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dfdph · 3 years

Text

Spotlight - Prologue

Author D.

Pairing Jungkook x Reader (female)

Warnings Mentions of cyber bullying

Word count 3.5k

Summary “Her stylist had chosen a wonderful black Elie Saab Haute Couture for the occasion. The gown was long, sleek and structured, with overlaying tulle and tafta, the top was semi-transparent, with long sleeves and padded shoulders, and the whole dress was adorned with an intricate golden embroidery that highlighted her figure craftily. Her hair had been pinned neatly in a bun on top of her head, with some twists and braids that she had no way of replicating on her own. The make up artist had played with golden eyeshadow and had drawn a strong and thick black line with the eyeliner, making her gaze sharper and sexier. Y/N looked like a chic princess warrior, ready for battle. And, somehow, she really felt like it. She wasn’t anxious only about the ceremony, she had read the lineup, she had read his name. She knew there was no avoiding him this time: her first love, Jeon Jungkook.”

Award season was the period of the year Y/N hated the most. Despite being in the entertainment industry since she was a teenager - and now being in her late 20s -, she still couldn’t get used to the stress it put her through. She actually looked forward to dressing up and posing in front of dozens and dozens of photographers at the beginning of her career, but now that she had made a name for herself, now that everyone knew who she was, Y/N would gladly stay in her king sized bed watching some movie instead. Unfortunately, even if she wanted to, there was no way she could avoid attending this season’s ceremonies.

The past year had been Y/N’s most rewarding yet. She had been in fact casted by a renowned and award-winning director as the main character of his new historical movie, which turned out highly successful at the box office - earning more than $110,000,000 on its opening weekend - and highly acclaimed by the critics who had praised, not only the cinematography and the intricacy of the plot, but especially Y/N’s performance - described as raw, heartbreaking and graceful. To no one’s surprise, she was soon nominated as Best Actress in most of the award events, winning all of them despite the high competition and enriching the collection of trophies she had displayed in her home office.

When she debuted ten years ago with a minor role in an episode of a television series she only dared dreaming of reaching such a peak in her career. She could have never imagined that she would become one of the highest paid actresses in the industry, that she would afford buying her dream car and her dream house in Los Angeles, and that she would have millions of fans supporting her all over the world. Yet, there she was, getting ready for ‘the dream come true’, the award of the awards: the Oscars. And she, Y/N Y/L/N, had been chosen as the strongest contender in her category: Best Performance by an Actress in a Leading Role. She had already been nominated twice before, but this time was different, this time she felt she could actually win. Hence why she couldn’t stop walking anxiously back and forth in the 5 star hotel room her staff had booked for the day.

Her stylist had chosen a wonderful black Elie Saab Haute Couture for the occasion. The gown was long, sleek and structured, with overlaying tulle and tafta; the top was semi-transparent, with long sleeves and padded shoulders, and the whole dress was adorned with an intricate golden embroidery that highlighted her figure craftily. Her hair had been pinned neatly in a bun on top of her head, with some twists and braids that she had no way of replicating on her own. The make up artist had played with golden eyeshadow and had drawn a strong and thick black line with the eyeliner, making her gaze sharper and sexier.

Y/N looked like a chic princess warrior, ready for battle. And, somehow, she really felt like it. She wasn’t anxious only about the ceremony, she had read the lineup, she had read his name. She knew there was no avoiding him this time: her first love, Jeon Jungkook.

Y/N was a completely different woman from who she was back in high school.

She had grown in a very poor family. Her mother had to raise her, alongside her older brother, all on her own, working long hours as a housekeeper for a rich and snob family who mistreated her and paid her just enough so that she couldn’t resign. She was a very sweet woman who had to struggle every day to give her two children the most normal life she could afford. Y/N’s father, on the other hand, was never present: an alcoholic who couldn’t keep a job for more than a month, he regularly failed to pay child support after the divorce and never once made a call to hear from them.

Y/N understood the importance of money early on, in elementary school, when her classmates started teasing her because of her hand-me-down clothes. She was used to wear her brother’s old t-shirts every now and then and never thought too much of it. She didn’t see any difference between the rock bands pictures or the flowery prints, she didn’t realize it mattered. And when she had told her mother that those girls had laughed at her, the woman almost cried, so Y/N decided not to mention it ever again.

Y/N grew up into a very introverted and shy teenager. She wasn’t good with socializing and generally preferred being on her own. Her desire for solitude was so evident that her classmates gave up on their attempts to befriend her and she soon became the lone wolf of their high school. By junior high, she became almost invisible.

Strangely enough, Y/N’s dream was that to become an actress, a profession that required a lot of things she lacked of. Confidence, to begin with, or charisma. The only thing she believed she could do was hide inside the unused storage room on the second floor and play with the old props left by the drama club.

She met Jungkook while doing just that.

The boy was just coming back from the first meeting of the Mathematics Discussion Club - of which he was the president - when he heard someone crying from a room he never noticed before. He opened the door quietly, peeking his head inside the dim lighted room, only to find the silhouette of a girl lying on the floor in a fetal position and seemingly crying her lungs out in pain. She had her hands clutching tightly her head and she was sobbing so hard that she was on the verge of hyperventilating. On instinct, Jungkook rushed to her side, his books, pencils and calculator clattering all over the floor.

“Are you ok?!” he screamed in worry, putting his hands over her shoulders.

Y/N jumped up, her wailing stopping so abruptly that it made Jungkook jump as well. As it turned out, Y/N was doing nothing more than acting the part of a terminally ill girl who was suffering intense head pains - a part she had invented all on her own to test her ability with dramatic scenes. it was something she did quite often. Just the day before she was performing Meryl Streep’s part in “Into the Woods” to an invisible audience.

“I-I’m ok.” she mumbled, drying the fake tears from her cheeks.

“What the hell?” Jungkook murmured, looking at her in astonishment. “What was that?”

“I was ... I was just pretending.” she replied, her voice horse from all the screaming.

“Pretending?” he repeated as he sat bewildered on the dirty floor. “You were pretending to be in pain? Why?!”

Y/N felt the heat rising to her face. This was the first time she had to explain her weird little secret to anyone. “Acting.”

“Acting.” Jungkook repeated once again. “And why are you doing it in here?” he asked looking around the creepy space, with its spider webs and abandoned miscellaneous objects. “What is this place anyways?”

“It was the old storage room of the drama club.” Y/N replied. “They don’t use it anymore. There’s no space left.”

“I can see that.” he said staring at the shelf just above their heads that looked about ready to collapse. “So, I guess you’re not in the drama club?”

“No.” Y/N answered looking down at her crossed legs. She wondered if he was going to snitch on her. She really didn’t want to get in trouble. Besides, it wasn’t like she was doing something that terrible.

“I could tell.” Jungkook replied. “I saw last year’s winter play and, let me tell you, you, crying on the floor 5 minutes ago, were ten times better than that.”

Y/N looked back at him with her mouth open in surprise. She had no idea who this boy sitting crossed legged on the floor with her was, with his white button down shirt and over washed jeans, but he singlehandedly gave her the best compliment she could wish for. “Right?!” she exclaimed sitting straighter. “I thought so too! But everybody else acted as if they saw the best performance of their lives! I knew I couldn’t be the only one who taught that their interpretation of Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra was nothing but underwhelming.”

“Damn right.” the boy nodded in agreement. “I actually looked forward to it because I prefer it over Romeo and Juliet, but I was so disappointed. You should have played Cleopatra!” he added in an afterthought. “Why didn’t you?”

Y/N felt herself blush once again. “I never performed in front of anyone.” she confessed. “Apart from my mother an brother, that is.”

“That’s a shame.” Jungkook murmured pensively. “You have real talent, storage room girl. Believe me, I’m an expert.”

Being friends with Jungkook was easy, falling in love with him was even easier. It came so naturally that Y/N didn’t even have the chance to fully realize it before they were officially dating.

He was everything Y/N wasn’t and everything she wanted to be. Even at 16 years old he already was a very confident boy. He was incredibly smart, funny and a little bit nerdy. He didn’t belong to the upper class of their high school social pyramid, nor the middle, but he had no care in matching those standards because he loved himself for who he was - Stark Trek t-shirts, consumed tennis shoes and all.

In the short year the two of them were together, from junior to senior year, Jungkook became the reason behind Y/N’s happiness. She wasn’t aware of how lonely she really had been while asking to be left alone. Jungkook taught her to be open towards the world, to be curious and to believe in herself and her abilities. Thanks to him and his never ending support Y/N came to realize that she wasn’t meant to hide inside the abandoned storage room on the second floor, but she deserved the chance to follow her dreams.

Together they filed their applications for college: Jungkook always wanted to become an aerospace engineer and had set the personal - and ambitious - goal to work for NASA; Y/N, on the other hand, had worked hard during her last year in high school to win a scholarship for whichever Performing Arts College was willing to take her in - it didn’t matter which one because she knew she started her acting career late. All she wanted was to study to become an actress, to perform on stage and bring to life incredible stories, to be someone one day and someone else the other.

But it was such a big dream, something so fickle and risky, that Y/N couldn’t help but being overwhelmed by fear, not only for her future but that of Jungkook’s as well, because after all, despite all the changes she had gone through, a part of her was still hiding from the world. So she did something stupid, something very cliché, that nevertheless seemed the right thing to do at that time: she broke up with him.

It’s for his own good, she had thought. He is brilliant, I don’t want to hold him back.

Jungkook fought her and for her. He was afraid something like this would happen, he was sure it wasn’t what she really wanted, he knew she was just afraid. But Y/N was a very talented actress indeed and for a moment, as she looked straight into his dark eyes and told him she didn’t love him anymore, Jungkook felt his confidence waver.

“I’m really thankful for what you’ve done for me.” she had said. “I wouldn’t be who I am today if it wasn’t for you.”

“Please don’t lie.” he had whispered, trying to stop the angry and disappointed tears from falling from his eyes. “Don’t pretend. Not with me.”

“I’m not.” Y/N replied, her voice firm. “I loved you, I really did. You’ll be my first love forever, Kook.”

And the very next day, just like in one of those cheesy television dramas her mother loved so much, she flew hundreds of miles away from him, trying to not looking back.

If she said she never regretted it over the following years, it would be a lie. As she started her new life, she never failed to think of him. She wondered how he was doing, if his dreams were coming true and if he ever thought of her as much as she did of him. As she grew up and matured, Y/N realized how stupid her choice had been and how important Jungkook’s role had been in shaping her personality and in breaking her shell. Y/N was sure of it: if he didn’t found her that day inside the storage room, she wouldn’t be who she was today.

Years after she broke up with him, Jungkook still popped up into her mind every now and then. She thought of him the first time she was casted for a walk on role in a movie; she thought of him the first time her name was credited in an episode of a TV show; she thought of him the first time she won an award.

She thought of him with regret and a little bit of melancholy. Y/N never forgot him. Not even when when became so famous she barely had the time and energy to think about herself.

The first time Y/N heard his name spoken by someone else’s mouth, three years ago, was a complete shock. She never talked of him to anyone, apart form her mother, her brother and Jimin, her best friend and manager, so he was supposed to be a nobody to everyone else but herself. As it turned out, with a very mysterious turn of events, Jungkook had left the path towards aerospace engineering and had decided to take his chance with acting. And from what Y/N gathered from the overheard conversation, he was starting to make a name for himself as well.

That night, back in her multimillion dollar villa, Y/N researched his name on the internet for the first time.

He was new to the industry and there wasn’t much about him, it was like he popped out of nowhere. But it was definitely Jungkook, Y/N recognized him from the pictures. He had grown into a beautiful man, so handsome that she did a double take and then had to stop herself from drooling. It wasn’t like he was ugly when they were together, but he was just a skinny teenager back then and this was a man, a real man who had lost all of his baby fat and now had a razor sharp jaw and a muscular body. Apparently, he was the protagonist of an ongoing TV series that was gathering a lot of success putting him in the center of the attention. ‘The new heartthrob’, that was how he was being called.

Y/N couldn’t help but wonder what happened after they lost contact with each other that made him change his career so drastically. Whenever she thought about him she imagined him working on some challenging project for NASA, never on a movie set. She remembered he was passionate about theatre and cinema, but never once he had expressed the desire to become an actor like her. Y/N didn’t know what to think.

As the years passed, Y/N watched as his acting career grew, as he starred in a success after the other and as he earned the respect of even the most strict directors and critics.

Y/N watched, yes, but from afar, never daring to contact him and secretly avoiding the chances to meet him again.

She had been successful, until now.

The drive to the Dolby Theatre went far too quick for Y/N’s taste. She could barely remember how she got from the hotel room where she had been preparing to the black luxury van. Before she knew it her stylist was taking away her favorite slippers and was putting on her dress-matching Dolce&Gabbana heels.

Y/N didn’t have the time to think. Three years of running away and finally the moment had come. Jeon Jungkook - her first love, her ‘the one that got away’, probably her biggest regret - was probably in the car behind hers.

“Y/N, two minutes.” Jimin called out, warning her to get ready. “You know the deal. Deep breath and own that red carpet as you always do. And-”

“I know.” Y/N interrupted him. “The left side is my best side.”

The man, dressed up as well in a black tux, gave her a wink. “I’ll be right behind you. You got this.” he declared, looking at her intensely. “This is the one.”

“Thanks, Chim. But from all we know I could be the next Di Caprio.” she joked, the roaring noise from the red carpet now deafening.

“On my dead body.” he smirked. “Talk to you later, princess.”

“Later.” she hugged him briefly. “Oh, can you please make sure my mom and Seokjin got in fine? I totally forgot to call them.”

“Of course. My assistant is with them, anyways.” Jimin said, putting a hand on the door handle. “Ready?”

Y/N took a deep breath, put on her best charming expression and nodded. “Ready.”

As soon as he opened the door, Y/N was immediately hit by the boisterous and echoing call of the fans. She wasn’t sure if it was only her impression but it seemed like every single one of them was screaming her name. She was, indeed, one of the biggest names of the night, there was no use in denying it, but Y/N couldn’t help but wish they stopped making her presence so obvious.

A young usher, pretending not so well to be indifferent and trying to be professional, guided her towards the beginning of the red carpet, hundreds of cellphones following her movements like magnets.

“Please, come this way, miss Y/L/N.” the usher instructed in a slightly trembling voice. “There will be someone from the staff signaling you were to stop to pose for the photographers.”

Y/N knew this already. She had attended countless of events like this, after all. Yet she didn’t say anything to the shy boy, preferring to smile at him sincerely. “Thank you very much.” she said, watching as he blushed violently.

Y/N started her walk, Jimin and her stylist following a few steps behind to make sure that everything went smoothly. The photographers went wild as soon as they saw her, the flashes of their cameras blinding her almost angrily. She was used to it now, she had mastered the trick: squinting sexily and blinking strategically.

As she walked slowly towards the entrance of the theatre, posing with confidence and channeling her best princess warrior, Y/N almost forgot the worries she had about Jungkook, until a new wave of screams echoed to her ears. She stiffened, even if imperceptibly. It was him, the line up said he would be walking right after her.

The time had finally come. Ten years had passed and she was seeing Jeon Jungkook again for the first time.

She continued to walk nonchalantly, every step confident and her chin up and proud. But once she reached the end of the red carpet and the photographers moved their attention away from her, Y/N couldn’t help but stop for a second, ignoring a fellow actress and ‘friend’ waving at her a few feet further.

She could feel him, she could feel his presence behind her back. She could either turn around and catch a glimpse of him, or resume walking and pretend he wasn’t there. It took her a couple of moments of indecisiveness, in which Jimin looked at her questioningly, before taking the umpteenth deep breath of the evening.

She turned, the hem of her $30 000 black dress brushing almost magically over the carpet, and there he was. For a moment the memory of the nerdy boy from high school overlapped the image in front of her. She was well aware of the fact that he wasn’t that teenager anymore, she had seen his pictures, watched his movies and interviews. The boy she remembered was long gone: standing tall and proud, more than twenty feet from her, was now Jeon Jungkook ‘the actor’, dressed in a perfectly tailored night blue tux that highlighted his toned body, black patent leather shoes and impeccably styled hair.

And he was staring - with his dark and deep black eyes - right back at her.

#bts #bts fanfic #purplearmynet #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub #bts jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook romance #dfdph #spotlight

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jeongyunhoed · 3 years

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The 100-Day Relationship

alternatively titled: 10 Months Love

Member: Seonghwa Pairing: Seonghwa/OC Group: ATEEZ

Genre: Fluff, romance, comedy, tiny bit of angst (if you squint), fake dating

Summary: When wealthy socialite Juhyun is facing pressure to bring a date to the biggest wedding of the year and the beginning of the social season among the elite, she hurriedly asks an old college schoolmate, Park Seonghwa to be her boyfriend for the entire season. The longer they put up appearances, the more they realize that they never want the arrangement to end.

