#gaudi inspired jewellery

[jodieleejewellery]

Website: https://www.jodieleejewellery.com/

Jodie Lee Jewellery offers unique, one-of-a-kind, handmade, gold + silver jewellery.

Our Jewellery is designed and handcrafted with love and care by Jodie Nielsen in regional South Australia.

All pieces are made from Solid Sterling Silver or Solid 9ct Yellow or Pink Gold.

Designed and made to last a lifetime.

Quality pieces that you can wear everyday and anywhere.

Business Email: info@jodieleejewellery.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jodieleejewellery

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jodieleejewellery/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/lee_jewellery

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[hummingbee-o0o]

Have you ever been married, Mr Molloy?

(Armand rekindles his love of jewellery; Daniel gets ideas.)

---

The first step is the ring, obviously. Daniel has a feeling it will take him a long time to hunt down the exact perfect thing worthy of his precious gremlin, so he might as well get the ball rolling right away. He dives into multiple online rabbit holes (history of ring design, Renaissance jewellery, gemstone classification, types of settings and cuts, clarity rankings, famous pieces, all that jazz) and reaches out to his very tired research assistant as well.

In the meantime, he feeds Armand’s renewed fixation on rings. Market research and all that.

“Babe, check this out,” he says as they’re knocking over a Cartier store in the middle of the night. (Armand had a hankering for some jewellery while out on the town, and Daniel is a gentleman, so he picked up a crowbar and obliged.)

Armand saunters over from where he’s been trying on pearls and peers at the engagement rings display case Daniel is beckoning him towards.

“Are we taking any of these?” Daniel asks — nice and smooth, nice and casual.

Armand graces the selection with a fleeting glance, then turns his nose up.

“Too gaudy,” he pronounces dismissively. “I cannot abide the current mania of studding everything with as many tiny gems as possible. Not to mention, these would be most unpleasant to the touch.”

The tape recorder lodged permanently in Daniel’s freshly renovated brain is whirring away, capturing every single word.

A couple weeks later, they’ve broken into a museum and are taking a stroll through the jewellery section. Armand throws on the lights with an incredibly poised gesture of his hand and regales Daniel with a guided tour as they walk past all the sparkles on display.

He lingers in the Renaissance section, smiling indulgently at the pieces like they’re old friends — it takes Daniel a moment to dizzyingly realise that some of them might be.

Armand sighs wistfully over the ring collection.

“This is how it was done, beloved,” he tells Daniel. “Sapphires, emeralds and rubies in elevated, sculpted settings. Intricate carvings in the gold. An impossible balance between excess and restraint.”

Noted.

Next it’s the website of an exclusive designer, where Armand orders an amethyst pendant because it’s the colour of Daniel’s eyes. At a jewellers’ convention, Daniel learns that Armand is lukewarm towards diamonds. In another ‘storage unit’ he learns that his beloved gremlin favours jewels in darker tones (it’s a Renaissance thing, apparently).

And so on and so on and so on, until finally he knows what he wants. What Armand will want.

He goes through a few custom jewellers, rejects them all and actually eats one (look, he was having a bad night and he’s a stress eater, okay?) before finally landing on the perfect choice. A husband-and-wife team, based in Italy of all places — kismet. Their work is inspired by Renaissance, but with a modern edge to it, and when Daniel describes what he wants and makes an incredibly shitty sketch during a Zoom call, they get back to him with a breathtaking visualisation three days later. Daniel wires the down payment five seconds after they finish that call.

After that, all that’s left to do is wait.

(Read the whole thing on AO3)

[the-martyrfication-of-the-matron]

Aphmau sketch for whenever she has to go elsewhere for like politics and shit (also her nakey because I wanted to draw her markings)

Brightport, as a merchant village, as a lot of money for a village it’s size and so it has rather extravagant style for its social class. It mostly takes inspiration from O’Khasian fashion, with darker, richer colours being more fashionable, as well as longer corsets/stays and longer, flowy sleeves. Where it deviates is with its minimal jewellery. In the east, things such as pearls are common (unlike the west) so it is seen as tacky or gaudy to wear too much of them. Gold is the preferred metal of choice for jewellery, because of religious superstition, and for similar reasons it is believed one should not wear too much of it. Donna and the village ladies dress her for Brightport, as many of them have lived in the village for a time and know what to make her wear to make her look presentable. That said. They did not measure things right and her boobs were out way more than intended (and is proper in Brightport fashion)… but hey, maybe that’ll help her negotiate.

Meteli, whilst also a merchant village, focuses on local trade as opposed to region-wide trade, as well as making good relationships with their neighbours. Whilst Brightport is more convenient for trade throughout the region as it is set into the mouth of the river they lay across, making it easier to access for those who are uncommon with navigating the river itself, Meteli has proven themselves extremely skilled in traversing the river and the lands surrounding. Because this river reaches to Scaleswind, Meteli has a close relationship with the city, and as such share small samples of their popular fashions. They prioritise brighter colours, thinner fabrics, shorter corsets made of expensive leather, and jewellery, lots of it. Whilst the mentality around pearls in Meteli remains similar to the rest of the east for a time, after they give a large amount of them to Aphmau as a thank you gift for allowing them into the alliance (because they knew she liked pretty things) and she wore them because of how she loved them, it brought pearls back into style, driving up the price of them and inevitably making Aphmau look fucking loaded when she wore them around casually. Accidental fashion icon

Cadenza styled her Meteli look, though Aphmau’s pearls were a personal choice of hers to try and say thank you.

[danielfuckingricciardo]

Sealed With A Kiss - Charles Leclerc x Reader

Pairing - Charles Leclerc x Reader

Word Count - 1.6k

Content Warning - References to death

Synopsis - Charles had a bad day, but you come to him with an offer he simply can’t refuse.

Author’s Note - It’s been a while, huh? Honestly I wasn’t feeling so inspired but now I’m back in the swing of things and here with some spooky fics for the Halloween season! I’m such a Halloween girlie (gn) and I’ve wanted to write something like this for a while. So stay tuned for more spooky fics coming soon!

You approach him with tenacity in your step; the man sat alone at the bar, an empty glass beside his head that rested forlornly in his own arms. He was perfect, just what you needed.

You pull out the stool beside him and take a seat, tapping your talon-like red nails on the bar to attract the attention of the bartender.

“I’ll take a white russian, and another of whatever he’s having.” You say in a silky tone.

The bartender nods and busies himself with preparing the drinks, and you turn your attention to your new depressed drinking buddy.

“Cheer up, darling. One can never be so miserable when someone buys you a drink. It’s simply not polite.” You say, and he looks up at you, taking in your appearance.

You didn’t look like the other patrons of the bar. Most of them insisted on displaying their wealth, showing it off in tasteless and gaudy garments and jewellery that only served as a status symbol and nothing more. But you sat there, understated, in a simple black cocktail dress, with a ruby necklace resting around your neck. Somehow you seemed even more expensive than all the other posers in the bar, you didn’t feel the need to flash your cash, and Charles couldn’t help but be intrigued by you.

“Sorry, I, uh… had a bad day.” He says. “Thank you, though, for the drink.”

Your red lips curl into a smile, and you nod in appreciation.

“Bad day? Care to share your woes with with a complete stranger? A problem shared is a problem halved, or so they say.”

“I suppose. Uh, where to start? It’s my job, I guess. Things haven’t been going so well and my dream seems to be falling further and further out of reach, no matter how hard I try.” He says with a sigh.

You raise your eyebrow at him as the bartender returns with your drinks, and you pause for a moment to take a sip.

“That must be rather hard to deal with, yes? The human mind is a funny thing, often it is its own biggest enemy. You create aspirations and goals for yourself, and as you fail to achieve them, the battle with your mind only becomes more intense, distracting you from your true goal and rendering you further from ever achieving it.”

Charles takes a sip of his drink, “yes, I suppose so. We fight our own demons so much that we get distracted from the real fight.”

You chuckle slightly at his comment, and he looks at you in confusion.

“Then perhaps you should stop fighting those demons? Embrace them, maybe, listen to them.” You say, and you take a small pause to take another sip of your drink. “I think I could help you, Charles Leclerc.”

Charles looks at you, his eyes wide. “You know who I am?”

“I know of you, yes. And I think that I could help you achieve those dreams of yours. But I would require something in return.” You say with a sly smile.

The background noise of the bar suddenly falls silent, and Charles looks around to notice that everyone else around him had disappeared. He looks back at you, only to find that you, too, had disappeared.

“I suppose you would like to know the conditions of my deal.” You say, appearing from thin air behind the bar, grabbing the bottle of whiskey to top up Charles’ drink.

“Who… who are you?” He asks, and you smile at him once again, your eyes becoming black for just a second, before flashing back to their usual colour so quickly that Charles wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it or not.

“You’re a demon, aren’t you?” He asks, and you chuckle.

“Darling, I’m not just a demon… I’m the demon.” You respond.

You appear behind him and tap him on the shoulder with your sharp red nails, and he jumps, turning to face you.

“The name bestowed upon me by Lord Lucifer himself was Mephistopheles, however, unlike many of my demonic counterparts, I have elected to move with the times, so call me (y/n).” You say.

“Okay, (y/n).” Charles says, not looking entirely convinced by your existence.

“I have spent millennia assisting humans like yourself to achieve their dreams. Other demons will grant the wishes of any human who summons them at some dusty crossroads, but I am a little more… selective. The rewards I receive from these deals are much more satisfying.”

“The rewards?” Charles says, and you roll your eyes.

“Human souls.” You say, and Charles’ mouth drops open. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m a demon, not a witch, I’m not about to kidnap your firstborn or do anything else as grotesque. What in hell would I want with a human infant?”

“You want me to give you my soul?” Charles asks.

“Not immediately, no. The typical deal my kind offer to humans is ten years of life in which they experience no pain or suffering, either mentally or physically. We will fix whatever they require us to fix and they can live out those years the way they wish. And come the end, the demon will reap their soul and it provides them sustenance. However, due to my high status in hell, my deals work a little differently.” You say, and Charles looks at you, perplexed.

“I realise this is a lot to take in for a human. But I guarantee you that my offer is indeed worthwhile to you.” You say, and Charles suddenly appears as if deep in thought. It seemed that he was considering your offer.

“What is your offer?” He asks, and your red lips curl into a smile.

“A human soul like yours is worth far more to a demon than the usual soul. So I come to you with a greater deal. I will allow you to live out the entirety of your lifespan, in which you achieve that little dream of yours and live happily ever after. But when the time comes, I will reap your soul and consume it.” You say, and Charles looks rather confused.

“But that could be fifty or sixty years before you get your end of the deal?” He says, and you nod.

“When you’ve been alive for millennia, a single human lifespan feels like mere moments do to you. Trust me when I say, your soul is worth the wait.”

“How can I trust you to hold up your end of the bargain? You’re a demon, you could reap my soul right now and leave me dead in this bar.” Charles says.

“A demon can only reap a soul directly once the human has entered into a direct contract with them. Hell is, well, a bureaucratic hell.” You chuckle, “We are all bound to the contracts we sign, as are you humans. Once the contract is signed I have to deliver, and when you die, so will you.”

“This means I have no chance of getting into heaven, yes?” Charles says, and you roll your eyes.

“How many humans do you think actually make it to heaven? And even so, what makes you think that you’re destined for the pearly gates right now? I assure you, my deal will only serve to enhance your life, and yes, it does remove the infinitesimally small possibility that St. Peter might allow you entrance to that puritanically perfect borefest, but isn’t it worth the gamble? Is that minute chance of heaven really worth giving up everything you have ever dreamed of?” You say, resting your hands on his shoulders.

You lean into his ear ever so slightly, your lips brushing against his earlobe as you speak in a soft tone. “Don’t you want to be world champion? Don’t you want to bring pride to your family, your country, and your beloved team? Charles Leclerc deserves to be etched into the books of history as one of the greats, and I can make it happen. All you have to do, darling, is say the word.”

Charles turns towards you, his face practically touching yours as he speaks, “Yes. I want that.”

“Then allow me to give it to you.” You whisper, your eyes flickering into darkness once again. Charles can’t help but stare deeply into them. It was as if he could see into eternity itself, and he was truly captivated.

He nods, and you capture his lips in a soft yet passionate kiss. In that moment, you get a taste, your first taste of his pure and perfect soul, completely untouched by malice or hate. It was sweet, like ambrosia, and you felt a surge of strength and power run through your body as the contract was signed, binding the two of you eternally.

As you finally pull away, Charles finds himself once again alone amongst the excited conversations of the other patrons of the bar. There was no sign of you, besides the half empty White Russian on the counter, and his own glass, still filled with whiskey, the large ice cube slowly melting into the amber drink.

He quickly downs the beverage and slams his glass on the counter, before walking out of the bar with a sense of determination in his step. He no longer had to fight his inner demons, they didn’t matter anymore. He had a demon on his side now, and all he had to do was win, and in the end, that was all that truly mattered to him.

