#OH may I mention I Love this album cover image. i am staring at it. so intently | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

trekkiepirate · 4 years

Note

TOP FIVE The Amazing Devil lyrics!

YOU ALSO MADE THIS HARD HOW DARE YOU YOU MAY MAKE IT UP TO ME BY LISTENING TO LOVE RUN AND SCREAMING ABOUT NEW YORK TORCH SONG WITH ME, MEI MEI.

1. Welcome to the storm/I am thunder/welcome to my table/bring your hunger (it was my gateway lyric, the one I listened to a bajillion times in a song I listened to a million times until I finally bought the album so Bandcamp would let me listen without limits and started down the path of being a TAD nerd/Dear Heart) - The Horror And The Wild

2. It’s like all the wallpaper inside my heart/is slowly slowly peeling off/and I’m showing all the stains and things/they wrote on the wall before (I mentioned this a bit in the songs list, but when I was very sick, like sauntering vaguely towards literally dying, all I could do was lay and stare at my wallpaper in my childhood bedroom, so I built this image of my heart, covered in wallpaper to hide the pain I was in and the heartaches I’d had, and the dark parts of me, slap some pretty floral wallpaper on it so no one would see how very much I was hurting and wanted to give up already and die. When I heard this line, I had to pause the damn song and cry. Like, pause the song, slowly get up from my work desk and make my way to the bathroom in the building and just go into a stall and lean on the wall a bit and cry. How Joey Batey could write something like that, speaking so completely to a very private part of myself, cracked me open enough for the absolute LOVE I have for TAD to come flowing in) - Two Damn Minutes

3. I promise you I’m not broken/I promise you there’s more/more to come, more to reach for/ more to hurl at the door/goodbye to all my darkness/there’s nothing here but light/adieu to all the faceless things that sleep with me at night/this here is not makeup it’s a porcelain tomb/and this here is not singing I’m just screaming in tune (basically all of Farewell Wanderlust is utterly fantastic, but this part is so good for just singing at the top of my lungs, it’s hopeful and dark and emotional and gorgeous and if I ever meet Joey Batey, I may have to kiss his forehead just to get close to kissing the beautiful brain that came up with it, well with all these lyrics, well just because it’s a cute forehead on a perfect, stupid face and I wanna kiss him) - Farewell Wanderlust

4. Though some would harm you/none not one no none/would raise to you a hand nor thumb/not while by you I stand and hum (1. I am GONNA write the fic that needs that last bit as a the title one day; 2. it’s just utterly gorgeous and the rhythm of it and the way it feels when you sing it, this whole bit is *chefs kiss*) - Not Yet/Love Run

5. Burying her head into his chest and clinging to the moment, ‘where have you been?’/She’ll whisper ‘I’ve waited oh so long for you to come’/And as the stars above them hum and hear them/he’ll turn to her and say ‘that’s what she said’ (1. I really think the entirety of Fair is the best love song I have ever heard in my life and I want to find someone who makes me live it but this bit is so funny and cute and perfect, 2. when I read a comment to Dandelion/Jaskier in the books: “maybe the ability to go from touching lyricism to obscenity so easily is a talent” I thought of this line and just yelled IT IS AND JOEY BATEY GOT IT IN SPADES HE WAS BORN TO BE JASKIER) -Fair

Honourable mentions (Like I could only choose 5 C’MON Y’ALL KNOW ME AND YOU’RE LUCKY I JUST DOUBLED IT AND I DIDN’T PICK A LYRIC FROM EACH SONG COUNT YOUR BLESSINGS LIEBLINGS):

5. And they’re telling jokes/tell ‘em that one about two men in a tent/laughs out loud at mine/do you like my accent, like my accent? (mostly because telling the joke this references is always fun and I got to tell it to Jason Ritter and it was one of the best moments of last year for me when he chuckled a bit) - Pruning Shears

6. Could be ghosts or monsters or a robot vampire I dunno (It’s just silly and fun and I love it muchly, also hella fun to sign) - Wild Blue Yonder

7. Pray for me cause I won’t pray for you (this just speaks to the former Catholic school kid I was, and also I would 100% not be surprised if Joey grew up in a Catholic/Christian school too because this whole song seems just FEELS like someone who grew up in that world and had a few too many questions about it for the other people to be cool with, like I did, but I may be projecting) - Pray

8. Sing me awake with a song about pirates (Grabs the lyrics to “Shipful of Monsters” JOEY I CAN 100% DO THIS IF YOU’D LIKE *wink and eyebrow waggle*) - Not Yet/Love Run

9. I am above you, And I love you, don’t you know/That I’ll be with you all along, as long as you are kind/To those who are not strong and cannot find their scarlet welly boots (this line has been comfort and pain and fire and balm to the soul wound left by my beloved grandma’s death) - Welly Boots

10. Every moon in the sky/Every promise and lie/all hell and its fire waits for us (I just love the rhythm of this 10/10 would recommend tossing your head back and sing-screaming this at the sky)

Honourable Honourable mention to the way Joey Batey growls “No, no, not I” in That Unwanted Animal and single-handedly claimed all the tiny fragments of sexual attraction my gray-ace ass was allotted for the next decade

#asks #the amazing devil #joey batey #madeleine hyland #BETH RAMBLES ABOUT TAD AND JOEY'S WRITING SKILLS A FUCKTON Y'ALL BEEN WARNED

93 notes · View notes

alitheamateur · 5 years

Text

The Grind: A Wedding

A/N: I’m unsure of how many parts it will take to cover everything I want include in this most anticipated story of nuptials for our cherished Liv, and Colton. But, I do hope you relish in part one. I love you, all! This process will be written, obviously. But, lots of pictures will be included, creating some sort of a photo album for you, as well. *I do not own any images you see*

Warnings: Language.

June bride. It always sounded so… so, Cosmo. So, cliché, and posh. So typical. And so no me. And oh yet, here we are. The sunny Saturday of June 22nd. Finalizing the last pins to my loose, naturally blonde hair. Colton’s only requests for that day including the blonde. And the down-styling. And the chocolate cake which I think he somehow requested because he knew it was my favorite.

Things were elegant, and still understated. There was not to be a single sequin, or rhinestone. The only beads permissible were pearls, and that was only if extremely necessary. My boycott against bedazzle made the dress shopping a nightmare, as it seems this generation prefers all the sparkle. But in the hands of Tia, who can weasel and tantrum her way into situation, I found the most perfect cut of silk in Pittsburgh. My mother ground her teeth a little. The back hung low, flowing down the airbrushed bronze of my spine. The lush shine of the material cuddled, and stretched around the swell of my bottom, and a slit climbed my left thigh. I was reluctant about it. My scar from the frightful skiing incident of 2010 was on full display, marked horizontally along the meaty flesh of my upper thigh.

“If that asshole won’t marry you, damn it, I will, LC.” Tia sniffed as I met her eyes in the full-length reflection of the mirror.

Even on my wedding day, still posing up a good threat to snag me away from my groom.

“You look… you look phenomenal, Liv, dear. I can’t wait for him to see you.” Sweet Beth gracefully dotted away the salty residue from the full tears marking down her cheeks, as she daydreamed about her sons soon nuptials.

I squirmed at the foreshadow of Colton’s inappropriate groans and beady glances once he saw me in my dress. The dress. The one I never would’ve imagined I would try on in a private dressing room, much less parade in front of a crowd full of snapping cameras. But, love gives a girl some bold bravery, it seems. The sensual dip of the snug gown would be worth the raise of conservative brows in attendance once I saw Colt’s intrusive eyes turn black with the burying of his desires.

My mother strapped me into the buckle of my heel while Andrew snapped a few intimate snapshots of the moment on my phone. He was a member of Colton’s groomsman squad, but he’d spent a chunk of the day prepping at my side, and relishing in the bliss to come.