Things to note: Art curator!Seonghwa, a lot of expensive-ness going on. Other idols are mentioned as well (if you’ve read my fics, you know there will be). Tag list is forever open if you want to keep tabs on this fic, hehet!

Warnings: Some cussing, we’ll be feeling poor and broke with what’s in here.

Tag list: @closer-stars , @masterninjacow , @kunrengui

Masterlist

Chapter 2

“So who is he?” Kibum asked the next day over breakfast.

Kim Kibum was the son of the Kims that owned a chain of hotels and condominiums. The very building Juhyun lived in was owned by his family. The youngest son, he was a dedicated bachelor while his older siblings did all the corporate work. Kibum was also Juhyun’s best friend and constant date if she needed someone for an event, but she thought it would definitely change this time.

“Who is who?” Juhyun raised a brow.

“The guy you were with yesterday, grocery bags and all, I told you to call me after that meeting you had but you didn’t,” Kibum grinned. “So, who was he?”

“Park Seonghwa, he’s an old schoolmate of mine, and the guy,” Juhyun paused. “The guy I have arranged to be my boyfriend for this entire social season…?” She looked at him, a little wary about what she revealed.

Kibum gaped at her, unable to hide the surprise as he tried to understand what she did for a few seconds. “Juhyun….really? Are you that desperate?”

Juhyun rolled her eyes at him. “No, well, maybe, but seeing as Jihan practically humiliated me when he cheated, I’m taking any chance I get. Seonghwa knows and understands what we’re going to get ourselves into anyway.”

“Does Jinri know about this? You ought to tell the bride you’re bringing a plus one, given that she’s been bridezilla these past few weeks,” Kibum joked while taking a sip of his mimosa.

“I didn’t need to. Jinri just assumed I’d be bringing someone, she always says it’s in case I finally move on from Jihan,” She sighed. “Well, any day now, I’d have to meet Seonghwa again to go dress shopping.”

“Dress shopping? You mean no designer’s dressing you yet?” Kibum raised a brow.

“No, because they’re all occupied with the other people attending this wedding and their parents,” Juhyun shook her head. “I figured I’d reuse the blue Elie Saab gown I only wore once and it was during a magazine’s anniversary party. I was only there for 20 minutes anyway.”

Kibum sat up. “Either way, I’m looking forward to meeting Seonghwa, probably make him squirm about your relationship-”

Juhyun slapped his arm. “You will not. Now that you know that Seonghwa and I are pretending to be dating, I won’t let him be subject to your foolishness,” She blew a raspberry at him, making him laugh out loud.

“Alright fine. Anyway, you’re coming with me to Macau, right? I promised Elise I would be meeting her there.”

Juhyun raised a brow at the name. “Elise? Your new pursuit?”

“We’ve only been seeing each other for a month, Juhyun, I doubt it would last, but maybe I could still see her long enough until after the wedding.”

“I’m still keeping my fingers crossed for the two of you, and yes I’ll be going.”

That gave him an idea. “Ah, why don’t you bring Seonghwa along? We could have it like a double date,” He suggested.

It was Juhyun’s turn to look surprised. “...What?”

“Bring Seonghwa along. We’re taking my jet anyway, and it’s likely that Elise and I won’t be leaving our hotel room so I might not have time to take you around while we’re there,” Kibum winked, making her cringe.

“I-I guess I’ll try and see if he’s free,” Juhyun shrugged. “I can’t promise you that he’ll agree to come, we haven’t even set the date for when I’ll go dress shopping yet either, much less Jinri announcing when the wedding shower is.”

“You’ll never know if you don’t ask,” Kibum pointed out. “Tell him I asked, I really did ask you to bring him along after all.”

They sat up when they heard the elevator doors open in the hall. “Unnie,” They heard the voice of her sister Jihyun, sounding even more chipper than the last time she came to visit. Juhyun’s sister Jihyun, was known among society circles for her fashion sense. She was also dating Moon Bin, a celebrity choreographer, the two of them having been together for 4 years, one year more than when she and Jihan dated.

Juhyun and Kibum got up to see her. “Yeah?” She asked.

“I was- Oh hi Kibum,” Jihyun waved at him before handing Juhyun a lavender envelope. “That’s for the upcoming epilepsy benefit. It’s next week.”

Juhyun looked through the contents of the envelope. “Jihyun, did you know, your sister’s bringing a date,” Kibum suddenly said, making her nudge him hard. He laughed out loud, amused at her reaction.

Jihyun’s ears perked up. “...Who is it? It’s you, isn’t it?”

“Believe it or not, it’s not me,” Kibum thought to egg her on. “Juhyun’s got a boyfriend, the two of them have been seeing each other for a while now too.”

“Kibum!” Juhyun nudged him hard again, and he laughed even more.

Jihyun stared at her. “Well? Who is he? What’s his name? And more importantly, why haven’t you said anything?”

“Park Seonghwa, an old schoolmate of mine, he owns the Mars Art Gallery,” Juhyun replied. “And I didn’t want to jinx it. Things have been going very well,” She added, Kibum trying his hardest to stifle his laughter.

“What does he look like?” She could tell Jihyun was trying not to squeal with how unusually calm she sounded.

Juhyun took her phone out, showing her the selca they took together, leaning away when, as she expected, Jihyun squealed. “Oh my god, unnie … He’s gorgeous! Okay now I have to meet him when you bring him to the benefit, okay?” Jihyun brought out her own phone, tapping furiously that Juhyun knew she was telling their parents. “I have to go, I just came by to give you that invitation and now I’m glad I did! See you at the benefit, unnie! Bye Kibum!” She rushed back to the hall where the elevator was.

As soon as they heard the doors close again, Juhyun nudged Kibum again. “You really had to tell her, didn’t you?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

Kibum laughed. “Come on, Juhyun, think of that as a trial run before the wedding. Seonghwa will be better prepared by the big day once you bring him along to Macau, and at that benefit we now have to go to.”

“Alright, but because you’re insisting I bring him along, you are now sworn to secrecy,” Juhyun beamed. “If you tell, I’ll tell everyone you’re marrying Elise.”

Kibum feigned surprise then nodded. “Alright, you drive a hard bargain. This whole thing is safe with me.”

Hongjoong gaped at his friend. Seonghwa invited him over to eat lunch at the gallery, along with both their longtime friends who also worked for him, Kang Yeosang and Jeong Yunho, when he told all of them what was going on. Hongjoong worked as a producer for A Entertainment, but he also had a side gig as a street fashion designer, having launched capsule collections that were regular fixtures at Seoul Fashion Week. Seonghwa could argue that Hongjoong was also one of the few that actually succeeded in pursuing their major, and in Hongjoong’s case, it was music production. “...Are you joking?” Yunho managed to ask, and Seonghwa shook his head.

“Really? Was that why she was talking to you?” Hongjoong chimed in.

“Yes. It-It’s just for this whole social season she’s got going on and she said after all of that we won’t have to have anything to do with each other anymore,” Seonghwa explained.

“And you’re okay with this? “ Hongjoong raised a brow, wanting to be sure. “People of her kind of crowd aren’t exactly the nicest.”

“I know, I know, but I can hold my own, you’re making it sound as if I don’t deal with those types on an almost regular basis, rich stiffs tend to buy paintings from the gallery,” Seonghwa pointed out. “But I know Juhyun, I know she isn’t like that. She’s the opposite of a rich stiff. I mean, she’s rich, but she’s no stiff.”

“I do know that, we all know that, we’ve all gone to school with her,” Yunho spoke. “It’s the people in her circle that we know are those rich stiffs you’re talking about.”

“Well, I won’t say I’m not concerned, but who knows, maybe you’ll blend right in,” Yeosang commented. “Looks like the gallery’s going to get a ton of publicity once Seonghwa makes his society debut.”

The art curator frowned as they tucked back into their food. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and he paused eating to take it out. It was a message from Juhyun.

Epilepsy benefit next week. My sister’s dying to meet you already. Think we can meet tomorrow?

An amused smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and it didn’t go unnoticed by his three friends. “That was her, wasn’t it?” Hongjoong eyed him.

“As a matter of fact, it is,” Seonghwa replied coolly before typing his reply.

Sure. We can meet at that cafe again for lunch?

Seconds later, he saw a response.

It’s a deal.

“What did she say this time?” Yunho asked, wiping his mouth with a tissue.

“We’ve got our first event to go to next week. It’s an epilepsy benefit and we’re meeting tomorrow to go over the details, I guess,” He said. “And her sister wants to meet me.”

“Her sister? Choi Jihyun?!” Hongjoong’s eyes widened.

“Yeah, the same Choi Jihyun who is already dating that choreographer from F Entertainment,” Seonghwa remembered, making the shorter male frown and Yeosang and Yunho snicker. “I don’t think she’s willing to leave that guy for you either.”

Yunho and Yeosang burst into fits of laughter.

Seonghwa arrived at the cafe the next day, quickly taking the table close to the counter so he could look at the menu while he waited. He wondered what they were planning to do today while also thinking of what his friends had said. It was Juhyun’s friends that they were wary of, and he should be wary of them too. He still wanted to make a good impression. There was the publicity his art gallery was going to have once they go public.

“Hey.”

He snapped out of his thoughts when he saw Juhyun, looking a little embarrassed yet for some odd reason she looked different. It was then he realized that they seemed to be wearing the same pattern on their clothes; blue polo stripes against white, her blouse with his dress shirt under his blue blazer. If anything, they looked like a couple attending a gala on a yacht. “Hi,” He got up to greet her.

“Did you wait long? I’m sorry,” Juhyun said. “And what a coincidence too,” She gestured to their clothes, making the two of them chuckle. Seonghwa gestured for her to sit down and she sat across from him.

“I came just a little before you did so you weren’t late at all,” He assured her. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Just the raspberry iced tea?” Juhyun replied.

“Got it, I’ll be back,” He smiled, padding towards the counter.

Juhyun watched him, thinking about what Kibum told her. One of those social events would definitely have her parents in attendance, and the fact that her sister was aware of her so-called “relationship” with Seonghwa, it wouldn’t be surprising if they and their friends already knew and were trying to find out more about him. She just hoped he was prepared for it.

He returned a moment later, holding the tray with their drinks and set it down. “So what’s going to happen at this benefit? Other than your sister wanting to meet me?” He sounded eager.

“Well, my sister is an understatement, pretty much everyone who knows me will want to know who you are and how we met and what family you’re from, what business you own or specialize in, all of that stuff,” Juhyun swirled her straw in her drink.

“Oh, right, well, at least we have that covered. What time should I pick you up?” Seonghwa took a sip of his tea, looking at the invitation Juhyun slid towards him. “...Wow, this benefit seems huge,” He read the rest of the details. “It’s hard to book a function room in this hotel. Everything had to be made six months in advance,” It made him think of one high-profile exhibit he ended up hosting and the headache it caused him trying to book a venue months in advance.

“8:30, how about that? Cocktails are at seven, but I’d rather not go in for the small talk,” Juhyun frowned at the thought. The last thing she wanted to do at an event like that was to pretend to be friendly with everyone, including Jihan.

“It’s okay with me,” He nodded. “What time should we leave?”

“Because I don’t plan on staying there very long, 8:45?” Juhyun asked. Seonghwa stared at her incredulously. “I know it seems like a waste of effort, but really, events like that are incredibly boring.”

“So why do you even go in the first place?” Seonghwa was confused. He never understood why people of her stature would only afford to be at a black-tie event for a few minutes at a time.

“They’re also expecting I shell out some money to the cause, and it’s a good cause, I just don’t like who I have to mingle with for the sake of that cause,” Juhyun looked down as she took a sip of her drink. “And, for the sake of being petty, I plan on showing up on Jihan and Eunbi, which is why I asked you to meet me, because today’s a day we have to prepare for those events.”

“Prepare?”

“Yeah,” Juhyun nodded. “We’re going to go shopping for your suits.”

Seonghwa froze. “...Today?”

“Yeah, I have to look for a dress too because I only have one dress to recycle, and Jinri is going to demand to see what I plan to wear now before she freaks out later, yeah, you’ll meet her in the events too,” Juhyun added.

“Alright then, so where do we go first?”

“Department store, for your suits. I know just the place, well, it’s the only acceptable place to get fitted for suits in my opinion, I’ve never seen guys walk out of that place not looking good,” Juhyun said with a knowing look.

Seonghwa raised a brow. “...where is it?”

Juhyun smiled. “It’s an old place, but it’s great.”

They were standing in front of a Huntsman boutique at the topmost floor of the department store a while later. “This is what I was talking about…” Juhyun said quietly, glancing at him to see his reaction.

“...Here?” Seonghwa couldn’t hide how surprised he was.

“Yeah, what do you think? If you don’t want to, it’s okay, we can always go to where you usually get your suits…” Juhyun said, hoping she didn’t overstep any lines with him.

“No, no, it’s- I just only thought this was like the Kingsman movie for some reason,” Seonghwa assured her.

“You’ll need a few more suits for every event, and this is usually my father’s go-to shop whenever he has events, and these suits are made to last too,” Juhyun recalled what her father would always tell her mother. She took his hand. “Let’s go inside, we’re catching them on a quiet day.”

She led him inside the store, and Seonghwa looked at everything in awe. “Ah, Ms. Choi, hello,” He heard a man greet her, making him snap out of his momentary daze.

“Hello Basil, this is my boyfriend, Seonghwa,” She introduced them, Seonghwa immediately bowing. “He needs a few suits for this season.”

“Ah yes, busy time of year,” Basil replied, looking him up and down. “He has the built for a suit like ours, I’ll get your measurements and you could pick the fabric,” He gestured to the large rolls of fabric on the shelves behind the desk.

“Send me the total and I’ll make some calls,” Juhyun said. “Sorry, I know, I know what you’re already thinking,” She flashed Seonghwa a sheepish grin. “I promise everything else is on you to spend on me.”

“Now I’m getting nervous on how much I have to spend on you,” He teased.

“I swear I’m not as fancy as I probably seem right now, I don’t even go in here a lot,” She pointed out with a chuckle. “I buy my clothes where everyone buys their clothes.”

“I know, and I don’t doubt that at all,” Seonghwa kissed her cheek, the two of them freezing for a moment at the sudden display of affection. Juhyun felt her cheeks heat up, partly in embarrassment as it happened in front of Basil.

She watched Seonghwa get measured, eyes traveling to the fabrics as she tried to compose herself. She was initially worried about insisting on everything so far, but she was relieved that he was okay with whatever she showed him. “All the men in my family come to this tailor for their suits. Basil worked in the actual Savile Row shop,” She eyed the tailor, who just smiled.

Seonghwa looked impressed, lifting his arms when the tailor went to run a measuring tape along them. “Oh yes, Ms. Choi’s family have been loyal patrons at the Savile Row boutique. I remember having to measure your grandfather,” He replied. “I would personally recommend a navy blue velvet tuxedo jacket for one, bespoke of course.”

Juhyun nodded, giving Seonghwa an assuring look as well, sensing that he was still trying to get used to getting fitted. “Sure, h-how long until it’s done?” He spoke this time.

“For Ms. Choi’s date? Six weeks at the most, both of you won’t need to worry,” Basil assured them.

“Oh, now I see why we had to go here early,” Seonghwa’s eyes widened.

The two of them were walking along the dress boutiques a while later, stopping every now and then to look at the designs displayed on the mannequins. “There’s something else I have to talk to you about,” She said, as they stopped in front of a slightly more colorful dress shop. “My friend Kibum, he owns the building I live in, he’s inviting us to go with him to Macau.”

“Macau?” Seonghwa asked curiously.

“Macau,” Juhyun nodded. “He’s inviting you too to come with me, keep me company or something like that because he’s meeting his girlfriend there.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Really?”

“Yeah. He also wants to meet you. He’s one of my best friends. We’re taking his jet so you don’t have to worry about tickets or anything.”

“Alright then, I think I can leave for a week or something,” Seonghwa nodded. He hadn’t traveled in a while. Neither did Juhyun, who seemed especially surprised at his answer. The two of them figured they still had some getting to know each other to do. He noticed the green and black dress behind the mannequin. “That dress seems like it would look good on you,” He gestured to the display, making her turn around.

“You think so?” Juhyun nodded, looking at the details. “Let’s ask inside then.”

They quietly entered the shop, seeing all the mannequins dressed in long ball gowns and tuxedos. There were photos of celebrities on the walls having worn some of the dresses that were proudly on display, including the dress they were looking at. Juhyun rang the little bell on the desk, and her expression fell when out from the backroom was none other than Kim Eunbi herself, who looked just as disappointed to see her.