[smeddiemunson]

Inspired by @yendts and @mook-and-phoenix art. Merry Christmas!!

Robin didn’t like holiday parties. They’re too loud, the people suck, and the buffet is always a selection of fancy meat canapés and virtually nothing that suits the vegan lifestyle.

But there were a few perks.

“You should meet my partner, Chris!” Was Robin’s favourite way to get out of conversations that were bordering on flirtatious from the male side of the equation. Sure she could politely decline their advances, tell them she was seeing someone or even outright tell them she’s a lesbian, but nothing beat the look of embarrassment that crossed those men’s faces when it was revealed Chris was actually Chrissy.

Chrissy did the same.

Robin leaned around the tall guy, trying to spot her girlfriend in the crowd— easier said than done since she was at least a head shorter than everyone else in attendance. He was wearing a soft blue sweater and beige khaki’s that made her miss Steve, who had bailed on the party because Eddie had gotten sick from the snowball fight he instigated without wearing a coat, or gloves, or anything even remotely resembling warm, and Steve begged off to play nurse.

She thought she saw Chrissy’s sparkly dress flash between bodies and started pushing towards it, calling “Chris! Chris!” as she went.

Her shouting seemed to separate the bodies quicker until Chrissy was finally revealed to her. She wore her hair down out of it’s usually pony with soft curls and a dress made up of emerald coloured sequins that swished around her thighs, falling just above her knee. It should have looked silly, gaudy with the gold jewellery but she pulled it off.

“Robbie!” Chrissy called back, as she heard her.

They both rushed to meet in the middle, taking each others hands and sparing a moment to press their foreheads together.

Robin turned back to the guy she had been chatting to. “This is Chris. Chrissy. My girlfriend.”

Sometimes the men would force themselves to engage in polite conversation, to grin through their embarrassment. This one just walked away.

Chrissy giggled behind her hand. “That’s not very nice.”

Robin glanced down at her outfit; dark grey dress trousers with a matching blazer and simple silky red tank top. “I thought he could use a more obvious hint about how not into guys I am.��

Chrissy rolled her eyes fondly. “Do you want to dance?” She asked instead of commenting further, then didn’t wait for Robin’s answer to start pulling her towards the dance floor.

The music playing wasn’t really the kind to dance to, but there were a few couples that were trying, turning lazily in circles and talking quietly to one another.

Chrissy placed her hands on Robin’s shoulder, pushing them up slightly to loosely grip the back of Robin’s neck and brush her fingers through her undercut.

Robin’s hands settled on Chrissy’s waist, tugging her closer so there wasn’t a breath unshared between them.

They swayed to the music and exchanged the gossip they’d heared throughout the night, betting on which bit of information Steve would be the most incensed about then they met up from a late brunch in the morning.

“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” Robin whispered into Chrissy’s ear as they shifted to turning in a circle with Chrissy’s head resting on Robin’s shoulder. “Things suck a lot less when you’re around.”

Chrissy hummed and twisted her head slightly so she could press a kiss onto Robin’s clavicle, leaving a faint line of red behind. “I love you, of course I’m here.”

Robin still got butterflies when she said it, still couldn’t believe that of all the people in the world, all the people vying for just a sliver of Chrissy’s attention, she had chosen her to give it to.

“What do you say about us bailing early?” Chrissy asked. “We’ve still got some of those cookies Steve made us left and I’m really craving a hot chocolate.”

“I’d say that sounds perfect,” Robin breathed. They had spent most of their twenties staying out late and making bad decisions, now all Robin ever wanted to do was stay in with Chrissy and have the same conversations over and over again.

“I’ll race you to the car.”

Robin stepped away from Chrissy with a grin and bounded over to the elevator that would take them down to the garage, laughing to herself as Chrissy shouted behind her about it being an unfair challenge while she was in heals.

Robin still held the elevator doors for her.

When they arrived home, Chrissy having dozed in the passenger seat as Robin navigated the roads, they both made a beeline for their bedroom. They started undoing their necklaces, pulling off their rings and taking out their earrings as they went.

Chrissy groaned when she took her heals off, collapsing onto the bed and throwing them into a corner to be dealt with in the morning.

It was the easiest thing in the world for Robin to sink to her knees on the floor and take one of Chrissy’s feet in her hands to start kneading the blood flow back into the right places.

“You’re so good at that,” Chrissy moaned. She shifted so she was leaning on her elbows and could look at Robin. “I love you so much.”

“I’ve had the practice,” Robin laughed. She pressed a kiss of Chrissy’s ankle, the fabric of the nylon tights tickling her lips. “If you didn’t have such a bee in your bonnet about being short and just wore flats…”

Chrissy tutted. “I’m telling Steve you said that.”

Robin shook her head with a smile and wisely didn’t say anything more, just picked up Chrissy’s other foot and started working on it.

They sat quietly, only the occasional rustle of their party clothes or Chrissy’s relieved moans taking up the space until Chrissy pulled her foot away from Robin’s grasped and sat herself up enough so she could tenderly cradle Robin’s face in her hands.

“Hot chocolate?” She asked.

Robin nodded. She turned her head to kiss Chrissy’s palm, squeezed her wrists and then stood up.

Her knees cracked and her legs had gone slightly numb but she didn’t mind it.

“Pyjamas first?”

They had new matching pyjama’s for the holiday season every year. This year they had simple tartan-style bottoms and soft, plain, long sleeved red shirts.

Robin unzipped Chrissy’s dress and Chrissy picked up all the clothes Robin dropped on the floor to put them away in the hamper. Easy, simple routine that only came with knowing each other so intimately.

“I’ll get started on the drinks while you take your make-up off,” Robin said gently.

Chrissy kissed her cheek as she passed her to disappear into their en-suit bathroom.

Robin went to the kitchen. She pulled out the mugs Eddie and Steve made for them in a pottery class they all took together. They were misshapen and weirdly coloured but they held heat better than any of the ikea mugs in their cupboard and matched a pair that resided in Eddie and Steve’s house.

Eddie made the best hot chocolate out of the little family they’d made all those years ago when they first moved to the city, but Robin was pretty good at replicating it. It would never be quiet the same but with some vegan cream and marshmallows on the top, it would do.

Chrissy appeared in the kitchen just as Robin was pouring the liquid into the mugs. She got the cookie jar down from the top of the fridge; put there in the hope that they wouldn’t eat Steve’s cookies all at once.

Robin put the finishing touches on the drinks then carried them over to the small breakfast bar. She grabbed the lighter from the cutlery drawer a lit the one candle— winter spice— in the kitchen and beckoned Chrissy over.

Chrissy set the cookie jar down in between the mugs and took the lid off. She took a cookie out and offered it Robin. They always did this when they shared something, whoever started first offered the thing out to the other.

They stayed up much later than they would if they had stayed at the party talking and giggling, drinking hot chocolate and eating cookies like they were at a sleepover, and Robin thought it was a much better way to spend her night.

[vanillabat99]

I'm glad you felt well enough to make some earrings that's awesome and inspiring me to go pick up some little things to make the ridiculous gaudy earrings I want so much ❤️

Thank you!! The craft store jewellery section had lots of different charms and earring backings, but if the normal stuff is too boring I strongly recommend you look in the children's craft section! The charms there are much more fun (glitter dinosaurs)!! I also recommend you have 2 sets of pliers! It is much easier to pry open the little rings on the charms with pliers than with hands, and even harder to close them again. I wish you luck on your gaudy earring endeavours :3

[secondmovement0]

Timeless Elegance Exploring the Craftsmanship of Breitling and Chopard Watches

Learn about the outstanding craftsmanship that goes into Breitling and Chopard watches. Discover the luxury watch trends for 2023 that show endlessness and accuracy.  

Luxury watches have never just been tools for telling time. They represent a conflation of creativity, delicacy, and originality. Breitling and Chopard Watches, two prestigious brands in the watch industry, will still be captivating connoisseurs in 2023 with their unmatched craftsmanship and distinctive designs.  

Breitling vs. Chopard: The Ultimate Battle: H2

Breitling, known for its watches with an aeronautics theme, has constantly advanced horological inventions. Every painstakingly constructed watch from the brand demonstrates its dedication to accuracy.

Breitling watches combine effectiveness and style, catering to both ultramodern explorers and jet setters, with collections ranging from the notorious Navitimer series to the Tough Chastiser collection.  

Conversely, Chopard watches add a dash of gaudiness to the wrist. Their watches serve as more than simply timekeepers; they're gorgeous works of jewellery that convey a sense of fineness and luxury.

The brand creates interesting timekeepers by fusing Swiss watchmaking tradition with an aesthetic flair. Chopard watches are elegant in every way, whether they're from the traditional Happy Diamonds series or the opulent L.U.C. collection. Parameters will never be enough to make you decide on what brand to go with.

Luxury Predefined

Luxury watch trends for 2023 are trending toward a flawless emulsion of traditional aesthetics and cutting-edge technology. Leading the charge in this movement and blending conventional designs with contemporary advancements are Breitling and Chopard watches.

This fashion trend is about more than simply keeping time; it's also about making a statement—a communication of classic fineness that appeals to people who value both history and the present.  

Brand Value

Beyond the sphere of watch suckers, Breitling and Chopard watches are soliciting. Celebrities, dignitaries, and collectors who respect watches for their mileage as well as the histories and traditions they represent have worn these timekeepers on their wrists.  

Infographic Visibility   2023 Luxury Watch Trends

-Fusion of classic aesthetics and  ultramodern technology

-Exquisite craftsmanship with attention to detail

-Timepieces as statements of  dateless  fineness  

Breitling's Highlights

- Aviation- inspired designs

- Navitimer and chastiser collections

- incorporating functionality with style  

Chopard Watches' fineness

- Jewelry- inspired  timekeepers

-Happy Diamonds andL.U.C. collections

- Swiss heritage meets cultural creativity

Conclusion

In conclusion, Breitling and Chopard Watches are the standard- liaisons of this heritage in the world of luxury watches, where art and workmanship attend. Their 2023 collections represent more than just fashion trends; they represent a  noway - ending hunt for excellence that stands the test of time. You dig into the rich history of horology while esteeming the delicacy and fineness of the future as you examine the nanosecond complications of each watch.

[sabineelectricheart]

Rosary, to Ease the Distance

Summary: Rosario wants something to remind himself of his lover. He decides on a set of jewellery.

Rating: T - Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Words: 1300

Notes: I find it difficult to buy that everyone would be fine with the Crown Prince just marrying a bourgeois woman from another country just because he loves her. One who has a salacious past, at that. So, yeah, no married ever after here.

Rosario knows how busy of a man he is, how much both he and his lover miss being around each other when he is off working at his study or away from the court in some visit or tour that his father pegged on him. He knows that this is by design, to extricate him away from her embrace and, hopefully, entertain him with things others, but while he is pious enough to go through with it with little more token resistance, he is also not so fickle as to fall for it.

As the attempts of making him stray grow increasingly more desperate, so his time away becomes more and more of an imposition on his schedule, and so he begins to devise an idea, a fantasy, really. In some way or another, he wanted to always be with Aurora or have a reminder of her with him, even if he is reminded of a small part of her, an attribute of hers or a pleasant memory, in everything beautiful that he saw around him. Ever since she came into his life, as she boldly introduced himself in that dreadful Archambault soirée, and opened his eyes to such a world, he had not been the same.

He now lived in a world where she and all the love they carry in their hearts could be found in the smallest things it had to offer, and anything he can give her is fated to be merely symbolic, but he reserves the right to be capricious at times, and follows through anyways. The inspiration for his gift comes from a small beauty that reminded him of her attentive nature, fashioned after a flower that she nursed back to health in her small and private personal garden at the palace.

The way it bloomed right before his eyes in the early morning light, bright and beautiful, proof of all the hard work she had put in to bring it to life, made him unexpectedly overflow with love and the memories of all she had done to allow him to see such beauty after the dark, stressful life he has lived. Later that day, when Aurora ran into his office with a beaming smile, excitedly bearing news that her ailing flower had finally bloomed like it had been a decisive victory at a battle on the southern frontier, he knew exactly what he wanted to do.

Rosario spares no expense having his gift made, sourcing the best materials and commissioning the most apt artificers in the land, and he knows every bit of gold was well worth it. No, that no amount of money could be worth this, it is a treasure to be legated amongst his descendants, legitimate or otherwise, that he has with that woman not unlike any other Crown Jewel.

As he receives the velveteen box, red in colour and with a golden clasp at the front, discreetly at his study early some afternoon, it almost burns a hole on the drawer of his bureau, excited that he was to finally present it to her. He was so proud of himself for his solution and initiative that he forgets some important points that he really ought to have considered at some point.

Would Aurora like the design he so carefully picked? Would she accept to wear it at all times? It is not a gaudy piece, it is not heavy and should likely pair well with any dress, but his lover is very capricious herself and dislikes too much unwanted attention if she can avoid it, preferring to move through the shadows towards her desired goals.