“Have you heard his vows, Drew? I mean, did he have you like, proof them or something?” I searched my clutch the folded note of worn paper where my own vows were scribbled down, and handed them to Sara for safe keeping until time.

“By proof them, do you mean have I checked to make sure they aren’t loaded with expletives?” He brought over my bouquet as I stood to finalize the approval of my reflection before my solo photos around the archway outside. “Yes, Liv. I read them. And that’s all you’re getting.” He sealed his mouth, and threw away the insinuated key.

I barely recognized the penetrative gazes of the woman staring back at me. My jaw was held at a confident angle, eyes lined thick with tasteful faux lashes, and hips slightly swelled with the weight of womanhood and true love. Colton had changed me in every way that made me better, before I even knew exactly who I thought I wanted to become. His many a kiss, countless moonlight confessions wrapped in the sheet of the bed we shared, and simply the way he watched me take my first morning sip of coffee constituted everything my naïve soul needed to recognize love in its most intimate state. I couldn’t wait to touch him in his suit at the altar. To let him still the trembling of my hands as we exchanged rings, and seal what I already felt with our first kiss as man, and wife.

Sara gently interrupted your thoughts, stuffing a dainty pink handkerchief into your clutches around your bouquet.

“Because I know you’re going to need this. And, because I know for a fact you’ve forgotten your something borrowed. I used it on my wedding day.” She kissed my cheek.

I wouldn’t have married Colton on this day, the day of his choosing, if Sara couldn’t have been here. I adored my Tia, and Drew, and each other person who was here with me in this adopted home of Pittsbugh. But my wedding day, the only one I know I’ll ever have, I needed my Sara to hold me in a moment just as this one.

A rattling tap echoed from the other side of the heavy oak door, capturing the attention of every eye in the room.

“Liv?”

Colton.

“Liv, baby? You in there?”

My face fell with haunting nerves, and Tia ran for the knob to answer his faint callings from the hallway.

“He can’t see me, Tia. No way! Don’t think of letting him in here.” I ordered.

“Relax, will you? I’m going to step outside with him, okay?”

Tia barely opened the door into a crack large enough for a toddler to squeeze through, and disappeared. I worked my busy hands at the ribbon flowing from the stems of my peony bouquet, scolding myself for even considering the worst reason for his unexpected visit.

I held my breath when she re-entered the overly crowded dressing area, purposely holding back her smile longer than necessary.

“He said he just wanted to hear your voice. That’s it. And only from behind the door, of course.”

Tia, and my mother ushered my prep team toward the reception area to check out the final touches, giving Colt and I a moment of solace, and a deep breath after the bustle of wedding day jitters. When the last person escaped, I wiped the sweat from my palm, and turned the door handle, carefully standing far away from the minimal crack.

Just as my fingers peeled around the door, I felt the familiar heat of his rough-skinned fingers grasping perilously for mine.

“Fuck, I needed this.” He moaned satisfactorily, and my side of the door bounced back towards me as he fell onto it from the opposite side. My touch alone fed his nervous withdraws from being apart for only two days. “I needed you. Just for a minute, at least.”

I played with his fingertips.

“Someone isn’t getting cold feet, are they?”

I could hear the tap of his black dress shoes we had bought last week for the occasion.

“Well, Drew had to talk me off the ledge a couple hours ago.”

I froze, and my bones nearly calcified into fossisl with the stillness his sentence bought over me.

“Woah. Hey, I’m only kiddin’, Livvy. Breath, baby. It was just a joke. Clearly, a poor timed one.”

Colton kissed the solo ring on my finger, staking his claim. “You ain’t gettin’ rid of my ass that easily.”

I wanted to kiss him. Those minty lips, now probably stained with a celebratory shot of whiskey were the only things my consciousness would focus on.

Maybe if we both closed our eyes first, then touched lips for just 2 seconds?

“How dedicated are you to this whole ‘no seeing each other thing’?” I thought out loud, Colton took the question as one directed at him.

“Trust me, angel. I’d give absolutely anything to see you right now. See how amazin’ I know you look, as usual. But, I think we both know you’d instantly regret breakin’ that little tradition you were so persistent about.”

He was right. I had just enough Indiana in me to keep hold of those age-old small-town traditions like not seeing your groom before the ceremony. And first dances, and flower girls.

“But, since I’m here, how about we go ahead and trade letters? I know Drew was going to do the swap for us, but I’ve got mine me if that’s cool with you?”

What a difference time can grace upon us.

I mentioned one evening, months ago, scrolling through websites while doing some planning, how I thought the idea of writing letters to each other was such a touching sentiment. Never expecting another word, much less even an initial response from my stoic, silent man. But, to my much pleasing surprise, Colton simply agreed with an “okay,” never the slightest inkling of protest in his voice. Love had done a number on this bitter, complicated man, too. A hard one. And it suited him mind, body, and soul.

“Yes, but under one condition?” I parted towards to counter to find my own letter addressed to him.

“Name it.”

“I don’t want you to read it until you’re back in your room.”

I slid the sealed envelope into his hand, holding my palm upward for his.

“I love you, Liv. I am so fucking crazy in love with you.” Colton whispered, almost breathlessly.

“I love you, you handsome brute. Now, go. Before I ruin what little makeup I still have left.”

I didn’t latch the door until his footsteps were no longer detectable, not wanting to miss the sounds of his closeness to me. Seated on the antique velvet of the elegant armchair at the foot of the bed, I delicately tore open the letter.

Liv,

You marvelous creature. You are a necessary electricity that shocks my heart to life every single day that I’m near you. My spirit is broken, and it’s only fucking hope is in your hands. Thank you for taking my hand, and warming me with your irreplaceable light. Naturally, we both know I’m not a verbal man, but it seems in writing you this letter, I may have found my newest, most favorite way to try and express how I feel about you. Nothing about you loving me makes sense, but it’s one mystery wave that I will ride until there is no life left in me with no questions asked. Yours is the only hand I want to hold, and get lost in the swell of life with, laughing, crying, and standing still along the way when need be. This day, the day you foolishly take my name as your own, and vow to be my wife will surely be the most precious day I have lived. Only second to the moment I met you. I swear, when I’m with you, it’s like the air tastes better, even. You have stroked my ego like a vicious woman in love, and you’ve stomped it out when I needed the harshest of reality checks, just as I deserved. I hope as long as you’ll have me, I can be the solace you need in the most troubling of days. And the strong tower you need when you feel scared or threatened. I’ll be the laugh when you’ve seemed to have misplaced your own, and the tears when yours don’t seem to satisfy whatever grief falls on you. Always, Livvy. It’s you. You and me, against the strongest of odds, we will come out on top. Can’t wait to see you. Soon. You know where to meet me.

I love you.

Colton

Waterproof mascara was a myth, whipped into a lie at the hands of Colton Ritter and his hidden talents with a pen and paper. I read his confessions three times, memorizing it like it was a secret that I was afraid would be torn away within minutes. All along, I’ve been the one in our household staking a claim to literary topics, and standing on my platform as an English major. But this, the handwritten romance of his raw admissions, blew me away, along with every mediocre talent I thought I wielded. Someone I had foolishly often discredited as “simple” or “distant”, had force-fed me to eat the sour swallow of “crow”, penning words that probably belonged alongside the most magical of love letters through fictional history. In my opinion, anyhow. Not the that object of the affections in said letter would be biased in the least.

. . .

