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tedfashionski · 4 years

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Seeing Red

I was drawing today and reminded somehow of that depressing development where the sister of David & Samantha Cameron has been appointed editor of the Evening Standard. Like, I’m looking past the implied wider corruption problems in ‘real’ journalism here, but one point she said in her announcement interview really bothered me. She said, something to the effect of ‘Oh, thank god I spent 20 years working at Vogue while David was in politics, because I am just so fond of him and I would hate to have to be critical of him. So I was safe at Vogue.’

That, right there, sums up how far fashion media is from even being able to recognise the functional role of journalism. Oh, thankfully, at Vogue we can hide from criticality and awareness of the political dimensions of the world. All the while, the fashion industry is feeding this planet-killing spirit-crushing capitalist consumerism. But, no, why would it be political? Stop making it political. It’s just clothes.

K, I’m going to RANT a little about these digital fashion weeks we’ve just been subjected to. I’ll preface by saying, yeah, I get it, it’s hard to be creative in the thick of a pandemic. My standards have been accordingly lowered 20%. I am very generous.

Chanel and Dior’s lack of energy was no surprise. Although, keeping in mind female designers tend to be more pragmatic as a matter of course, it’s sad the two top women are being so listless. I was pleasantly surprised by Azzaro – it gave a hint of a vibe but was sure of itself. It emphasised that there was no reason for the Chanel & Dior videos & collections to exist, no point of view. The smaller couture players like the Dutch trinity of Ronald van der Kemp, Iris van Herpen, and Viktor & Rolf were a little more canny, you got the impression they were enjoying themselves at the very least.

Regarding men’s, I do think Rick Owens was actually well judged in its boringness – we don’t need product-based experimentation necessarily. I enjoyed the meta-narrative aspect, it seems to me a good time for that kind of subtle, slightly snide interplay of references. Yohji’s design’s really sang, the video could have worked harder, it felt thrown together and didn’t do the clothes justice. (Side note, that showstudio Yohji review video, 45 mins of failing to say anything, was what finally pushed me over the edge. Dude. Are you guys for real? ‘Where is the avant garde’? If you don’t know, give up already. I’m not even a Yohji fanbear but he deserves better.) Kiko gave us a real stab at a pscho-medieval vibe, and I would’ve written a full review about it cus there’s stuff going on there. But fuck that. If he doesn’t want to talk to us, and show his full vision to the public in a spirit of optimism and faith in the culture, why should I bother with him? Mean and snooty gatekeeping gets mean and snotty graffiti right back.

Fashion culture (twitter, specifically) wants to be wowed by everything all the time. Then, it complains and says why is fashion week even happening during a pandemic, now isn’t the time for fashion. Another example of our schizo cognitive dissonance as we consume this shit. What do we even want?

I’ll tell you what I want. I want fashion designers to be engaged in a collective speculative in-depth discussion of what the future feels like right now, as an artform. So, I’m not going to analyse anything as a commercial proposition, because the future features less and less buying shit. In part as I believe that with growing internet dispersal of OG systems, awareness will rise, the vocabulary will expand, and we’ll stop caring so much about the performative aspects of fashion clothing. The interiority aspect will only grow, and that means unique-feeling experiences that are like conversing with a familiar presence. The fashion designer as moot, a parasocial meta-commentator. A friend you don’t actually have to talk to, just talk with, in the culture. That process won’t start from a point of ‘buy my shit’. First, a relationship should be built up, set up and running along. Then, if product occurs it’s incidental. Wow, I’m being a real little weatherbear. Check out my prophecies!

So, I’m pretty disappointed and depressed about the resentful undertone of much of the work presented to us. Like, they’re crossing their arms and getting all grumpy about how they’re not allowed to carry on like they always do. FFS, you’re FASHION PEOPLE. Change is the name of the game, this shit should excite you. It’s your job to guide each other in an open-ended perusal of future possibilities, and to make recommendations. It’s not just clothes, they’re the medium, the language in which you build the commentary. If all you care about is nice product (*cough*, hedi slimane, *cough* jacquemus), stop calling yourself a fashion designer, because you’re a clothing manufacturer and I don’t care about you.

Why are all these videos so boring? Have any of these people heard of editing, rhythm? They do realise you can hire people for this kind of thing, right? The deadening lack of imagination amongst people whose full-time job it is to be creative about the present’s transition into the future is astounding. This really underlines the risks of nepotism and gatekeeping. The only people who can afford to participate are the gutless products of a bloated upper middle class. I don’t believe in that class’s creative capacities for one fucking minute. They’ve got nothing at stake, no guts to go against anything, because their boring shitty system works for them, so why should it change? Ugh, vom.

Where is the communicative power? Nothing is being said, it’s filler for an elite determined to go down with their ship. I’m glad it’s sinking, it wasn’t fit for purpose and I’ll happily stick some extra holes in to make it sink faster.

I’m going to single out Jonathan Anderson again. Listen, he’s a little pretty boy who’s working so effectively within the system, who has played the game perfectly to the best of his ability. His work is top level, he wins every time. So, I reckon he can be held up as an example. He can take it. I’m looking at the box-shows he did for Loewe and his own brand, and I’m thinking, oh that’s such a lovely take on alt fashion communication. So much heart, and care. Then, what’s the internet equivalent? A little video showing off the box. Some 3d shots & backs of looks and boxes. A little extemporised pitter patter from Jonny. That’s it. It’s still classist as fuck. With garment design there’ll always be limits on what’s possible in terms of digital translation. This isn’t actually garment design though. It’s fashion design. If I’m stuck with a low-grade clip and some jpegs, it’s pretty clear to me you don’t care about your wider fashion community. There should be an open digital experience that feels equally cared for and crafted. And here’s where I get really angry: all these fashion journalists have been delivered this unique, beautiful experience, and what are they doing with it? Where is the thoughtful response? Every single one of these people in this privileged position should be DOING THEIR JOBS (WHICH THEY ARE PAID TO DO, FULL TIME) and WRITE ABOUT FASHION. Not post online, ‘omg lovee ittt, so cutee!’. Anyone can do that. Are you a fan or a professional? This is an embarrassment. I’m stuck analysing some pixels. You’re getting the ‘real’ experience. I know I’ll never be an insider given these opportunities. I chose this path and I’m not going to try and play that game, because the rules are: you get access, in exchange for sacrificing criticality. Because these people, as educated and privileged as they are, don’t understand the value of criticism. Good criticism, the detailed, even handed, unafraid kind, pushes the culture forward. You can’t have a healthy art form without it, it’s essential because it’s the back in the back and forth. I probably could’ve tried to play their silly PR game a bit harder. But I had a nervous breakdown, in part, because I knew I would never be allowed to get close to the art enough to analyse it fairly if I spoke freely as I do now. And freedom is essential. So, pixels it is. Rudeness it is. Because there is work to do to salvage the bottom-dwelling wreck of our fashion dreams so that maybe we can travel somewhere new and better with them. It just sucks that there’s people standing there with the tools to help and no desire to save themselves or anyone else.