More importantly, he is concerned about the possible courtly ramifications of his romantic folie. It is no secret to any courtier that they have a liaison, nor that, if the Crown Prince had his way, they would have already been married and her properly recognized for what she was long ago, but, alas, they could not, and so they are forced in a cynical pretence. Slowly, tentatively, she has been building a certain code of conduct for her presence in Zaledo, what she is willing to do and tolerate, and what elicits strong response from them both.

Gifting her what amounts as basically a wedding ring might perturb that delicate balance that she has worked so hard to achieve, and Rosario would not want to be a hindrance to her well-being and safety in Zaledo, not more than he already is by virtue of merely bringing her along from Westerlin. He has been born and raised in the court, but his lover is still much more competent at navigating it than he can ever hope to be. It is a relief and great assistance when he needs it, but he still feels guilty that it is in any way necessary and that he cannot do much more to help.

Regardless, he refuses to let himself be talked down from the prospect. He is the Crown Prince, gods be damned, and he wants to give a present to the woman he loves. He is going to do just that!

They do not usually have their meals with the court at the ballroom, but rather at her private apartments, and so it is there that he heads to as the sun goes down over the horizon. They eat and share quiet, inconsequential conversation, and, as plates are scrapped and coffee is served, they withdraw to the bathroom, where he requests for her to bathe with him.

Nude and wet, with her sitting over him and submerged in cooling water, the prince leans over to his discarded coat on the floor and pulls the red box, presenting it timidly to the love of his life.

“A gift.” He says, feeling his cheeks warm. “For you.”

When Aurora opens the box and see two necklaces on thin chains, bright ruby stones making up petals set just like flower she had grown, small diamonds resting in the middle, her mouth falls open and her eyes sparkle with love.

Rosario cannot really see her reaction due to the angle in the tub and is left in suspense for a little longer. He had not realized he was holding his breath until his name fell from her lips and the sound made him relax.

“They are so beautiful, Rosario!” She comments in awe, tracing the flower with her wet fingers and turning around to face him, beaming at his adoring expression. “The chains are lovely, and I can see the work and care that were put on them. However, I am afraid that one seems to be much too long for me to wear as a necklace.”

“Ah, no, they are not supposed to be both yours. It is a set, you see? I... I was hoping we could wear them together.” His heart races wildly as he speaks, nervous like a child even though he is now more confident that she will agree to it. “If you would like it, of course.”

When she does, in fact, agree, taking the slightly larger chain out of the box and reaching around his neck to clip it on under his hair, her soft fingers brushing against the back of his neck, all his worries dissolve. There is no need to worry with her, sometimes he just needed a reminder of that.

Every day, Rosario sees the dainty burning red rubies hanging from her neck and he smiles, bringing a hand up to touch the one, equal in design, that adorns his neck under his heavy clothes, where no-one but himself can see. Yes, this was the perfect reminder of his love for Aurora and all the beauty and sunlight she has brought into his dark world.

With her, it is never lonely.

*_*_*_*_*

Crème de la Crème Masterlist

[ofstormsandsaints]

Christa being known as the "White Rose" probably has made her have to dress up to fit the title, to fit people's expectations (read: purity kink) about her. I don't think she got a lot of say in a lot of things, like how she dressed, before and after she got married to Karlheinz😔. How does Christa dress as the "White Rose", and how would she personally dress herself if she got to explore her style?

it has been sleeping in my askbox for so long... even though I really liked how you formulated this ask. Thank you for your patience!

now, my interpretation of Christa's fashion sense gives her the freedom to explore her style. She knows what looks good on her even though she selects it in order to live up the White Rose title😔

Fashion headcanon - a Christa lookbook

It is impossible to picture Christa as something else than a spectral beauty. An otherworldly creature born like a snowdrop. The palest bloom sprouting out of the slowly warming earth at the beginning of spring. So delicate, so sensitive. Holding a silent power in her closed fists.

All her childhood, she had been the joy and pride of her family - not only did they give her a title, but they fashioned her heart and spirit in the belief of an untouchable persona. The White Rose, meant to be desired from afar.

Vampires do have this sinister obsession for purity... And Christa convinced herself that this ethereal aura was her main shield.

-Unreal loveliness.

-Dazzlingly pale. A ghost dressed in opalescent silk, blue veins and scarlet gaze, all complimented under the moonlight.

The collision between a Petrarchan beauty, a sad phantom from one of Maupassant's short stories and a woodland queen fairy.

-Edwardian lace. On her sleeves, around her neck and brushing the skin of her ankles

-Like Yui, Christa doesn't like to draw attention to her chest. @nutaella-kookie mentioned in this post how her best assets would be her hips and legs and I agree. But they're so fragile that Christa would always hide her silhouette in long flowing skirts - sometimes so long you can only guess the tip of her shoes, so when she moves it seems like she barely touches the ground. She was gifted with supernatural grace

-And cursed with immense fragility.

-She's so delicately built, most men and women feel like they could crush her when holding her shoulders and giving her body just a squeeze.

-Her oh-so-thin neck is exposed with a modest collar, maybe some off-shoulder covered with a pale, see-through veil that follows the length of her arms.

-Long split sleeves, an inspiration from antique togas or maybe some butterfly/petal sleeves. Something dainty and easy to cover with a mantilla or other veils.

-It doesn't seem like it at first but she layers a lot.

-It is truly a game of transparency and forms. The art of creating an harmonious noble silhouette without making it bulky. She hates massive skirts, petticoats and tight corsets.

-Being so thin and short, she could never dress with the same regal confidence as Cordelia or with Beatrix's dignified stature. Too-vibrant colours would devour her and she would look ridiculous in ballooning ball-gowns.

-Opts instead for pale dresses with an empire waistline and flared, flowing skirts most of the time.

-Think of 1990s Yves Saint Laurent and Christian Lacroix spring collection

-Prefers the glistening fineness of pearls over gaudy golden jewels.

-The elegant incrustation of moonstones, herkimer diamonds or celestites, the stabilising power of abalone shells, calcite and Tibetan quartz... The Lady of the Tower knows her stones.

-But throughout the years, she began to wear less jewellery. She grew to hate the feeling of heaviness on her hands when wearing rings so now, just like Beatrix, she only keeps her wedding ring.

-One ring and her nails are cut round and short.

-...to prevent her from scratching her maids' face when she's having a panic attack. She already hurt Subaru that way when he was little.

-The cousin of the Vampire King hides her aura of failed divinity with veils and shifty looks.

-Starry or plain. Softened hues of pale pink or blue that look almost white - it reminds you of the fainting colour of roses in her garden.

[hostilecityshowdown]

[ I’m coming for you when the sun goes down ] [ AO3 ] - has chapters! • Diamond Exchange and slater’s self insert • diamond studdxslater-centric, featuring vinnie vegas* and diamond dallas page • commissioned • content warnings: depicted alcohol consumption (near the end), flirting and themes of suggestive nature, graphic language, one intimate but not explicit scene (near the end), implied/gently narrated body image issues, brief (positive) discussion of gender affirming surgery and one depiction of post-op bandaging (last chapter) • should i include “it’s over twelve thousand words long” as a content warning /j the ao3 link is divided into chapters if that’s more accessible

*vegas is a similar muse to my heartbreak hotel diesel, inspired by mango’s AU, but he isn’t exactly the same! slater likes him a lot so i ported him in. thank you!

-

"We're gettin' counted down. Let's rock n' roll, baby."

Straightening up, the Diamond Studd gave up on trying to fix his hair. His reflection wasn't clear enough in the dark CRT anyway, but preening was almost a compulsion; every week he went without a personal stylist, he hounded Dallas about finding a valet more. Brushing off his annoyance, he flashed Dallas a smile that put his canines on full display. pleased that his reflection was a hell of a lot clearer in his proprietor's shades. He stared himself down as he pulled his own sunglasses from the waistband of his overalls, flipped them open, and mindfully slid them on. Someone murmured something to Dallas from the other side of the curtain behind him, but Studd didn’t have to hear it to know what was said. The opening sting of Iron Rock drowned all the noise out, before it, too, was lost in the cacophony of the crowd.

“Accompanied by the chairman of the board of the Diamond Exchange, Diamond Dallas Page-'' Dallas swept his arms, motioning for his Studd to exit ahead of him, and they shared matching smirks as the Studd swaggered by. Oh, they hated him. Exhilarated, the Studd walked from the darkness of gorilla position into the smoky arena’s limelight, flashing that same smirk at everyone from the front row to the nosebleeds. It didn’t matter if they cheered or booed, if they reached out and screamed when he came within centimetres of their fingertips and red-painted nails or if they tried to throw their drinks on him from eight rows back. They were all looking at him, watching his every move, spurred into action by his mere existence. “-At two hundred and ninety-eight pounds…”

Behind him, Dallas hyped him up, calloused hands slapping him on the back and brushing imaginary dust off his shoulders. Guy could argue with an audience for hours and never get bored. Scanning the crowd, Studd tried to guess which lucky cat Dallas had chosen for the Studette audition of the night. Thus far, he was zero-for-six, and the game was starting to get old. He wanted his valet now, yesterday, a week ago, whatever. Climbing the steel steps to the ring, every woman still looked the same as ever to him, not a single one standing out enough to catch his eye. “The Diamond Studd!”

“Kill that music!” Wiping his feet, the Studd didn’t bat an eye when Dallas secured the microphone, content to let his manager do all the talking for now. He couldn’t help but chuckle under his breath when Dallas snapped at the guys running audio to cut his music before barreling on, still determined to make his guess of the night. There was a busty broad front and centre under the hard camera, gaudy bracelets stacked halfway up her forearm and costume jewellery dripping from everywhere she could squeeze, clip, or hang it on herself. Blonde. Big, dark eyes. Pretty, sure, but homely. “Diamond Dallas Page here, with the man who is chiselled stone and b-a-double d, badd to the bone. Where’s that girl who applied earlier? C’mon up here, honey!”

Right before Studd spotted the busty broad already sneaking around ringside, he realised his front-row girl couldn’t possibly be auditioning - How the hell did he expect her to jump the barricade with a chest like that? She’d knock herself out if she didn’t get hung up like a fox in barbed wire.

“That’s right, we’re looking all over the country and around the world for a Studdette to handle this man on the road,” Dallas was saying, refraining from mentioning that he only needed someone else to help with his Studd because he was becoming much more than a one man job, and the Diamond Dolls were all sick of him. Hell, they hadn’t even taken time off from Norma Jean’s to accompany them to the ring in weeks - Hence the search. Removing his sunglasses, Studd winked at his homely, bleach blonde, off-the-mark selection and promptly forgot about her the second he looked away. The ring rat speed walked towards the Studd with her hands out, no doubt having already seen the act enough to know what it was all about, and the Studd stared her down until Dallas threw his arm between them and stopped her, explaining exactly what he wanted her to do. “I want you to slowly, and sensually tear these pants off him.”

Studd was already disinterested, but he still put his hands behind his head and let the woman rip his overalls off like her life depended on it. Immediately, he threw Dallas a dissatisfied look - That wasn’t slow nor sensual, but Dallas was already showering him with compliments and shooing the woman away. Studd rolled his eyes right before the camera guy caught his face and flicked his toothpick at him, not bothering to watch the failed auditionee exit the ring. He already forgot what she looked like by the time Tommy Zenk’s crappy entrance theme hit and tried taking a closer look at the people seated opposite the entrance ramp, squinting through the dimmed lights. Something- Someone was glittering in the lowlight like a diamond in the rough. The lights came up as bright as they were going to, just enough for him to read the glittery pin decorating the audience member’s denim vest.

It said “Studd Time!”. It was a fucking Studd Time pin decked out with the shiniest glitter he’d ever seen outside of his and Dallas’ closets and, without taking his eyes off that pin, the Studd yanked his manager over by the white leather jacket and pointed. It was the first time he bothered to look at the person wearing it, and the startled, utterly baffled smile on the guy’s face was already winning Studd over. That, and the literal diamonds he had the balls to stick in his ears before attending a wrestling show. 

“What’s up, baby-”

“You find that guy,” Studd said, lifting his chin in an upwards nod to the Studd Time guy before turning around and fixing the Z-Man with the least impressed expression he could manage. He muttered to Dallas out of the side of his mouth, shaking his arms out and waiting to hear Dallas’s cowboy boots hit the apron on the other side of the ropes. ”You bring him in.”

“You got it, babe,” Dallas raised his voice for the camera circling around their corner, the bell finally ringing, “anything the Studd wants, the Studd gets! And the Diamond Studd wants another win tonight- Woo!”

-

The venue was well outside his usual stomping grounds, but worth it. The card was spectacular, his seat great, production value high, and the sea of humanity around him amped. Getting to see some of his favourite wrestlers in the flesh was always unbeatable and, man, no one would believe him when he told them the Diamond Studd pointed and nodded at him - What'd it even mean? By the time he was able to get his heart to settle down, the match was half over. It was a great excuse to try for another ticket for the next show the Diamond Exchange was at, at least.