Colton

I obeyed her commands, as I usually do. Happily. And waited until I was seated at the bar in my suite across the grounds from her before opening the letter. I wanted to drag her up the courthouse steps long over 6 months ago, but this place wasn’t so bad. Like it would be, with her taste. I even liked it, actually. I’d never tell Liv though, and have her thinking for a minute that any of this exhausting, unnecessary, wedding shit mattered to me. I would’ve married her in our living room with Mac ordained if I thought she wouldn’t have minded. But, I adore her. More than any should adore another human, truthfully. And I knew this day, with all the people she loves in attanedance, is what her heart needed. So, I shut my fucking mouth, and smile when I’m told like a good husband would. But, I’m not wearing those damn cufflinks. She’ll have to harass me for that one later, and I’ll ask forgiveness. Or, distract her with my mouth the way she likes so much.

I drank down another shot of the aged brown liquor, sucking in its warm after bite between my teeth as I opened the neatly sealed envelope she marked with my name.

Colt,

The mightiest of men could never steal my love for you. To most, your eyes may be the darkest, most dangerous pools of heartache and pain. But I only see the glow of a man who the world just doesn’t deserve to know. Whatever I have needed you to be, you have truly surpassed any responsibility as the man I love, and my heart shouts a thousand words of gratitude. You kickstarted the first pangs of real love within me, and sometimes I foolishly believe that there aren’t two people in the entire world who share as much love as you and I. The weight of your hand within mine is the only courage I have ever felt, and it somehow seems my most insatiable moments of weakness are both caused, and cured only by you. You’ve respected me as your equal, never pointing out my many flaws as a failed strong woman, and secured my every longing for my destined lover, and companion. I never truly believed in any definition of eternity, until I woke up one morning without you by my side and realized I never wanted to live another day without you in it. You have believed in me, encouraged me, and monumentally coached me. In the ring, and in life, I find that we are a team fit for whatever battle seems to threaten us, destined to come out victoriously hand-in-hand. I know you will only do justice to your newly deemed titles of husband….. and daddy

Surprise, my love.

-L

Did she know what she was saying? Was this some sort of reference to the future that I wasn’t understanding? Was she applying that term as some sort of kinky slang that people use these days? It was like my mind told me I should freeze, and clam up with horrified dread at Liv’s very, very unplanned spilling surprise. But yet, as I read the word again silently to myself, then again, aloud, this time, my pulse never quickened with fear. I didn’t feel like shattering this fucking glass of bourbon against the brink of the bar where I sat alone. I couldn’t even squander up the slightest glimmer of resentment at the birth-control of hers that had apparently faltered.

Daddy. Dad. Pop.

My feelings only went directly into running over all the things I’d want he… or she to call me. And all the ways I’d hear it fall from Liv’s sinfully pink lips when she spoke to the little runt about me. Would she let me use my name if it was a boy? Could I take her to the gym with me unsupervised while Liv was working, even though it was probably no place for a little girl?

The itch my skin felt already from feigning for the feel of her touch, and needing her to fill the void between my embracing arms enlarged to a dull ache now. I woke this morning already drunk, knowing for a fact I hadn’t had a single drop of liquor, simply from the joy of knowing I would finally make an honest woman out of her today. And now, I could feel my heart crawling and leaping and vibrating with gladness like I never imagined humanly possible. For a once worthless fucker like me, especially.

A tear dolloped onto the ink of her swirly handwriting, and my toes curled inside these leather vices around my feet. I hadn’t cried like this since I broke my first knuckle when I was 16. But ever since Liv had waltzed her way into my life, it seemed tears were becoming a familiar foe of mine.

“You read the letter?”

“Shit!” I shook and sniffled, whipping round to see Andrew arming into his suit jacket.

“Yeah. Yeah… I uh, I read it.” Andrew was one of the only friends I really ever allow myself to smile with.

“You are one lucky man, Colton Ritter. You better know that. As if Liv wasn’t enough of a gift, now….”

“You knew? This whole time, you knew?”

He grinned. “Guilty. But you’re not allowed to hit me and stain the tux.”

I stood, dismissing myself from the stool, and carefully folding the fateful paper into my pocket. “How far along is she, Drew? When did she find out?”

Drew shook his head like I knew he would. “You know you need to hear all that from her, man. I can’t ruin that for you guys.”

He was indeed right. I wanted to watch her snub back tears as she told me about the tests I’m sure she had taken behind my obviously inattentive back. I envisioned in my mind the way her eyes would get all glassy and wide when I hugged her belly and told her I loved her more than life, and I would kill for her if it ever came to that.

“Half hour till showtime, Colt. Look alive.”

TAGS: @eap1935 @mollybegger-blog @miidailyinspiration @littleluna98

#Tom Hardy #tomhardy #tomhardyfanfic #tom hardy fanfiction #tomhardyfanfiction #Elizabeth Olsen #thegrind

64 notes · View notes

kalluun-patangaroa · 5 years

Text

Suede

SKY magazine, December 1993

written by Simon Witter

"HELLO! WHAT HAVE WE GOT HERE?!" asks Brett Anderson rhetorically, staring at the fluff he has just removed from his ear. "I haven't taken these earrings off for about nine years."

It may seem an incongruous moment to ask the 27-year-old indie pin-up about his personal style, but hey, that's the kind of guy I am. "Tatty," replies Brett with a wry smile. "I haven't been able to get out and go shopping."

Brett Anderson, frontman of Suede – the British pop sensation of 93 – is hotly rumoured to have a great dress sense. Today however, perched uncomfortably behind an executive desk at the central London HQ of his record company, his head inadvertently framed by a halo of Right Said Fred promotional balloons, he is sporting a navy blue jeans'n'top ensemble he accurately describes as "just anything". Brett has been telling me how he spends most of his time with people who work in shops or are unemployed – "real people, not in the business" – so I presume this boutique bonding provides a clue to his supposed, though temporarily non-evident, style savvy.

"Oh no," he gasps. "Not clothes shops! Most of my friends are in food shops. So I know a good bit of brie when I see it."

The thought of Brett Anderson having, at any point in his life, ever eaten food, conjures images of pigs flapping their trotters as they sail past this second floor window. But we press on with the personal style enquiry.

"I want to change it at the moment," he says. "I'm sick of wearing second-hand things. I used to have a grudge against new clothes because I don't like wearing things that another thousand people are wearing. It's nothing to do with being into clothes from years ago, or tatty clothes at all. I'm quite keen to toy around with my style until I eventually find something, to have clothes made for me. There's never anything, when I go out and look for clothes, that I really love. I've got quite a strong vision of what I want, which would be very, very well fitted things. I don't like baggy things. I like lots of ethnic looks. I really like the Spanish look, that sort of matador thing." By way of explanation, Brett strikes a pose, clicking imaginary castanets above his head. "I like that shape. Prince wears a really brilliant little thing sometimes. When I kept getting my bellybutton out, it was really a desire to achieve that shape more than anything, nothing to do with flaunting my navel."

It's well worth flashing your bellybutton while you still can, I assure him, a rueful hand on my own expanding waistline.

"Yep," he smiles. "Well I can't anymore. Not after that chinese last night."

In May of 1992 Suede released their first single, 'The Drowners'. They had already been on the cover of Melody Maker – before they had a record out – and would grace 18 other British magazine covers over the next year, including the cover of Q on just their second single. Their eponymous debut album, released last March, went straight to No. One in the charts and went on to win the Mercury Prize, and last autumn they released a full-length concert video Love & Poison. At this rate, it will be time for their memoirs by easter.

Within the bizarre, incestuous fishbowl of the British music media, Suede have become almost self-damagingly important. After a couple of wilderness years spent faffing about, finding their feet and being universally loathed, their overnight transformation into the most hyped band in the world was nothing short of miraculous. Yet it created impossibly high expectations of their music. A German friend told me how surprised he was, after long distance exposure to their media glare, to discover how average Suede sounded – a judgment that casual discovery of the first album would hardly have elicited. And while touring America, their support act the Cranberries famously outshone them by an enormous factor when it came to album sales. Yet phase one of Suede's career has been – or appeared to be – so extraordinary, that they are going to be hard-pressed to follow it up with anything similarly momentous.