“Oh, well, well, well, if it isn’t Choi Juhyun and,” She tilted her head. “Park Seonghwa, right? Jihan told me about your new...squeeze.”

“Hello Eunbi,” Juhyun replied. “I was going to inquire about the dress on that display at the window-”

“Nice, isn’t it? I was inspired by The Devil Wears Prada, Seo Yeji went head over heels for that number, but you’re no Seo Yeji,” Eunbi pointed out.

“Of course I’m not Seo Yeji, I have a different name,” Juhyun quipped back.

Eunbi’s expression stiffened. “Well, if you think I’m going to sell you that dress, you’re probably kidding yourself. Off you go, chop chop,” She gestured them to go away.

“...Excuse me?” Seonghwa blurted out. He could feel his blood boil at the rudeness that was in front of him.

Eunbi laughed a mocking laugh. “Go on, chop chop, before I close this shop out of an abundance of caution. As if I would give any of you the pleasure of wearing my creations.”

Juhyun calmly nodded and turned on her heel. “Come, there are other places to shop,” She muttered to him, and he followed, his free hand curling into a fist as they closed the door, walking down the other direction to the other boutiques.

“If I didn’t care enough, I would’ve lost it at the way she treated you,” Seonghwa frowned as they walked.

“I kind of expected it anyway the moment I realized she owned that shop,” Juhyun said.

“If she knows who you are, she should’ve honestly feared you, you might have her kicked out of this place or something,” Seonghwa said.

“Maybe, since my family owns this department store.”

Seonghwa gaped at her. “Then all the more you should’ve done something, have her kicked out for being rude to you, she doesn’t deserve to be here, she doesn’t deserve to run her own line at all if she’s going to be like that.”

“I know, but it’s not worth my time, I’ve got other things to worry about, like what we’re going to do in Macau or something,” Juhyun chuckled, linking her arm with his. “Why would I waste my time trying to ruin her when I know I’m better off where I am anyway?”

That seemed to make him feel better, but he figured he’d say something if Eunbi tried to do anything again if they were going to see each other at the events. Seonghwa placed his hand over hers. “...Since we’re going to be a couple for this social season, we’d better get comfortable like this, wouldn’t we?”

“Yeah, for a second I was worried that this might come off too strong or something,” Juhyun chuckled, squeezing his arm, feeling the muscle tense under her fingers.

“If we’re going to be believable, coming off too strong on each other is probably what’s needed,” Seonghwa agreed with a knowing look. “We’re going crazy like Jackson Pollock on his canvas.”

“Are you going to make art puns this whole time?” She laughed at the comparison.

“Maybe, hey, you’re supposedly dating an art curator, and I know my art,” Seonghwa grinned. “Want to get some ice cream before we go back to shopping?”

“Just the ice cream. I think after today, I’ll just figure out what I’ll be wearing for the next few months.”

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atsunflower · 4 years

Text

Hospital for souls — Intro

Rated: SFW

Author note: hey yall! This is the first chapter for my "Throne: the series". Remember, it's a yakuza!au, so there will be lots of mentions of dark themes. This chapter, thought, is safe and kind of plain, but totally important to the start. Please, enjoy your reading!

Warnings: cursing and slight mentions of anxiety and OCD.

I — Intro

Previous || Next

You walked down the aisle sandwiched between two bodies clad in Armani suits. Even though they knew you woudn’t dare to, they held you like you were about to run away from this whole circus.

There was no bridal march, neither a suntuous decoration. The Elie Saab gown you wore was heavy on your body, making you feel like you didn't belong; the harsh glares thrown at you didn't help either.

You felt helpless.

In the end of the red carpet, a man stood tall and stoic. His hair wasn't combed so the wavy locks were free to frame his face; the harsh glare he gave you three did nothing to diminish his beauty — at least, you tought, he's not a creepy old man. But this fact don't made you feel any relief.

Your head then hung low, as if you were trying to vanish away from this ceremony. The blond man by your left tightened the hold in your arm —not for support, but as warning— while the gray haired one only clicked his tongue; their implicit threat made your skin craw.

Two months ago, you'd never imagine your life would change completely, considering you weren't given any options.

Two months ago, a tall brown haired man would escort you out of the hospital you worked and then, take you to your doom: from a fatherless daughter to a bastard of Inarizaki and then, a bride for a man you never saw before. A whole arrangement that lasted 60 days and took you away from everything you had, from everything you knew.

Lost in thoughts, you didn't feel when your steps halted nor when the two figures who held you let go of your arms to take their seats. The man waiting for you don't bothered to acknowledge your presence by his side, but you saw his features hardening once you reached for him.

In shades of orange and black, the venue pretty much looked like a courtroom, its aesthetic doing nothing to ease your nerves. In the pulpit, an old man stood proud, sporting a wise aura only the time could give him.

The elder cleared his throat and everyone in the room stood on their feet.

"Good evening ladies, gentlemen and the distinguished people from the families" his voice sounded loud and mighty, even if he wasn't using a mic. "Tonight, we are reunited to celebrate an unprecendented moment in the history of our kind: the union of Inarizaki and Itachiyama households"

A minute of silence was made; everyone in the place held a solemn face, waiting for the man to proceed.

"I, Ukai Ikkei, the elder of Karasuno, feel honoured to lead such important event" He said placing his right hand on his chest "Assuring you all that, Karasuno, the household responsible for all the bureaucracy and diplomacy related to our activities, is still commited to keep a neutral eye over families matters only to officialize, document and inspect the agreements between the families. That being said, the ceremony shall begin."

His raspy voice dragged the boring speech until a men with bleached hair walked to where you and the groom stood, with a huge book in his hands. He carefully placed it on the desk in front of you, grabing the leathern material of its cover and opening it.

"Tonight, a new chapter is added to the Book of Deals. With clauses that concern only the involved parts, we witness the signing of this agreement by the main heads of Inarizaki and Itachiyama, as well the bride's signature. But first, shall we hear the marriage votes and the exchange of rings"

A man from Itachiyama's side stood and came to you both, holding a black velvety box. He opened it, offering its contents at you first; you took the larger golden band and started:

"I, [L/N; Name], daughter of Inarizaki, give you, Sakusa Kiyoomi, this ring as a symbol of my commitment to you and Itachiyama, manifesting my will to this alliance between our families" surprisingly, your voice sounded steady while reciting the speech you knew by heart, paying no mind to the snickering behind you.

Sakusa looked at you with distaste, his body going stiff the moment you held his hand and slipped the golden band to his ring finger. He then took the remaining jewel and turned to you:

"I thee wed" and you felt even more humiliated, the jiggles only adding more weight to the diamond ring in your finger.

To your relief, Ukai cleared his throat again, proceeding with the formalities

"Now may the newly weds to sign the Book. I also summon Inarizaki oyabuns to officialize the deal." Atsumu and Osamu were by your side, eager to finish this. Sakusa went first, smoothly running the pen over the page. Then, Ukai handed him a glistening object.

God, you hated it here.

Using the lancet, the tall ravenette punctured his thumb, smearing the blood between his fingers and then pressing the red fingerprint onto the blank paper.

Before handing you the fountain pen, he fished a tube of hand sanitizer from his pocket, rubing the alchool as if his life depended on it.

Did the man suffer of OCD? You almost pitied him. Almost.

Then, it was your turn. Scribbling down your name next to his, you sealed your fate.

Sakusa [Name].

You flinched when you felt your thumb getting punctured, Atsumu doing you the favor and smirking at your reaction; why the man hated you so much?

The blood stained the beautiful dress you wore, before printing your mark on the paper.

Almost a metaphor, as if you were now tainted too.

When the twins were done, the old Ukai was more than ready to wrap the event.

"With both consents and the power vested in me by the families, I now pronouce you married. May peace prevail among Inarizaki and Itachiyama"

"Aren't the newly-weds supposed to kiss now?" You heard Atsumu whispering to Osamu. The latter merely scoffed at his brother's stupid antics.

Everyone got out of the room, since Karasuno would host a reception in honor of the wedding.

During your time in Inarizaki, you learned that the place worked as a hotel for the Yakuza.

The Crow, as it is called, was supposed to be a neutral space where the most important matters to the families were held. With a glamourous western architecture, it looked like one of those luxury mansions from the movies.

In the ballroom, soft piano melodies were being played and waiters offered booze to the guests.

The champagne tasted stale in your mouth.

You were now sitting alone in a table on the corner, observing the other people mind their own business, too absorbed in their bubble of power and crime.

You would never get the way they acted so nonchalant, when everything they had was made of blood. This coldness was scaring.

"Why are you so sad in your big day?" The snarky question almost had you spitting the champagne. The brunette sat by your side, his mouth doing a soft curve as an apologetic smile.

"You tell me, you little shit" your reply came in a joking tone, trying to ease the bad sensation on your guts, but he got what you meant.

"You know, it could've been worse." he let out a breath, looking around the saloon "You know how Atsumu is. Also, Osamu shares that weird twin bond of theirs, so it's hard to tell what he's thinking. But it definetely could have been worse"

"I figured it out by myself, Suna-kun. It's just hard to accept the fact I was dragged to this against my own will." a tear rolled in your left cheek and the man by your side wiped it with his thumb.

"Yeah, but the former lady wanted you dead back then" always blunt, he never held back when stating the facts "Things work this way between the families. You were lucky you haven't to face a bigger mess" he held your hand over the table, while propping his chin on the other palm.

It was Suna who brought you into this life. Though, you never resented him because you knew he was just following strict orders. Besides, he was the only one who was nice towards you; never knowing when it happened, you both agreed on this weird friendship a couple of weeks ago. Now he was the only person you cared about.

"But it's not that bad. You are going to live in that huge ass mansion of your husband" the playful tone and the way he wiggled his eyebrows was comical. "You also can see the weird faces he makes first hand. Man, the way he looked constipated during the ceremony was fucking priceless." You accompanied him on a snort, almost forgetting the circumstances.

"I'm going to miss your antics so bad" and you would have said more, if it wasn't for the shadow looming over you.

Sakusa was standing behind your chair, with a face mask covering his features.

If stares could kill, you'd be dead on spot.

"Time to go" was all he said, waiting for you. You bid goodbye to Suna and followed your husband out of the hotel, a sleek sports car waiting for you two while you made your way towards it.

He stopped dead on his tracks, taking a hold of you arm.

"Listen. Itachiyama is famous for respecting our women." You frowned "But know your place and don't even try to make a fool of me or of my household, got it?" His voice was slighty muffled by the mask, but you still understood every single word he said.

"What do you mean?" You asked, ignoring the way he tightened the grip on your arm, resuming his steps.

"Simple. Stay out of my way or you'll deeply regret it, you fox runt."

❥ tagging: @kenmamazing, @keekee-732, @chiibichann, @shinguchi, @captain-shittykawa, @fortheloveofbakugo, @daisyjaebae, @jihoonspout, @floodinginstars, @fl4mepillar, @trash4sportsanime, @translucentthoughts, @kemochie;

#throne: the series #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa scenarios #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu yakuza au #throne haikyuu yakuza au

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originalpistol · 3 years

Text

𝐹𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝐦𝐲 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠. — Part One

Lace flowed down to plank wood flooring, and spilt on down for a foot or two of train. The brims of my lips were full with various little hemming pins, all so I could make the appropriate alterations. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d stood so firmly in one spot, despite my feet begging to be free of the heels. Nope. There would be no rest in sight. At least, not for the near future. My mind was busy rambling over and over last week’s events and just how everything had played out. Part of my soul still remained cautious and in disbelief of it all, but yet here I stood. Tacking in pin after pin to hold the dress in the perfect placement for when I was ready to lead it away, and into the sewing cabinet. Baby blue eyes scanned across the mirrored board I had many measurements spread across, nodding to myself once more as I slipped another pin from between my lips, into my fingers, and right by my thumb right through the soft — damn near silken, fabric. Weaving the pin into place, and securing it with a final thread of fabric against the shoulder. Draping it down to sit perfect against the shoulder of the mannequin at hand. They would slouch slightly, but never enough to reveal too much skin. Classy. Effortlessly classy. For a moment I pulled away from my project to look over it, eyes narrowing in suspicion and critique of my own work. Everything would be perfect, and without flaw by the time I was done. Oh, but time was ticking. Even as I worked away day after day, hour after hour. Refining each and every aspect of this dress. Adding subtle changes, and even some dramatic ones. I’d went from loving the way it looked soft and delicate to craving something more extravagant. More length. More crystal organza, more finely made textures. Something for every bride. How in the 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒍 hell had I managed to get into this? Surely to God people were going to be floored when they saw a 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 line come from one of the biggest names in lingerie. The question rose in my mind quicker than I’d been able to stop it, and I hadn’t given much time to the whole idea. Hell, I didn’t pay it enough mind to even stop the sweeping motion of my needle and thread. Closely, and precisely, guiding the needle in against the smallest stitch. Over and over until I’d mastered the perfect design. I was laying a pattern for Swarovski to follow with their intricate beading of crystals. Each dress would dawn a new take on an old classic. News of my collaboration with Elie Saab and Oscar de la Renta caught on like wildfire amongst a desert dry forest in the heat of July. Each dress was created with a particular vision, and each dress would hold its own place amongst the lineup of weddings. Some were season-specific, while others were indicative of an era in time. One doesn’t downplay a classic. No. We are here to pay homage to the times that have passed, and to restore them to a more refined glory. These dresses were all inspired. Each piece was something new, and each one held a certain key to my heart. I’d dedicated months upon months to the core design before I would even remotely allow the other designers to spill their own creativity into the designs. Not even a sketch was released. All anyone knew was the letter I’d sent over. Handwritten, and forwarded by person to be hand-delivered. Everything was reminiscent of a step-back in time. I wanted these dresses and this collaboration to drip in the essence of the beauty in simplicity. ✦✧✦ ✧✦✧ ✦✧✦ My dearest Oscar, I write to you in hopes to achieve something wonderful. Something no one expects. I hope to restore the light of a time passed to the overly sensitized world at hand. To bring something back that was once a simple dream. You’ve touched some of the most delicate fabrics in efforts to create the best designs in wedding couture. You’ve mastered the art, and I hope to do the same. This fall, I plan to release a line of wedding dresses unlike any prior. With the skillful design I’ve created, and the whimsical guide of Elie’s details, and your fabrics; this will be the crowning moment. You’re probably wondering why I, of all people, have decided to do this. And maybe you think you know. I doubt if you do. The reason is simple: Every bride deserves to have something that speaks to her soul. Most women settle on their dress for something similar to what they desire the most. Why? Well, because while this dress might have the sparkle she craves, that one mirrors the perfect amount of tulle to train ratio. After all, isn’t the fabric more important than the embellishments? For her — the truth is no. But she will settle for yes. It is close enough. I refuse. In February you and Elie will receive instructions on how you’ll not only travel to my studio, but everything else of importance to your stay. Plan for a few months, at the least. I won’t accept no as an answer. When this letter is delivered, I will assume it as a yes. Much love and regards, Alice. ✦✧✦ ✧✦✧ ✦✧✦ Both he and Elie were given the exact letter, with a few minor changes. They both knew me far too well to challenge my stance on this collaboration. Once I set my mind and focus to something? It will be mine. They would see the signature of my first name as a comfort, and as a symbol of our close relations. It was rare that I let anyone call me by my first name, and especially as I grew to a higher stature within the realm of business and high fashion. There was no need for semantics or intermingling of feeling, not as far as I was concerned. This was much of why I was regarded to as cold or standoffish. I simply wasn’t one that cared too much for feelings or anything that would stand in my way of getting what I wanted, or where I wanted to be. Nimble, agile, fingers tempted the tip of the needle to edge between the layers of a well-defined ruffle of silk and lace. I’d slipped to my knees in efforts to truly capture the design I planned to embody with this dress. Different from the last, in every way possible. Down to the stitching. None of these pieces would hold the same fabrics, or even the same similarities. This is why I’d found eight young ladies who were planning to make their walk down the infamous aisle sometime in their near future. I brought these women in, interviewed each one for hours on end, and eventually came out with a sketch in mind of what I would do. Though none of them knew to expect their perfect dress to show up in their closets, let alone to be snatched from the real world, and thrown onto a runway in front of millions of designers, and couture-hounds alike. See, the whole catch to my plan was that in order for these women to receive their dream gown would be their cooperation in walking the runway. Some would succeed, and others? They would fall through the cracks of their fragile minds as nerves came out to play. Those ladies are nothing more than a weak representation of a woman. I’d simply roll my ocean inspired eyes, and scrap their sketch from the book that lay in my leather clad lap. Let my gaze fall on the crumpled paper rather than the girl. She wouldn’t be worth the time to give another look. Instead, my dismay and lack of interest was more than enough to settle any questions she might have. 𝑵𝒆𝒙𝒕. Black fingernails slowly tapped down against the course cartridge paper at hand, giving way to the thinning of my patience. Not only in the ladies, but in the process as a whole. Only one dress was finished. It was now mid-June. I had eight ladies locked in. None of which would know that it was their dress that was looming in the balance if they chose to back away from the runway when their time came. Hell, the only way any of the others knew that was the plan was by the way I scraped the dress’s sketch in entirety. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’d heard the audible crumble of a dream from the gasp that spilt by the hopeful lips of a bride. Did I get joy from the shattered hope? Hell yes. But did I care enough to even deliver the pathetic tribe of bride’s their sketches, anyways? I could. Maybe that would be the least I could do considering the sheer amount of man-hours I’d taken from their lives to create a design all their own. All to leave their precious dresses a compromised mess on the guest-office floor. I wouldn’t dare let them set foot in my office. Jesus, no. Either way? These ladies had their chance at a once-in-a-lifetime gown. It was on them that they couldn’t check themselves when it came to their own mental measurements. “Sucks to suck, I suppose,” Southern reflects built into the sentence at hand, and a smirk rode along my lush lips. There wasn’t even a small hint of sarcasm resonating behind each of these words. Nope. in all seriousness I’d stood to my feet, and nodded one of my employees to gather the remaining sketch from the floor before it landed in the hands of a vengeful bride. We all knew how emotional women tended to be when a wedding was in the mix — how fucking classic. For the life of me, I couldn’t wrap my head around being a bitch at the cause of a wedding .𝐽𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑐𝘩. Rip the band-aid off, and get it over with, princess. The impulsive reaction to roll my eyes was something I couldn’t and wouldn’t refrain from. So, naturally, I let my head doddle back against slender shoulders, let out a disgruntled sigh, and rolled my eyes. Nothing new here. Perfectly manicured fingers began to tap down against the marble table top, mind dwindling on what I was going for next. Crush another soul? Nah. A few a day was more than enough. Slowly, I thumbed through the sketchbook at my fingers. Each page was filled with a few small ideas of swatches, or drawings pertaining to the one dress at hand. There was a different book per bride; Per dress. Nothing about these pieces was easy. There were challenges hidden within each and every design. Sure, some were complex while others remained simple to the touch, yet they were all a challenge. Though I did love a genuinely good boggle of the mind. They always brought out the best pieces. A small smile curved into place against my lips the moment I thought about having each and every piece of my collection complete. Without a second thought, I sprung to action. Slipping the shading pencil from behind my ear, and between my fingers as I found the correct page. This would be where I worked on the bodice of Alicia’s dress. Alicia. Boy, there really was nothing too special about her. She was rather plain. Dirty blonde hair, dark brown eyes, and with a personality about as exuberant as a rock’s. It was sad, really. However, I could see where her ideas blossomed. They weren’t cohesive to say the least, but they allowed me enough wiggle room to be able to create a true masterpiece. This particular dress was beginning to grow into a personal favorite. A skirt created purely out of a glimmer encrusted lace, and followed through with a sateen tie securing the bottom of the waistline, and cinching her inward. Something to allow her to look smaller in stature. At her request. Brisk strokes of the lead against the thick paper resulted in a slender design. Something with bones in it, but undetectable to the naked eye. No one would openly know of this bride’s struggle with her own self-reflection. As far as I was concerned? The only one who would know of this would be the fingers whom built the dress, and the one who wore it down the damn aisle. On to the neckline. I tinkered around on several ideas for this particular design. Would I leave the shoulders bare and exposed, or would I place small sleeves to cusp the tanned skin? Neither. I decided to wrap the same sateen around her neck as if it were a gentle fist slipping around the slender exterior. Something sensual to the eyes, and yet leaving a mystery beneath. Giving her freedom for any surprise she hoped to give beneath. Sleeveless dresses made that hard. Once the draft of my design for Alicia was done, I made a conscious effort to pen in the number 8. Eight dresses down. Eight that have been completed from my side of the sketchbook, and from my hands? This book would travel to both Elie and Oscar for their creative input. By the end of this, we would easily have every page bruised with scritches and scratches of the design. Perhaps to the naked, untrained eye, you wouldn’t see anything more than a mess strewn across the pages. Probably. But between the three of us? This show should debut as one of the best. A show that was truly bound to top any prior to, and probably would outweigh others to come. Nothing new there, when it came to things I created. A deep sigh parted my soft, lush lips, and I found myself flipping the pages of the leather-bound book closed, and slipping it inside my bag. Now, to hand this off to the boys. Light echoes of my heels touching base with the wooden floors filled the empty office around me; I loved that noise. I always had. I could remember being a little girl and demanding to wear heels, or the closest thing to it. The house was always filled with some clacking noise or another. Somehow, someway, I was going to feel like I was somebody. Crazy how wearing heels could bring on that semblance. Heels made me feel like I could take over the world. — Maybe, just maybe that was why I owned so damn many. Locks of caramel brown hair flowed heavenly against my slender shoulders when I pushed my way through the arched glass doors. A single handprint coming into view when I did, and I didn’t bother to knock when I stepped into the threshold of their corridor. Both of them were to their own vices, one studying over what seemed to be a different set of sketches, and the other was focused right to an easel and a wooden palette. There had to be eighteen color mixtures spilt against the grain, and something about that caused a small smile to spill out against porcelain features. The way all of our minds work so differently, but yet we could all come to a harmony? Beautiful. The respect both of these men had earned from me was to a level very few were ever able to acquire, and a piece of me hoped I had managed to gain this from their perspectives as well. It wasn’t until Elie reached a single hand out that I was brought right back to the moment at hand, and a sly little smirk prompted itself in among my pink shaded lips. “Damn, you really think I’m just going to hand the sketches over that easily? Good try. No. You 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 are going to hear what I have to say, and then you can have the sketches to do with as you will.” Every reflect of my tone was laced with a strict implication. This show was my baby. My process. My idea. “Hmm,” Oscar hummed out of chapped lips that were shrouded in a line of stubble that faded against his neck. “You’re just as difficult as Christian regarded, my dear. But exhilarating, nonetheless, hmm?” Those words seemed to be coated with a fatherly affection, and something in that seemed to ease me. One swift nod was given in his respect, Elie nodded his own approval of my conditions to which I would show them. Without the smallest hesitation I made myself at home on the ottoman that sat only a foot or two shy of both men, letting my gaze wander over them for a moment or two longer. “In this book there are 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 dresses. Each and every dress is to be worn by the bride that will walk in it, and every dress will be exactly as she envisioned it. There will be no flaws. There will be no settling for one thing over the other. You two will take every little note I’ve given, and you will transform. I have designed each skirt and bodice. Fine details and embellishments; that is your specialties. Right hand moves in accordance with the left, boys. I want no changes made to the base of the dress.” “Seven? There are supposed to be 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭..?” Elie questioned, raising a single bushy brow in my direction. “There 𝐚𝐫𝐞 eight. You have seven.” Every word that spilt past my lips was certain and calculated. “Alice. Why are we only to have seven if there are eight to be completed? You cannot hand us a partial portfolio of sketches.” Oscar seemingly argued towards my words, and I hadn’t been able to help the eyeroll. “In due time. You both will see the eighth dress. Independently. Of my own volition. As for now? Complete the first seven, when that is done I should have my segment of the eighth dress completed.” No, I hadn’t withheld the last dress as a way of buying myself any time. Not in the slightest. It was actually a quite different reason, if I was being completely honest with myself, but it was a reason I was inaudibly terrified to admit both to myself and to anyone else on the face of the earth. Fᴇᴀʀ — This was something I was foreign to both in mind and emotion. Hell, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d allowed myself to feel any sense of fear, and there was something in that fact alone that sent my mind into a mild panic. Though I sat still right in front of both of these men, and kept every hint of emotion beneath the perfect premise of a woman; saving my face for my own mirror. A confident smile spelled its way across my lips as I handed over both the bag and the sketchbook full of my designs. Oscar went in for his usual hug, but instead was met with a firm handshake and a warm gaze. The same was given to Elie as I knew far too well what would follow the endearing touch of a hug. You could tell by the way I remained rather detached from the exit that there was a story looming in the depths of my mind, and perhaps haunting the trenches of my heart. Before I knew it, I was standing outside the glass doors, fingers shaking in the memory that deemed itself important enough to shroud my accomplishment. Every goddamn dress was completed from my side of the sketchbook. Every pin was perfectly placed, and everything was exactly how I wanted it, but yet here I stood with the weight of what felt like the entire ocean on my small form. I was drowning. Was this going to be a continual hindrance in my life? Would I always be plagued with the hurt and fear that riddled its way through each and every bone in my body? Looks like it’s time to shut yourself off from both mind and heart, Alice. Time to go void. Fuck emotions, right? E x a c t l y. Broken glass crashed to the ground only seconds before, and now? — 𝑵𝒐𝒘 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒖𝒑𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒚 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒔, 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒇 𝒂 𝒉𝒆𝒆�� 𝒅𝒆𝒆𝒑, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒆.

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amphtaminedreams · 4 years

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A/W 2020 Fashion Month: Before Vogue Went Blank (Part 2)

Hi to anyone reading,

I was going to start this post by jumping straight into Dion Lee and part 2 in general but there's been a lot going on the past couple of days-although this blog is primarily fashion, it wouldn’t feel right to start talking about designers without acknowledging all the shit that’s been going down.

^Photo Credit to @spiltcoco on Twitter

Yesterday, police footage came out of US police murdering yet another black man in broad daylight-George Floyd. He joins Sandra Bland, Eric Garner, Tamir Rice, Freddie Gray, and Alton Sterling, plus hundreds more named and god knows how many more unnamed African American citizens in the ever-growing list of victims of police brutality.

The majority of these are just people going about their daily lives, a majority of them doing absolutely nothing wrong; even those we know to have committed crimes have been unarmed and non-violent offenders. That being said, their offences are beside the point when we’ve seen the white perpetrators of mass shootings be calmly cuffed and escorted into the backs of police cars as if they were the ones selling cigarettes without permits. American police, given the amount of them that are armed, regularly become judge, jury and executioner trained for 8 weeks by an institution that originated from slave patrols. I cannot imagine how terrifying it is just to walk around as a PoC in America. I cannot imagine the collective trauma that has been suffered because of recent events on top of the intergenerational trauma that most likely exists because of centuries of oppression. I cannot imagine what it’s like to live in a country that was built to suppress you and was by law allowed to do so until very recently, those original structures still in place. I cannot imagine what it’s like to be made to feel like this is your fault. I mean, Boris Johnson is a useless, cold-hearted twat and I won’t defend him or this country for a minute (we have much blood on our own hands, and racial profiling is just as much a thing here as it is in America-I read earlier that you’re 28 times more likely to be stopped and searched in London as a non-white person compared to a white person), but I still can’t imagine him publicly advocating for the mass murder of groups he knows to be primarily made up of black people via Twitter. This whole situation is so unimaginably fucked up; anyone who still sees America as one of the world’s most developed nations needs to take a long, hard look at what is going on and reconsider that opinion.

Whilst we can’t fix everything, we can all speak up and make our voices heard, and it is our duty to do so. It’s not good enough to just “not be racist”, you have to be ANTI-racism, even if that means constantly reflecting on your own privilege and challenging your assumptions. Neutrality is complicity. Signing a petition isn’t going to change the world, but it’s a start:

https://www.change.org/p/mayor-jacob-frey-justice-for-george-floyd?recruiter=false&utm_source=share_petition&utm_medium=twitter&utm_campaign=psf_combo_share_initial&utm_term=psf_combo_share_abi&recruited_by_id=7ba70000-a127-11ea-87fb-d1ff0bf6ea96

As I publish this, there’s less than 50,000 signatures needed to hit the target of 6,000,000 so if you happen to see it, get signing! There are lots of other petitions online but Change.org seems to be the only major one you can sign in the UK as the other are US based and require a zip code. I never thought I’d close a paragraph by quoting Macklemore but the line “no freedom 'til we're equal, damn right I support it” is at the forefront of my mind right now. Again, neutrality is complicity. We’re never going to achieve a fair society by sitting on our asses and hoping things will improve. Let’s all do the best we can.

Sorry if that intro wasn’t what you came here for, but I just think it’s so important to talk about. I know I’ve said in the past that fashion is supposed to be an escape from everyday life but there are some times when real life needs our attention and this is one of them. Feel free to unfollow if you disagree.

Anyway, onto the fashion. If this is the first post you’re reading, welcome! There’s a part 1! But I don’t wanna be pushy so start here if you wish!

If you read part 1, welcome back!

I ended that post by practically falling at the feet of Dilara Findikoglu, and I so wanted to start this post by regaining a sense of dignity and go straight into what-the-fuck-ing at Dior, but I know breaking chronological order would really piss off those “OmG I’m SoOo OCD, tHis BuzZfeEd aRtiCle WiTh DiFfereNt SiZed TiLes ToLd Me!” which is basically me minus claiming liking things to be organised means I have OCD-no, just dermatillomania and the denial that a compulsive skin picking disorder has anything to do with OCD because the neuroses club that is my brain doesn’t have any space left. SO, I have to continue where I left off and star the post with Dion Lee, whose collections I am a big fan of.

I could ramble a bit more but I did enough of that at the beginning of part 1 and am sure I’ll do more than enough in this post anyway, so here it is, Dion Lee:

Considering we ended with the maximalism of Dilara Findikoglu, sliding back over towards the other far end of the scale with a designer that tends to pitch their tent on the borders of the minimalism camp feels correct. Dion Lee, fortunately, seems the perfect collection to open with. There aren’t many other brands who do edge in such an understated and masterful way. If you want to be ready for combat and look like you’d fit right in at Vogue at the same time, look no further. This season’s collection is full of perfectly placed cut outs and immaculate tailoring and subtle street fighter-esque details as ever, and that’s why it pains me to say it:

Not that this is enough in the way of critique to restore my dignity by any means, it’s not a patch on last season.

I don’t think there was a single bad look in that show, and at times it felt like I was weeding through them here. When the looks were good, they were GOOD but a lot I found to be disappointing. Plus I have no idea why you’d put tie-dye in an A/W collection. I appreciate that it’s an Australian brand and that our winter is their summer, but they’re presenting to the rest of the world at fashion week and anyone in Paris, Milan, London and New York is going to be freezing their tits off and looking like a twat in an orange tie-dye sundress. There wasn’t much of a dip in quality for the menswear compared to last season, but honestly womenswear left a lot to be desired. That’s what happens when your expectations are high.

I used to think that if you assume the worst, it’s impossible to feel let down. And then I saw Dior’s A/W 2020 collection. Did a full 180 on that statement.

I suppose it’s a step up from haute couture, but then at least the styling in that was simple, and it just didn’t look like anybody had tried at all; here it’s clear Maria Grazia chucked everything she could at this collection, every headscarf, every gingham print, every shallow feminist undertone, and it was still a fucking mess. At first you think some of the individual pieces are cute but have just been ruined by the styling, and then you begin to look, and realise that even those individual pieces could’ve easily been bought in a New Look Boxing Day sale.

THIS IS CHRISTIAN DIOR, SUPPOSEDLY ONE OF THE MOST LUXURIOUS BRANDS OUT THERE. WHAT IS GOING ON!?

I don’t know, I included as many looks that I didn't mind as I could, but it’s like there always has to be a crappy, unnecessary detail in there. Everything is so literal. Of course the collection based around the divine feminine has the models dressed like basic ass Greek goddesses, so of course the collection based around the modern woman and equality has women walking the runway in ties and ill-fitting shoes too. Maria Grazia, here is a box:

Think outside of it.

Next is, thankfully, Elie Saab:

No, not exactly a trailblazer of a collection, but executed with poise and elegance as always. I mean, the styling is spot on. It looks like each part of the outfit was made for another, to contribute to a whole clearly envisioned look, similar to what we saw in the Alberta Ferretti show. Elie Saab is known for its haute couture shows where all the tiny details, the sequins and the silk and the embroidery come together to make something beautiful, and this is just that on a larger scale, with less “wow”s and more quiet admiration, more wishing you were the one wearing that outfit. If you’re gonna play safe, do it this well. The night dresses are stunning of course, but not even my favourite bit of the show. It’s the casual looks, the pussy bows and the ruffles and the neck scarfs and the private girls school monochrome colour palette with the occasional pop of red or purple, a toned down version of what we saw at haute couture, any of which deserve to be worn whilst eating macarons in front of the Eiffel Tower before trip to Musee D’Orsay. It’s Poppy Moore’s school uniform grown up and made fit for a fashion magazine editor:

Somehow managing to cram an Emma Roberts early 2010s fashion moment into every post is my talent, who knew. Wild Child was really a gem.

