tab and sit to casually speak with me before you cause a scene. My my, James. One skill you do not have is subtlety.”

He scoffed before grabbing the glass and drinking it all down in one go, calling the bartender over for another.

“Good. Now listen closely because I’m not speaking above a whisper and you’ll only hear this once. I’ll let you in on some things, and by chance you could even help me, but first, you have to tell Fisher the truth.”

Next >

Bonus A/N: So sugars and carbohydrates are what yeast ferments to create alcohol. The alcohol we consume is ethanol (aka EtOH aka Ethyl Alcohol). Sometimes, though, when done improperly, a byproduct is methanol (aka methyl alcohol, which means it has one less carbon and four less hydrogen atoms, making a smaller and totally different molecule functionally). Methanol has actually been found to make you go permanently blind! That’s why it can be so risky to drink home-brewed alcohols and moonshines. I assume this risk was even higher back in the early 1920s when a lot was bootlegged and they didn’t have many ways to test for the methanol. And therefore, I assume they knew sometimes alcohol made you go blind, but not quite how, which is why I added it here.

Taglist: @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly

[myloveforhergoeson]

can you imagine if they just called james “jim” for most of the show. jim diamond would not hit the same as james diamond

[ambimakesarts]

Just some fun redraws for the rest of Heartslabyul cuz I made a realization about Deuce and it all makes sense now.

[justasideofdelicious]

I made some quick Barbie memes of some of my fave Daniel Cudmore roles lol

[cursedchildofchaos]

Primadonna Girl is very Jim Moriarty coded

I've been very lazy about answering asks but I have never felt more honored in my life

Edit: I thought you said i was primadonna girl and Jim Moriarty coded, my bad, but yes

[musicmags]

[emeritus-fuckers]

69 and Jim for the music event because i mean cmon

E.V.O.L ⸸ Father Jim DeFroque x Reader

TW: dub-con. drugs. alcohol. reader was an adult when losing their virginity.

i. pink lipstick stains, cigarette butts i lie in bed, i hate my guts

It was a simple fucking pattern.

You saw him, you made it clear you despised him.

You got wasted together and ended up fucking in a motel room or in the backseat of his car. Front seat, sometimes, if you were drunk enough.

And then you woke up the next day, most of the time in a bed, either in the motel or sometimes in your own bedroom, if he was feeling nice. You'd smoke a cigarette, just staring at the ceiling and being mad at yourself, swearing to cut this off and never see him again.

Even though deep down, as you took the cash he left you each time, you knew.

You knew the damn pattern would repeat.

~

ii. candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker every kiss you give me, it makes me sicker

You could never decide how you felt about Jim DeFroque.

On one hand, he was supposed to be a priest. A man of God.

On the other hand, you saw him getting high very night and then mixing it with alcohol and fucking someone. Surprisingly, that someone was often you.

An ex-believer. You remembered seeing him in church a few years ago, when you were younger and still thought God existed. And when you were stupid enough to believe that him taking your virginity was God's will. When you were stupid enough to get addicted to his touch.

You ended up joining him on his nightly escapades. You gained new addictions, you fucked new people.

You both loved and hated it. You loved how it felt to have him rail you again. You hated how you'd feel afterwards, realizing you ended up falling into his arms, like every time before.

But you knew the damn pattern would repeat.

~

iii. it only takes two lonely people to fuck love up and make it evil it only takes a drop of evil to fuck up two beautiful people

There was a time in your life where you questioned that maybe you did love Jim DeFroque. And deep down you knew you did. Deep down you knew you fell for that damn priest's charm years ago.

And he knew that he fell for you. Your sweet lips and welcoming body, always so willing to let him rail you, no matter what. So precious... There was no doubt in his mind that he cherished you, but not in the sweet way described in poems or love songs. It was mostly raw lust with some fondness.

And you were both okay with that, in some way.

You were both okay with how unhealthy your relationship was. Maybe that was what made it so special. Maybe that unhealthiness was what kept pulling you in.

At the end of the day, it probably didn't matter.

Because you knew the damn pattern would repeat.

~

Written by Nosferatu.

Taglist: @charlie-is-a-menace @copias-fluffy-asscheeks @randodummy @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @calliedion-dungeon @randominstake @callmeicaro @dio-niisio @thatoddboy @ouijaboardemo @emo-mess @igodownjustlikeholymary

[teddybasmanov]

Lily of the valley, snow-white lily of the valley

Pairing: Dimi/Malenkee

TW: nightmares, mentions of death, mentions of firearms, implied nudity.

Word count: a bit above 750 (but since I decided to be weird and give translations instead of writing everything initially in English it's closer to a thousand).

Notes: Title from a poem by Tsvetaeva that is being sang here (there's also a full translation - for once not mine). This is absolutely not canon compliant in any way. I made up a patronymic for Dimi (it's from a book/movie character). I use they/them for the listener, but in direct speech in Russian I use he/him (which you wouldn't have known unless I've told you or you know Russian well enough).