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9uk · 6 years

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Let Me Stay Close To You : part 1

⌲ summary : you were finally free from the worst nightmare of your life in high school. the doors of college welcomed you with open arms, you were set on living your best life in here, away from the toxicity back at home. that shimmer of hope in restoring your life, was somehow effortlessly crushed by a tap on your shoulder. “Hey Y/N, why don’t you say we catch up for a moment?”

⌲ pairing : bully!jungkook x reader

⌲ word count : 4.9k

⌲ genre : a whole lot of fluff maybe, refreshing jungkook, oc & friends ^-^

⌲ warnings : mentions of being a victim of bully, light grinding, suggestive terms

⌲ a/n : here it is! i’m so sorry if it’s bad :”

prologue > one > part two

You see, the reason why Jungkook constantly picks on you is—

Firstly. Although you were this sweet girl filled with compassion who treated everyone equally and nicely, you were nonetheless ostracised in school. Due to the fact that you covered up who your father was to protect yourself, and your family.

“Wait Y/N, what does your father do?” One of your classmates had questioned, making sure she was pulling on and cutting off the right strings.

Confirming, that it would be okay to ignore you.

“My father had died in an car accident a few years back.” Her eyes widened, in what you assumed as sympathy. “I only have my mom, who works at the coffee shop just around the corner of the street.” At that, her sympathy washes away and is replaced quickly by what you deemed as disassociation. All you receive is an ‘O’ shape formed on her mouth, before she slithers away to join her group of friends who carried Chanel bags and wore Gucci shoes to school.

Everybody then knew you as the girl who is single-parented by a humble mother who works at a café down the street. There was this hierarchy in school, and there was almost no reason to get close to somebody who was not worth of connections and had no business strings to pull. To put it simply, your ass was not wealthy enough to suck up to.

And the perfect person to bully. (Without having their family company’s stock rate to drop.)

You try to pass off as indifferent as ever, like this was your life and everything to you is nothing more than a normality.

But it isn’t.

It’s sort of amusing how you had to travel to such extremities in order to make sure your journey in high school would be a smooth-sailing and unbothered one.

You had rather those shallow-minded, materialistic people to keep an appropriate distance away from the girl in rags. Therefore, you lied.

“Oh there’s the girl whose father passed on from an accident.” Compared to, “Isn’t that the girl whose father committed embezzlement?” It’s somehow better in some way or another to lie about your father’s death than to tell the school the ugly truth.The former would cause people to avoid you, a fatherless child, while the latter would cause people to despise you, a criminal’s daughter. Sympathy was better than contempt, after all.

It’s been almost eight months since that—you could quite literally say, mind-blowing incident.

It was the time of the year where the first years would start enrolling into the colleges that have sent them an acceptance letter. It was the time, for a fresh clean start.

For everybody. Especially you.

You got into a college a few hours drive far away from the hometown. You call it the hometown because that place had turned foul with the odour of filthy money, the values of the society you were living in back there unreservedly stinks of corruption and discrimination towards the less well-off and the weak—it wasn’t even yours to begin with.

No, you didn’t want to acknowledge a place like that as your home.

You stuck out like a total sore thumb in that city.

Surely the town had a beautiful cityscape, splattered with greyscale high-rised office buildings with doses of parks and bridges.

It looked picturesque.

Fact is, it only looked picturesque.

What lies behind the millionaire central business district was the cruelsome inevitable hierarchy and a deadly game of chess.

Kill, or be killed.

You left for a peace of the mind, to put behind all the bad memories, nightmare of a terrible highschool life and the irreversible tragic situation your family was in. Your father was still an employee in that company, with no other choice but to work like a bull as a form of redemption to his wrongdoings.

Meanwhile, your mother diligently worked as a barista and kept her profile low-key. She couldn’t enjoy her usual high-tea sessions with her housewife friends anymore, she couldn’t even lift her head when she stepped out of the house anymore. Tragic, indeed.

College was like a fresh breather.

Like a clean and proper start to everything, considering no one from highschool was likely to be here with you. It was a chance to meet new, kinder people who did not steal your yoghurt or vandalise your belongings or maybe even split your forehead apart like a certain someone—and to finally live a life of someone normal.

It was like a new shot at life. At least that was what you thought.

Carrying all your belongings from your old apartment, you hear noises coming from your dormitory.

“Ah! What do I do? How am I going to cook all these ramen I bought?! Why am I so stu-oh my god!” Your roomie looks at you by the door, watching her go into a fit of frenzy.

“You scared me! Why are you standing there like that?” She starts bursting into laughter.

And you naturally let out a light chuckle, too.

“I have a kettle, and it’s for sharing.” You lift up the pink sleek kettle you have in hand after overhearing her not-so-quiet state of despair. Her eyes twinkle with a gleam of hope, like her entire sanity just got saved.

By a pink floral-printed, kettle.

“Thank you! You’re the best! I can already tell we’re going to get along just fine!” She beams in excitement and pulls you into a tight hug while you try to prevent all of your stuff from dropping onto the ground.

Oh, so much for a kettle.

“I’m Sooyoung, nice to meet you…?” She chirps with her bright red lipstick and pearly white teeth—you already love her so much, your only friend in such a long time.