Erdem was a mixed bag:

With a lot of the outfits, I can’t tell if I actually like the garments that much or if I just like the look as a whole. I mean, without sounding too gluten-free Callie from the Valley, I like the VIBE, but there was a lot of outfits I almost included before I had to ask myself “LAUREN, do you ACTUALLY like this or do you just like the walking-into-your-sugar-daddy’s-will-reading-to-claim-his-fortune DRAMA of it all!?”

It happened a couple of times, where once I took off my black and white, theatrical violin accompanied entrance filtered sunglasses, I realised that the actual print was ugly. A collection so cohesively ornamental and kitschy is going to lean too far into that at times, and they were a few overly-fussy moments where it seemed less nudge nudge wink wink and more like Erdem Moralıoğlu fell into his grandma’s wardrobe, stole some fabric, and called it a day. I don’t want to sound like I’m not a fan of the collection because overall it’s gorgeous, I just thought it was a bit much at times.

Continuing with the theme of clever seasonal continuity that weaved its way throughout this year’s A/W offerings, Ermanno Scervino kept the core of his summer collection and made it just that little bit darker, added some weight to everything, and this is one of the rare occasions where I like the winter incarnation a lot more. I’m not huge about either but there’s a lot of things I’d love to wear here, the coats especially.

Up next is a reliable favourite of mine:

Etro.

Was it REALLY necessary for you to include ALL those coats I hear you ask?

Alaska Thunderfuck as Gia Gunn voice: Absolutelyyyy.

When it comes to bohemian fashion, Etro is unbeaten. Everything is always exquisitely coordinated and styled. Like I usually fucking hate aztec print but I love the way it’s done here. I’ve never known a brand to make belts seem like such an integral, tasteful part of the outfit in a field where they so often seem like a last minute addition for the sake of accessorising; it pains me to say it, but Elie Saab, I’m looking at you. It’s your only fault.

Yes for bringing back embroidered jeans! Yes for all those high necks! Yes for the tapestry print! Yes for the Afghan waistcoats! Etro will keep fedoras cool forever and I love them for that; I don’t know if she ever actually wore any of their stuff but I just know Stevie Nicks was in her prime would’ve ate this shit UP and she is my style icon for the ages. Plus, I might be way off base here but a lot of the collection seems to be inspired by traditional Romani style and it’s a beautiful direction to take things, a treasure trove of layers upon layers and rich textures and opulent prints.

I can’t wait til the phase of my phase of my life where I can swan around in maxi dresses and ponchos. I just hope those maxi dresses and ponchos are Etro.

Onto another brand which hasn’t had a bad show since I started my reviews: Fendi. This season, they took their late 60s/early 70s wild child aesthetic and gave a millionaire’s high maintenance wife spin on it, and what’s not to like about that?

I mean, Fendi is a brand which is always going to excel in its F/W presentations-the rich, bohemian prints (pro-tip: if you can’t already tell, me mentioning the word bohemian in a review pretty much guarantees I like the collection), the furs, and the warm colour palette all perfectly translate into clothes suited for walks through a city going through a post-summer burnout, where it rains red and orange leaves. You can tell Silvia Fendi is in her element when she’s got texture to play with, something that comes across in the gorgeous coats Fendi consistently puts out, and this season continues that trend. Plus, there’s a lot of adorable details here-shoes that show off the decorative socks underneath, the cube shaped bags and those furry ear muffs which I hope bring about a high street muff renaissance because they’re the equivalent of slipper socks for my ears and THEY’RE ACTUALLY REALLY PRACTICAL. The only thing I’m not in love with is the mirrored glasses, and I can’t help but think how replacing them with a pair of grandad style aviators would be the icing on the cake for the collection. Maybe I just need to see Miss Robyn Rihanna Fenty wearing them and then I’ll get on board. Usually works.

Ah, GCDS. I got so excited for it after last season but this time round, it was a bit of a disappointment. There were a few outfits that semi-matched up to how cutting-edge I saw their last collection, however a lot of the pieces looked pretty low quality. I get that streetwear is in the name, but it’s supposed to be a high fashion take on that, and a lot of the looks were quite pedestrian. Stand outs are the top 2 rows and the leather motocross style jumpsuit on the far right, third row down, but the quality of these pieces wasn’t consistent across the board and I feel like I ended up having to convince myself I liked some of the others just so I had enough photos to justify including the brand. It really sucks when I look back on how ahead of the game last season’s collection was-we’re talking outfits that wouldn’t be out of place on Instagram’s Tokyofashion page and as far as I’m concerned that’s the fashion holy grail. Some of these looks, especially the menswear, could be from a Boohoo TV ad and that makes me sad.

Meanwhile, Giambattista Valli put out a collection that looked like a virtual postcard of Parisian fashion; if a St-Germain-des-Prés streetwear themed Instagram doesn’t exist already, someone should capitalise on that, stat, because if my typical vision of French feminine fashion is correct it would be full of outfits like this. I feel like this is what a fashion novice EXPECTS Chanel to look like. Trust me-these days the reality is much more disappointing.

There’s many things I'm happy to see here besides the tulle and florals and prettiness I expect of the brand. Obviously the berets and the bows and the elbow length gloves are the kind of off-duty ballerina style touches I’ve become accustomed to but there are also some nice surprises here: the military style white jacket, the unexpected snake motif on clothing that’s otherwise overly delicate, and to my delight the return of the boater hat. IDGAF, this is the summer where I’m buying myself one off Ebay and making this happen for me whether they become a “thing” or not. I shouldn’t squander having this little of a double chin; the opportunity may never present itself again.

I haven’t watched Killing Eve in a longggg time since there’s only so much of two women attempting to kill each other and then miraculously avoiding death you can watch but I’d love to see Vilanelle prancing round a city in this kinda shit slitting some necks again. I hope that doesn’t make me sound like too much of a sadist; only in a purely fictional world is this something I want to see, I assure you.

Givenchy was really, really great this season too, imo. Definitely a step up from the last RTW anyway. Aside from the drama of the exaggerated floppy brim hats and the quirky tassle detail dresses a la Schiaparelli, a lot of these outfits kinda remind me of something a Miranda Priestly/Cruella De Vil type would wear, and you know me; I’m all for that kind of intimidating, about-to-either-slap-you-or-fire-your-ass bad bitch energy. The gathered leather gloves with the androgynous subtly checkered power suits feels CORRECT and if Giambattista Valli is the bottom in this relationship, Givenchy is the top. Am I allowed to reinforce sapphic relationship stereotypes as a bi girl? Probably not. I’m sorry. Won’t do it again. Just this once. And you know I’m right really xoxo

And OMFG Gucci. Another impeccable collection for me, honestly. Once again, it’s probably my favourite of the season. How it is that Alessandro Michelle gets it SO right for me despite his vision being so bold and different every time? He has this specific brand of strange, conceptual beauty which blends past and present trends in a way so supreme it should be considered art. It’s not a term to throw around loosely but the man is a genius, and tbh I’m still not over the human head props from the 2018 F/W winter show.

In my Haute Couture week review, I talked about the Viktor and Rolf collection (which I loved, don’t get me wrong!) and said that pretty meets grunge is my fave thing ever-this is that, but much even more substantial and intelligent. The Wes Anderson-esque pieces or that late 60s/early 70s hipster aesthetic that I loved in last season’s show hasn’t been done away with either-be it the level of detail or the colour scheme, it all somehow fits together. Never did I think I’d see dresses fit for porcelain dolls through the lens of Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungen seamlessly slotted in between outfits that could’ve been put together from the clothing rack of Dazed and Confused’s costume department. I want it all-opulent fur-trimmed coats, crucifix jewellery and pilgrim hats I’m sure both Edgar Allan Poe and modern goths would approve of, and the tiered skirts that wouldn’t be out of place in a Westworld saloon. The models were delightfully sad and almost creepy looking and I wouldn’t change that for the world. To say 10/10 doesn’t do it justice, so I’m gonna have to open a reviewer’s can of worms and say 100/100.

Gucci is a tough act to follow, and I’m sorry it has to fall onto the shoulders of Halpern. In the nicest possible way (as if there is any nice way of saying it), I don’t think I any expected anything but a downgrade, so if anything, my standards will be lower so...Michael Halpern, you can thank me I guess?

That was really mean, I’m sorry. It’s not a bad collection, and I definitely like it more than last season’s. It’s a slightly garish colour palette at times but an exciting one in spite of that, which when paired with the animal print dotted throughout makes this collection the perfect fit for a tropical beach party or at the very least, a semi-decent night at the Caribbean themed bar in your local town centre. The sequins and silk, a Halpern trademark, are as tastefully done as ever, and seeing them on the models, I can’t deny these are some power fits-the kind of clothes you are bound to look and feel confident in; if you wanted to play queen of the urban jungle for a night, this is what you need to be wearing.

Ah, Hermes.

Generally not one to stoke a fire inside me. In all fairness, the tailoring here is really, really nice and French biker chic, and the pieces are perfectly crafted-it’s not that I don’t like the outfits because I think that if I saw one of them individually in a natural, messier setting I’d probably be impressed. These are classy, elegant winter looks and what more could you want when you’re looking for outfit inspiration for this season? It’s just that it’s always a little too neat and uniform for me, and on the runway I like my fashion to be risky. This could almost be the sophisticated mother to a Tommy Hilfiger collection and whilst that’s something I would probably wear if I wanted to look put together, it’s not what you get excited to see at fashion week. Primary colours all together aren’t where it’s at for me either, the infamous colour scheme of the cheap plastic playhouses you’d find in the garden of every working/middle class British household back in the day. Yes, I had one. So did the after school club I was forced to attend whilst my mum was at work. Apparently the negative connotations are still too much for me (a boy I went to the after school club with did once fall off the back of one and crack his head open so maybe it’s justified).

Isabel Marant was pretty much exactly what you’d expect from Isabel Marant; if the Etro bohemian woman is one who rolls out of bed and chucks on the first thing she sees, the Isabel Marant bohemian woman is the one who claims she’s done the same thing but who actually planned it all out the night before. She designs for the gluten-free, bikram yoga Kourtney Kardashian style “hippy” who claims to be a free-spirit but would definitely not do acid with you. I was gonna say it was a collection for the Gwyneth Paltrows of the world but then I remembered Gwyneth proudly released a candle she claimed smelled like her vagina and changed my mind-she’d definitely do acid with you.

It’s definitely a cohesive transition from the summer collection; both have that seemingly laid-back, clean-cut vibe, and cater to the rich, impeccably groomed scented candle loving woman everywhere. Obviously the pieces are a tad more suited to an alpine lodge in Switzerland than a beach in Malibu this time round, but that same mild colour palette, pretty, naturalistic patterns, and generally relaxed fit persists. It’s cute enough.

J.W Anderson is a bit of an enigma.

Despite the experimental silhouettes and the kooky details that you think would very “look at me!”, the collections still seem to have a chilled, easy-going feel to them. They toy about with the strange but remain entirely sophisticated whilst doing so-I think it’s because aside from the little quirks that make the garments J.W Anderson, they’re otherwise fairly reserved and simple; even the quirks themselves mostly tend to be exaggerated, more conceptual takes on more typical stylistic motifs anyway. Anderson has a knack for producing statement pieces that don’t look like they’re trying too hard to be statement pieces, a talent he expertly deploys at Loewe as well. Whilst Maison Margiela collections are like the fashion equivalent of that Jughead “I’m weird, I’m a weirdo” speech, J.W Anderson’s refusal to conform is quiet and modest. I like it. It’s not generally my personal style but I can admire the thought behind the work, and there are still some things I’d love to try. I have a few standouts-the shoes with the hoop detailing dancing from the ankle straps, the dress on the bottom right with what appears to be art nouveau typography on, the trench coat with the cape detailing and the gossamer dress to its right are all stunning, especially that dress. If I ever want to dress as the bubble Glinda the Good Witch descends in when she meets Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, I know where to go, though I don’t suppose there’s going to be an occasion that calls for that any time soon. Can I just have the dress anyway?

Kim Shui is another new designer I found through blessed Twitter screencaps-thanks guys for doing my research for me. Much appreciated.

But anyways! Like Charlotte Knowles, it’s clear she’s still establishing her aesthetic as a designer, and thus far I love it. The whimsical, throwback prints on urban silhouettes that range from the androgynous suits of city dwelling cool girls to the amped-up sex appeal of nightclub dresses is gorgeous, especially twinned with dainty headscarfs and opera gloves-all in all I think this a very cool and wearable collection and I’m looking forward to the next collection she puts out.

Next up is Lacoste, and IDK why I always include their collections to be honest, considering they’re not really known for “high fashion”. I guess it’s because my dad has collected Lacoste shirts since I was little so I kinda have a soft spot for it and feel obligated to include it every time presentation season comes around. Yes, the outfits are unbearably preppy and the colours are garish but I feel like that’s kind of the appeal? So what if some of the tracksuits look like they could’ve been pulled out of a bad mafia movie? I see the argyle jumpers, with a bit of wear and tear, as a charity shop gem my sister would come across (she has the #Y2K Depop girl knack for finding old designer pieces in the shittiest charity shops without the audacity to try and sell them at a 70% markup) that I would then steal from her wardrobe to wear myself, contrasted with a ripped mini skirt, chains and and docs. I see the POTENTIAL of a look that is very fuck you to the rich middle age tory styling we see here. It’s punk, okay?

Lanvin was STUNNING this time around. Maybe it’s because I’ve been watching Mad Men recently and it reminds me of the fashion on that-which I hope somebody won an award for at the time BTW, it is SO fucking good-but I just adore every look here. I can’t even remember if I reviewed Lanvin’s SS20 show, and so clearly if I did it wasn’t that memorable (no shade intended), however this collection is a different story. Every single one of these outfits is iconic movie moment worthy, a 60s Cher Horowitz plaid two piece equivalent that would get screencapped and replicated ad-nauseam, all the best looks of Betty Draper and Peggy Olsen and Joan Holloway and Megan Calvet brought together and refined for the modern day woman. I might even consider sacrificing my anti-royalist principles if it meant I could transport myself back in time and switch bodies with Grace Kelly so I could make this collection my princess-off-duty wardrobe and drive around Monaco in that Bella Hadid look, roof down, all the drama of the fur trim and the gloves and hair whipping about in the wind (but in this unrealistic vision I can actually see what I’m doing and I’m not choking on random strands and swearing at Mother Nature as if she is a real entity with a personal vendetta against me).

Loewe! More J.W Anderson! I’m gonna try not to repeat myself by arsekissing too much all over again and get the good points out of the way quickly! So rapid fire: elegant! Delicious colour palette! Interesting shapes! I think I’m seeing a Victorian/Edwardian influence there! Correct me if I’m wrong! I like it! The coats are strong! Remind me of the suffragettes! But lets pretend in this case these Loewe style coat wearing suffragettes are not raging classists!

AH. Apart from that, it was a bit too austere for me. I definitely preferred Anderson’s eponymous collection; there were a fair few recurring details in this show that I couldn’t get behind that I didn’t include, in particular this bib-like black panel that just kept popping up on everything. Sorry J.W Anderson. But a 50% success rate is still good! And at the end of the day, having 2 collections on Vogue Runway at once is more prestigious than the accumulative total of every accomplishment I’ll probably ever have achieved in my life by the time I’m on my deathbed so what do I know anyway? Sigh:( At least I’ll always have the honour of having the largest head by circumference of my class in year 4, right *sweats nervously*!?!?!

Louis Vuitton was definitely a downgrade on last season for me. There were for sure elements I liked-the Vera Wang-esuqe mixing of the tulle bustle skirts with the rougher, more masculine biker inspired vests and jackets was a cool choice, reminiscent of Gucci’s mixing of the lace dresses with harnesses. I enjoyed the baroque jackets and subtle nods to steampunk style too. Though we’ve already seen it a lot this season, the wet look coat with fur trim I can’t help falling in love with, and I’m immune to the potential ugliness of the muted blue monotone look purely on the basis I can picture Ripley from Alien in it. So like I said-it’s not as if I hated it. I guess when it comes down to it, the collection wasn’t bad so much as I just had higher hopes. I will say though, the staging was INCREDIBLE. As a history nerd, I never thought I’d see the day when a Henry the 8th lookalike actor was part of the backdrop of a Paris fashion week show-and I always thought there was no interesting career path for me in the subject!