They wake up in the middle of the night shaken by a nightmare they can barely remember - something with odd masked men. Their new friend breathes quietly by their side and they slowly sit up and put their feet on the floor - they need to go to the bathroom to calm down and they're afraid they cannot cry silently enough not to wake up the person right next to them. They pull Dimi's jacket from the chair beside the bed to put it over their naked shoulders - the apartment is chilly especially at night - and feel the weight of the gun still in their pocket. (If they weren't so distressed they would have though that it's just like that one scene from "Diamonds for the Dictatorship of the Proletariat", except they aren't trying to shoot their bedmate.)

They stand in front of the mirror for a bit, before turning on cold water and getting their hands under it before putting them on their cheeks. They feel stress tears starting to gather at the corners of their eyes and they let them spill - it's okay, definitely crying quieter than the running water. That's how Dimi finds them - dutifully wiping the tears off their face with cold water.

He leans on the door frame and they notice him in the mirror and promptly drop their eyes to the sink.

"Что-то не так, Дмитрий Юрьевич?" [Something's wrong, Dmitry Yurievich?] they ask quietly, their voice flat.

"Это я должен спршивать, что не так," [It's me who's supposed to be asking what's wrong.] he takes a step towards them.

"Всё в порядке, прошу прощения, если я Вас разбудил," [Everything's alright, I'm sorry if I woke You up.] they still aren't looking at his reflection.

He takes another step forward and gently puts a hand on their shoulder, "И именно потому, что всё в порядке, ты плачешь в ванной?" [And exactly because everything's alright, you're crying in the bathroom.] he says softly, not really a question.

"Всё правда в порядке, просто приснилась какая-то ерунда," [Everything's really alright, I just dreamt some nonsense.] they try to give him a smile, but it not very convincing.

He sits on the edge of the bathtub, getting to their eye-level, and pulls them onto his lap and they don't resist, leaning against him as they feel their shoulders starting to tremble and the tears coming out for real.

"Шшшш, мой маленький, я здесь, я с тобой," [Shhhh, my little one, I'm here, I'm with you.] he wraps his arms around them and whispers almost directly into the top of their head, "Что же тебе такое приснилось?" [What did you dream about.]

"Я не помню," [I don't remember.] they shake their head somewhere into the crook of his neck and their mind helpfully reminds them of an image from the beginning of the dream, "Только помню, что Вас убили," [I only remember that You were killed.] the last words of the sentence get drowned out in sobs.

"Ну что ты, маленький, из-за меня так убиваешься," [Oh, little one, and you're so upset about me.] he gently strokes their back, while they calm down again.

"Вы из-за меня жизнью рискуете," [You risk your life for me,] they say seriously finally lifting their eyes at him, "а я даже не могу вам ничем помочь". [and I cannot even help you.]

"Ох," [Oh,] he cannot help but give them a somewhat lost smile, "но, маленький, ведь я бы и так рисковал жизнью, только теперь мне есть за что - вернее за кого," [but little one, I'd be risking my life anyway, just now I have something - or rather someone to do that for.] he puts his hand on their cheek and it covers almost half of their face. They lean into it and drop their gaze again.

"Мне нечего ответить Вам на такое, и всё же я чувствую себя виноватым, что я подвергаю Вас опасности," [I have nothing to answer you for that, and yet I still feel guilty for putting You in danger.] hey put their hand on top of his and slightly turning their head kiss his palm.

"Ах ты глупенький, опасности значит он меня подвергает - да я может безопаснее, чем с тобой, себя в жизни не чувствовал?" [Oh, you silly thing, 'putting me in danger' - maybe I've never felt myself safer in my life than I do with you?]

"Если это так, то я скажу, что из нас двоих глуп не я," [If that's so, then between the two of us I'm not the silly one.] they finally return his smile and he pulls them in for a kiss. They wrap their arms around his neck and his jacket starts slipping from their shoulders.

He catches it, wrapping it around them again, "Пойдём спать, маленький, у тебя же и так глаза слипаются". [Let's go to sleep, little one, your eyes are already closing.]

They hum affirmingly, but before they make a move to get off his lap, he picks them up and stands up.

"Дмитрий Юрьевич, пожалуйста, не врежьтесь в стену, Вы же без очков," [Dmitry Yurievich, please, don't bump into a wall, You're not wearing your glasses.] they say almost half-playfully, while he carries them back to bed.

"Я могу ходить здесь вообще с закрытыми глазами," [I can walk here with my eyes completely closed.] he retaliates setting them on the bed and taking the jacket off them to put it back on the chair.

They settle in bed, he wraps his arm around them as they cuddle up closer to him.

"Спокойной ночи, Дмитрий Юрьевич," [Good night, Dmitry Yurievich.] they whisper into his chest.

"Спокойной ночи, мой маленький". [Good night, my little one.]

[moonrevolutions]

ideal honeymoon for vi:

a nice hotel with a beautiful view

lots of wine

seeing limp bizkit live so he can get really embarrassing and screechy during the song ' nookie '

waffle house

possible heated argument with someone, if not a full blown fight, at said waffle house

return to hotel

sex and maybe tending to the black eye he inevitably gets from the waffle house brawl

watch the news report about how some guy on his honeymoon got clocked in the face by an old trucker named earl . . . . at waffle house . it's vi. he got hit by earl.

[blossom-blur]

Some doodles I drew tonight!