“U-Uh, it’s Y/N.” You sheepishly grin, averting her sparkly eyes.

So this is what the effect being deprived of any proper contact with humans felt like. You could feel chemistry building rapidly between the both of you, or maybe it was solely because you haven’t had a true friend in ages.

Sooyoung was definitely outspoken and extroverted, simple-minded and direct with her feelings—which in contrary to you, who was leaning towards the more reserved and introverted side. Hanging out with Sooyoung made you feel like you had some self-worth, her strong initiative and inclusion towards you made you feel like you were needed as a friend, for once in so long.

Regardless of your financial status.

And no longer than a couple of days, the both of you had grown so close through the binge-watching of netflix and love for Toki’s fried chicken. The two of you hopped around campus, getting exploited to the publicity of various clubs and sport teams and adjusting in through the freshmen orientation you wished had never ended. Because the end of orientations meant the start of classes—which you weren’t such a sucker for anymore, knowing how much fun you could have to hang out with legitimate friends.

It felt different, but it felt nice.

To be able to speak without being afraid, to be able to tease and hug one another so casually without any obstructions of statuses. It felt nice to be able to be yourself, the Y/N who played tag, built sandcastles and rambled about the the number of dogs you were going to own in the future under the night stars, with your bestfriend. It felt nice to be able to open up your soul.

And that is why suddenly, you were a fan of raising the roof. You became one of those girls in their little squads back in high school who constantly had silly grins plastered onto their faces, squealing over celebrity crushes and skipping off to movie dates hand-in-hand with their girlfriends. And just for once, you felt like you were normal. You fitted in easily, with the help of Sooyoung, became just like everyone else. She introduced you to two of her other friends, Wendy and Seulgi, who were just as amazing as she was.

“Come on, let’s go Y/N.” Your mouth open agape as you looked at her, dumbfounded. What exactly were you supposed to wear to a friends outing? It was the first time you were actually going to meet up with her friends.

“I-I have nothing to wear.” You blurt out, and Sooyoung makes a sound of something in between a scoff and a laugh.

“Do you even need to wear anything? We’re only meeting Seul and Wen for coffee!” You embarassingly scratch the back of your head, feeling like you read too much into a coffee date.

“Here,” She steps foward and pulls out a top from your section of the wardrobe. “This should do.” Sooyoung shakes her head as you get dressed, thinking how much you’ve never went out before.

You put on a long sleeved floral top and jeans. You have never been yourself in highschool, you felt like you didn’t have the right to, dress all girly and pretty—it felt like something only the rich and pretty could do.

During the school break, you let your hair down, started wearing contact lenses, and even dyed your hair a light brown—you were almost unrecognisable. The thought that no one was going to laugh at you for dolling yourself up, had you shrieking in excitement as you happily made your way to the mall.

So here you were, sitting at the café nearby the university, having a session of gossip with your own little squad.

Having something or someone you love is honestly the greatest vulnerability. Once you have a taste of something, you wouldn’t want to let that go—no, not just yet. Once something is under your possesion, and the worst thing that can happen is that you would grow so accustomed to it. If you told yourself 4 years ago that you would be sitting with a bunch of your closest friends, chattering happily and discussing about what you going to wear to the party later in the evening over lunch— you would probably laugh in utter disbelief, for that would only happen in your wildest dreams. And the wildest dream were you living in, sitting at the caféteria having a serious meeting about how your clique should wear a similar concept of clothes and stride into the frathouse like bad bitches.

Though, it seemed like Seulgi was the only one serious about this whole thing.

“No thanks, I’m good.” Wendy opts out and decides to go with her own full black style.

“Um okay, who’s with me?”

You could tell Seulgi was nervous, by how hard she is trying to come up with a mastermind plan with the four of you to at least leave an impression in the welcoming party. Her eyecandy, Taehyung was going to be there, she had to somehow step up her game, right? After drooling over him in Biology lectures for what seemed like weeks, she was finally going to gain a chance at some sort of interaction with the “love of her life”—as she proclaims—at this very major and important party of entering the college life.

There was a foam of unsettling silence until Sooyoung decides to disrupt it. All of you wanted nothing more but to drink away your feelings of sorrow for the term that was about to commence.

“Okay fine, I will do it with you.” Sooyoung volunteers, seeing as to no one was particularly interested.

“I guess I will join too then..” You raised, and Seulgi’s pout transforms into a smile at once. She proceeds to tug on Wendy’s arm, who was boredly using her phone while waiting for Seulgi to be over that idea. But as she looks up to three pairs of eyes expectantly waiting for her reply, she sighs.

“I can’t believe the two of you agreed to it. Disappointed is an understatement.” With a roll of her eyes, the four of you laughed heartedly in satisfaction and carried on with the conversation about boys, boys and boys.

After a long bonding session, which consisted of them being shocked as to how you’ve never dated before, which they found impossible—because they thought you were really gorgeous and lovely. As the girls scanned your features upon Wendy’s compliment, you knew they noticed the scar at your left temple—by how their eyes linger there for a moment before quickly diverting their gaze to the rest of your face as an act of oblivion. They chose to not question something you didn’t mention out of your own will.

Who would have guessed you were a victim of bullying?

Suddenly, your chair screeched loudly “Oh crap, I’ve got to go submit some papers at the office!” You weren’t done with registering your details with the university, and had a lot of troublesome loose strings to tie up for your father wanted to you to receive the allowance he gave to you every month from the school. The office was closing barely in a few minutes, and you had to check it off your to-do-list by today.

“Sorry girls, I have to rush off now,” You felt bad for leaving your friends like in the middle of an enticing horror story Seulgi was telling, but nonetheless you snatched your belongings and made your way out of the café, flustered.

“See you at the dorm at 6!” Sooyoung yells out to you and you reply her with a sloppish wave. The rustic copper bells at the door twinkles violently as it busts open, and you’re flying off to campus.

The smell of succulent wild berries and soft white violets.

