I can’t even talk about my first ball cos I was thirteen & in love. He wasn’t my date cos his momma wouldn’t let him take me. I wore red lipstick and red satin gloves that my Great Grandmother (rip) had bought me especially for the occasion. I was ugly, but sweet. I ditched my date to dance with him & I still have the photo of us together.
When I was sixteen, I straight grinded to afford this luxe emerald green sequined dress from Alice & Olivia (it was $500usd!). Megan Fox wore it once & I thought it was so perfect and gorgeous. I offended a mother who told me my dress was too short & I looked like a slut cos an adult teacher made an inappropriate gesture towards me (this is the same teacher who kissed me at a party when I was sixteen when I was too drunk & devastated) but I felt beautiful. I didn’t win best dressed & I didn’t go to the after party.
My “senior” prom, I wore a long forrest coloured gown with a lace bodice and tiny sewn emeralds. My friends and I booked a hot pink hummer limousine & drank pink champagne to match. Afterwards we all went to a party in the bad suburbs. We drank a dirty sink mix from a Sprite bottle until somebodies father had to drive us home. I made love on the beach with my date, then again in my room in the dark.
Recently, I went to a ball in an executive conference room. I wore a gold sequin mermaid gown and a matching gold Virgin Mary Halo crown, decorated in soft blue lights that my mama helped me make. During dinner, I walked over to the CEO and told him I should win best dressed and I did. It was so cool. but then I tried to sing Jennifer Lopez in the Kareoke bar with a cool ginger girl I really like & i couldn’t fucking read.
Café Society (2016) - one of the socialites at the Tropique night club is wearing a green emerald satin dress from Elsa Schiaparelli spring 2015 couture collection. The long-sleeved dress is decorated by a “necklace” of diamanté stars; two black hands “hold” the necklace on the back of the dress. From the deep slit on the back we can get a glimpse of the hot pink lining, a trademark of the Parisian fashion house.
This dress was originally designed by Marco Zanini.
i keep returning to blushfashion for new and continued wedding collection inspiration — their bridesmaid styles are super-versatile and come in many cuts and fabrics. love these winery-inspired colors.
Whispers are all you can hear as you ride into Rohan. You still share a horse with Legolas as there were only two, or three if you count Shadowfax, Gandalf’s horse. Your wings are down again so that they’re no longer in his face.
Your grey-green hood that you received in Lothlorien is pulled over your face and it falls around your waist so your belt cannot be seen. You wear a traditional style emerald green dress. The people cannot tell who you are, but it doesn’t stop them from wondering.
Gandalf pulls you aside a moment before you enter the hall. “I know you were once well-respected here, Y/N,” he says, “but that may no longer be the case. Saruman has a grip over the King of the Mark, and we do not yet know how strong his grip is. Be on your guard.”
“The people of this land know not my weakness.”
“Then that may just save you. Nonetheless, be careful.”
You nod and step away.
“People never seem to stop telling me to be careful.” You say to Legolas as Aragorn approaches the guards
“No one wants you to die.”
“I can take care of myself. I’m the Bone Witch- I might as well be invincible.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Then I accept.”
“Silver.” He coughs to disguise the word.
“Do I win?” He says, laughing.
The guards ask for your weapons. For the sake of it, you pull knives from increasingly improbable places, just to keep the guards on their toes. The others notice and laugh as they move past.
“Is that all?” The guard asks, now holding a small(ish) pile of various weapons. Your katana, given to you by Galdriel, is not on the pile, but you say nothing of it, and instead produce one more from up your sleeve.
You go to brush past him and enter the hall.
He grabs your arm. “That belt you wear- show me.”
You push aside your cloak enough to allow him sight of your belt of bones.
“The Bone Witch,” he breathes, “what a story this will make.”
“If you live to tell it.”
He hands you back your weapons. “Apologies, my lady.”
“Accepted. For now.” You take your weapons and throw them up, where they disappear in midair.
You walk into the hall.
Where you are met by attacking guards, who are soon pinned artfully around the walls with your knives as if they were tapestries. Though, obviously, they were not good enough for that. At least not while they were on the walls.
Early update because I’ll probably forget about this if I don’t post it now. Enjoy!