And another big name I don’t tend to be so partial to, Maison Margiela. IDK, I did like last season but I wasn’t a fan of haute couture and it took me a while to warm to this. Call it deconstructed, experimental, whatever, but you know when you can’t decide what to wear and you’re in a rush so you kinda just throw all the shit you decided against into a pile? Well, my initial thought was that this season Margiela is kinda that, on the runway.

I will say, once I let go of my need to see a clear shape, a lot of the individual pieces were stunning (NOT the puffed up tabis though, I still can’t even get behind the regular ones). I guess I just wish they’d go for less is more with the styling because as it currently stands, it makes it hard to actually take the clothes in.

Ultimately, one thing you can always say about Margiela, like their clothes or not, is that it has a monopoly on being effortlessly bold.

Marc Jacobs I really liked again, though I will say it doesn’t stand out quite like the S/S collection did. That was absolutely STUNNING-I can’t remember specifically where I ranked it in my top ten but I know it was at least in the top 5. This, on the other hand, is...pretty. It’s very pretty, and very put together, so I’m not saying at all that I don’t rate it. I suppose it’s just a lot simpler than I expected it to be-I don’t have a problem with simplicity, at all, especially if it’s what a brand is known for but I feel like part of the appeal with Marc Jacobs is that it’s pretty kooky. I mean, not Thom Browne or Margiela kooky, but commercial kooky at least. I feel like the kookiness is lacking here? And that’s where this feeling is coming from? And also, the fact that Lanvin tackled the same era and did it a lot better? So there’s that, too. Plus, I adore Miley Cyrus but...why? Random celebrities waking the runway just doesn’t do it for me-it always comes across as a publicity grab, as if the designer isn’t confident enough in their collection’s ability to get people talking on its own, and I suppose in this case that says it all really.

Margaret Howell was...well, Margaret Howell. She’s known for her basics, and they’re always pretty non-offensive “regulation hottie” in the words of the icon that is Damian from Mean Girls. It’s been, what, four years? More? Since I last watched that film but I’m pretty sure watching it about twenty times between the ages of 9 and 15 tattooed it on my brain. I include her because even though they don’t get my pulse racing, I like these pieces; considering the fact that expecting straight white men to ever have style on the level of barbiedrugz (his instagram is my favourite thing ever) or Rickey Thompson is ludicrous, Margaret Howell’s menswear looks are probably are the best, realistic goal for any future partner. Because I like my men dressed like Paddington bear/a depressed Brown University English lit lecturer, okay? Or in other words, Will Graham from Hannibal.

Marine Serre had a few good moments-the looks that I liked were the ones that stayed within her lane of blending the weird with the visually appealing. There were a lot of cool things going on, and I like the utility vibe (the boot with the pouch detailing and the mask are perfect examples of this done well), but outside the fits I picked out a lot of it went over my head tbh.

Marques Almeida is a show I was looking forward to-it has such a youthful, experimental quality to its collections (it’s no surprise the designers said they were influenced by the HBO show Euphoria this year!), similar to Central Saint Martins, and you can tell the designers (Marta Marques and Paulo Almeida) are based in London too; we are talking about the birthplace of the punk fashion movement, and as a designer it’s probably almost a rite of passage that you incorporate elements of that into your work. Marques Almeida does that with a flair and consistency you can count on. Their clothes don’t have the wildest silhouettes or anything like that but the fun they have playing around with print and colour and the ease and confidence with which they settle on those combinations always comes through-the black and white coat with the yellow furs trim is one of my favourite pieces from the entirety of this season’s offerings.

I wasn’t so fond of Max Mara’s SS20 collection and I'm not gonna lie, this isn’t THAT much of a step up for me personally. It’s just one of those brands I feel obligated to include because it’s talked about quite a bit but I’m not totally sure if it’s for me. Too monotone, but I’ll give it another season! And I mean, there is a slight improvement here-this collection is a lot more laid back than the stiff, austere feel of the last, and there are some very well fitted and structured pieces. A lot of the looks kinda remind me of a 2020, fashion take on The Breakfast Club’s “Basket Case”, which is kinda cool, and just from looking at the clothes, the high price tag is palpable. Also, scruffy hair club unite! Though obviously it’s intentional here! That’ll be my excuse for the next time I turn up at work looking like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards-Max Mara made me do it.

Ending on those words of wisdom, I’m gonna bring this post to a close, because I can’t fit any more photos in! I’m desperately hoping that I can fit this all into 3 parts like I did with my last RTW review but even if I do have to make 4 posts, I still include my top 10 shows as I did before. I hope to get that post up within the next couple of weeks! After that, I’ve shot a Lana Del Rey inspired by each of her different albums and “era”s though given last week’s events I’m on the fence about whether to post it or not, especially given her silence over the last couple of days. I’m really proud of what I’ve put together and I’ll always love her art and music (I have 2 bloody tattoos, for fuck’s sake!), so I’m trying to think how I can reconcile that with those awfully worded posts and just the general lack of awareness of bigger issues that she’s displayed the last week. JFC, being a Lana stan has always been so chilled up until now. All the very valid and important takes aside, that “Lana pls delete that post and apologise, we can’t fight the barbz all your stans are depressed” tweet is the only good thing to come out of this shitshow. He got a point. Breathing feels like effort lately:( IDK, if you’re also a Lana stan and you have any opinions on the matter, feel free to DM me, because I’m feeling pretty conflicted rn.

Most importantly though, are the issues I opened this post by talking about, and I thought I’d finish by including the thread of petitions I saw on Twitter. Like I said, a lot of them aren’t available to sign in the UK but to anyone who read up until this point (thank you!) idk where you’re reading from so maybe some of them will apply to you:

https://twitter.com/yericvIt/status/1265801832930045953

Also, while we’re at it, because every tory voting twat seems to treat our country as if it’s some beacon of hope where racism is non-existent and love to tell PoC to stop moaning about their experiences, here’s a thread of black British men and women who have lost their lives to police violence:

https://twitter.com/illh0eminati/status/1266441604170223617

Thank you for reading until the end. I hope that you enjoyed the fashion part of the post but also that if you did read this far, you read the other bits too if you didn’t know what was going on already. It seems like everyone does but you forget that Twitter’s a bit of an echo chamber and that outside of it, there’s a lot of ignorance, whether intentional or not. I know Tumblr has a similar audience to Twitter so I imagine there’s loads on here about everything going on too, but ya know. I wanted to talk about it just incase.

Stay safe, keep fighting the good fight, and again, thank you for reading!<3

Lauren x

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samingtonwilson · 6 years

Text

Relationship Tutor: (9) Intermediate Repression

relationship tutor masterlist

Summary: College AU. Bucky, a relationship novice, asks for your help in dating your friend. Unable to say no to him, you agree despite everyone and everything telling you not to.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: language, lil angsty if u look hard enough

A/N: lol im sorry

Eight hours at the library circulation desk made it so that your ass felt like… well, nothing. You couldn’t feel it at all— not that you were always hyper-aware of the presence of your ass, but you knew it was comfortably there. Like this, it was as if your body ended at the lower border of your torso and began once again in the middle of your thighs.

You couldn’t stand the idea of sitting once again to drive back to your apartment, scowling the whole way back and wondering if truck drivers could be paid more for the constant numb-ass they must experience. After all, you would want to be paid more if you permanently lost feeling in one of your body parts— a body part you were particularly proud of, too.

Once the door to your place was unlocked and open, you walked in with the most dramatic sigh and threw your bag aside so it hit a leg of the circular dining table. You picked up the mail Sam must have brought in, skimming through the mostly useless letters. “Someone could really shoot me in the ass right now from close range and I wouldn’t feel it.”

You looked up from the collection of bills, grocery coupons, and horribly written advertisement cards to see Natasha and Sam smirking at you in a bit of surprise.

You laughed nervously, sending the latter a quick glare. “You’d think that would embarrass me considering that you and I aren’t very close, Nat. But someone spilled coffee on me at the beginning of my shift,” you continued, pulling your jacket off and revealing a large brown stain down the front of your formerly off-white sweater. “So I’m all maxed out.”

She shook in silent laughter, her fingers tightening their grip around a pastel pink mug so her pale skin grew even paler.

“You pull it off well,” Sam complimented, a corner of his lips lifted in a playful smile. “Looks like a New York Fashion Week exclusive on you.”

“It’s an original from the Elie Saab collaboration with Starbucks,” you said with a laugh. “I’m gonna go change. You heading to Steve’s soon?”

He nodded, calling as you disappeared down the hall, “You comin’, too?”

“I’ve got an assignment to finish first,” you shouted back, shutting the door as you yanked your sweater over your head and threw on the first thing you could find.

You looked down at the clean sweater to see it was inside-out and sighed a loud, “What the fuck?”

Sweater finally on correctly, you pulled your door open and started down the hall again. “Why am I such a goddamn mess?”

“D’you have an unstable childhood?”

You snorted and rolled your eyes at Sam. “No, Freud, did you?”

“I’m gonna leave before she gets worse,” he told Natasha, rising from the edge of the coffee table he was perched atop. “The sarcasm, fake smiles, and general unpleasantness just escalate once she gets started.”

Natasha cocked an eyebrow the same shade of red as her shoulder-length wavy hair. “So you’re just going to leave me here with her?”

“And talking about me like I’m not here will really alleviate the issue,” you mumbled as you reached down to pick up your bag from where you’d thrown it, stopping while still awkwardly bent and raising your eyebrows. “Huh, it really does just escalate.”

You sat on the floor across from Natasha’s spot on the couch once Sam left and the two of you got to work, Natasha periodically helping you with your assignment for a general education course she’d previously taken and you doing the same for her.

The minute she cracked her nutrition course reader open, however, you raised a single eyebrow in interest and attempted to look nonchalant as you glanced over your laptop which was set atop the coffee table. “That’s the class you have with Bucky, right?”

She looked up from her book and nodded with a small smile pulling at her lips that had a natural berry shade, her green eyes holding a particular sparkle you thought you might be imagining. “Yeah. The one with the deathly boring professor.”

“Speaking of Bucky,” you burst out after a few seconds of silence, scolding yourself mentally for the terrible transition. “How’s it going with you two?”

She eyed you strangely for a moment, her head tilted slightly as she sat back against the couch cushions. “It’s going well.”

“Yeah?”

She hummed and looked down at her book again. “Yeah, he’s nice. Funny and cute, too.”

“He’s alright,” you said with a dismissive wave of your hand. “You’ve been dating for a bit. Any plans to label it yet?”

“Not really. It’s going well enough like this.”

You felt your heartbeat change. “You don’t wanna lock it down? Tie that sucker to you? Brand that ass with your name?”

She snorted, setting her book onto the table and shutting it with a black mechanical pencil as a placeholder. “Do you want me to brand that ass with my name?”

“I mean if you’re hitting it on the reg’ you might as well.” You nearly rolled your eyes at yourself hard enough to have them fall from their sockets. You didn’t think it was possible to sound more like a middle aged man attempting to recapture his youth if you tried.

“No one’s hit anything yet, actually.”

“What?” you breathed, clearing your throat and looking away to control the loathsome smile pulling at your lips. The selfish part of you seemed to be having the time of its life. “Really? But you’re both so hot.”

“I think he’s taking it slow.”

You traced the subtle frown over her lips. “Are you unhappy about that?”

She shook her head. “No, no. Of course not. It’s nice to meet someone our age that isn’t trying to jump into bed at the drop of a hat.”

“But…” you prompted.

“But nothing— it’s nice.”

Natasha always needed a bit of pushing. “You know, I’m not going to run off and tell him anything. I just like knowing things.”

She narrowed her eyes at you speculatively before sighing heavily. “But I want to get to it already! He wouldn’t even kiss me until after Clint’s party. And that didn’t turn into anything more than a teenage makeout session.”

Clint’s party.

There was another shifting in your chest and you pressed two of your fingers against the plush of your lips, tapping them there as if that could do away with the tingling memory of his kiss.

You wanted to roll your eyes at yourself, maybe scoff a bit and laugh ruefully— and you would have, had you been alone.

After all, Bucky wasn’t yours. He wasn’t yours to kiss as you pleased, wasn’t yours to have such juvenile and cliché complaints about— he especially wasn’t yours to feel such fiery jealousy and betrayal over.

You should have actually been pleased. You should have found joy in the fact that your half-witted, borderline-absurd relationship lessons were bearing such fruit. You should have been overjoyed that Natasha wanted more of Bucky than this stage usually called for. You should have been blissfully elated that you were one of the reasons two people you cared about so much were so happy together.

Yet you felt devastated. Completely and utterly devastated at the reminder that the guy you’d fallen in love with, the guy you tried to pour every bit of that love into during the kiss you’d carry with you until your chest mended itself, wasn’t yours.

Maybe the heavy impact of this cruel reminder was due to the timing of it all. Maybe it was the thought that only a few hours after he’d written his name across whatever blank pieces of you remained, he was scribbling those same letters onto pieces of Natasha. Maybe it was the idea that Bucky’s steps only grew lighter and more graceful mere hours after something that was powerful enough to send you to your knees. Maybe it was the fact that hours after something akin to hope blossomed inside of you, the leaves wilted and the petals browned beyond repair.

“I think he just wants it to be more meaningful, you know?” you asked, hoping she didn’t notice the higher pitch of your voice.

“Has he said anything about it to you?”

You shot off a quick text to Bucky, ignoring every unread message that glared up at you, and flashed Natasha a small, tight smile. You noticed the faint trembling in her fingers, your smile faltering when you saw her usually cool and collected exterior slip a little. “He told me he wants to build a foundation with you first.”

She barked a laugh, shaking her head. “God, what does that even mean?”

You smiled genuinely and shrugged. “He just wants to be totally sure and wants you to be totally sure before you invest anything into him.”

She frowned in consideration and nodded. “He’s either inherently a saint or someone did a great fucking job raising him.”

“Ah yes, the ol’ nature versus nurture debate.”

Though Bucky lived only a few minutes from you, you were always surprised at the speed with which he reached your place.

When you opened the door for him, you offered him a smile despite the intense urge to scowl and scream in his face— his stupid, horrible face that looked at you with features so gentle that you thought you might melt.

You opened the door wider. “Come in.”

He smiled at you in what appeared to be apprehension, fingers raking through his hair and tugging at the ends. “Listen, Y/N, we should—”

“Hi, Bucky,” Natasha greeted from where she sat, her eyes narrowing at you accusatory. “This is a surprise.”

“Isn’t it?” you asked, tossing your things into your bag and slinging it over your shoulder. “So I’m going to head over to your place since Steve’s been texting me non-stop about helping him with Greek myth. I know you said you wanted to do nutrition work with Nat, so stay as long as you want.”

Bucky’s eyebrows were knit together when you looked at him again, his mouth hanging open before he sobered up and gave Natasha a timid wave. He then followed you back to the entrance, grabbing your wrist before you could shut the door behind you. “I came here to talk to you.”

“For what? We talk everyday.”

He narrowed his eyes, slate blue an almost metallic shade. “We haven’t for the last three. I’ve been texting you, trying to get ahold of you.”

“Notifications are turned off,” you told him, waving your phone. “It’s midterm season.”

“It’s midterm seas—” he sighed out a mirthless laugh, shaking his head. “We still have to— We need to—”

You took your wrist from his grip. “We need to what, Bucky?”

“Talk,” he finished, a pink dusting over his cheeks and the tip of his nose. “Something happened here and we need to talk about it.”

“What happened?”

“You know what happened.”

“All I know is that I have to help Steve with Greek myth and Nat needs your help on nutrition.” You leaned in a bit closer to him. “She’s also kind of getting impatient on the physical front, if you know what I mean. So I’d get on that.”

When Bucky continued to stare at you in a mix of incredulousness and utter confusion, you sighed softly and shrugged a single shoulder. “You don’t have to feel guilty— what happened didn’t mean anything.” You paused. “Then again, you were using that classic Barnes charm.”

“I don’t feel guilty.”

You nodded and looked away from the shift in his expression. “Good. Well, it was my fault anyway. So I’m sorry. Sleep deprivation can really fuck someone up.”

“I should go,” you continued. You took a few steps back and gave him the biggest grin your trembling lips allowed. “You can use my bed but make sure to put a tarp down wherever your bare ass will be. Have a nice time!”