Giddy from adrenaline and his ears still ringing from the crowd half-screaming Rebel Yell when someone decided to crank their boombox post-show as everyone filed out, Slater bounced on the balls of his feet in the parking lot. A few wrestlers, event staff, and production crew members had already come creeping out from the door beside him. Hands in his pockets, head down, and melting into his waiting-for-my-cue-in-the-wings stance as best he could, most of them ignored Slater. He obviously wasn't a ring rat or journalist, he wasn't jumping down anyone's throat, and he wasn't a teenage girl sneaking away from her friend group, lying in wait for the guy she was teenybopping over to just try to make it home after a long night. Actually, he was getting pretty cold. The moon shone bright overhead, the air just as damp as it was inside the building but lacking the near unbearable heat, and his sweat was cooling him off a little too much. He loved autumn but, man, what he'd give for a warm breeze. The denim vest and threadbare Van Halen cut-off tank were doing nothing to protect him from the elements.

Hopping from foot to foot in an attempt to bring his body temperature up, he rubbed his hands over his arms, wondering - not for the first time - what he was doing. All the guy did was nod at him. What was he planning to say to someone like the Studd? 'Great stuff, chief'? 'I love your muscles'? 'Nice rack'-

The door creaked open slowly. Propping it open with his shoulder as he walked out backwards, hands up in a placating motion, Diamond Dallas Page didn't notice Slater immediately. He had two bags slung over his shoulders, shades pushed up into that wild blonde mane, and the Studd's voice rang clear from inside the building. "I mean it, Page, you get out there and you look. You turn every one of those marks around and-"

"Alright, okay, okay, slow your roll, Studd," Dallas kept his voice down and motioned for his asset to do the same. Studd responded by throwing another duffel at him, one Dallas caught so smoothly the act betrayed the obvious weight of it. The thing was so overpacked it was ready to burst at the seams. "We'll find 'em, right? You said the guy's been following you town to town, what's so special about him this time? Look, wouldn't you prefer a pretty girl, someone like Tonya G-"

"Look," Studd's tone mocked Dallas' as he marched up, turned sideways to fit through the doorway and corner his manager, and jabbed his thumb at himself, "listen to me. Whatever the Studd wants, the Studd gets. And I want that chico with the Studd Time bling-"

"Uh." Oh, no. Slater realised too late that he'd said anything, too tuned into the argument to notice he'd stopped moving altogether and started staring at the two wrestlers outright. The Studd rounded on him, squinting through the dim light. He was wearing leather pants and an unbuttoned white dress shirt, decked out with the same rhinestones Dallas's leather jacket sported. The watch on his left wrist looked expensive. His rings glimmered even more brightly up close. His body hair was so thick, it curled over the high waistband of his jeans. Wow. Dallas sidling out from behind the Studd to let the door close behind them knocked Slater out of his short stupor. "Hey. You can have me?"

Real intelligent. Nice. Smooth, cool. Cool. As Slater willed himself not to say anything else that made him sound like a complete dork, or blush, or fidget, or vibrate out of his skin, he realised he was probably smiling really awkwardly. Or he was smiling awkwardly now, because he realised he was smiling, and he was so worried it looked awkward he made it look awkward. It only took one step with his long legs for the Studd to clear most of the space between them, looking Slater up and down, scrutinising him closely. Slater could smell the clinging scent of sweat under the cloying smell of his conditioner mixing with his earthy, musky bodywash. His hair was still a little wet from the shower, shining in the yellow light buzzing above them, casting a halo around his head. Made it real easy for Slater to believe he'd died and gone to heaven, especially when the Studd started fussing at his vest: Pulling it open to look at his shirt, popping the collar up then back down, touching every single pin and patch. Most of them were homemade, representing bands he liked, and the Studd raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips, and nodded in approval more than once. Instead of grabbing the fabric below the rainbow pin he'd punched out from a gay 'zine and slipped inside a domed button, the Studd let his hand hover over it, looking at Slater's face for the first time.

Awash in more self-consciousness than Slater had felt since coming out to his parents, he tried to keep the dreamy expression off his face. He felt like he did the first day at wrestling school, only allowed in the ring so he could get bodied and made to realise he wasn't ready to be in the ring yet - and how hard those mats actually were. Seemingly content with his outfit, the Studd grabbed his chin with a surprising amount of gentleness, calloused fingers turning his head side to side. One finger brushed over the beauty marks on his left cheek, tracing the triangular shape. Slater could have fainted, was this even real? By the time the Studd released him and turned back to Dallas, Slater's heart was racing, pulse thrumming in every part of his body. Had he been staring at the Studd's chest? He might've been staring at his chest.

"I want him. He starts tonight, Dallas. My Studette, your dime." Leaving no room for argument, he mimed flicking a toothpick in Dallas's face, pulled all three bags from his arms, and sauntered off towards their car. Dallas watched him leave with his hands on his hips and whistled quietly, then turned his brightest smile to Slater. 

"You're in, kid. My bank account weeps but my heart sings, you got no idea what a queen he can be," Dallas snorted, shook his head, and stuck a hand out. "You prefer cash or check?"

-

"Yeah, I know… No, no, it's a legitimate gig, really- …Yeah, I know. I'll pick up everything I need tomorrow night, okay? You can-" Slater sighed as his roommate interrupted him again, holding the payphone receiver away from his ear. He was upset, worried Slater would stop paying his half of the rent. They were sharing a tiny room in another friend's house, all trying to make it as artists, musicians… Wrestlers. Slater probably raked in the biggest paycheck, but it didn't go far. Making eye contact with Dallas across the parking lot, Slater tried to give him a reassuring smile. He had to look away before he gawked at his roommate who, unfortunately, couldn't even see him, lowering his voice to a whisper and cupping a hand around his mouth. "He is not a pimp. Or a sugar daddy. He's a manager, my big break in the biz, okay? I gotta go, I'll see you tomorrow."

Hanging up right as he heard the warning he was running out of time on his quarters, Slater took a deep breath and walked back to the pink Cadillac, the waitress clad in an equally pink uniform falling into step beside him on her skates. She balanced her full trays perfectly, dark hair clipped up high. The once-baby blue trim on her uniform was so faded it was almost cream. "What'chu doing riding with these sleazebags?"

Startled, Slater couldn't stop the laugh that tore itself from his throat. All the nervous energy coiling in his gut seemed to abandon him, finally giving way to the electricity buzzing somewhere between his skin and his bones. The waitress turned around, skating backwards effortlessly in a slight crouch, feet pointed in to slow her inertia so Slater could catch up. She ignored the Studd's catcalling behind her, grin showing off the gap where her right canine should've been. Slater tried to shrug it off nonchalantly, stealing a fry from one of the holders coiling around the greasy cups. They were his, anyway. "Chasing my dream."

"Ain't nothin' left to chase," she said, spinning around to face forward right as she pulled up alongside Dallas. Slater walked past her and hopped the door, squeezing into the back between his and the Studd's seats. "Not when you got this much eye candy."

Leaning over the driver's side to take the tray entirely loaded with his order, the Studd glanced back at Slater over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. Surprisingly, he'd scavenged for the healthiest food on the menu. The most severe thing he ordered was a fresh batch of fries, no salt, patted down. "I'll take him to a dentist if he gets a cavity, babe."

Eating the greasiest fast food he'd ever had in the most expensive car he'd ever laid eyes upon, hairstyle a complete loss from the wind and frequent heart palpitations his new normal, Slater finally realized just how much his life had changed in the past hour. It wasn't about to get anymore normal, either.

-

"Hey!" Slater could hear the call through the motel room door. He'd gone outside to get some air after realising Dallas booked himself one room and left him and Studd to the two-bed nextdoor, giving the Studd some privacy while he changed out of his clothes. "Yo!"

"Coming," Slater called back, flipping the motel branded memo pad he'd swiped shut and clipping the flimsy pen onto it as he pushed the door open. He was, honestly, expecting something more luxurious, but it seemed like the core of the Diamond Exchange didn't mind seedy motels, so long as they had pleasing aesthetics. Nudging the door shut behind him with his boot, Slater blinked at the Studd strewn across one of the beds. He'd never fit on that mattress. Without rolling off his back, the Studd swept his arms out, fingertips of his left hand actually touching the wall, giving one foot a dramatic little kick. Both of his feet touched the floor from his position. It was a little funny, but Slater tried to look like he was assessing the situation seriously, and not staring at the fact the Studd was wearing nothing but a loose wife beater and trunks.

"You see," another little kick, "the problem?"

"Uh-huh," Slater murmured, definitely not staring at his thighs. The hair on them was so thick and dark, and he bet it was still soft after the Studd's shower earlier-

"You got a solution?"

"For the… Bed?" Slater asked, suddenly feeling like this was a test he wasn't going to pass. He looked at the empty bed beside him and shrugged. "Push them together?"

"Smart boy," the Studd snapped his fingers at him, rolled off the bed, and got to work rearranging half the room. "I got it. You do your thing."

It wasn't until Slater was locked in the bathroom, tearing into the packaged toothbrush set on the cream counter, that he realised he didn't actually have anything to sleep in. He stared at himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, shrugging out of his vest and hanging it on the doorknob behind him, his shirt going next. His top surgery scars felt glaringly obvious for the first time in a while. He was almost nervous to shimmy out of his distressed jeans, opting to throw himself in the shower before he spent too much time thinking about it.

By the time he was done, back in his tank and boxers, halfway to ripping his jeans into worse shreds because he couldn't figure out if he should just sleep in them or what, Slater had definitely spent too much time thinking about it. He fidgeted with his jeans, waited until the Studd turned out the light, and realised… He didn't even know where he was supposed to sleep. Slater yanked his jeans on, grabbed his vest, slapped the light switch, and exited the bathroom. Not getting anything done in there. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, ambient light filtering in through the gaudy, 70s curtains, he slowly rounded the beds and stopped before the side with more space. He couldn't see well enough yet to tell if his new boss was awake and spent more time than necessary lowering his vest onto the bedside table, trying to be quiet.

"Hey." Despite how soft his voice was, it still made Slater jump. The Studd's hands were behind his head. He had plenty of room on one bed, actually - Sure, he'd just barely fit, but he'd have fit without pushing the two together. "Nice pajama jeans."

Slater flushed, one hand going to his hair and trying to brush the unruly tangles out. The knots kept catching on his nails; he didn't exactly carry a hairbrush on him. Before he could respond, Studd was out of bed and digging around one of his duffels. A shirt and a pair of shorts smacked Slater in the face, both made of soft, well-worn cotton.

"Get goin', gotta get up early."

The clothes smelled so strongly of the Studd he didn't have to shove his nose into them, but he did anyway as he scurried off to change in the bathroom. Curled up next to the Studd and trying very hard not to throw himself on him like he was an Oasis in a desert all night, Slater didn't need to put his face in the borrowed clothes to smell the Studd. His dreams might've been a little less than innocent. 

-

Sliding out of bed with the silent grace of a man who spent his entire adult life sharing rooms with other adult men, the Studd entered the bathroom to start his day. On the counter were Slater's open dental care kit, wrapped in the plastic it came in, and a memo pad. Both were squeezed into what little real estate was available after he'd terraformed the countertop with his own cosmetics. Shutting the door behind him with his foot, the Studd lifted the memo pad, slid the pen off and tucked it behind his ear, and flipped open the first page. There wasn't anything. Second page. Blank. Third, nada.

Grunting, he went straight to the last page and-

"Jackpot," he murmured, fingers tracing the rough sketch. Slater had tried to get away long enough to start drawing him. It wasn't far along, but it wasn't unflattering. He opened the door again, crept past Slater who was rightfully dead asleep, and slipped the memo pad and pen into the back pocket of his discarded jeans.

-

"This," the Studd began, waving a hand at the neighbourhood around him like it wasn't already obvious, "sucks. No way for my boy to live."

"Good thing he's not anymore, sweetheart," Dallas responded, tapping along to Crazy Train's drum beat on his leather steering wheel. "What, you think he's gonna bail? He'd have to be out of his mind."

"I-" The front door of the beat up party house banged open, Slater rushing out so burdened with bags, boxes, clothes slung over his shoulders, and things, he looked like an engineering marvel. Before he could speed down the three broken, concrete steps leading down from the busted up porch, the Studd had already hopped out of the Caddy, jogged up, and put his arms out. If Slater wasn't carrying so much crap, he would've thrown himself into them, instead of the box of spray paint, horror movie merchandise, photo albums, and collectable figures. For a moment, the Studd was actually stunned, staring down at the box in his hands and wondering what the hell he was doing.

"Slater!" He looked up, frowning into the darkness past the threshold of the front door. A girl, taller than Slater and covered in at least twice as many tattoos as him, appeared, blanching at the sight of the Studd. She side-eyed him warily before calling after her housemate. "This is a bad idea!"