For now, we have 'Stay Together', a new, epically long single. As a measure of Suede's magnitude in the reality-starved world of British indie pop, I am treated to an absurd preview of the track the day before meeting Brett. Before entering the listening room I am subjected to a bag search to check – I kid you not! – that I'm not carrying a concealed tape recorder.

In LA, the world capital of muso control freakism, I was played U2's Desire, the immediate-follow up to their 15-million selling Joshua Tree album, eons before its release without anyone thinking twice. Yet now, without a hint of humour or irony, I am being treated as if I not only know anyone who cares what the next Suede single sounds like, but would be willing to pay for a tape of it recorded through a leather bag.

After regaining consciousness, I join in the fiasco, insist on a full body search (well, at less reputable establishments you'd have to pay good money for this touchy-feely experience) and am seated. The label boss places two speakers on each side of my head, facing my ears from about 20" away, turns it up LOUD, and begins to do that embarrassing, pseudo appreciative in-chair grooving that only people who work in record companies and recording studios have the gall to indulge in. "It's not pompous," he assures me, "even though it's eight minutes long."

Of course any pop song – as opposed to dance record – that lasts eight minutes is by definition pompous. 'Bohemian Rhapsody' was gloriously, defiantly pompous with a side order of pomposity to go. But, despite the circumstances, 'Stay Together' sounds like a fine, many-hued song, liberally doused with Bernard Butler's life-saving guitar, that is destined neither to win many new fans nor shock the devotees.

"It's about a sense of unrest I feel about the world," Brett tells me the following day, in an ill-advised shot at an explanation. "An attempt to make some sense when everything seems to be going slightly insane. I do get a real sense of impending doom, but not in a depressing way, not like we're all gonna die, let's go and rape people. I feel quite content with it. We're living under some shadow, and I'm not quite sure what it is. It's a bit like the fears I felt when I was growing up, when things were unstable and there was the threat of nuclear war, or the fear that your parents could die of aerosol poisoning."

Brett grew up, together with Suede drummer Mat Osman, in the soulless satellite town of Haywards Heath, between London and Brighton. According to Osman, if they'd been the tea party fops people make them out to be, they would've formed a grunge band. They only wanted to be really glamorous because of their stultifyingly dull working class backgrounds. Some might say that that would lead to the three-Es-a-night, dance-and-forget syndrome, rather than the formation of a glam rock band.

"Hopefully we're not a glam rock band," Brett shudders defensively. "You can escape those surroundings by taking a load of Es and ignoring it. Another way is to create your own myth, to try and become romantic in your own eyes, to create something beautiful out of the rubbish and the shit. It all sounds very Oscar Wilde, but that's the way we did it. None of us were brought up in workhouses, but we haven't had easy lives at all."

Suede claim to be obsessed with fame because they were excluded from it. Yet surely fame is the one classless thing people aren't born into?

"Lots of people are constantly privileged," says Brett, who has clearly spent an unhealthy amount of time pondering the abstract qualities of fame. "If you're born in Soho to rich professional parents, and you've got Jonathan Wotsisname coming round to your house every night to see your father, then you've got this world that you slip easily into. When you're excluded from it there's a desperation, you're desperate to have it. It doesn't come as second nature to you, like professionally famous people who hang out in Beverly Hills. It's not something you're comfortable with, but that mutates it into something far more interesting, a bit prickly and far more creative, because you're not just sitting there lapping it up."

Suede's appearance coincided not unfortunately with the post-Madchester 70s revival. But was their styling something more than just the result of being unable to afford new clothes? Personally, I had thought the emergence of Gary Numan had killed off the idea of anyone ever again wanting to be David Bowie (not to mention Bowie's recent records). Then along came Suede, with their rough guitars, their androgyny and their theatrical singer.

"I never thought of ourselves as '70s," Brett insists. "David Bowie is a genius, but the rest of all that rubbish I always found laughable. As for the clothes, I always thought we looked more 60s than 70s. It's all tied up with this whole kitsch thing, this Magpie and Porridge and rediscovering the culture of British music journalists' youths. Kids of 14 didn't know what anyone was talking about, it was just that the people in power had reached a certain age where they were getting sentimental about their youth and started remembering Magpie. That's all it was, all a complete load of rubbish. As soon as we were aware that this scene was going on, we wanted nothing to do with it."

Brett's voice is a highly variable instrument, perfect and beautiful on slow numbers like 'The Next Life', but occasionally, when he affects that archly operatic Bowie yodel, a whiney, sneering sound like Rik Mayall on speed boring into your brain – absolutely maddening. It goes without saying that his delivery owes much to the most overrated British pop star of the last decade, Morrissey.

"I forced my voice in that way because of how we were born, musically, playing shitholes. It was the only way I could make myself heard. I didn't want to sing in the murmuring way that was the style of the time. I wanted to project my voice, because I was writing songs that I wanted people to hear the words of. I wasn't just writing about fluffy little clouds, which is what everyone was doing at the time. People read into my intonations a theatrical seventiesness, but it was a complete accident."

Overworked as the subject is, it's hard to avoid asking why Brett thinks his androgyny caused such a fuss. It's not the first time it has been done; it's not even the tenth time. Genderless, mincing fops are to classic British pop what hairspray is to American rock, a staple ingredient. Brett, by comparison to most, is pretty tame.

"I don't know," he sighs. "We certainly weren't thinking 'oh let's be androgynous', it's just the way we are. I'm naturally quite an effeminate person – not all the time, I do play on things. I think it was because, at the time, people were so incredibly boring. We had been through five years of the cult of non-personality, and we never wanted to go with the flow. When everyone had their heads down, chugging away, we wanted to twist things a little bit. It's like at school, when you find that something annoys someone, you keep on doing it more and more. And that's what happened really."

A female psychologist wrote recently about the overt sexual expression of pre-pubertal girls at pop concerts, the way in which, amidst the non-contact hysteria of the pop experience, they could sometimes experience their first orgasm. She was, admittedly, talking about a Take That show, but I can't help wondering if it looks like that from the stage to Brett Anderson?

"No, nothing like that," he purrs, "nothing sexual. I always feel like people are putting it on."

Having their first fake orgasm?

"It's a bizarre thing in my head. I know they really like me, but I can't really take it seriously. When I'm onstage, and it's working, I feel like I can do absolutely anything. I feel as though there's no limit, even in the sense that I could fall asleep if I felt like it, because I'm that relaxed. I feel much more comfortable on stage than walking down the street. I could go off into a corner and do a crossword or shave my head. I feel ridiculously relaxed. I really enjoy the power of being onstage. It's to do with the circuit of the flow between the audience and you, when it's an audience willing you to be good. Your own power is an expression of how the audience is feeling, but I can't say I ever feel sexual, even if it looks that way. I think that to call the power purely sexual is to belittle it. When I've been to incredible gigs, it hasn't been a sexual thing, it has been something far more magical than that. "

Brett and Osman came to London in the mid 80s to study, respectively, architecture and politics at UCL and LSE. Suede began after they placed an ad in the NME in 1989, but initial concerts had audiences shouting "Fuck off!", critics calling them effete wankers and record companies running for the hills - a three-pronged invitation to eat shit and die that would have spelt the end for most bands.

"That X factor that made people despise us," muses Brett, "was something we managed to turn around in our favour. It's like being in love with someone, and exactly the same things you adore about them, completely horrify you when you've fallen out of love. We went away and learnt how to write songs, and came back transformed. And those qualities that originally pissed people off, we transformed into something provocative. I think the fact that we went through all that rubbish was a fucking good thing for us. People forget that the Beatles spent five years in Hamburg. No one would touch them in England, cos everyone thought they were an utter load of shit. They spent five years getting it together, suffering a bit and fighting for it."