PART 10: BASIC FOOTBALL STUDIES

tag list EVEN THOUGH NONE OF YOU ARE GETTING NOTIFIED if you’re crossed off your tag isn’t working! (send me an ask to be added): @sweetstilesofmine @dugan365@lowkeysebby @eufeme @marveling-at-marvel@anyakinamidala @spookyscaryscully@sighodinson @feelmyroarrrr @sarahp879@spidey-linquentimagines @mackenziesmarvelousgalaxy @aholland01 @lostinspace33@clairedycat1810 @softwhispers @apolleo@sebstancial@buckylovelybarnes@chrys-1029 @sheddingpounds @brooke-supernatural16 @seargantbcky@someonekindalikeyou@marvel-trash07 @chuckennuggets1213@captainmisfit13@ailynalonso15@lilypalmer1987 @nasasoldier@snuggleducky @acebabe@melswolf19 @e-g-b-o-k @iamzion-therealhabesha @fancybasementpersona @hercrazyfandomobsession@ohmybuckybarnes @sarahp879 @lovely-geek @void-imaginations @mad-girl-without-a-box @stomachfilledwithbutterflies@joulien @followeroonieclassic @tomdarlingholland@rebelfuckingblack@bakerstgirl@starkxpotts@jimmyisfab @normalperson1351 @jehun-prouvaire @peachy-vixen @mcheung0314@wowbarnes @thiccmillions@sumafamouxx @quinn-n-quill @amcrasnow @wheneggsymetbucky @krockszz @brokenanxiety @addictionmarvel @closerstars @captainradicalpassion @rockagurl @directionerfae @shawnsassymendes @irella-nyari @cadence-jeannette @rebel-emerald @blacwings-and-bucky-barnes @little-miss-headphones@winternatalias @iwishiwasnicki @writingcroissant@finallybreathee @saul-buttson@potterglory @samijolles @justahappylilblog@rebeljupiter @poopybadwi @fandomlover03 @acunningstargazer @magnitude101999 @sinfullyinnocentinthebestway @airforcecollins @demonsandfaries-blog-blog @myboyfriendgiriboy @impalaanddemons @kozmicrock @randomtwistedlife

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader au #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes college au

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bughead-fic-request · 7 years

Note

May I request a Photographer Jughead and a Modeling to pay her way through college Betty fic pretty please? With Betty becoming Jug's muse?

Girls On Film: Part 1

Summary: After insulting every major supermodel in the business, world renowned fashion photographer, Jughead Jones, is paired with up-and-coming model, Betty Cooper.

Words: 2,966

Warnings: Swearing and drinking.

A/N: I know nothing about the modelling/photography world. Most of my knowledge comes from America’s Next Top Model. I’m really sorry this is so long. Also, I have nothing against any of the models mentioned in this story.

Part 2 is here. This is also on AO3.

I also edited this myself so prepare for errors.

“Cara cancelled.” Veronica Lodge informed her boss Jughead Jones.

“Why?” He asked, a hint of annoyance in his tone. He looked at a variety of different lenses with his assistant photographer, Sabrina Spellmen, a tiny, blonde wannabe photographer.

“She found out you were the one shooting and pulled out.” Veronica gathered her dark brown hair into a ponytail, faking nonchalance as she waited for more questions from the world most sought after fashion photographer.

“Why would she do that?” He questioned, handing Sabrina suitcases full of equipment. “We took such beautiful pictures together.” He lied.

“She doesn’t really remember it that way.” Veronica crossed her jean clad legs, letting her foot bounce. “She remembers a large argument where you called her ‘a fucking brain dead meat sack with a pretty face’ and she told you to go fuck yourself and then you called her a cunt.” Veronica raised her eyebrows. “Do you remember that, Jug? Cause I do and apparently so does Cara and she didn’t take so kindly to it.”

He placed his clenched fists on the table. “I asked her to look wistful and I asked her if she knew what that meant and she nodded.” He turned to look at Veronica. “And instead of wistful, I got constipated. Thank god she’s beautiful and I could salvage the shoot.” He pulled on his suspenders as he walked around his bright living room. “How about instead of giving the models free clothes at the end of each shoot we hand them a fucking dictionary.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Its bullshit, they go on about my temper but does anyone say anything about their mediocrity? Just because they are hot doesn’t mean they are models. We aren’t just selling clothes, we are selling a lifestyle and if I can’t get girls who can take direction then I can’t do my job.” He untied his flannel button down from around his waist, discarding it on the bed. “I need girls with fire in their eyes.”

“Well, I’m not sure what you are getting today but I’ve heard good things.” Veronica stood up and pulled out a portfolio. She placed it on the coffee table and pushed it over to him. “She walked the runway for Dolce and Gabanna, Elie Saab and Dior last season.”

“I don’t give a shit about runway.” He snapped approaching her.

“She’s a former ballerina but she quit because she was too tall.”

“How tall?”

“Six feet and because she used to dance she’s very flexible and good with her body.” Veronica informed. “She’s done editorial in Vogue, Elle, W and Paper Magazine.”

“Let me see her face.”

Veronica moved out of the way and let him browse the portfolio. The first thing Jughead noticed was her body, you could tell how tall she was without scale and Veronica was right, she knew how to move and pose it. The only problem was the photographers didn’t know to photograph her properly. They made her look awkward and gangly.

He turned the page to see a shot of just her face. Her blonde hair was slicked back and she had honey running down her face, dripping off her eyelashes and mouth. She had a strong jaw line, cheekbones that most models would die for, pouty lips, and green-blue eyes that looked like that were churning in the still image.

That is what he wanted. That was fire.

“What’s her name?” He asked.

“Elizabeth Cooper,” Veronica said looking at her nails.

“And we have her?” Jughead moved away from the table and grabbed his bag.

“She is on site right now in hair and make-up, waiting for you.” Veronica packed everything up realizing they were about to leave. Sabrina was piling bags and boxes up near the door.

“This is what I’m talking about.” He pointed at the portfolio. “Finally a model I can actually work with.” He grabbed his sunglasses and slung his bag over his shoulder. “I should start calling people cunts more often, this really worked out for me.” He grinned.

“I really wish you wouldn’t.” Veronica muttered, as the three of them left his house and headed to the site.

When they finally arrived Jughead spent some time looking at the site, a large field full of purple flowers an hour drive outside L.A. He made suggestions on where to place silks and screens and the order they were going to photograph the dresses. He was shooting a spread for next months Vogue featuring the clothing of Jake Meridian. He was familiar with the designer and knew he was about to deal with a lot of sparkly, sheer dresses with epic trains.

After that he went to her trailer. When he entered she was being fitted. She was wearing a long sleeved red lace dress that covered her from clavicle to toe. The lace was see through and she was nude underneath. On the back of the dress was a large red silk bow with a twelve foot long train.

“Elizabeth Cooper?” He made it sound like a question but knew it was her.

She turned to look at him. Her lips were as red as the dress she was wearing and her eye make-up was black, covering the area around her eyes like a mask. Her hair was smoothed into shiny voluminous blonde waves. “Jughead Jones.” She stated leaning back to shake his hand.

“I’ll be shooting you today.” He informed.

“I look forward to working with you.” She gave him a tight lipped smile and straightened so she could finish being sewed into the dress.

“Five more minutes.” The dresser promised and Jughead left, taking it as a dismissal.

Sabrina handed him his camera, already calibrated, having done light meter tests. He took a few more shots before Elizabeth was beside him. “Do you have any instruction?” She asked seriously.

She was nearly as tall as his 6’3 and had a presence he hadn’t felt in a long time. “You are going to stand on that ladder and we are going to place fans everywhere to get the train flowing. I need you to do what comes naturally. Sabrina will be shouting direction at you as well.” He motioned towards his assistant. “Is that okay, Elizabeth?” He asked.

She looked at him, she had the fire in her eyes he saw in the picture. “You can call me, Betty.” She smiled. She turned and headed towards the ladder, three people behind her keeping the delicate silk from snagging on the ground.

The fans were put in place so the train was shooting straight up behind her.

“You ready, Betty?” He asked as he knelt in front of her to take the photo from a low perspective, getting most of her body in the shot.

She nodded, raising her arms to fan out the train and frame her within the shot. He hands were natural but not claw like as she fingered the silk. Her body arched slightly to line up perfectly with the edge of the train and her neck was long, following the same arch as the rest of her. The lace showcased her body further as the sun shone through it making it even more sheer. As amazing as her form was it was her face that made the shot incredible.

Her eyes looked off into the horizon and they weren’t squinted even though she was looking towards the sun. She had an intensity that he hadn’t seen before, a powerful woman wearing a beautiful dress and not a pretty face being swallowed by a couture gown. Her lips were pouty but not sexual and her cheekbones cut like a knife casting mesmerizing shadows across her face.

She changed her angle from time to time and moved her hands away from the train, placing them on her hips and leaning forward. She never lost her lines, she knew her angles and none of her body was muddled in any shot.

He called for a new set up after twenty-five minutes.

“What’s going on?” Veronica asked, after Betty had gone to change into the second dress.

“What do you mean?” He asked changing his lens.

“You always take forty-five minutes minimum per shot. You are not known for speed.”

“She’s easy to photograph. I don’t have to pull anything from her.” He looked over at his personal assistant. “Are you mad that I’m working too quickly?”

“No, I’m just shocked. I’ve never seen you work this well before.” Veronica observed.

“Keep getting me real models and this will be the result every time.” He took the camera and walked over to where they would be taking the next set of photos leaving Veronica alone.

Betty had six different dresses to wear and every set up resulted in more of the same. Perfect lines, perfect poses and a perfect face.

For the last photograph of the day she was back on the ladder in a flowing black dress with a train just as long as the first one. Jughead angled her towards the setting sun wanting to get a wide shot to capture the whole train.

She ascended the ladder and placed one foot on a higher step than the other. She began to lean back as if she was arching herself against an imaginary counter. The long black train was perfectly parallel to the ground and he hair was being blown slightly through the silk. Her arms were up over her head against the train like she was lying against it. Her makeup was still dark but softer than the black mask they had started with. Her eyes were directed up towards the sky as if god was parting the clouds and was looking at her and she was looking right back. The ladder was being hidden by the grass and dress and it looked like she was defying gravity.

It was by far the most beautiful photo he had ever taken.

He took a few more photos as she moved in different positions but he knew he had it. “We’re done.” He announced passing his camera off to Sabrina.

He watched her be helped down and escorted back to the trailer.

Veronica approached him. “You liked working with her.” She stated.

“Can you get a ride back with Sabrina.” He asked, ignoring her previous comment.

She placed her hand on his shoulder. “For sure and good luck with her but I don’t think this is going to go the way you want.” She winked and sauntered over to Sabrina, helping her pack up the equipment.

Jughead headed over to Betty’s trailer and knocked.

“Come in!” She shouted.

She was sitting in front off the mirror slathering lotion all over her face. All the makeup was gone and her hair was in a messy bun at the top of her head. She was wrapped in a lilac silk robe, far too short for a girl of her height. The model he had spent the entire day with was gone and the girl next door sat before him.

“Can I help you with something?” She asked rubbing the cream into her face.

“Would you like to ride back to the city with me? Maybe get a drink?” He was nervous which was unusual for him. Jughead Jones didn’t get nervous when it came to asking out beautiful women.

She cocked an eyebrow. “Are you asking me out?” A small smirk tugged at her lips.

“If your answer is going to be yes, then yeah, I’m asking you out.” He tugged on his hair and gave her his signature cocky grin.

She turned to face him. “Yeah, you can take me out for a drink. Give me ten minutes.”

He nodded. “I’ll be outside.” He turned and left the trailer so she could dress.

Five minutes later she emerged wearing tight black jeans, a black tank top with balcony cups to extenuate her breasts and black velvet high heeled boots. Her hair was slicked into a ponytail and she had slipped a pair of sunglasses onto her face. She looked how a model should look, showcasing the product. She didn’t have the smugness half of the reality TV star models he always had to work with had. Betty was a girl that could turn that something special on and off. To go from the only girl in the room to just another face in the crowd. She knew the difference between her job and her life.

“Is there anywhere you want to go?” He asked.

She was his height with the boots on. “I know a place.” She grinned.

An hour later they were sitting in a dimly lit hole in the wall. It could fit close to fifteen people seated and forty if people stood. A jazz trio played quietly on the cramped stage at the back of the bar. He had a scotch on the rocks while she sipped the dirtiest martini he had ever seen.

“How long have you been modelling?” He asked.

“Since I was eighteen.”

“And how old are you now?”

“24.” She took one of the olives between her teeth and pulled it off the cheap plastic sword they were skewered on.

“You look younger.” Jughead told her.

“Lucky me.” She quipped.

Jughead took a deep breath and tried another approach. “How come you’ve never modelled for me before?” He inquired. “A girl like you, your face, your body. You’re a photographers wet dream.”

“I have modelled for you.”

Jughead stilled for a moment and wondered if he slept with this girl years ago and had completely forgotten. He wondered if he was about to get a dirty martini thrown in his face.

She continued. “Well, I would have if you didn’t look me straight in the eye and tell me I looked too midwestern.” She spat. “You looked at me like I was garbage.”

“When was this?” He sat straight up.

“Two years ago.” She finished her drink and motioned for another.

“Did you grow? Loose weight? Change your face?” He questioned.

She shook her head. “Nope, I looked just as I do now. I was a dancer since I was four so I developed strict eating habits young and when I was thirteen I shot up to the height I am now.” She accepted her drink and handed the waitress her empty glass.

“There’s no way I would have passed over you. You’re the most interesting model I’ve ever worked with.” He shook his head still not believing her.

“Maybe you just didn’t have any vision.” She raised her eyebrows in a challenging way.

He glared at her. “I’m a renowned fashion photographer. I didn’t get here by just pointing a camera and clicking.”

“Didn’t you? It’s not hard to make beautiful girls look beautiful. The sets are already set up for you and if any of the photos today were gorgeous that’s me knowing how to move my body. You just picked a lens and pressed a button.” Her eyes widened and she ate her olives. “I fucking hate L.A. It’s too muggy here.”

He stared at her. No one, especially not an aspiring model, had spoken to him like that. His heart was racing as he looked at her, completely indifferent to his presence. By this time in the evening most of the girls were begging for him to take them home.

He finished his drink and asked for another while she continued.

“I also live with seven models, four of which have been photographed by you. I know your reputation.” She cocked an eyebrow.

Along with his temper Jughead was known for bedding nearly every girl he worked with.

“I’m sorry I was rude to you before, I can be an asshole. I can also admit when I was wrong and I was wrong about you. As for your friends…” He trailed off.

Betty shook her head.“Look, I have always been a big fan of your work,” she continued, “but when I started hearing stories about who you were as a person and I hoped they weren’t true. I’ve witnessed your cruelty first hand and I’ve seen more than one girl cry her eyes out over you.” Betty took a sip of her drink. “I have no interest in being just another girl in a photo you keep as a trophy.”

He squinted at her. “You wanna come home with me?”

A chuckle escaped her lips and she shook her head. “Are you fucking serious?” She scoffed. “Are you not listening to me?”

“No, not for that, you bruised my ego. I want to show you some of my work.” He said honestly.

“I’m sure you do.” She sighed. “It was really nice meeting you but I have no interest in you like that. Maybe one day we’ll work together again.” She downed her drink. “I have a 5am flight back to New York in the morning so I really have to go.” She revealed as she got up and walked out of the bar.

Jughead threw down a few twenties and chased after her. “Betty!” He shouted.

She turned and looked at him. Even in the harsh florescent light of store front signs she looked incredible. Her movements flowed like water, her eyes focused and direct, her imperfections making her more interesting to look at. “What?” She said as she hailed a cab.

“I need to photograph you again.” He confessed. “The people who are shooting you don’t know how to handle you. They are boxing you in.”

She looked downward. “If it’s meant to be we’ll meet again. Maybe your next shoot will be mid-west themed.” She looked up at him. “Good night, Mr. Jones.” She turned and got into the taxi.

He stood there, watching the car drive down the street until it got lost in LA traffic and he couldn’t see it anymore.

#riverdale #Bughead #bughead fanfiction #fan fiction #jughead x betty #betty cooper #jughead jones #malmo722

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taniasinel · 6 years

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Oscar Dresses - Winners & Losers

A few thoughts on the 90th Anniversary of the Oscars!

There were several trends in the dresses at Oscars – the blush, pale pastel feminine dresses are still in. But, so were bright colors. That being said – so was bright white and pink. In other words – everything was on trend last night – except black. After everyone wore black to the Golden Globes, hardly anyone wore it to the Oscars.

All in all, the dresses weren’t that inspiring this year. I only gasped one or two or three times. And one gasp was reserved for Timothee Chalamet – the young star of “Call My By Your Name.” If I was only 18 again –

Who am I kidding?

Sadly, even when I was at my best at 18 (?) Timothee would have never looked even once at me!