He can almost recognise that smell from anywhere. Jungkook looks up from the game on his mobile device. His characters were groaning loudly in pain in his eardrums, losing the match but he squints in the distance, putting all the broken misplaced pieces of nostalgia together once again. Was that who he thought it was? Your face lingered faintly at the back of his head but he shook his head and pushed the suspicion away.He whips around and tilts his head from the dull pain of the whiplash. The clicking of her leather boot heels become amplified as his vision focused solely on her back—the way her soft fawn locks sway from side to side with every step she took, the way her cute pink top flowed in the wind of spring, this aura of confidence she had radiating around her entire form, the scent she left behind was persistent in his nose, and he hates to admit but it further confirms his suspicions.

But no, it couldn’t be.

It couldn’t be at all.

He must be hallucinating, but she was on his mind the whole day, the sight of her slowly disappearing into the university’s building from the open walkway etched on his very mind. Something about that girl hit the sense of familiarity in him—with a pinch of longing and a sense of regret.

“Can’t wait to see Taehyung,” Seulgi’s feet tap on the ground in anticipation mixed with nervousness. She must have known she was not the only one fawning over Taehyung’s perfectly sculpted features.

“Can’t wait to get wasted.” Wendy softly follows after.

Sooyoung smacks Wendy, “And yours truly would have to drag your asses back?” She sulks at the fact that she had to control her liqour and not go all out tonight—for she was all of yours’ ride back.

“Did you happen to forget that you’re the only one who’s got a driver’s license?” Wendy reminds, and Sooyoung is left with a defeated sigh, wishing she hadn’t learnt to drive before any of you all did.

The house was already slightly bouncing from the booming pop music inside, the windows doing a bad job at encasing the sound waves. The party has not even begun, but the whole house was filled with guests—freshmen, mostly—and it felt like half of the college’s students were present here. You swear you heard a few whistles as the four of you walked through the door, entering one by one, completely fazed by the entire atmospehere of the party. You sucked in a deep breath, calming your nerves and preventing yourself from developing a panic attack from how loud and crowded this place.

You felt strange, your seventh sense pricking at your thoughts, as if a pair of eyes were watching you intensely. You weren’t used to being with large amounts of people, and to be frank, you already felt suffocated whenever you were in class. The comfort of being alone and having space was not appreciated enough. Especially in crazy parties like this.

A few moments later, while everyone seem to find home at this stranger’s house, you were still stiff and a little uncomfortable. Wendy went to join in a game of beer pong—you can hear her hollers of victory every once in a while. And Seulgi made her way to find her dreamboy, gathering courage to make her moves on him. Sooyoung decided to head to the kitchen to grab drinks, pulling you along, and chugged the unruly liquid in the red cups down too easily. Sooyoung poured you a shot of vodka while she had a cup of tequila in hand, “Y/N, drink this to loosen up.” She says assuringly and you grab suspicious red cup from her hands, looking at it with worry and hesistation. You weren’t one to drink alcohol, you never have and never wanted to. But you guessed it was time to try.

Hands shaky, you immediately brought the drink to your lips, brows furrowing tightly as you down every drop of the vodka. “Wait Y/N, I should pour some soda water to water it down for you.”Sooyoung spins the cap close on the bottle of vodka as she looks around for the soda water.

Cheeks full of hard liquor, both of your eyes widened when she turned around, with the red cup empty in your hand. You swallowed, and it burned your throat. Grimacing from the taste left on your tongue, you looked at her in confusion. “Was I not supposed to just-“

“Oh my goodness, Y/N!” Sooyoung’s face lit up in surprise. “I didn’t know you can hold your liquor that well! I should just..” She drinks straight from the bottle, like a baby sucking on a milk bottle, the hard stuff entering her system.

“Ah, this just feels too good!” She screamed in pure intoxicated happiness and grabbed your arm, heading to the dance floor. “Let’s dance.”

A light buzz clouded your mind from the three-quarter full cup of vodka as you smiled sheepishly, making your way to the dance floor. Sooyoung jumped up and down, swinging to the music and letting her body flow to the rhythm. Her enthusiasm infected you, causing you to slightly follow and move accordingly to her actions and the deafening music. The buzz gradually grew bigger, taking over your whole body, your limbs were dancing on their own as you slowly flutter your eyes shut to the feeling. You were smiling too much—almost unnecessarily as you blended right into the dancing crowd, Sooyoung long drifted away from you, probably having fun with somebody else who matched her high level of energy.

You were certain that you were strongly inebriated, for your cheeks were burning red, and you were dancing.

Dancing.

If the Jeon demon was here, he would have probably took a video of you and laughed at your horrendous movements. But you were having the time of your life, enjoying yourself in this party, dancing.

Fuck, why were you even thinking about him? You felt so free of worries, without any sort of burden‚ like a caged bird set free—you were floating with numerous bodies, to the song you always hear on the radio, with no judgemental eyes or hushed murmurs about the way you were acting.

Your confidence was always weak, but for today, it got stronger—at least just for a moment. Everything felt perfect—even though you were alone, but you knew that you had three friends by your side and that was more than enough. You didn’t want this moment to end.

“Having fun?” A voice echoed in your ear. Although you felt like you were on fire, you manage to feel the hands that creeped up onto your hips, leaving you on slightly on edge and caution. The touch burned through the fabric of the short dress you were wearing, if it was even possible, and you tried turning around. But you failed as the strong grip held you in place, no one would notice you were struggling as everyone on the dance floor just looked like a bunch of twirling limbs. Before you could turn your head to catch a glimpse of the person who was laying their hands on you, he snuck closer to press against your back and rested his chin onto your shoulder. The side of his face so close to yours, you couldn’t even tilt your head around to see his face. It was like he didn’t want you to see his face, for all you know, self-consciousness.

It wasn’t like you minded too much about people’s faces, if anything, you knew better than anyone else than to judge a book by it’s cover. Cover, meaning status, family background, level of affluence—let alone their damn physical appearance.

“You look amazing tonight,” His voice trickles into your ears like candy, sending shivers down your spine with a single compliment. But one thing for sure, was that he smelled so good, and it made you want to bury your face into his chest and let him be the only thing you were going to smell for life.

The faceless stranger didn’t grind onto your ass or sneak his hands further up to your breasts, but the both of you comfortably stayed like that, swaying gently to the music. You silently chided yourself for letting someone touch you like that without knowing his name, or seeing his face—but you enjoyed the way you were being held a little too much than you’d like to admit.