A typical lyric from those hard years was Brett's line about "shitting paracetomol on the escalator". When they were recently described as chemically saturated, I had assumed more interesting chemicals were involved.

"That's about pure mundanity, being off your face every night and your staple diet coming from your bathroom cabinet. It's a metaphor for a humdrum life, going up and down the London underground, which I spent five years of my life doing."

In many ways this – Suede's poignant soundtracking of new depression Britain – is their strength. But if they are Her Majesty's equivalent of slackers, it hasn't made America any more amenable to their cause. Indeed, despite Brett's avowed loathing of the British character – "negativity, small-mindedness, lack of faith" – there may well be a Britishness about Suede which prevents America from getting the point.

Brett makes the mistake of quoting a Smiths song to me – something about innocence, fragility and trust – forcing me to point out that American audiences don't want to be trusted with something precious, they want to rock out with their cocks out. Evan Dando may wear a dress and pigtails, but the wider American market is notoriously unkeen on sexual ambiguity. Queen were big in America until the early 80s, when Freddie Mercury started appearing in full clone gear. They never toured America again, and didn't have a single hit until after his death (and then only thanks to Wayne's World). In fact, America's association of guitars and manliness make Suede fundamentally unsuited.

"No!" storms Brett. "I don't think we're fundamentally unmanly. All you have to do is come and watch us live. We're about sexuality, power and emotion, things that everybody feels."

Whether or not America is destined to fall for his Morrissey-meets-Larry Grayson stage persona, Brett's much-aired desire to move to America (and less well-known plan to live in Paris) has, for now, been replaced by a much smaller act of bedouinism.

"I've moved from Notting Hill to Highgate," he announces proudly, "from a fashionable place to a place where you're living in the last century pretty much. I was living in a very small flat in Notting Hill and it was driving me insane, I couldn't write and was being bombarded with nonsense all day long. I needed the peace and quiet, and now I have a bigger flat with a studio room in it and I'm writing quite prolifically. It's more serene, there's more space to think. It's quite a beautiful place, but you do feel like you're living in the last century, like you're some sort of oddity, or in a play. You keep going into these odd characters. But it's a great place."

In person, and despite the affectation of much of his thought processes, Brett Anderson is quite charming. An endearing smile – which seems to hibernate when cameras are around – plays constantly around his face, suggesting shared confidences which, to some extent, he delivers. Like so many people cocooned by over-protective minions, he is refreshingly open and approachable. I like him. But he is deeply shocked and incredulous when I paint a picture of the special treatment afforded him by those he works with.

"They treat me with the respect I deserve," he jokes defensively. "I don't have tea with Lenny Kravitz. My best friend works in a chip shop, and that's why I like it, it's a complete escape. One of the beautiful things about being successful is that it can rub off onto your friends as well. Not fame and all that bullshit – the really brilliant thing about being successful is the self-confidence, the sense of life having a purpose, that life is a wonderful thing. You open the shutters in the morning and the sunshine pours through. That sense of vitality about life can completely rub off on your friends. Sometimes it doesn't, it can go the other way, with friends ignoring you cos they think you don't have time for them, but that never happens with your proper friends."

And yet, engulfed in the sweltering perversity of his peer group, Brett has come to hold some pretty crap views, views that seem utterly irrelevant beyond the borders of saddo indie land. He worries about being thought a sell-out, thinks Suede are radically honest because they admit to having ambition – as if people didn't get over all that bollocks a decade ago – and, worst of all, that people don't talk enough about music in interviews. Oh dear!

But, despite all this, Brett's public image remains unshatterably cool. He exudes waves of sultry, sulky hipness. I feel an urge to know what naff items lurk in the corners of Chateau Anderson, his ownership of which will shock Suede devotees to the core. Brett tells me he's been to see Aladdin, listens to jazz music, likes The Orb and Verve and has just bought the new Shamen single. To prove it, he even does his Mr C impression - "Comin' on like a vibe, y'know!". This won't do at all.

"I like Terence Trent D'Arby," he admits, trying harder. "I think he's really good."

It's good, but it's not right.

"I bought Billy Joel's River Of Dreams album. I like that one."

Aha – as Inspector Clouseau used to say – now we are getting somewhere! What about films?

"No, I've got impeccable taste when it comes to films."

No feature length On The Buses video stashed chez Brett?

"No. I have got Crocodile Dundee."

Bingo and Bullseye! So much for impeccable taste.

"Well, my perennial favourite is Performance," he flusters wildly. "I can virtually quote the whole film from start to finish. And there's a brilliant film which I've just discovered called The Shout, with John Hurt, Alan Bates and Susanna York. It's about a man who has spent years in the Australian bush learning the secrets of the bush doctors coming to this ridiculously reserved Cornish village and turning two people's lives upside down. It's like an animal alive within this village, and when he shouts, everyone within a mile radius dies. If Alan Bates' part had been played by Vincent Price, it would've been laughable, but it's incredibly powerful, one of those great lost films."

It's a nice try, but nothing can erase the impression created by Billy Joel and Crocodile Dundee.

#suede #brett anderson #press #interview #sky #1993

29 notes · View notes

riley1cannon · 5 years

Text

A Mother’s Day fic

This is from a couple years ago...

Daisies

RileyC

Summary: Alfred keeps a memory for Bruce; Damian shares it; Clark helps him make new ones...

I. Past

Alfred Pennyworth fished the gift box out of the trash. It was a rather bold red, secured with a pink polka dot ribbon. There was to have been a daisy, Mrs. Wayne’s favorite, pushed through the ribbon along with a card when Master Bruce presented it to her this morning.

Afterward there was to be brunch at the club with Dr. Wayne, followed by an afternoon at the ballpark, “So Martha can watch her damn Knights,” Dr. Wayne, lifelong Yankees fan, had mock-grumbled, well within earshot of the lady.

“Hah!” Mrs. Wayne had returned. “You just watch, this is our year,” she declared. “Bet you anything.”

“Oh?” Dr. Wayne had looked at her with interest. “What will you bet?”

“The moon and the stars.”

“Hmm, nope, no good. I’ve got those already,” Dr. Wayne had said as he’d taken Mrs. Wayne into his arms.

Alfred had discreetly withdrawn.

He sighed now, thinking of all the plans that had been made, everything that would never be now.

He undid the ribbon and lifted the lid, shook his head with sorrow at the treasure nestled against a bed of cotton stuffing. Although he had helped tie the ribbon Alfred had not been witness to the gift young Master Bruce had placed within. Now he understood where that bottle of glue had gone, not to mention the smell of fresh paint that had puzzled the household a few days ago.

It was a picture frame, painted sea foam green, or as near as made no difference. Seashells had been glued around the frame with precision. A more precise brush had been used to add miniature starfish and an approximation of a coral reef, complete with octopus, down at the bottom, and a flourish of To Mother at the top. If the artist’s skill was a bit unrefined, Alfred had no doubt Mrs. Wayne would have perceived no imperfections, and would have counted it among her treasures indeed.

The picture it framed was from a tropical holiday the family had enjoyed this past winter. After a busy day on the beach spent recreating Wayne Manor as a sandcastle--”We don’t have a moat, darling--or a drawbridge.” “A gross oversight.”--the family were posed with their fantastical creation, smiling as broadly as though they had unearthed the remains of fabled Atlantis.

Alfred understood why Master Bruce had thrown this away. He’d want it someday, though, when the pain had ebbed and memories would be welcome.

He’d keep it for him until then.

II. Present

“That’s Grandmother?” Damian took the old picture frame back from Bruce, examining the image preserved there forever in Kodachrome.