Scoffing, the Studd made an unimpressed face at her, mockingly mouthing her words before sauntering back to the car. Slater was already hiding in the cramped backseat, assuring Dallas everything was fine, his roommates were just overprotective and neurotic, just-

"Drive," Studd grunted, stepping into his seat and starting to poke around the box in his hands as they tore away from the curb.

-

They went west. Further west than Slater had ever been, and he was already infatuated with the salty California coast exfoliating his cheeks and curling his hair. They'd booked a proper hotel, thrown everything they didn't need in the room with promises to buy Slater some bags later, and took off. The only stop between the hotel and venue was a tailor's, where Dallas jogged up, exchanged a bundle of cash for a hanger full of glimmering clothes wrapped in plastic, and handed the goods to Studd to hold. Which was definitely odd. Slater was getting used to holding everything.

On the streets, people who recognized them waved or called occasionally. Mostly young beachgoers, macho men in Mustangs, men getting an early jump on cruising the day crowd. The Diamond Exchange was, generally, well received out here, even as heels; the Californians respected the hustle and understood the appeal. The Dolls were especially loved and it was apparent in the way some pedestrians would see them, see only Slater behind his two big guys, and not spare them a second glance.

The people who really hated them, hated them because they envied them, because of their wealth and gluttony - because the Diamond Studd was an over glorified cabana boy roughing up the guys that didn't kiss his sugar daddy's feet. Cubano boy put on a few hundred pounds and hightailed it out of Florida, big deal. The men in California were farmers, fruit sorters, immigrant workers trying to support their families and cut down on the hours their mothers, wives, and sisters had to spend on the assembly lines, too. Here, the Studd's people jeered at him, and Dallas's applauded him as best they could with walkmans, surfboards, and beer bottles in hand.

Dallas loved California. Slater was starting to get the feeling the Studd wasn't so impressed, given how often he'd cross his arms and mutter about what a big, fat, stinkin' lie the California tourism market pushed. Dallas bought a pair of sunglasses from a stand right off the sidewalk when they were stuck in traffic, reached over the Studd to receive them, and tossed them back to Slater immediately.

"He's never gonna quit bellyaching. These should help the migraine," Dallas said, still in good spirits even as the long Cadillac struggled to navigate the traffic choke. They made a left turn onto a quieter, hillier street, breezing past dingbats whose mid-century theming was tinted even more orange-pink by the obnoxiously coloured lenses Slater wore. "He'll be happier once the fists start flyin'."

"Oi," Studd grunted, elbowing Dallas in the bicep. He turned around in his seat, draping his arm over the back of it and catching Slater in such an intense stare he was almost getting tunnel vision. He had to raise his voice to be heard. "In the ring? They love me. Out here, cruising, walking the streets? Hah. Anybody- and I mean anybody, lays hands on you on our way in, out, ringside, in the goddamn lockers, I'll break every finger they got. Maybe some of their buddies' fingers, too. ¿Comprende?"

"You got it," Slater nodded, used to bushwhacking when he had to, watching the wind throw the Studd's hair around his face. They hit a stop sign and, on instinct, he reached out with one hand to fix it. Dallas stopped longer than he had to, watching the Studd's dumbfounded expression out of the corner of his eye. The grin he shot his guy's way when he floored it was borderline maniacal.

-

Television broadcasting made wrestling events far more complicated than Slater was accustomed to, the auditorium much larger than any venue he’d trained or wrestled at. He did his best to keep up with the Diamond Exchange, nervously skirting around having to enter the locker room when they went to take stock of who was in there and waiting in the hallway, people watching. Few people paid him any mind, aside from a new guy on the production crew who recognised Slater from his most recent stint jobbing in a backyard promotion up near San Francisco. Alone, the Diamond Studd waltzed out of the locker room and stood in the doorway with his hands on his hips, looking around. Slater trotted over from his hiding place behind some massive equipment cases, breath momentarily knocked out of him when the Studd dropped his arm across his shoulders heavily and led him away. He was carrying both of his duffel bags and the dry cleaning bag from the tailor.

“Aight,” Studd began, knocking on an unmarked door before pulling Slater into what was obviously a coach’s room, “you learn on the job how to prepare the Diamond Studd for T.V. Make me look like all the money I’m worth, chichi.”

Trying to process everything, as well as add yet another nickname from the Studd to his internal list, Slater closed the door behind them and watched the Studd start unpacking. He laid out his cosmetics in, what Slater assumed was, the intended order of use, his clothes hung up with the mysterious dry cleaning bag on a hook inside a tall cubby probably meant for jerseys. "Where's Dallas?"

"Daddy-o's got his own things to do." Studd waved Slater over and dropped heavily into the only chair that wasn't a bench in the room, a well-used rolling chair with red accents. There was already a full body mirror in front of him, but he'd set two hand mirrors on the long coach's desk, propped up on a stapler and tape dispenser so he could see himself at multiple angles. "Miss him already? C'mere, make me fresh."

"Nah," Slater replied honestly, hesitating before picking up a whole handful of supplies and stuffing most of them in his pockets. As he tore open the aloe-packed Wet-Naps and got to work wiping the sweat off the Studd, he felt his face heating up. Carefully wiping behind his ears before moving on to his neck and shoulders, he could only hope his embarrassment wasn't obvious. “It’s still so cool to get to work with you-”

The Studd laughed at him, lounging even further back in his chair and lazily spinning himself to face Slater, motioning at his chest.“These hands? They picked you. You don’t work with me, you wait on me. You’re like my own Diamond Doll.”

He mercifully refrained from teasing Slater when his hands shook as he did his best to wipe down his chest, almost dropping the package of napkins in his hand. The Studd only lifted his arms, hands behind his head, staring Slater down over the tops of his sunglasses. Slater was starting to smile nervously, he could feel the pull in his face, and for the first time he really understood was a complete slimeball this guy was.

“Cuter than them, anyway.” 

… And he was sort of into it, unfortunately.

“Th-thanks. I’m not that cute.” Trying to laugh some of the stress away as he started at the Studd’s elbows and swiped over the thick hair curling under his arms hurriedly, Slater shrugged, grateful for the opportunity to toss away a wipe and grab another one. Man, he was going to implode; honestly, he was impressed by his own self control. Being told to get his hands all over a hot buck like the Diamond Studd and refraining from feeling him up? Big feat. Big, frustrating feat. “Should I hang out ringside like a regular valet, or come back here?”

“You stay with Dallas.” The Studd stretched his legs out, bumping one of his feet against Slater’s ankle on the way by. “And you’re not a regular valet, get that through your head, sweetheart. You’re my Studette, you’re special. Like me.”

“Aw, come on…” Slater made quick work, elbowing Studd in the knee when he started to kick off his Nike Solo Flights, the suggestion spelled out clearly on his face. It was his first night on the job, he had to pretend he had some dignity, right? The Studd chuckled but didn’t seem to mind, flicking his fingers and signalling for Slater to get started on his face, pleased when he retrieved the moisturiser and beard oil from his pockets. He wore his stubble trimmed short, but he obviously liked to keep it soft. Slater decided to start with the moisturiser, screwing open the canister and spreading the viscous gel over his finger tips. “I’m just a fan. What made you think I was so special, anyway?”

At first, the Studd didn’t respond, the devious expression he was sporting melting away as Slater gently applied then massaged the moisturiser in. His skin was sun-roughed, any scarring from matches, scuffles, or his teenage years so subtle, Slater felt them more than saw them. When he moved onto the beard oil, trying to figure out exactly how much the guy needed for some light stubble, the Studd cracked an eye open and tapped the glittery pin on Slater’s vest. “You get it.”

“Studd Time?” Slater frowned, patting the oil in, fingers lingering on the Studd’s blunt stubble longer than they had to. It was getting to that perfect balance between sharp and coarse, and smooth, softer but still scratchy. The thought of how it would feel against his shoulder, the Studd’s face buried in his neck, stubble dragging on his skin as the Studd lowered his head crossed Slater’s mind, short circuiting him in place momentarily. Wait, what were they talking about…? Right- Studd Time. “It’s… Pretty straight forward. Time for the Studd.”

The laughter beneath his fingertips was so deep and quiet, Slater nearly missed it, if not for feeling the Studd’s Adam’s apple bob against his hand. The Studd dropped a hand so heavily on his hip it made him jump, patting him a few times before swapping out the cosmetics he’d picked up for his hair care. “You get the appeal, babe. You look at the Diamond Studd and you know what you’re lookin’ at.”

“I-”

“Coyote?” A knock at the door. Instead of answering, the Studd grumbled, picking up one of his sneakers and throwing it at the door as it opened. The man who pushed it open was older than Slater, big, but not as much as the Studd, and his straw blonde hairline was receding significantly, not that it stopped him from sporting a limp mullet. He ignored the weaponised shoe as much as he ignored Slater, pointing at the Studd. “Card overhaul; you're not gonna believe who showed up for work tonight. You just got promoted to the main event."

"What? Shit." Standing, the Studd spun Slater around and frogmarched him to the bathroom off the coach's room, snatching up the dry cleaning bag and handing it to him. "Who showed up? The main event? What the hell happened to the Alliance?"

Before the other wrestler could respond, the Studd bent down closer to Slater, an arm reaching around him to open the door. His breath ghosted Slater's ear, voice low. "Get dressed. Fix that mop. No rush."

With that, Slater was pushed into the bathroom, the door pulled shut behind him. The conversation was muffled, but he could still hear it, listening while his brain worked overtime to catch up with everything. Studd's coworker was talking again. "Steve's pissed. They're out, you're in. That Dallas Page, he worked one over-"

"Spit it out, Eagle. Who the hell am I working with?" It was almost surreal to hear the Studd's voice so muffled; they'd barely spent any time apart in the past day and a half. Slater unzipped the bag and held the black pants out by the hanger hook, staring. In reality, the hanger was mostly populated by accessories: Dark purple armbands, headband, and belt, all studded with genuine diamonds. A small bag of rings, a diamond-shaped pendant necklace, and a right-handed, fingerless, black, leather glove, accented with a matching purple. The cut diamonds glinted much more menacingly around the knuckles than on any other piece. The left leg of the pants was decorated with purple, diagonal stripes over the hip and thigh, wrapping all the way down to mid-calf. The diamonds embedded in the purple leather were massive. Thankfully, the boots hanging behind the pants were more simple; black leather boots, purple accents, black laces. All the purple was so deep and dark it was nearly black, the colour only apparent under the direct, bright lighting of the bathroom. Slater let the dry cleaning bag fall to the floor and ran his hands over the gear almost reverently. He was so distracted, he almost missed Eagle fumbling out his answer to the Studd's question.

"Vegas, Coyo-"

"Out." The door shut. Hanging the ring attire up on the door hook, he scrambled to shrug out of his vest, trying to unlace his boots and unzip his pants simultaneously. The soft knock on the bathroom door made him kick his right boot off so hard it landed in the sink. "Change of plans, we gotta track Dallas down when you're done," then, as almost an afterthought, "My hair can wait."

"Sounds good. Who was that?" Slater asked, finally getting his other boot off with less incident. He shimmied out of his jeans, didn't bother pulling the legs right-side-out, and started doing his best to squeeze into the leather pants. The inseam was more like leggings, lined in a softer leather that melted onto his legs like butter. The way the genuine leather hugged his packer but didn't let it dangle too far from his groin or push it against him uncomfortably made him realise he might be more into leather than he thought. The hide was breathable, the layers strong but not too thick, and the diamonds were mounted over padding that protected him from any uncomfortable digging in, which he was grateful for as he straightened out the front panel and pulled the fly's corset lacing shut. His reflection made him pause as he wrapped the sash belt around his waist. His hips looked perfect in these, the padding on the outer thighs making them less prominent. "This is… Too much, Studd."

"Old partner, Dan. Starship Eagle." The Studd tapping his fingers in a staccato rhythm was the only warning he gave before cracking the door open, whistling at his Studette from behind. When Slater turned, he was leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his bare chest, sunglasses low on his nose. He'd changed into just his black and red Studd Time trunks and one half of the dangly earrings he shared with his manager. "Your ass looks too good in those, man. I might have to get you out of 'em soon."

 "After the main event, I hope." He didn't say that aloud, right? Knowing his face was flushed, Slater snatched the boots from the hanger and pulled them on standing, fingers clumsy with the laces. He had to lean back against the garish, pastel green tile wall to fit them on right and, by then, the Studd had already stopped laughing, walked in, and started pulling accessories out of the bag. He tossed Slater the arm bands first, examining the rings.

"I only get to strip you after you strip me, ey? Fair trade." Tone teasing, he watched Slater pull on the armbands, totaling three on each arm. Then he grabbed Slater's hands, fit the glove on him and snapped it shut at the wrist, watching his face as he slid the rings on his fingers. They were downsized versions of Dallas's, almost identical to the Studd's. Slater felt like he needed to sit down. "Too bad I can't have an audience for it."