Was this some kind of undiscovered trait of lust you had surging throughout your body?

There was only one way to find out.

You tilted your head back and pushed yourself against him, feeling his crotch press against the crack between the cheeks of your ass.He lets out a deep chuckle, one you assumed was filled with want and amusement from your gnawing desperation to feel him—without knowing anything about this stranger.

Maybe you were too drunk, mind flooding with lustful thoughts and core aching a little from his strong grasp on your hips. But as he interlocks his fingers with yours and moves towards the stairs to bring you upstairs and satisfy your needs that you clearly displayed a few seconds ago, you halted in your tracks. “Waiiit,” You tug him back, speech slurring. And he refuses to turn back to face you, as though he is afraid that you would turn him down once you see his face.

At the same time, he’s listening.

He’s curious as to what you have to say to him.

With his back still stubbornly facing you, you pull him closer and unlock your fingers, spinning him around.

“What’s your name?” You reach out to grab his hand once again, for reassurance. He looks at the floor, scared and nervous to meet your eyes for the very first time. The stranger was elegant and charming—you could sense it clearly from the aura he was radiating around you.

But it was also clear as day that he lacked confidence.

“I’m.. Namjoon, s-sorry,” You clutch his hand tighter to prevent him from leaving abruptly.

You genuinely enjoyed dancing with him, and you feel like he was someone you would want to get to know better.

“Namjoon, look at me. Let me see you properly?” The words came out more like a question, nonetheless he raises his head carefully, as if to give you time you prepare for how ugly he looked.

You know it all, too well.

It wasn’t even a few milliseconds after you looked at his face before—“Namjoon, you look amazing too.” You returned the compliment, not for the sake of boosting his self-confidence or to return the praise—but he really, looked amazing. His brown hair is parted and combed back messily, his monolids and plump lips rested perfectly on his face. You couldn’t really understand why he was self-conscious about his looks, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder. A smile flashes onto his face upon your words and he covers his mouth with his hand shyly. God, he had dimples too. This man was downright gorgeous—it was a pity he couldn’t see that for himself.

“I mean it, you look handsome.” You smile back at him, adoration for this man escalating in you as he chuckles.

“Thank you, uh..” Namjoon’s eyes widened as to how he had missed your name. “I’m Y/N.” You finish for him and he shakes his head at how rude he must have seemed without asking for your name. He panics.

“Sorry I just-” “It’s okay Namjoon.” You giggle, and he leans foward to press a chaste kiss to your lips.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” Your cheeks grow red at the sudden intimacy, being reminded of where the both of you had left off.

“Shall we go upstairs?” He suggests politely—though, what may happen between the two of you, weren’t so much going to be so.

“Sure-”

“Hey Y/N, why don’t you say we catch up for a moment?”

A tap on your shoulder brings your attention away from Namjoon, your hand dropping from his, hanging loosely by your side at the voice.

At his voice.

You would never forget the voice who brought the insults and mean remarks into your ears, slowly feathering down to your pile of insecurities.

You are certain, that you would never forget his voice.

You could feel your legs begin to tremble as your eyes meet with the devil’s, dark and fierce—piercing right through your soul. The devil, being none other than Jeon Jungkook.

The first thing you feel is denial.

You can’t help but let your jaw drop, lips parting in complete shock and dread. No,no,no, it can’t be. You repeat like a mantra in your heart, hoping it gets to your tipsy head. It just can’t be. This has to be some sort of sickening plot twist in a Korean drama series, right? You tried pinching hard at your thighs, wincing as the pain assures you that this in fact, wasn’t a dream. And Jungkook, the guy who filled your teen years with plain torture and unkept peace, was standing right infront of you.

The second thing you feel is fear.

You could feel your breath start to stutter, as you subconsciously take a step back from him with shaky legs. Namjoon, as expected, was gone by now. Probably having fled as he sees a far more dominating and confident look in Jungkook’s eyes. You were afraid. So afraid that this terrible man would come into your life and ruin everything for you. Sooyoung, Seulgi and Wendy would all probably leave you as this devil incarnate, would claim you to being his punching doll, once again. No one would want to stay close to a victim of bully. No matter how much sympathy they are able to gain, or how much external kindness they are able to receive—they still never have true friends to hang out with, share secrets between and to protect each other. Because who in the world would want to include losers in their fancy little squads?

Victims are only viewed as a burden, bringing down the entire group, being the plus one in everything—it’s hard to open up to people that easily, afraid of saying the wrong things or doing things that would make others upset.

It’s hard.

And you solemnly pray Jungkook wouldn’t make it hard again for you in your new life in college.

As these train of thoughts travel pass your mind, the trembling hand by your side was now grabbed by Jungkook, as he waltzed you through the sweaty crowd and out of the thumping house that made your head spin. He pulls your speechless form outside, the cool and needed fresh air kissing your skin. His fingers are still laced with yours, gently tight and the feeling too foreign for your administration to the vulnerable mind.

Jungkook looks at you with eyes that seem like concern and worry—something that was so unfamiliar to you and never encountered with before.

With his thumb drawing circles over the back of your hand soothingly, that was the last straw.

“Y/N…Are you okay?” Jungkook begins.

And the third thing you feel, is confusion.

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hellomissmabel · 6 years

Text

Debut I/II

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Warnings: Someone being called a bitch and a jerk. Kicking someone in a very sensitive, male spot.

Word count: 2k

Summary: You’re a small town actress catapulted to fame when you land a role in an immensely popular TV show. After turning down the flirtations of the lead male character, the media paints you as a bitch and you end up being bullied by his fans. Struggling to stay true to yourself, you find comfort and friendship in one of actors who makes his debut on the show.

This is a two-part mini series! No tagging sorry x

All Sebastian Stan’s characters & fics can be found here

A/N: Written for @bbparker

“Y/N, babe, filming starts in ten! Please hurry up to Wanda for make-up, dear,” the producer Tony screams from the other end of the room, heatedly discussing something with the screenwriter Peggy.