Damian had seen photos of his grandparents, to say nothing of their portrait, but those were all formal and a bit remote. Vacation snaps were something else entirely, and Bruce suspected that was the fascination for Damian. He could remember going through a photo album and being shocked at how young his parents were in those old snapshots and the bizarre things they were wearing. His mother in miniskirts and go-go boots? His father in bell bottoms and a Nehru jacket? Young minds were easily boggled by things like that.

Maybe it was time to haul out those old albums again? Always assuming Damian hadn’t already unearthed them in his excursions through the mansion.

“That’s her,” Bruce confirmed. He hadn’t seen this picture frame in, well, forever. He would have sworn he’d thrown it away, in fact. Didn’t take the world’s greatest detective to work out who must have found it and kept it all these years. “Where did you find it?”

“In a box in the attic.” Damian turned the frame this way and that, casting a sideways look at Bruce every now and then, as though comparing himself to the image of Bruce in the photograph.

Bruce spread cream cheese over a toasted bagel.“Was the box locked?”

“Not really.”

Which no doubt meant that while a padlock may have been in place it had presented a piffling challenge.

“Did you make the frame?”

“I painted it and glued on the seashells.”

Damian ran a thumb over a clam shell. “And it was a present?”

Bruce nodded, sipped his coffee, part of him hoping the questions would stop. Of course they didn’t.

“Did she like it?”

Elbows propped on the table, Bruce rested his chin on his hands and tracked Alfred’s progress as he appeared with Damian’s waffles. “I never found out.”

Damian gave him a curious look, glanced at Alfred and seemed to gather something there. Understanding glimmered in his eyes at any rate. “Oh,” was all he said. He set the frame down and concentrated on his waffles.

Bruce sighed, caught Alfred’s eye, tried to interpret the silent message Alfred was sending him. “It’s okay to talk about it,” he said after a moment. Getting the words out hadn’t even been difficult. Maybe the old wounds had begun to heal. Not ripping them open again every five minutes probably helped. “I think she would have liked it.”

“I’ve no doubt at all,” said Alfred, quick with a napkin when Damian started to dribble syrup on the tablecloth. He was still trying to telegraph something to Bruce. “Mothers are like that.”

Attention still fixed on the waffles, Damian asked, “All mothers?”

A bell went off for Bruce then. Good thing, too: Alfred might have started in on semaphores next. “I’m not sure about all mothers,” he began carefully, venturing further at Alfred’s encouraging look, “but I do think most of them get a kick out of any homemade gift from their children.” Granted, he had a hard time picturing Talia gushing over a Popsicle birdhouse. Still, she had been known to surprise him. And knowing Damian, it wouldn’t be a birdhouse anyway.

Gaze locked on the waffles again, Damian nodded. He picked up the picture frame again, considered the old photo. “Maybe we could visit her.”

Bruce nodded. “We can do that. Shall we take her flowers? She always liked daisies…”

III. Later

“Alfred said I’d find you here.”

Ah: So that’s what that whoosh was awhile back. Bruce shifted a bit as Clark sat down beside him in the grass. “Thought you’d be in Smallville today.”

“I was. Now I’m here.”

“Hhn.” His fingers plucked restlessly at fresh, green shoots of grass as he watched Clark pick up the bouquet he and Damian had brought to the grave. It was a gaudier mix than Bruce might have picked out on his own, pink and white daisies jostling with yellow and blue primroses. He thought Damian’s grandmother would approve, however.

“You okay?”

Bruce breathed out, nodded. “I am, actually.”

“Maybe someday that won’t surprise you.”

He gave sideways look at Clark, sitting there and watching him so seriously, a hint of concern in those blue eyes, and smiled. “Maybe.”

Clark set the bouquet back down and nudged his shoulder against Bruce’s. “Should anyone be concerned that Damian’s working out how to make a crossbow with Popsicle sticks?”

Bruce’s lips twitched with another smile. “Probably not.”

“Okay. Thought I’d check.”

It was a beautiful Sunday. Starting to grow cool now, late in the afternoon, but with no hint of the rain forecasters had predicted. A good day to share memories. A good day to make them?

Clark nudged him again. Bruce turned a grumpy look on him. “What?”

“Introduce me.” Clark jerked his chin at the graves.

Bruce stared at him. “Introduce you?”

“Umm hmm.”

Bruce shook his head, rolled his eyes, humored the lunatic. “Mother, Father, this is Clark Kent. He’s a dork.”

Clark rolled his eyes. “And…?” he prodded, mobile eyebrows trying to convey something more.

“And we work together sometimes.”

Clark gave him a hard stare. As there was no glimmer of red, Bruce wasn’t worried. “It’s okay,” Clark said in a confidential way, addressing the graves. “He’s sensitive sometimes. The first time I saw him all dressed up I teased him a little bit and he was a long time getting over that.”

“That had nothing to do with being sensitive,” Bruce grumbled. “You pinged my ears and said they were cute.”

“Well, they were.”

Bruce didn’t know why he wasted time glowering at him. It never made an impression.

“I guess you could say we got off on a little bit of a wrong foot,” Clark was continuing. “But it worked out in the end. He’s my best friend now. Well, that’s not quite true, actually. We’re engaged to be married. I hope you and your husband approve, Mrs. Wayne. I love him a lot, even if he is the grumpiest thing that ever grumped.”

Bruce snorted.

Clark carried on. “Has he ever told you how it happened? I bet he hasn’t. Well, there was this cruise and he’d found out the Riddler was planning something. The only way to stop him, according to your son,” Clark looked at him, so much radiance in his smile Bruce had to turn away, “was for the two of us to go on the cruise undercover. Guess what our cover was?” Clark reached over and caressed the nape of his neck. “You never will. I couldn’t have. He decided the only way to catch the Riddler was for us to pose as a honeymooning couple.” He paused, nodded as though listening to a a reply. “No, it didn’t make a lot of sense to me, either, Mrs. Wayne, especially when it looked like he could have picked a lot of other people.”

Bruce looked back at him then, reached to catch Clark’s hand in his. “It made perfect sense, and no one else would have been suitable.”

Clark’s thumb rubbed over his knuckles, warming stiff joints. “Anyway, one thing and another, we wound up falling in love for real. Although to tell you the truth, Mrs. Wayne, I was more than halfway there already,” he confessed as Bruce leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“It was a Love Boat cruise. All the passengers were couples. Nygma would have been suspicious if notorious playboy Bruce Wayne showed up by himself.”

“You had Cat Grant reveal footage of our secret wedding on Good Morning Metropolis.”

“It had to look authentic. Nygma’s not an idiot. You’re telling it all wrong.”

“Well you tell it then.”

“Fine.” Bruce let Clark slip an arm around him and pull him close. It was getting chilly, after all. “Edward Nygma, the Riddler, was running a scam aimed at parting a lot of wealthy people from their money, Mother. I needed someone to play the part of a gullible, naive country bumpkin who’d just fallen off the turnip truck, and the first name that came to mind was…”

~*~

“So my being good at solving riddles was completely irrelevant?”

Bruce sighed. Again. “It was not irrelevant. It just wasn’t the deciding factor.”

Clark cupped his chin, thumb lightly caressing Bruce’s bottom lip. “What was?”

“I…” He paused, grumbled, glanced at the graves, lingered on his mother’s. He knew what she’d say. She would look at him and smile, eyes lit up with it, and tell him, ‘Go for it, Bruce, go for it!’ Granted, the times she had encouraged him with that had been when he was learning to ride a bike and other challenges, but he thought it applied here too.

“Bruce?” Those blue eyes were clouded with uncertainty now, and that couldn’t be allowed to stand.