"Wh-why not?" Stupid, stupid, horny, stupid- Studd's grin turned wolfish, his teeth on full display. Turning Slater to face the mirror, he stood behind him, lifting his arms and guiding him into holding his own hair up so the Studd could wrap the headband around his forehead and tie it at the nape of his neck. His fingernails kept brushing against Slater's neck and, in a moment of male panic, Slater's eyes dart down to his packer - He felt silly by how relieved he was at the lack of an overly obvious bulge, but… Something about being with the Diamond Exchange made him feel seen. Treated like the person he actually was, not just someone promoters side eyed when he attended the mens' tryouts and other talent tried to creep on in locker rooms out of curiosity.

"Jealousy. I want you all to myself." The Studd's hands were on his neck again, this time securing the chain around his neck, and Slater fingered the pendant as he looked at himself in the mirror.

He was almost unrecognisable, despite nothing really changing. A shiver ran down his spine when the Studd dropped his hands on his waist, sliding them up his sides until he could ghost his fingers beneath Slater's top surgery scars. When he spoke, his voice was gravelly, deeper than it had been even when it was sleep laden. "I hate pretty boys, but you?-" He squeezed Slater's rib cage gently before releasing him, tsking and starting to finger brush his hair "-You're the exception."

-

They found Dallas in catering, seated at a table beside a man in a pink-accented suit, wearing sunglasses at night, indoors. That's how Slater knew he was cool, aside from him being so massive he dwarfed Dallas completely. With a swish of the leather trench coat he'd donned before leaving the coach's room, the Studd charged past Slater, grabbing the new guy in a two-handed nerve hold and making him stand. Oh, wow. He was… So tall. And shouting a little bit. Both men embraced before the Studd bat him away, clasped his hands on his face and neck, and shook him gently. "Miami! Why aren't you laying under an aluminium umbrella? You're at the wrong ocean, buck."

"Studd, man," the man laughed, holding the Studd's elbows. His hair was gelled back and his voice was strained, breaking here and there as he spoke. "The girls got tired of me, can you believe it? Nah, listen," he started fussing at the Studd's coat, straightening and smoothing it,"last minute consultation, second opinion, whatever. I see the guy tomorrow."

"No fuckin' way," Studd growled, shaking him again before releasing him, only to start jabbing him in the chest. "No Silicone Valley boob lift-aficionado quack is laying a finger on you, Vegas. We go back to Miami next Thursday and that's that."

"C'mon, he's great-"

"Dallas!" The Studd threw up his hands and sidestepped around Vegas, smacking the still seated dirty blonde upside the head. He ignored his overdramatic 'ow!', but Vegas laughed, sharing a grin and shrug with Slater, who was surprised to even be noticed. At a loss, he tried a smile and a shrug right back, which seemed to delight the stranger. His facial hair was a little patchy, but Slater thought it was cool - His grew in like that, too. "The hell!"

"Let's throttle down, Studd, baby," Dallas tried to placate him, pointing first at Slater then the seat across from him. "Take a seat, angel, let me introduce you to Vinnie Vegas. He's debuting on T.V. a little earlier than we planned, makes this a special o-ccasion."

Exchanging another glance with Vegas, Slater trot over, sat down across from them both and, without thinking much about it, looked up at the Studd and patted the seat beside himself. He was delighted when the big man rounded the table and sat next to him, grumbling the whole way over. Dallas brushed some imaginary dust off Vinnie's shoulder when he sat back down. "The rockstar-slash-leather angel lovechild is our man's Studette, Slater. You look fantastic by the way, sweetheart, I'll get you some eight-by-tens soon, I promise."

"Nice to meetcha," Vinnie said, not drawing attention to Slater's embarrassment over Dallas's comments. Instead, he held his left hand out and, as Slater marveled at how it engulfed the entirety of his own hand, he realised Vinnie was wearing a watch on the opposite wrist that was strikingly similar to one he'd seen the Studd wear. Rings adorned his fingers that matched everyone else's, aside from a card suit spinner ring, and, suddenly, Slater realised he was being welcomed into something more than just a faction. These people took care of each other, traveled together, signalled their bonds to people - Dallas wore the most rings, Studd and Vinnie wore fewer but identical rings, excluding one personalised diamond ring each, and Slater… He had been given the least amount of rings, but all of his resembled the Studd's most closely. His diamond was also unique, but the rose gold band the Studd had slid onto his left pointer finger matched the one on everyone else's. He swore he'd seen at least some of the Diamond Dolls wearing the same bands, too.

"-Settle this right now, huh? Who cut you, Slater?" Vinnie had released his hand and was talking to him again. Slater almost missed it, so absorbed in staring at everyone's hands he'd accidentally tuned out whatever inane argument the Studd was determined to carry.

"Huh? Sorry, what?" The Studd huffed and bumped against him gently, Dallas grinning madly. It was becoming more apparent that Vinnie showing up wasn't just a happy coincidence; Dallas wasn't even trying to put up a convincing poker face. Unbothered, Vegas hooked a finger under his upright collar, pulled it and the button-up underneath down just far enough for Slater to see the skintone vest underneath, and popped his collar back up. 

"Your surgeon. Studd's got this guy in Miami, totally obsessed with his work, but I like exploring my options," Vinnie explained, still fiddling with his collar. Turning in his seat, Dallas fussed at him until he was tastefully a little sloppy, but not enough to reveal the binder under his shirt- Oh. It hit Slater all at once, the deluge of questions making him giddy, nervous energy sending his leg into a restless frenzy, boot squeaking once or twice as he bounced his leg. The Studd was still bellyaching about the whole thing but Slater barely heard him.

"Oh- Uhm, okay. I- I can give you her card…? She's in San Francisco, she doesn't advertise, she's not that expensive but the hospital is, but it was a little hard to recover because of the gross drains, but my roommates are super rad and helped, and-" Cutting himself off, Slater tried to organise his racing thoughts, leg starting to bounce less when the Studd put his hand on it under the table. It was so warm. And distracting. "Uh, and… How long have you- Studd knows…? But you're so big-"

Studd squeezing his leg and Vinnie laughing simultaneously made Slater shut his mouth, nervously glancing between the two of them. The Studd was rubbing his knee but looking across the table at his stablemate, and he quirked an eyebrow and pointed at him. "You ride with us until we go back to Miami. You two can get acquainted- and I can explain why you're stickin' with my guy." 

"You know it ain't that easy to get rid of me," Vinnie teased, winking at Slater. He swapped the dice he idly spun in his left hand to his right before holding it out, fingers curling in a give it motion. "You got that card?"

-

Gorilla position was simultaneously louder and quieter than Slater expected. Almost everything happening beyond the curtains, set pieces, and walls was audible, but it wasn't deafening. Some people tried to keep it down, but it seemed like every hall was filled with people talking to each other, on mobile phones, or to themselves. The production crew seemed to move in orchestrated chaos. It was similar enough to the other promotions Slater had worked for that he understood what he should and shouldn’t do without being told, not that it mattered all that much; the Studd had carefully instructed Slater to remain by his side or immediately behind him at all times. Standing behind him didn’t bother him in the slightest, considering he could observe his pre-match preening without any fear of being caught. Vinnie sidled up beside him, propped an arm on the scaffolding Slater was leaning back against, and whistled quietly.

“You got the best view in the house,” he commented affectionately, voice a quiet rumble. Slater thought it sounded much better when he let his throat relax and didn’t try to pitch it too deep. Sighing deeply, Slater held his hands up, relieved to finally have someone he could talk to who understood his feelings.

“He’s just, so- so hot, you know? His looks, his personality, his…”

“Machismo,” Vinnie supplied, hand gently patting Slater’s shoulder. He nodded in agreement to his statement, giving the Studd a small smile and wave when he took a moment to peer behind himself. The Studd looked pleased, returning to curling strands of hair around his fingers. “Makin’ sure his assets are secured.”

“You couldn’t pay me to leave this spot,” Slater said, sighing again. He leaned back against Vinnie’s arm and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his new tights, feeling more at home in his own skin than he could remember ever feeling backstage. Someone signaled at Dallas, who signaled to Slater and Vinnie that they had five minutes left before the main event. “Okay, except for when I follow him out there. I can’t believe I’m about to strip him on live television, I mean, I can’t- even- just- All I can do is look.”

At Slater’s dramatic huffing, Vinnie laughed and shook his head. His voice breaking whenever he laughed was starting to grow on Slater, he really liked it. He could distinctly remember when his voice sounded like that, too, and the other guys gave him advice on surviving male puberty. They did warn him about the rampant horniness, but he was pretty sure he was always this crazy for guys like the Studd. And, not for nothing, but standing this close to Vegas, Slater could smell the cologne he wore, his deodorant when he lifted his arm, the agua de Jamaica he’d chugged on his breath. After stopping himself from leaning too close to his new friend’s chest, which he barely came up to, Slater cleared his throat and tried to orient his thoughts again. “But, anyway, he’s super sweet to me. He wanted me to be his Studette because he saw a pin I made, that was all it took. Everything moved so fast after that.”

“The Diamond Exchange works fast, baby.” Arm falling back to his side, Vinnie straightened up, head turning towards Dallas as he speedwalked over. “What’s up, Dally?”

“Orders from the top, fuckin’ Turner, always writing notes in his crappy handwriting.” Before Dallas had even finished griping, Vinnie was holding a hand out, fingers curling and uncurling until his manager all but threw the paper at him. 

“Huh. Looks like we’re goin’ over,” he said, handing the paper back. Dallas snatched it with a ‘give me that,’ trying to parse the network founder’s handwriting for himself. “Who’s telling Brian and Zenk they rolled snake eyes?”

“Hold on, hold on.” After a few seconds, Dallas grunted, folded up the paper, and stuffed it in one of his pockets. He was tapping his foot, tussling his hair, fidgeting as he thought. “Studd just beat Zenk down yesterday-” “What, on Power Hour? He’s makin’ you run the Gauntlet?” As Dallas groaned and dart towards the first jobber he saw, intent on shaking them down until they agreed to deliver the message for him, Slater looked up at Vegas and nudged his shoulder against his arm.

“You guys still do that? I thought it was old news by now?”

“Yeah,” Vegas grunted and said, “It is. I gotta tell big Studd,” gently tugging Slater with him and trying to shorten his strides. By the time they were in hearing range, the Studd was already facing them, arms out, eyebrows raised. Hair immaculate.

“My entourage. What’s up, chicos?”

“We go over.”

“We go- Aw, hell.”

A crew member started counting them down just as Dallas re-appeared, smile bright and relaxed, his hands on the Studd’s chest before either of them could utter a word. “Breathe, beautiful. You go out there and you knock ‘em dead.”

The music that hit was unfamiliar to Slater, who frowned at Dallas just as much as the Studd did. Vinnie chuckled.

“The hell is that?”

“Van Go,” Vinnie supplied, turning Dallas around and pushing him with one hand, the Studd with the other. He jerked his head towards the curtain at Slater, giving him a reassuring smile. “That’s me.”

Passing through the curtain was like stepping under a waterfall. The roar of the crowd drowned out the announcement of their names, but Vinnie nudged him forward, keeping him between the two big men. When Slater seemed at a loss, defaulting to trying to hold a stoic face even when he saw the cameras despite how unbelievably freakin’ cool the whole thing was, Vinnie draped an arm over his shoulder, raised his other arm up, and then started taunting the front row as obnoxiously as possible. It made Slater laugh, catch himself, try to walk with a little more swagger. He’d shed the borrowed jacket backstage, the humid air heavy on his bare skin, and he felt even more heat flood him when the Studd stood on the ring apron and turned to face him. Vinnie’s arm fell away from his shoulders and he climbed the steps with zeal, miming listening to dice in his clasped hands before rolling them at the hard camera, the section behind it popping. Anxiety was starting to make Slater’s whole body buzz and he ascended the steel steps carefully, eyes on the Studd. The light shone on his leather jacket and glinted off his diamonds brilliantly. Studd grinned at him before waving over his shoulder for Dallas, stepping over the ropes he sat on and held down. On the other side of them, he held his hand out for Slater’s and helped him step over, Dallas saluting as soon as Slater was clear then springing away. No doubt to find a microphone.

Slater only realised he was clutching the Studd���s hand when he was wrenched into a spin, the Studd catching him in his other arm. Vinnie was shaking out his arms, circling the ring, making faces and bantering with the crowd. Slater let himself lean back against the Studd and tried to match his breathing to the rise and fall of the chest against shoulder and head, Dallas calling for attention and circling post to post like a shark.

“Los Angeles, feast your eyes upon the fortune standing in the ring with me, Diamond Dallas Page,” their manager began, only stopping his circling to sweep an arm towards the three of them. The Studd moved his arms away from Slater to nudge him to the side, earning himself some space to flex. “At a combined weight of a whopping six-hundred-and-five pounds, the Diamond Exchange’s most valued assets, one of whom you’ve admired on display many times: The Diamond Studd and Vinnie Vegas!”