Bidding goodbye to one of the extras on the show, Peter Parker, you rush to the makeup department to get touched up. Wanda is already waiting for you with a playfully stern look in her eyes, sighing exasperatingly when you finally jump into your assigned seat.

“Your hair is a mess, Y/N,” Wanda groans softly as she starts to comb through it in an attempt to tame your fake curls from last episode. “I thought I told you not to put them up in a messy bun! Now you have so many knots and I have only…” Looking down on her watch, she shrieks dramatically. “I have only six minutes left to fix this!”

“Calm down, Wanda,” the attractive brunet in the chair next to you tells your stylist. “I’m Bucky Barnes,” he introduces himself, extending a hand for you to shake.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you smile back at the handsome stranger, “I play…”

“Harley Rains. Yeah, I instantly recognised you.” His piercing blue eyes stare straight into your soul. “The female lead. Well, Harley, meet your new co-star, August Addison.”

Wanda tugs firmly on your hair and you release a soft yelp, your face contorting in a severely unattractive expression. It seems to amuse Bucky more than it bothers you, so you continue your conversation like nothing happened. “You’re Steve’s half-brother, right? In the show, I mean.”

“Brady Hawking’s brother from another mother,” he chuckles as the make-up artist gives him a final once-over before clearing him. “Nice chatting with you, Harley. I’ll see you in a minute or two.”

The brunet leaves with a cheeky wink as Wanda rushes to raise your hair and makeup to a presentable level. When you exit the hair and makeup corner, you bump into your best friend and co-star Natasha, who funnily enough plays your on-screen nemesis, Dixie Sauvage.

“Did you already meet the fucking hot new co-star?,” she whispers into your ear as she pulls you aside. “Bucky Barnes a.k.a August Addison?” With a big, toothy grin you answer her question. “I don’t think Steve will be very happy. A lot of the girls will now be swooning over August instead of Brady.”

Maria, one of the dancers on the show, rounds the corner and stops in her tracks as she sees the two of you talking. With a foxy attitude and swaying hips, she walks up to you and flips her hair. “Guess who slept with Steve?”

Bursting into hearty laughter at her silly impersonation, the mood soon turns serious again. “No, really. Do you know who slept with Steve now?”

Both of you shake your head, curiosity peaking sky-high. “Sharon,” Maria reveals with a hushed breath. “The one and only Chanel Shaw.”

Exchanging a bewildered look with the redhead, you clasp your hand in front of your mouth to avoid screaming. “Are you kidding me? Sharon? That bitch who plays Chanel Shaw?” Natasha makes a gagging noise to emphasise her statement.

Chanel Shaw is the Barbie doll of the show, played by the screenwriter’s niece, Sharon Carter. Most of her fans are teenage girls who wouldn’t want anything more than to see her get together with Brady. Her character just happens to be Harley’s best friend on the show, but in real life you can’t stand each other, mainly because Steve never had eyes for Sharon as long as you didn’t turn him down. On top of that, Sharon’s a lousy actress and only good for numerous, pointless dramatic encounters.

“So what episode are we shooting today?,” you hear Sharon ask her niece Peggy as you, Natasha and Maria make it to the set.

Rolling your eyes with a disappointed hum, you nudge Natasha’s arm and mumble “so unprofessional, she doesn’t even know we’re shooting the Christmas special today” under your breath to the redhead.

Clapping her hands after answering Sharon, Peggy tells everyone to that we’re shooting outside and not on the set as foreseen. “Change of plans, people. Since this is still a Christmas special and there’s fresh snow outside, my personal friend and newest addition to the show, Bucky Barnes, suggested that we could shoot the outdoor scenes, in fact, outdoor.”

Her statement is met with loud cheering from some of the actors, but most of the dancers cause a little disturbance as dancing in the snow certainly isn’t easy. Eventually Peggy manages to convince them by saying she’ll buy them all hot chocolate after and next Friday off.

The general outline of today’s episode is the following: Chanel takes Harley shopping for the perfect dress for Christmas Eve as she will be spending it at Brady’s house and will meet his parents for the first time. On their way from their high school to the mall, they pass a patio surrounded by snow, where there’s a guy playing Christmas songs on a piano.

Then the camera zooms in on the new guy, August, who catches the two girls staring and invites them over to join him in his carol singing. Harley absolutely adores the Christmas spirit and decides to take him up on his offer, sitting next to him at the piano and singing along. August is enthralled by Harley’s voice and they share a few looks, sharing a beautiful moment together. Cue the dancers while the camera again zooms in on August’s face.

His face is very close to Harley’s as they finish the song, their breaths visible in the cold. Their eyes lock and a pink blush raises to her cheeks, having a very romantic moment until they’re interrupted by Chanel. They make acquaintances and bid goodbye, to which August keeps playing and Harley can’t focus on the shopping trip anymore.

“Okay, guys and girls, great work! We take a five minute break and then we do it again! I want perfection and nothing less!,” Peggy exclaims as you immediately take at least a million steps away from Sharon to get yourself a glass of water.

At the stall for food and drinks, your shoulder brushes with Bucky’s and you drop your cup, the water splashing everywhere and all over Bucky. Bucky in turn also drops his cup of coffee, the hot liquid gushing all over you as well.

“Oh shit,” you curse as you grab some napkins to dry the stains on Bucky’s shirt, more worried about his water stains than the hot coffee stains on yours.

“Nah, don’t worry doll,” he chuckles, amused that you got so flustered by a bit of water. “Let’s go to wardrobe to change. You do know where it is, don’t you? Because I don’t and otherwise we’re lost.”

That playful, boyish glint in his eyes has an instant impact on your feelings. “Yeah, I do. Follow me.”

“That was some fine acting, Y/N. I heard you were very talented but now I got to act alongside of you, I got a taste of true talent myself.”

A small smile graces your lips as you’re turning into a red tomato after receiving such a huge compliment. “Thank you. I couldn’t help but think I’ve seen you somewhere before. Is there any chance you were in Royals? The king’s son?”