Bruce slipped a hand up to curve around Clark’s neck, fingers playing with the curls at his nape. “You weren’t the only one halfway there already,” he confessed and watched those clouds clear, watched Clark light up again. “I thought I needed a reason to get you there, though.”

“And asking me out on a date never crossed your mind?”

He pulled a face. “I couldn’t imagine you’d say yes.”

“Idiot,” Clark murmured. He kissed him on the forehead.

“I think that has been established, yes.” He felt a drop of rain plop on his head, tipped his head back to scan the sky. “Looks like the rain’s coming.”

Clark nodded. “We’ve got time,” he said with farmboy confidence. He got up, lent a hand to Bruce. “I could fly us to the house.”

“Or we could walk.”

Clark waved an expansive arm. “After you.” He looked back at the graves. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Wayne. Mr. Wayne. I’ll take good care of him.”

Bruce rolled his eyes again.

“I think your mom likes me,” Clark said as they headed off along the well-worn path. “Not sure about your dad.”

“He probably thinks you’re an alien gold-digger.” Bruce slung an arm across Clark’s shoulders.

Clark slipped an arm around Bruce’s waist as they walked on. “What does my being alien have to do with it?”

More fat drops of rain plopped down.

=======

The daisy’s message is one of hope and renewal…

#superbat #mother's day

27 notes · View notes

oumiyuki · 6 years

Text

Teachers don’t date teachers (but You-sensei and Riko-sensei definitely are) Ch4

Summary: The whole student body and teachers teases the gym teacher, Watanabe You, with the new art teacher, Sakurauchi Riko, that they make a cute couple. How long can You deny this when Riko isn’t helping to reduce the rumours?

Pairing: YouRiko

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Slice of Teacher Life ;D

Words: 2380

Author Notes

Tumbling through life and through the cuts and bruises I present you with a YouRiko-sensei update.

May you enjoy~ :/D

Tease04 – You-sensei and Riko-sensei Love-Love Photo Album

If the saying “it’s a small world” is true and so often used for people who happen onto each other in various shopping centres, parks or even across countries. That saying is even truer when it comes to You bumping into Riko throughout the school and having more than a few occasions to interact with the new art teacher.

You certainly doesn’t mind. And the school is even more excited about this fact.

Riko takes hurried steps towards the teacher’s office. Her heels click-clacking against the floors of the school as she worries about not making it to her desk before the clock hits 7.30am.

Rounding a bend, the auburn-haired art teacher slips and lets out a short scream, her heart leapt up to her throat and she was expecting the pain of falling on her butt and worse-case scenario of spraining her ankle. But after keeping her eyes closed for about five seconds and nothing came, she slowly opened them.

Her knight in shining armour smiles down at her. Riko pushes her brain’s maiden-like thoughts away with a slight blush. The kind and fit gym teacher who also happened to be in-charged of her well-being in school has caught Riko’s outstretched hand before Riko could slip any further closer to the ground.

You gives Riko a warm smile, perfect for making mornings 200% better. Riko smiles nervously. “T-Thank you, You-sensei… I would be sitting on the floor if not for you.”

You chuckles and shakes her head. “Glad to be of help. I believe your chair inside prefers your butt to be sitting on them than on the floor.”

Riko stares at You with a tint of pink covering her cheeks. “My butt…huh.” Riko tilts her head to the side in a considering manner.

You pulls Riko upright without warning and her free hands lifts to cover her embarrassed face. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say butt. I mean I did. But..I didn’t mean to seem so crude…In front of you…Er…”

Gods, why do I always mess up in front of Riko-sensei?

Riko giggles softly into her free hand as she left the hand that You caught to still be in hers; it felt so warm there after all. “I like your straightforwardness, You-sensei. So don’t worry about it.”

You looks at Riko before lowering her head.

Riko-sensei is too kind...

One of the early to school newspaper club student snaps shots of You catching Riko and still holding onto Riko’s hand after. She checks the saved image in her camera with a grin and only left when Riko and You went on their way.

“And…finishing dunk.” The sparkling with sweat and equipped with a shining smile gym teacher kicks off the ground and easily plunges the basketball into the hoop before landing back down with a twist.

Nailed it!

Her students cheered loudly while the other half of the class that had to go up against her booed in a slightly dejected manner.

“You-sensei, that’s amazing!”

“Ahh, there’s no way we can win You-sensei…”

You laughs loudly as she ruffles the head of her surrounding students; not minding the sweat and even accepting some of their elbow jabs. “Hey, hey. You girls are getting better. And I did take some of the basketball girls on my team.”

Totally unplanned when I jacked the game, but it’s the truth.

You winks and the other team groans again.

“How did you do that dunk? It was so cool!” A student asked with starry eyes and hands in a prayer manner.

The gym teacher looks to her student who wasn’t very tall for dunking and back to the hoop; her smile never wavering. “With practice and believe.”

As every main character will tell you.

You raises her right hand which catches the basketball a student throws to her immediately when they noticed the flow of conversation. You nods to her student to watch her closely and she begins dribbling the basketball towards the hoop, and when she feels the momentum is right – a jump and smoothly dunks once again.

The student claps vigorously. “…But I still don’t get it?”

“What did I just do?” You prompts and points to her slow dribbling.

“Dribble the ball.” The student answers.

“What am I doing now?” You begins a half jog.

“Um…Running with the ball.”

You smiles and nods. “Find your pace and let your palm feel the ball.” You holds the ball in both hands. “Now what am I doing?”

“…Holding…the ball?” The student asks.

“Essentially. And gauging how firmly I am holding the ball. Before I stare down the hoop. And~” You throws the ball at the angle she felt just right, and in the next two seconds, the beautiful sound of the basketball swooping through the hoop and net was heard. Every student stood in awe.

Oh man…This attention…

“It’s all about practice.” You chuckles abashedly at the silent attention. She liked being a gym teacher because of the always on the move and energy, so this much attention made her nervous.

The student who asked about how to dunk nods enthusiastically. “I will!”

Ah, I love earnest to learn kids~

You gives her a thumbs up and a wide smile. “Great. Now I think we’ve got enough time for another mini-game-”

“You-sensei~!” You turns to see the Head of Art jogging towards her; which is really a feat as the tall blonde always wore a striking black office skirt that hugged her black stockings covered thighs tightly, coupled with those 2inch black stiletto heels to further add to her height and sexy aura.

How is she even walking in those?

You walks towards the Head of Art so that the blonde teacher does not have to risk tripping with every step she takes. All while keeping an eye on those heels. You has never worn heels in her life. Or at least she did twice and never wanted to do so on a daily basis like some of the other teachers do.

“Ohara-sensei. What’s up? And do be careful in those killer shoes.” The ash-brunette dodged a swipe at her with a cheeky smile.

“They are only killer if you’re referring to how they make me the sexiest teacher in Uranohoshi, You-sensei~” The Head of Art winks.

“I’m always amazed that you can walk in those for eight hours. And even jog.” You shakes her head.

The angle totally makes your ankle hurt. Sneakers are best.

Ohara-sensei grins. “But you do find them sexy, don’t you~?”

You rolls her eyes at the Head of Art stretching out her legs to pose for You. You clears her throat and turns back to her class. “No ogling. And start another game on your own!”

The class hurriedly grab some basketballs and talked to themselves for being caught staring. Everyone loves Watanabe-sensei for being the easiest to talk to and share their fun and worries with. But everyone loves Ohara-sensei for her humour and sexiness, that’s for certain.

“Aww~ How sweet of you, You-sensei~ Do you do that for Riko-sensei too?” The Head of Art winks at You again.

Sweet- What?

You finds heat creeping at her cheeks at the image of her being protective for Riko. “N-No? She doesn’t dress like you do, Ma- Ohara-sensei.” You squints with a pout.