As Slater looked around, doing his best to avoid staring straight at the camera men, he tried to accurately gauge the radio of people cheering and booing. It seemed like Vegas may actually be improving their approval rating, but that could just be the California crowd’s usual pop for the stable. It was rare they had the opportunity to perform this deep in the NWA’s Hollywood territory despite how over they were, after all. On the other side of the Studd, Vinnie popped his jacket by the lapels, building up the heat. Dallas carried on, grin threatening to split his face.

“Vinnie Vegas, hailing from the gambling capital of the world, Sin City itself, is here to celebrate my second most recent acquisition.” Uh-oh. Slater didn’t try to posture as much as he usually would, only moving around to try and dispel some of the nervous tension coiling up behind his neck and between his shoulders. The butterflies in his stomach did him no favours and, realising he was the only one without sunglasses at the stupidest time, he couldn’t decide if he should sneer or just play it cool. His face probably ended up somewhere in the middle as Dallas strode over, Vinnie backing off to lounge in the corner while the Studd made his way centre ring. “This handsome little number is exactly what the Studd and I have been searching far and wide for: His Studette. I know!” -the crowd was appalled- “I didn’t think the perfect Studette existed, either! But what the Studd wants, the Studd gets, and I want you all to watch carefully as Slater shows all of you and all those rejected auditionees how it’s done!”

Showtime. As Dallas made his way ringside, Studd’s discarded trench coat and shades in hand, Slater made eye contact with the Diamond Studd, the massive man raising his arms behind his head and flashing his Studette a wolfish grin. This was his inauguration, he had to do it right. He had to do it slowly and sensually and, carefully fisting the Studd’s overalls and swallowing back the sudden burst of adrenalin threatening to send him firing off like a rocket, Slater did just that. The velcro came away with some resistance, keeping the pace slow at first, the Studd’s body revealed inch by inch. It was hotter than any arena Slater had ever been in. People were going wild. They still had to announce their opponents.

As soon as Slater saw the tan skin over the Studd’s abs, he tore the rest of the overalls away, throwing them without a care. The Studd’s smile was so broad, Slater could have kissed every one of his teeth.

-

They tore down the arena in under twenty minutes, the air itself reverberating against Slater’s skin where he stood, centre ring, surrounded by the Diamond Exchange.

-

Every inch of him was still buzzing with the unmatchable high of victory. With Vegas riding shotgun and the Studd squeezed into the entire back seat, Slater asleep in his arms, Dallas drove slow. They didn’t have any flights to catch, their hotel was already booked, and Vinnie was on the phone ordering pizza. The Studd dropped his head back, letting the wind wash over him, Slater’s head tucked into his chest, breathing deep and soft. Absentmindedly, he rubbed circles into Slater’s upper back, tracing the psoriasis scarring there gingerly. The sky above was glowing violet from all the neon lights; everything felt good. He didn’t even bother to try and stay awake when the adrenalin crash hit him, letting himself doze off on the highway.

-

The blankets were cool, the mattress was a water balloon, and everything smelled like delicious pizza. Gradually, Slater came to, face smushed into the softest pillow he’d ever laid his head on, Dallas’ voice from another room becoming more clear as consciousness drifted back to him. By the time Slater convinced himself to sit up, he parsed that Dallas was negotiating with his promoter - Something about payment, exclusivity, and acquisition. He may be half asleep, but he promptly decided Dallas could do whatever the hell he wanted and collapsed on the bed again, grinning when it wobbled in waves under him. Water beds, how retro. Ambient light illuminated the room enough for Slater to make out the old-school Hollywood decor, oranges, creams, and pinks muted in the low light. Aside from Dallas's phone conversation and a quiet rock station, there wasn't much noise. Even the highway sound had disappeared.

Stretching, he rolled off the bed, hitting the bathroom. It was so luxurious, he turned the light back off almost as soon as he flipped the switch - It was beautiful, with a full spa, shower, and skylight, and, man, those pink counters edged in gold were gorgeous, but he needed to wake up more before he could process it all. Through the dimness, Slater tried to fix the shadowy mop that was his hair, finger combing it until it looked acceptable enough. It took a little more fumbling in the dark to find the complementary dental kit, and he marveled at the stocked under-sink cabinets. He didn't need the light on to tell it was stocked with everything. The floss had a minty coating and was tinted a soft green, matching the palm fronds painted on the tub's greenwall tiling. Unable to resist, he turned the light back on right before he re-entered the suite's bedroom. The ceiling was vaulted, the floor a softer pink than the plush shag carpet in the bedroom. The counter came stocked with colognes and perfumes. Overwhelmed, he slapped the light switch and retreated into the bedroom, wondering whatever happened to the hotel they'd originally booked. He didn't remember dumping his stuff anywhere as swanky as this.

After some poking around, Slater found most of his things in a corner beside the curved vanity. He dug around for his brush and raked it through his hair, dove back in for his deodorant, and searched one last time for his med bag. Instinctively, he ensured his vial, syringe, needles, and alcohol pads were all in the right spot before pulling out his skin cream. The soap he borrowed from the Studd wasn't very sensitive and the water in the locker room was hard, and the last thing Slater wanted was his skin acting up. Cream liberally applied, he zipped everything back up and stowed it again, headbanged his hair into its messy place, and finally followed the signs of life out of the bedroom.

Pacing a trench into the washed out, burnt orange carpet, Dallas was still talking, telephone in one hand and corded receiver in the other. Placating someone, from the sound of it; each time he turned away from the rustic fireplace and walked towards the sliding glass doors, Vinnie had to duck under the landline telephone cable, batting it over the coif of his hair. He was seated on a pink and white zig zag sofa, widely curving around the room to face the wine red arm chairs. Occasionally, he had to save the delicate orchard on the rattan table beside him. The Studd was nowhere to be seen. Nervous and only then realising someone had changed him into his pajamas, his packer still in place in his packing shorts, Slater felt oddly exposed without the Studd's presence. He was awash in relief when Vinnie noticed him creeping down the hallway, inclining his head toward the balcony and waving him on when Dallas turned away from the doors again.

Slater, not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, darted past, slid the door open noiselessly, and had breezed past it and the yellow, daisy print, vertical blinds before Dallas completed his lap. The air was just as cool outside, but just humid enough for it to feel like he walked into a wall. Arms propped on the pink Venetian parapet, the Studd loomed over Sunset Boulevard, Century City shining in the distance. In one hand was a glass of bourbon, barely touched, the other cradling Slater's sketchbook. Stomach doing acrobatics, Slater gave the Studd a wide berth as he approached, uncertain if he should announce himself or… Watch. Admittedly, he hated heights, and that parapet was a little low for his taste. He didn't bother trying to get close, fidgeting with the rings still on his fingers instead.

"Balconies," the Studd began before taking a sip of his drink, the low timbre of his voice making Slater jump, "were zoned out of Vegas, you know that? Makes this either special or run of the mill," he turned a page, "depending on your perspective."

"It's… Nice." That was a piece of trivia Slater knew, something he'd probably picked up during one of his deep dives into the unusual. Emboldened, he padded up to the Studd's side, sliding two fingers through one of his belt loops and firmly hooking them. He refused to lean against the low wall, eyeing the trees bordering the patio below them suspiciously, the babbling fountains audible but cloaked by the leafy canopy. To his credit, the Studd didn't seem to mind, passing Slater his drink without sparing him a glance. Obediently, Slater accepted the glass but didn't taste it - straight bourbon was a little dark for him. He wanted to ask about his sketchbook but was more curious to see if the Studd intended on acknowledging it. "A little high. When'd we check in?"

"Few hours. Too bad you missed the sunset," the Studd replied with a huff. He was closely examining one of Slater's lazier paintings. "The Beverly's undergoin' some major renovations soon, whole hotel's closed for reservations right after we booked. Dallas thought it pertinent we get a stay in before we missed our chance. What's this?"

Leaning in Slater's direction, he held the sketchbook out, one finger tracing the vague shape of a grey blob. "Oh- That. It was just an experiment. It's supposed to be Baby, here-"

Settling his weight against the Studd's side and careful not to wet the pages with condensation, Slater flipped a few pages forward, pointing to a detailed sketch of a cockatiel. Underneath that was a carefully coloured, but messier, sketch of another bird with bright red cheeks. "That's Baby. The lutino is Lucky. They're cockatiels; they aren't the best muses sometimes, especially when Lucky decides he's the most important thing in the world. Extra especially when he's being dramatic over eating his veggies. I think I have something in here like that, hold on…"

Excitedly, Slater swapped the glass in his hand for his book, releasing his hold on the Studd to flip around, mumbling to himself. Charmed, the Studd swirled his bourbon, finished the last watered down mouthful, and carefully balanced the glass on the top of the parapet. He draped an arm around Slater's shoulders heavily and guided him a step closer, tall enough in comparison to look straight down at the pages over Slater's head. When his Studette found what he was looking for, he beamed, holding the sketchbook out for the Studd to reclaim. The page was splattered with brilliant, vibrant colours, Lucky's silhouette a violent blurr. He was shaking what appeared to be lettuce in his mouth. Around him seemed to be some sort of dome, splashed with food gore. It looked like a scene out of a horror movie, it was so dramatically shaded. Unable to help himself, Studd laughed, fingers careful not to smudge or scratch anything as he traced some of the more dramatic strokes of paint.

"He's like Hannibal Lector." The Studd's voice was warm, chuckles still reverberating so deep in his core Slater could feel them. His face was starting to hurt from how widely he grinned.

"I know, right!? Him and Baby get so grumpy about which food bowl they want, too, but Baby's got seniority."

"No shit?" Shaking his head, the Studd flipped the front half of the spiral-bound pages behind the back half and held it up. "Oh, yeah. I'm thinkin' the Met. Then the Louvre."

Slater's laugh burst out of him so suddenly it took him by surprise. He almost snorted. "C'mon, Studd, it's just a silly painting of a bird-"

"No, no," he interrupted, voice gentle, free hand motioning for Slater to shush. "We're in the presence of a fine piece of high art. We should soak it in."

Doing his best to play along, Slater held his breath to keep quiet. Watching the Studd rub his chin and observe the rendition of Lucky's dinner massacre like it was making the gears in his head turn was too much for Slater to bear and, right before he corpsed all over again, the glass door behind them thudded open.

"Hey," Vinnie called to them, poking his head out. He'd swapped his ring attire for a tomato red Fubu sweatshirt with off-white trim. The embroidered, graffiti font FB on the front contrasted the striped, pastel pajama pants that looked right out of one of Slater's mom's Sears catalogues. "We still got a whole pizza left. Get your ass in here and fuel up, Slater."

"I got my figure to worry about, Vin-man," Studd called back to him, flipping Slater's sketchbook shut and returning it. He kept his arm around him and led him back to the suite, giving Slater enough wiggle room to snatch the empty glass he left behind.

"Yeah, you're keepin' it real slim these days, Christopher Walken," Vinnie snorted, making way. Dallas was on the sofa, feet kicked up, hands behind his head. It wasn't even summer yet and he was humming Christmas music. "Eat the damn pizza and I'll whip you up the blandest, whitest chicken breast you've ever had in the morning, honey."

Vinnie had a habit of putting on voices for jokes, Slater was learning. He was also learning he found it way funnier than he meant to, but, hey, he was starving and there was an entire pepperoni pizza sitting in the dining area, calling his name. He could worry about his sense of humour later.

-

Content to share the vintage, sweetheart back Hide-A-Bed sofa that had to be from the 1960s at the latest, Dallas and Vinnie let the Studd and Slater share the bedroom. They didn't have to, in Slater's opinion. The California King was wide enough for all three of the big guys and he could squeeze in just fine. Maybe it'd be easier to exhibit some self control if he had to worry about the rest of the Diamond Exchange. From his sprawled position in a sea of crushed velvet pillows, he watched the Studd toss his shirt into the corner, drop his watch into the hardwood valet tray next to his wallet, and start climbing across the bed towards him in only his boxers.

Or, Slater realised, sharing the bed with even more stunning men would make it harder for him to hold himself back. Stomach fluttering, fingers subconsciously curling into the comforter, Slater didn't budge, too busy staring at the Studd's eyes - Shadowed a heart stopping emerald in the darkness. Even when the Studd dragged Slater under him by his hips, rings catching on the waistband of his pajama shorts, he could only stare up at him, breath audibly hitching. He brought the comforter with him too, unintentionally, and a pillow rolled off the pile beside him and flopped right on his burning face.

Brutal.

"Slater, mi vida," the Studd laughed, whispered words smooth silk, thumbs rubbing circles into Slater's pelvis. Somehow it was even more embarrassing when he couldn't see him, Slater doing his best not to fidget. It was the first time he'd heard the Studd say his name and it was doing things to him. Like a cardiac event, maybe. "You don't need that… Yet."