THE WHITES:

Timothee aka Elio in “Call Me By Your Name.” Tim wore trendy white hot for the evening. He’s such a cutie and was definitely the Best Dressed Man Under Twenty-Five winner!! Even if he was worried about a flash flood at the Oscars.

Mary J Blige looked beautiful – she was also nominated for two Oscars! Remember when she was rapper – now she is this gorgeous, sophisticated glamorous woman. Loved her hair, too. Her makeup – her lips and eyes are perfect for the dress.

Camila Alves was dressed more as a bride than the wife of an actor - Matthew McConaughey. White with netting means only one thing – getting married. This was not a great look for Camila, I hate to say. Thank GOD she doesn’t read this blog. Wait, Matthew just called me and he’s FURIOUS about what I said!!!!!!!!!!

Laura Dern looked her prettiest ever – in Calvin Klein. The simple dress was perfect for her beautiful thin frame, and the one detail on the shoulder was genius. Her hair and jewelry were perfect. LOVE!!!

Jane Fonda said she styled herself – if true, whoa. She has a new career. Dress by Balmain. Love the earrings and the hair!! She is incredibly pretty for her age, hell for ANY age! But, she doesn’t really look very nice – does she?

But – the winner in WHITE was Margot Robbie. She looked gorgeous in her Chanel dress. It was sexy, chic, and elegant. I LOVED that she didn’t ruin the line of the dress with a necklace. Her hair was perfect with just a hint of a wave that accented her gorgeous eyes. Makeup was perfect And notice how pretty her coloring was in WHITE. That’s something I want to talk about today – wearing a color that looks good on you.

In interior design – when I would choose a color scheme (usually) for a woman – I would try to choose a color scheme that the homeowner would look good living in.

Wearing clothes is the same principle. Margot and Jane Fonda both look good in white – their hair color is well matched to the white. Mary J Blige also looks good in white – and notice her hair color! Again, Blige’s hair awakens the color or vice versa. Laura Dern would have looked just a bit better if her hair had some blonder highlights.

But – notice Camila. Maybe she didn’t looked as pretty as she is because of the bridal dress – or maybe it is her coloring and her necklace – together, they don’t look that good or flattering in the bright white. It’s not her dark hair color, because look how good Timothee looks in bright white – and he too has black hair.

Word of warning – always judge a outfit by how the color looks on you, with your skin coloring, your hair coloring, your makeup.

A winner this year: Margo looked beautiful in her bright white and her mother look so pretty and age appropriate in her colorful dress.

PASTEL AND BLUSH LOOKS:

Elisabeth Moss was blushed in Christian Dior. She also wore the trend of the Golden Globes which wasn’t nearly as trendy at the Oscars – a belt. She looked beautiful and feminine. Again, her coloring and hair worked perfectly with this blush pink dress. Again – no necklace was the right choice. And – isn’t this flattering for not a rail thin figure?

Mira Sorvino looks beautiful in her long fancy blush dress – fitting for her comeback after Harvey Weinstein ended her career, basically blacklisting her years ago. It was a perfect dress for her first Oscars in a long time.

Emily Gordon’s pastel/blush dress had more of a tan undertone. The belt was black. But notice how pretty she looks – her hair is a match for the color of the dress. Very very nice.

Allison Williams in Armani – her dress is gorgeous. But why does she look washed out in her dress while Elisabeth Moss glows? Her hair and skin tone just don’t look great in this particular blush color.

It’s not Allison’s dark hair – because the best dressed winner in blush is Gina Rodriguez in Zuhair Murad. Her blush fabric had a hint of brown – giving it a warmer tone – perhaps this is why Gina looked radiant in her blush dress, while Allison looked washed out.

Remember, when buying an expensive dress for a wedding or the Red Carpet – always think of the fabric, your skin tone and your hair color when making the final decision.

PINKS:

Besides the pale blush – there were true pinks this year. Viola Davis wore a deep, true pink by Michael Kors. I like her purse and hair – but the dress is too bubblegum pink for me.

This one really killed me. Soarse Roonin never really looks great in her fancy Red Carpet dresses. I think the problem is her stylist. She needs a new one. The proof of this was her Calvin Klein Oscar dress. It was a total disaster. It’s terrible. It doesn’t even fit! How could her stylist ever let her wear this???? Why? In the right dress, Soarse would be stunning. This dress was just falling off her!!! Notice how far down the dress is from her armpits.

Her stylist does better with other stars, but not with Soarse.

Her dress looked prettier from the back, she should have just sat in her chair backwards all night. Or – she could have turned the dress around. I do love her new short blunt hair cut and her shoes are very pretty.

Danai Gurira shows Soarse how she should have worn her pink dress. The same neckline – but Danai wears it so, so much better. Notice how close the dress lays to her armpits – now notice on Soarse, the dress is about 5 inches from her armpit, giving the illusion that is falling down, but it’s not really an illusion – it was falling down.

Laurie Metcalf wore a true pink dress that had a shimmer to it. Again – no necklace looked good with this dress. Her dark hair looks pretty against the light pink color – Laurie looked beautiful, I thought. Christian Siriano designed her dress which is a shocker. Most of his dresses are not nearly this good, but he did a great job for Laurie.

THE METALLICS:

Molly Sims wore this metallic silver dress. Very pretty but too much cleavage. NOTE: If you are going to have an open cleavage like this – be sure your breasts are perfect.

Beanie Feldstein played a smart nerd in Lady Bird – but I barely recognized her here. She looked so pretty at the Oscars. BTW – Lady Bird is an especially good movie if you have a daughter.

Not everyone has to wear a tight dress, but Sally Hawkes dress by Armani looked like a fancy paper bag. And those shoulder pads.

PLUS I am still irate that The Shape of Water won Best Picture over Call Me By Your Name!!!

I swore that if The Shape of Water won, I would never watch another Oscars. So, this is my last one.

Just a warning.

I can never do another Best Dressed At The Oscars now that the Fish Monster movie won. I’ll just do the Golden Globes or The Emmys from now on.

Lupita Nyongo was in metallic gold. Everyone loved her outfit, but to me it looked like she was a winner in the Miss America contest with that sash. Not a favorite. But I did love her hair.

Zoey Deutch in Elie Saab dress was pretty – but in certain light, her coloring clashed with the silver metallic. I kept thinking if the dress had a bronze tone to it – she would have been a knockout.

Actually, this dress should be in the “Blush” category, not metallic – but it’s too late to change it now. On TV it looked like a metallic to me.

In 1961 Rita Moreno won her Best Supporting Oscar for West Side Story. She kept her dress all these years….and

wore it again last night. But it would have looked better without the headband, the necklace, the bracelets, and the earrings. I would have made a skin tight bolero to cover my upper arms, but that’s me. The dress needed a little fitting. She’s so adorable and it was a cute idea for sentimental reasons, but I guess I’m not sentimental.

If everyone was sentimental – we would see this again:

on a 75 year old woman!! OY!!

This is the best dress I ever saw Sandra Bullock wear on the Red Carpet – Louis Vuitton, no wonder! But as good as she looked, I almost thought she was wearing the same dress as another star. Sandra even joked about it on stage.

Sandra’s twin was Gal Gadot. I thought they wore the same designer and I could NOT believe the designer would allow that! But Gal’s dress was by Givency and up close, they didn’t look the same. Gadot was one of my Best Dressed last night. Total Perfection. The black and silver looked wonderful on her. That fringe!! Those shoes!!! Her hair was perfect.

As beautiful as Gal’s dress was, her jewelry by Tiffany was a scene stealer. I couldn’t figure out if it was vintage or new. It was stunning. Her stylist Elizabeth Stewart showed perfect restraint by not putting bracelets on her. The necklace, by the way, was designed for Gal by Tiffany’s special Blue Book Collection – their one of a kind custom division.

Another runner up Best Dressed was Jennifer Lawrence. She consistently looks great on Red Carpets because she has a contract with Dior. The actresses with the contracts usually always look the best. This dress was perfection. Her hair, her makeup, the minimal jewelry. To die for!! I just love her.

THE WORST DRESSED – THE GIRLS WHO LOOKED LIKE THEY WORKED IN SAN FRANCISCO DURING THE GOLD RUSH YEARS:

Lindsey Vonn in Christian Siriano. What else would you expect from him? And as if that dress wasn’t glitzy enough – she added that necklace too!

Renee Bargh. What IS this?! It didn’t even fit right – notice how it was pulling at the crotch area.

I always remember the late Joan Rivers. Her biggest complaint was that Red Carpet dresses never fit properly. She would see them up close and would rant and rant about how poorly tailored their dresses were. This is an example of that.

Whoopi. Guess who? Yep. Christian Siriano again.

Why would anyone hire him? See my Golden Globes recap – where he dressed half the actresses there to see more of his creations.

Maybe on someone else this would have looked better. Emily Blunt in baby blue. Did she just have a boy? Emily did look prettier on the screen. But yikes!!!! No!!!

Salma Hayek. Her dress did not photograph well at all. The sequins were mostly matte and they made the dress look blurry in photos. And Elisabeth my daughter hated this. But I liked the dress itself. The color was wrong for Salma - she is on the Worst Dressed – but on someone else….taller, lithe, with no jewelry, slicked back hair – it might have been a better look.

THE DARK FABRICS:

There weren’t that many dark dresses, but the two I noticed were both Worst Dressed:

Zendaya. I seriously checked to see if this was a Christian Siriano, but it’s not. That sleeve! Looks like her arm is in a sling and she’s trying to disguise it. Terrible. I did like her jewelry and hair.

Taraji Henson. Too much going on here. Too much skin. Her hair and makeup look great, but not the dress.

Diane Warren – she wore a square box on her back that was sewn to her sleeves. Seriously. Look at it. WHAT IS THAT?!?!?

Wait. I know! On her back was an advertisement for “Cigarettes 2 Cents a Box.”

It’s actually by YSL. OK, what do you expect from someone named St. Vincent? It’s not her real name tho. Sort of like Lady Bird. Those shoes. Those sleeves. The point between her crotch. LOL. Seriously this is the worst of the night. The hat is cute and her hair and make up are cute. She’s a cute girl, but give me a break! It’s the Oscars!!!

THE BRIGHTS:

There were a lot of primary bright dresses, like yellow – Eiza Gonzales. The orange lipstick looks great with yellow – but coral and orange based lipstick makes your teeth look yellow too!!! Maybe that’s why she kept her lips shut?

Greta Gerwig looked really pretty in this dress, considering what she wore to her last award show. She’s adorable and I wished Lady Bird would have won over The Sexy Sea Monster!!!

Lady Bird even co-stars cutie Timothee Chalamet! LOL. Nope, Timothee – there’s still no rain.

Look how adorable Greta’s hair looked from the side. Cutest hair cut of the night!

Another primary color was red – here on Christine Lahti who has one of the best bodies in Hollywood. Don’t care for the shoes, but the dress was made for her thin, tall, lithe build. Can’t stand the purse either. Hmmm. Maybe I should just erase her?

We all know she look fabulous. Think The Devil Wears Prada. Fab-u-lous.

Remember?

The Devil Wears Prada

I loved what Maya Rudolph wore. I know it’s weird and looks like something the Devil might wear if he was the pope instead of Prada – but I just liked it. I thought she looked good and she was funny on stage. Win.

Allison Janney looked good – she’s another one with a great body for Red Carpet clothes – tall, thin, small chested – everything I am the complete opposite of. Hmm.

So that’s what my problem with clothes is?????

OK – Allison’s dress looked very nice on her, I liked her purse and hair. But her stylist should have left the necklace and earrings off. I just kept staring at them, not looking at Allison – they were a distraction in a bad way. That’s why you hire stylists – but only GOOD stylists.

Like I know what I’m talking about.

The Blues. Jennifer Garner. I really hated this dress. It reminds me of a Mother Of the Bride from the 90s. Or maybe something Joan Collins would have worn on Dynasty. So matronly. Not a good look for a young mother now trying to hang onto her career by her fingernails. Versace.

Not bright blue, but the periwinkle blue looks lovely on Helen Mirren. But please, lose the black shoes. Her jewelry looks perfect – it dresses up the plain outfit. And her hair! Fabulous!!!! Another Best Hair of the night. She looked great – what an inspiration!

OK – green is not a primary color, but put blue and yellow together and it’s close enough.

Wendi McLendon Covey was one of a very few wearing the oh so trendy green – and she looked good in the color. It went perfectly with her skin tone and hair. She looked very pretty –and her cleavage looked even younger than she is. My only complaint (of which I seem to have a lot!) – her lip needed to be darker.

Another bright, sort of primary color – Ashley Judd and Jennifer Garner should have their kids marry each other so they can both wear their Mother of the Bride dresses to the wedding.

Like I said, it wasn’t a great night for fashion.

I didn’t get that WOW feeling too much. But here they were:

Runners Up for Best Dressed – these made me look up and take notice:

Gal Gadot.

Margot Robbie in Chanel.

Jennifer Lawrence in Dior

And the only time that I actually gasped was:

Nicole Kidman. Her body was made for this dress OR was it the other way around? Perfection!

Armani

Love the diamond earrings and her white skin that is so stark against the shiny deep blue.

Here she playfully shows off her shoes.

That bow! That bustier! Those arms!!!

Nicole rarely, rarely ever messes up on the Red Carpet.

She and Cate Blanchett and Jennifer Lawrence are always Best Dressed.

Here are some Look Alike dresses at a fraction of t he cost!

HOT WHITE HERE

AND MORE HOT WHITE HERE

WHITE HERE

WHITE WITH FLOUNCE HERE

BLUSH HERE

SHORT BLUSH DRESS HERE

PINKS HERE

PINK FLORAL HERE

JENNIFER LAWRENCE LOOK ALIKE METALLIC HERE

OR HERE METALLIC HERE

BRIGHT YELLOW HERE

RED HERE

A SHORT ALLISON JANNEY DRESS HERE

NICOLE’S NAVY HERE

from COTE DE TEXAS http://cotedetexas.blogspot.com/2018/03/oscar-dresses-winners-losers.html

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fashiontrendin-blog · 6 years

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A comprehensive list of the very best Oscar dresses of all time

http://fashion-trendin.com/a-comprehensive-list-of-the-very-best-oscar-dresses-of-all-time/

A comprehensive list of the very best Oscar dresses of all time

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Check out our round-up of the best dressed stars in the history of the Academy Awards

The Academy Awards is undoubtedly one of the most glamorous events in history. Since its advent in the fifties, it’s been a true celebration of the achievements of some of the biggest stars of the screen. The ceremony is now televised in over 200 countries. This is our comprehensive guide of the Best Oscar Dresses of all time.

At the first ever Oscars, it was an iconic moment when waif-like Audrey Hepburn won the Best Actress trophy for her role in the 1953 film Roman Holiday. Her dress was designed by Hubert de Givenchy and the actress went on to become his muse. The delicate flowers adorning the fabric seemed to chime with her elfin features. The look was innocent, yet striking and sexy and won her hearts all over the fashion industry.

In 1995, a year after wearing THAT safety-pinned Versace dress to the premiere of Four Weddings And A Funeral, Liz stepped out once again on the arm of Hugh Grant. This time she was wearing a slightly less out-there affair, a beautiful embellished gown (with the requisite plunging neckline still in place of course).

Despite a couple of her looks now seeming a little bit dated, Nicole Kidman has turned heads in an iconic dress at a number of Oscar ceremonies. In 2000 she most certainly stole the show as she walked the red carpet with then-husband Tom Cruise. She positively shimmered in the clingy one-shouldered gold gown.

In the years that followed, the likes of Halle Berry, Reese Witherspoon and Jennifer Lopez all wore some incredible pieces that have landed them in our round-up of the most iconic Oscar dresses of all time.

Fast-forward to 2009 and it’s Katherine Heigl’s turn to take the spotlight in Los Angeles. Combining two of the night’s key trends – asymmetric cuts and the colour red – she commanded attention for all the right reasons in an Escada column dress.

2013 saw Amy Adams get it very right in a feathered Oscar de la Renta design and 2014 was Jennifer Lawrence’s time to shine. She picked a Dior floor-sweeper that was incredibly flattering to her trim hourglass curves.

In 2015 and 2016, there were sequins, ruffles and feathers galore, with Emma Stone and Emily Blunt shimmering in Elie Saab and Prada respectively.

Keep reading to see who else has featured in our edit of the most iconic Oscar dresses of all time…

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Want even more Oscars coverage? We’ll be reporting live from the Oscars 2018 and filling you in on the Oscars nominations 2018. If you’re feeling a little nostalgic, we’ve also curated the top Oscar speeches, Oscar snubs and Oscars after party dresses for you.

PICS: THE OSCARS 2012