Clicking his tongue and scratching the back of his neck with a shy look, he holds the door open and lets you walk in first. “Yeah, that’s me alright. Your next question will probably be if I’m gay, right? Since my character was gay and I did such a good job…”

After finding yourself a fresh shirt and jacket, you notice Bucky is standing with his back to you, shirtless. He’s changing into a new shirt too, giving you some privacy so you can do the same. “So are you? Gay?,” you call over your shoulder to your new co-star.

“I can assure you that I am a full 100% bisexual,” he winks once you’re fully dressed again and he can turn around. His reply inspires a tiny burst of happiness in your heart, as you’re obviously not entirely oblivious to his good looks and his charms.

Offering his arm to you to escort you back to the others, you gladly accept. “Can I ask you a question, too, doll? Is it true what they say about you and Steve Rogers?”

Instantly it’s like hell has frozen over. “People say a lot of things, Bucky. You gotta be more specific,” you say in a soft voice, avoiding his eyes.

Before you’re close enough so the others might hear you, Bucky comes to a halt and searches your eyes. “Did you really threaten to cut his balls off if he tried to kiss you again?”

His grave tone and neutral expression prompt a hearty laugh from your throat, bubbling up from deep in your chest. “Yes, I did, “you confirm the rumour, still quite proud you managed to finally make it clear to Steve that you weren’t interested and never will be.

Natasha waves you over, a sign that they’re starting filming again, and you walk alongside Bucky back to the crowd. Before you party ways, Bucky being called back to the patio and piano, he leans in very close to whisper into your ear. “I’m looking forward to teaching you how to play the piano, Harley.”

“Playing the piano?” You shoot him a confused look. “For the show? No-one told me I had to learn how to play the piano for the show.”

“I’m not talking about learning how to play the piano for the show, doll. Wanda told me about your resolutions for 2018. I believe learning the piano is one of them?”

Of course it was Wanda who told him. “In that case, I’m looking forward to it too then,” you smile warmly back at him, a skip in both your step as you resume your respective places.

A day of non-stop filming with only a half hour lunch break will leave you completely exhausted at the end of the day. Especially now, when Peggy insisted on filming the closing scene for the next episode early because “the light was just perfect and she wants perfection and nothing less”.

The point of this scene is actually really simple. Brady finds out his father has a child with his high school sweetheart and that this child is August, an aspiring musician and big flirt, hellbent on winning Harley. In this scene Brady and Harley stand outside on his parents’ porch while August and Brady’s father are having a father-and-long-lost-son moment inside the house. It’s Christmas Eve and Brady is having a hard time accepting his big brother. Harley is there to convince him she loves Brady and not August and that she’ll stick by his side no matter what.

It’s so cliché and filled to the brim with tooth-rotting fluff you feel you might vomit into Steve’s mouth before you get the change to make out. “I love you, baby,” you coo innocently as you cup Brady/Steve’s face in your hands, bringing his lips to yours in a sweet, chaste kiss.

When you part away, Brady/Steve looks into your eyes as his tongue speaks words of adoration, eyes gazing lovingly into yours like you’re the only woman in the whole world. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Harley.” The scene ends with another kiss before you intertwine your fingers and head back inside to make amends with August.

When Peggy calls it a day and everyone is excused, Steve’s attitude towards you changes immediately. He commands one of the assistants to give him a tissue to wipe his mouth while grimacing in your direction. “God, I can’t wait until you break up with me because you’ve got feelings for August. Will spare me the agony of kissing you again.”

With a scoff, you turn your back on him and walk up to Natasha. “If this were a movie, I would totally have chosen him. Brady is the perfect guy. Steve on the other hand… he’s just a big jerk,” the actress snarls as she pulls you with her to the locker room.

You offer her a kind smile when she hands you a sandwich to munch, figuring you must be hungry. “Fortunately, we have Bucky now to feast our eyes on.”

“Yes, indeed,” you chuckle softly, wrapping your arm around Nat’s shoulder.

PART II/II

Tag list: @melconnor2007 @learisa @mrshopkirk @dont-speak-just-read @buckyappreciationsociety @beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep @lovemarvelousfics @pleasantdreamqueen @petersunderroos @movingonto-betterthings @palaiasaurus64 @ssweet-empowerment @lovemarvelousfics @rrwilson66 @petersunderroos @reniescarlett @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @barnes-heaven @that-sokovian-bastard @abovethesmokestacks @marvelrevival @marvel-fanfiction @justanotherbuckydevotee @barnes-heaven @heartmade-writingbucky @buckyywiththegoodhair @captnbarnesrogers @a-little-hell-to-raise @knittingknerdy @winterboobaer @hymnofthevalkyrie @feelmyroarrrr @justareader @howlingbarnes @themcuhasruinedme @buchananbarnestrash @hollycornish @delicatecapnerd @tomhollandzs @aletheladyinred @xbergiex @promarvelfangirl @capbuckybuchanan @pegasusdragontiger @salty-holographic-stickers @sebstanchrisevanchickforever19 @autijahnerd13s-blahg @sophiealiice @sarahmatthews7 @lumelgy @kudosia @daringtodreamawake @moonbeambucky @suz-123 @breezy1415 @always-an-evans-addict @thegreentgirl @yourtropegirl @4theluvofall @curvybihufflepuff @caplansteverogers @amrita31199 @isnt-the-blog-youre-looking-for @pineapplebooboo @thefridgeismybestie @supernatural508 @supernaturaldean67@cant-decide-at-this-moment @mehrmonga @specs15 @kanupps06 @imnotinsanehunny @sarahgracej @jasura @nerdyandproud9 @geeksareunique @jesspfly @badassbaker @whenallsaidanddone @ailynalonso15 @thebookisbtr @animechick725 @wheneggsymetbucky

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lookatthedawn · 7 years

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Leaving These Shores...

Tuesday, May 30th, 2017. What a glorious day! Katrina is taking me to JFK airport in New York. Trisha and JeanLuc, Daisy and Maggie are coming too. I intend to finish two books on the way, which were things on my "Before Leaving" list that I was unable to do. I finish The Shoemaker's Wife and rush through the last pages of Buddha and The Borderline. There are only 10 pages left when we arrive at the airport and I have to go. I'll definitely borrow it from the library again as soon as I get back. Katrina is a beautiful driver. Even more so when she is driving my economic Prius. JeanLuc, Trisha, Daisy, and Maggie are excellent sleepers. Really, I have pictures to prove it. Arriving at JFK I recognize a beautiful woman being picked up by a black car. When she looks at our direction I see that it’s Cindy Crawford! She has a pleasant, down-to-earth demeanor, and an easy smile on her face.