Biting back a mortified groan, Slater threw his arms around the pillow before the Studd could flick it away. He hid his face even as the bigger man pretended to try to wrestle it away, chest warm against Slater's, stomach heavily resting on Slater's abdomen every time the Studd had to stop laughing at him and suck in some air.

-

The gymnasium was surprisingly cool, the Florida heat kept at bay by air conditioners that rattled and hummed. In the ring, the Studd was grappling some poor jobber, not even looking down at him as he flirt with Kimberly. She stood on the apron, hair tied up high and still cascading over her shoulders, leaning up against the ring post and tapping around on her PDA. Doing all the work, as usual. Watching the action from the bleachers and reclining on an almost comically placed lawn chair cushion was Vinnie Vegas, still working on breathing easy under the compression bandages around his chest. Sketchbook in hand, planning out a spray paint mural for an upcoming show, Slater could sympathise. He slept in the La-Z-boy for a week post-op.

A sharp, loud whistle caught Slater's attention. Looking up, he saw the Studd with one foot propped on the poor guy lying prone on the mat, motioning for Slater to come on down. Closing his book and handing his supplies off to Vinnie, Slater made his way down enough of the bleachers to hop off to the floor, trotting over.

"C'mere," Studd greeted, arm out, ready to engulf him in his usual side-hug. At some point Dallas had joined his wife, the two of them looking like a movie star couple. The Studd started leading him over, tucking a wayward strand of dark hair behind his ear for him. "It's about time you got in the ring for something other than stripping me."

"Huh?" Slater sputtered, almost tripping over himself when the Studd lifted him onto the ring apron before pulling himself up, herding him through the ropes. Centre ring, Slater turned to face the Studd, still baffled even when he saw the devious smirk on the Studd's face. He shifted on his feet, bent his knees, and motioned for Slater to come on, folding the fingers of both hands towards himself repeatedly.

“Alright, babe. Show Dally what you got.”

[mishinashen]

Thoughts of the Past by John Roddam Spencer Stanhope

Thoughts of the Past, shown at the Royal Academy in 1859, was the first work exhibited by Stanhope. It belongs to the early phase of his career when he was imitating the style of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, and displays a characteristic use of strong colour. Around 1870, Stanhope turned to painting allegories inspired by the Italian Renaissance in the manner of Edward Burne-Jones (1833-98), of whom he is considered to be the most important follower. Thoughts of the Past, a modern-life subject, was painted in the studio below that of D.G. Rossetti (1828-82) beside the Thames at Chatham Place, London. Stanhope's portrayal of a prostitute in her lodging, who is suddenly overcome with remorse for her situation, reproduces the theme of the guilt-ridden prostitute that was prevalent in literature and paintings of the 1850s and 1860s, especially among the Pre-Raphaelites and their followers. Holman Hunt's (1827-1910) The Awakening Conscience (1853-4), is another example. A study for Thoughts of the Past reveals that Stanhope had originally conceived the woman with her eyes raised skyward, as if in silent prayer, thus emphasising the idea of her repentance.

Thoughts of the Past may be viewed in terms of what the art historian Lynda Nead has identified as the 'seduction to suicide mythology', that was built around the figure of the prostitute in the nineteenth century (Nead, p.169). The interior of the room is replete with signs of a fall from virtue ; the gaudy cloak and shabby dressing table, the jewellery and money strewn across it, and the man's glove and walking stick on the floor. A number of sickly-looking plants reach up to catch the light from a window, which is open and threatens to let in a plume of black soot from outside. The view, which looks out towards Waterloo Bridge, with the Strand (a popular haunt of prostitutes) on the right, alludes to both the woman's corruption and her impending doom. The woman's red hair may associate her with images of Mary Magadalen, the archetypal prostitute. Prostitution was seen to pose a threat to the domestic core of Victorian society and representations engage in a complex language of urban filth and disease, of which the Thames, chronically polluted and stinking at the time this work was painted, was a familiar image. Death was assumed to be the only means of redemption for the prostitute and suicide by drowning, the most commonly imagined scenario, was implied through the depiction of the River and its bridges.

[recklesswiz98]

Art Inspiration- Art Nouveau  Art Nouveau, ornamental style of art that flourished between about 1890 and 1910 throughout Europe and the United States. Art Nouveau is characterised by its use of a long, sinuous, organic line and was employed most often in architecture, interior design, jewellery and glass design, posters, and illustration. It was deliberate attempt to create a new style, free of the imitative historicism that dominated much of the 19th- century art and design. About this time the term Art Nouveau was coined, in Belgium by the periodical L’Art Moderne to describe the work of the artist group Les Vingt and in Paris by S. Bling, who named his gallery L’Art Nouveau. The style was Called Jugendstil in Germany, Sezessionstil in Austria, Stile Floreale or ( Stile Liberty) in Italy, and Modernismo

In England the style’s immediate precursors were the Aestheticism of the illustrator Aubrey Beardsley, who depended heavily on the expressive quality of organic line, the Arts and Crafts movement of Williams Morris, Who established the importance of a vital style in the applied arts.

 On the European continent, Art Nouveau was influenced by experiments with expressive line by the painters Paul Gauguin and Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec. The movement was also partly inspired by a vogue for the linear patterns of Japanese prints (ukiyo-e) 

To distinguishing ornamental characteristic of Art Nouveau is its undulating asymmetrical line, often taking the form of flower stalks and buds, vine tendrils, insect wings, and other delicate and sinuous natural objects; the line may be elegant and graceful or infused with a powerfully rhythmic and whiplike force. In the graphic arts the line subordinates all other pictorial elements- form, texture, space, and colour-to its own decorative effect.

 In architecture and the other plastic arts, the whole of the three-dimensional form becomes engulfed in the organic, linear rhythm, creating a fusion between structure and ornament.

 Architecture particularly shows this synopsis of ornament and structure; a liberal combination of materials - ironwork, glass, ceramic, and brickwork- was employed for example, in the creation of unified interiors in which columns and beams became thick vines with spreading tendrils and windows became both openings for light and air membranous outgrowths of the organic whole. This approach was directly opposed to the traditional architectural values of reason and clarity of structure. 

There were a great number of artists and designers who worked in the Art Nouveau style. 

Some of the more prominent were the Scottish architect and designer Charles Rennie Mackintosh, who specialised in a predominantly geometric line and particularly influenced the Austrian Sezessionstil ; the Belgian architects Henry van de Velde and Victor Horta, whose extremely sinuous and delicate structures influenced the French architect Hector Guimard, another important figure; the American glassmaker Louis Comfort Tiffany; the French furniture and ironwork designer Louis Majorelle; the Czechoslovakian graphic designer-artist Alphonse Mucha; the French glass and jewellery designer Rene Lalique; the American architect Louis Henry Sullivan, who used plantlike Art Nouveau ironwork to decorate his traditionally structured buildings; and the Spanish architect and sculptor Antionio Gaudi, perhaps the most original artist of the movement, who went beyond dependence on line to transform buildings into curving, bulbous, brightly, coloured, organic constructions. 

After 1910 Art Nouveau appeared old-fashioned and limited and was generally abandoned as a distinct decorative style. In the 1960s, however the style was rehabilitated in part, by major exhibitions organised at the Museum of Modern Art in New York (1959) and at the Musee National d’art Modern Art in New York (1959) and at the Musee National d’Art Moderne ( 1960) as well as by a large-scale retrospective on Beardsley held at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London in 1966. The exhibitions elevated the status of the movement, which had often. been viewed by critics as a passing trend, to the level of other major Modern art movements of the late 19th century.Currents of the movement were then revitalised in Pop and Op art. 

In the popular opinion, the flowery organic lines of Art Nouveau were revived as a new psychedelic style in fashion and in the typography used on rock and pop album covers in commercial advertising.

[misshighnessjewellery]

How to Choose the Perfect Necklace for Different Occasions: Necklace Style Guide

Women have long favored jewellery as a fashion item. Your outfit can’t be completed without jewelry. A complementary accessory is crucial when choosing to accessorize your favorite outfit. You can always take your look to the next level by adding the charm of designer fashion jewellery. You need a beautiful pendant necklace or a traditional American diamond necklace to complete your outfit. You can also adorn your attires with other trendy artificial jewellery sets, but in all honesty, you should always choose the items that enhance your appearance and make you appear desirable. It is important to select the ideal necklace for each event. To obtain the notion of choosing the correct necklace for your clothing to glam up your look, refer to this necklace style guide.

Natural diamonds are expensive to buy, but they also have a market value that can be used in other ways. But buying American diamonds is not an investment strategy; rather, it is a way to expand your collection of designer jewellery for everyday wear, holidays, or special occasions like going on a date with your loving partner. A fancy pendant for an everyday outfit is also a good choice, but when you want to wear something fancy, a piece of eye-catching jewelry is what you need to finish your entire look. Miss Highness offers lovely pieces of artificial necklace sets online to enhance your look on every occasion. We will give you a quick explanation of how to do it.

For Destination Wedding

We don't blame you for wanting to bring your nicest, most expensive jewelry along if you are taking part in the memory-making celebration that will be captured in wedding photos. Select statement-making yet flexible pieces because destination weddings are almost often carefree affairs. For a cocktail hour at a beach wedding, a pearl necklace set with colored stones looks great when worn with little more than a stunning pair of earrings. Jadau jewellery would definitely set the tone for an Indian traditional or palatial wedding. From a wide range of options, you can opt for a designer artificial jewellery set that includes a stunning necklace and a matching pair of earrings, all made in classic regal Indian fashion. 

Necklaces for College

College jewellery should seem both appealing and subtle. You need to buy necklace online for college to look attractive and desirable as there is no strict clothing code during the college years. You can choose to be as simple or as sophisticated as you like. Some jewelry items can be embellished, while others should be avoided. For your college jewellery collections, pendant necklaces, bracelets, earrings, and rings are the greatest options. Definitely stay away from hefty or gaudy necklace sets. You can look the finest by picking just one or two accessories.

The stunning collection of fashion jewellery from Miss Highness is the ideal complement to your college outfit. Our pendant necklaces feature intricate carvings of geometric patterns, floral charms, butterflies, and much more. We also provide fashion jewelry of various styles that go with your college formal attire perfectly. You can put them on before a presentation or an interview to look professional.

For A Beach Vacation

Even if a sun kiss and beach waves are among the most attractive accessories, beach-inspired jewellery is arguably one of the cutest trends popular in the market these days. Choose exquisite hand-crafted pieces such as pearl necklaces and Monalisa stones necklaces, and items in various beach-themed colors and designs. Along with that, you should wear colorful drop earrings since they go well with a tan, a flowy dress, or a linen suit. Choose natural stones or druzy jewellery, and a summery flare for jewellery that works well both during the day and at night.

For An Extravagant City Getaway

Others thrive in the city lights, while some people find solace and relaxation in nature. Choose a necklace set that is subtle yet classy for cozy evenings on rooftop bars, and at lavish restaurants. Go for a pendant necklace with cuff earrings for lunch and a pearl necklace with a cocktail ring for drinks for an effortlessly classy, elegant, and slightly sensual look. Maintain a sleek and sophisticated look for that uptown vibe, but let your fashion jewellery be as bubbly as a glass of champagne.

For Casual Party

Who doesn't enjoy going out and having a good time with their friends and family while enjoying a nice meal? Each person does! Therefore, everyone should have the appropriate jewelry in lovely designs for these casual outings and parties. One can go for a stone embellished necklace or an elegant bead or pearl necklace. Choose the right option that fits you. For any situation, feel your best and select the right piece of jewellery. You can also choose the oxidized silver pendant necklace that makes you feel comfortable yet most appealing.

For A Weekend Getaway

When discussing travel and travel style, sightseeing always seems to receive the short end of the stick. It is perceived as a tiring hike and a steamy group trip, not exactly the height of fashion outrage. But it isn't always necessary. It's fun to travel with jewelry that is equally as inspired for individuals who enjoy seeing tourist sites or hiking. Choose warm colors, cultural allusions, and accessories with a feeling of joy and a little bit cozy. Pearl necklaces, oxidized silver jewellery, polished gold chain necklace, etc. are all lovely options. Rome wasn't built in a day, but a fantastic set of travel jewellery may be.

For a Formal Event

If you are going to attend a formal event in a formal dress, you might believe that you should play up your jewellery to match. On the other hand, the converse is frequently true.

Long, extravagant gowns or other formal attire frequently look best when accessorized with simple, delicate jewellery items. To add a subtle flair to your formal outfit without drawing attention away from your formal clothes, choose sparkling delicate jewelry like an American diamond necklace set with a matching pair of earrings.

If you want to wear something appealing and wish to draw attention while looking like the most stunning at the occasion or event. So, you need to dress up the best and carry your confidence as your most prominent armor along with a perfect piece of jewellery. Anything you wear is useless if you don't carry a positive attitude. Be the most glamorous version of yourself as you walk about. Buy necklace online from a varied range of amazing options from our online store and take advantage of the most incredible seasonal discounts and offers! Have a happy shopping!