There are no tears at the airport because this is a joyous occasion. I'm living a dream!

Okay, a little problem: Just because my flight stops on Canadian territory, I must get Canadian authorization to board the plane. That's because I'm Brazilian, traveling with a Brazilian passport. The whole process is done online and takes about forty-five minutes, cost me $7 and is valid for the next five years. I think of Trudeau and pay with a smile on my face hoping he does some good with my money. I don't even leave the plane in Vancouver, I just watch as it vomits most passengers but immediately fills its belly again. Only the menu has changed, from Western to Eastern. Passengers are speaking in different Oriental languages, none of which I can understand. The flight attendants also speak Chinese (I guess), but they know enough English to remind me to order vegan meals twenty-four hours before departure next time. For this flight, I'll have the fruit salad and the bread. Hold the butter. Thank you! For the next fourteen hours, I try to sleep. Not being particularly successful, I give it up and read instead. I (finally) finish The Warrior Woman and then sleep precious little, waking up often, before we land in Hong Kong. I'm not ready, but planes usually are ready to land before I am. Besides, I have a long layover in Hong Kong to which I'm not exactly looking forward. All I want is to get some sleep, so I decide to get to my gate and wait until the time to board the plane to Vietnam. Well, that's how naive I am. My flight hasn't even been assigned a gate and they are not exactly in a hurry to do so. Lack of sleep is getting to my head and I am deeply confused about the time. Of course, I have World Clock on my phone, but when I start doing the math, taking into account the time I left Massachusetts, then New York, then Vancouver, then Hong Kong... I end up confused about how long had it been since I left home. Here it's the morning of June first. So, where did May 31st go? Oh, yes I'll get that half day back when I return. Good, I can use it. So, here I am, Hong Kong, June 1st. The airport is packed. I exchange money, turning a few dollars into millions of Vietnamese Dong. I realize that until now I have taken the American perspective about wealth, thinking that in order to be a millionaire I had to have millions of dollars! That's an absurd notion. The word is "millionaire", people, not dollarnaire, or milliondollanaire. If I have a million I'm a millionaire, and that's just what I have become in Hong Kong. All it took was cross the Pacific to turn me into a millionaire many times over. Had I known that, I'd have done that long time ago. Well, now I know and so do you, that sometimes it's just silly to live by the notions of our own culture without seeing what else is out there. I realize I should have exchanged some US Dollars into HK Dollars, but didn't think of that. I charge my laptop and phone, connect with friends and family, and spend some time writing. I'm suddenly terribly hungry and since I still haven't exchanged money, I use a credit card to eat some rather nice Hong Kong noodles. There's a McDonald's in the HKIA, but I didn't come all this way to eat at McDonald's. The HKIA is huge and modern and they are still building around, possibly to expand it. It's also busy with mostly Asians but enough Westerns to warrant the existence of places like Starbucks, Victoria Secret, and Seven Eleven. Many airport workers are wearing anti-pollution masks. Pollution doesn't seem to be a problem in the airport per se so I ask a lady why she is wearing a mask and she replies, in broken English, 'many people sick'. There isn't an epidemic or anything, but she sees people from all over the world and that exposes her to all kinds of viruses. It makes sense. Most people at the HKIA speak English, at least a little. There are a lot of teenagers traveling in groups. Some are color-coordinated and have some things written in their t-shirts that suggest an organization is behind their traveling experience. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that it's only two weeks before the end of the academic year or maybe they are coming back from a Dragon Boat Festival somewhere. They are no different than most American teenagers, they giggle a lot and take a million selfies, together and separated. They also have a great attitude; nobody seems tired, hungry or sleep deprived. About two hours to board I decide to ask help. I am told that Vietnam Airlines, the one I'm traveling with, operates from the other side of the terminal. I am directed to take the train, turn this way and that, take the escalator and I will see the gate. I do as I am told but don't find the gate. I decide to ask for more help and am told to go back to where I was. That was a train ride and three more escalators plus a lot of walk with all my luggage. Did I mention the lack of sleep? At least I'm no longer hungry! Back to where I originally was, I ask help from the efficient-looking attendant who told me the gate would probably be assigned within the next half hour. And it is. She tells me where it is, and although it is a long way away, it is the right one. A rude guard tells me "we're not boarding yet, take a seat over there!" and I do. Sometimes I let people be rude to me. Only very rarely do I talk back. It might not be very kind of me, but most of the time I let them live with their own rudeness. I walk away and all they can remember is their own voices, not mine. Sometimes I pity them because they must be an awful company to themselves. Anyway, there is a guy speaking in Portuguese on the phone and I want to say hello but he is talking earnestly to the person on the other end and I decide not to interrupt such passionate dialogue. We are called to board and get in line but don't board right away. They just want to see if we know how to queue. I think we pass the test. A guard came looking at all passports and boarding tickets. He examines my ticket, checks my Brazilian passport, and tells me to go to the counter, where I am told that I can go on the business line. I don't know why, because both lines go to the same place, namely, a bus. I am surprised. Nobody told me anything about riding a bus from Hong Kong to Hanoi, so what's going on? The business line goes first, but there are no seats in this bus anyway, and then economy class comes and we are full. This is all very unrefined, which is a stark contrast to the upper level of HKIA, with its Chanel and Calvin Klein stores. It was unbearably hot inside the bus, and we just stand there, nicely packed under the 80+ Hong Kong weather. The wait isn't long, it only seems so. The bus takes us to a point in the middle of the terminal where a small plane awaits. We are quickly escorted in and fly to Hanoi in little over two hours. The plane is small and simple, but even with such a short flight, they offer a nice meal. The Vietnamese staff is also very pleasant, so I decide right then that I will like Vietnam.

#JFK #HKIA #Vietnam #traveling #internship #cindy crawford

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