The Head of Art laughs unabashedly. “That’s what you think, dearie. I would tease you more, but we don’t have a good enough audience.”

“Mari- Ohara-sensei!” You protests.

Why does Mari-sensei like to tease me so much!?

Mari places a hand on You’s shoulder while grinning at the shorter teacher’s red face - adorable. “I need you to do me a favour.”

“Well..that’s why you’re here, no?” You grumbles childishly.

Mari nods. “I’ve got a meeting to go to right now. So if you could, I’d love if you help tell Riko that she classes are cancelled on Tuesday. She’ll have other things instructed to do for that day.”

You nods. “Sure. Sounds simple.”

Mari chuckles. “Well, it’s not like I asked you to pick flowers fitting for the teacher you’re crushing on – so yes, it’s simple.”

“Crush- What are you even saying now, Mari-sensei! I don’t have a crush on Riko-sensei.” You turns away from Mari with an indignant pout.

Mari waggles her eyebrows at You. “I didn’t mention anything about Riko, did I~?”

Eh? Mari-sensei didn’t..?

You’s ears turned red too as she realized Mari really did not mention Riko as the teacher You may have a crush on yet the gym teacher jumped to conclusions. “But you insinuated-”

“Mm~” Mari wore a cat-like grin so high You couldn’t do anything.

“Ugh, just go to your meeting, Ohara-sensei. I’ll let Riko-sensei know about cancelled classes.”

Mari laughs. “Remember it’s Tuesday~” And with that, the blonde that arrived like a hurricane goes on her way like a hurricane too.

You returns to her class and instructs two students to take charge on packing and putting back the basketballs in the storage room, and to head back to class properly when done.

The gym teacher takes large strides over to Riko’s class so that she can catch the art teacher before she leaves the art room. Upon reaching, You leans her left shoulder coolly against the door to the art room and puts a finger to her mouth so the students won’t start making noises.

So this is how Riko-sensei teaches huh… It’s not that much different from any other teacher I guess.

You chuckles in her mind at thinking that Riko might have the class turn into a serene garden for art class or something otherworldly for art inspirations. You chucked it up to her sports filled mind’s misconception and knocks on the door twice to catch the art teacher’s attention.

Riko jumps very slightly but You notices so she grins and waves when Riko looks over surprised. “You-sensei?”

“Good morning again, Riko-sensei~”

She sure had her focus on the canvas to be surprised by a light knock on the door. She must really love art.

“Good morning…again. You-sensei.” Riko smiles and walks over. “What brings you here?”

You moves to stand up straight and wipe a stray sweat trickling down the side of her cheek. “Ohara-sensei sent me to pass you a message.”

“Oh. It must be very important for you to come running here then.” Riko reaches in her pocket and offers her handkerchief so that the gym teacher can wipe her sweat.

“Ah, er. It’s okay. I just ended a gym class where we played basketball. Thus the sweat. I don’t want to dirty your handkerchief, don’t worry about it, Riko-sensei.” You rambles on with her hands up to reject gratefully.

Riko nods and keeps her handkerchief slowly back into her pocket. You’s blue eyes watched it go with a hint of regret.

Riko-sensei’s pink floral patterned handkerchief…fits her image and is probably soft like Riko-sensei’s hands… Wai- what am I thinking!

You lifts her head to look away from Riko’s pocket and make proper eye contact. Seeing Riko waiting patiently made her feel relieved. “So.”

Riko nods. “Mm-hm?”

“Ohara-sensei wants me to tell you that Tuesday’s classes will be cancelled… Just to let you know.” You smiles and gives herself a pat on the back internally for completing her mission.

Riko nods again, walks back to take her phone and back to You. “Thank you for all the time, You-sensei.”

Murmurs within the class starts to occur at the information the art teacher just shared. Students turned to talk about how Riko-sensei is always helped by You-sensei and how cute their relationship is.

You peeks at Riko’s phone screen, noticing that Riko has a really neat planner opened and have written in notes that classes are cancelled on the coming Tuesday.

Riko-sensei is so organized…Such a contrast with me…

You places a hand on the back of her neck. “No problem. I’m your official caretaker in the school after all!” You chuckles at the title.

Riko giggles at the title too. “I’m glad to have you as my caretaker.”

You smiles widely, and she feels her spirits more light and jolly just from Riko saying she’s glad to have her.

Riko-sensei is really such a sweet person.

While You and Riko are conversing, some students have taken out their handphones or cameras to take pictures of their two favourite teacher couple. Whispering to one another that You-sensei and Riko-sensei are literally the cutest couple in school and this scene in front of them is proof of that.

At the end of the school day, in the newspaper club room, students of the club and various students through the school were inside sharing snapshots they captured throughout the day to share in the “Love-Love Photo Album”. Meaning to say, they choose selected ones to be blown up and kept as a hardcopy version, a promotional picture on the school’s notice board, and the others into the softcopy album.

“Ahh, every time You-sensei holds Riko-sensei’s hand I feel like I’m going to melt!” A student gushes as she looks through the collection.

“You’re not the only one! Looks at how their hands fit so well in each other’s!”

“C’mon, girls~ It’s not just the hands you should be looking at.” A confident voice sounds at the door before it closes.

“Ohara-sensei!” The students greets.

The Head of Art wears a Cheshire grin and waves to her students before approaching the table and pointing at You-sensei’s face. “You-sensei’s blush is our one hundred and one percent definite proof of their love~”

Students nod eagerly and squealed at the focus on their charming gym teacher’s blushing expression.

“And Riko-sensei’s own set of blush! She’s hiding her affections but it’s so clear to us! Am I right or am I right, girls~?” Ohara-sensei stands up straight and the loud clack of her stiletto heel commanded attention.

The students cheered and clapped. “Yes~! Riko-sensei is in love with You-sensei!”

The Head of Art laughs happily that she’s opening the eyes of the students to notice the little details of the budding love between You and Riko. She’s going home to squeal at each image in the YouRiko Love-Love Photo Album later while she concocts a new plan for teasing You and Riko.

Author Notes

Look at that. I included another Aqours member~;D (Mari, the Head of Art is the ultimate YouRiko shipper and wingwoman. Foreshadowed since chapter 1. Hahas. XD)

I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter~ (´∀`)

You and Riko’s actions will always be stalked! And added into that ever-growing album! (*≧∀≦*)

Leave me comments to let me know what y’all think of this chapter~ How’s our Ohara-sensei’s official introduction? Hehe~

#youriko #rikoyou #watanabe you #sakurauchi riko #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #teacher/teacher au #the teacher/teacher au I crave for YouRiko #love live! sunshine!!#love live!#romance #yuri #fluff #ohara mari #teachers

22 notes · View notes

ellygoesnyooom · 7 years

Note

Can i request rfa + saeran having accidents, they are fine but they forget MC- they forget their feelings for her too??? I hope for happy endings ^^. OvO Can you write this?? Please do it O-O Please OvO

Sure thing! I made this into little fics, I hope you don’t mind. They got long so I’m going topost them in parts! Here’s part one, prepare the tissues because you may needthem, I sure needed them writing it (I’m also a big baby) (someone hug me I hurt ;-;)

Part one (Yoosung and Zen): xPart two (Jaehee and Jumin): here!Part three (Saeyoung): here!Part four (Saeran): here!

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of blood

Yoosung

Yoosungwas on his way home from the vet’s office, full of stories about Lisa and a dogwho had come in and needed surgery that you had taken a liking to. He was soexcited to tell you all about how the little dog, named Poppy, finally was ableto stand up and started hobbling around, not even minding the bulky cast on itsleg. He had a few pictures and videos of the precious moment on his phone, and couldn’twait to see your face light up as you saw them.

As hecame up to a red light at a cross-section, he pressed on the break, only for it to turn greenagain. Great, I can get to MC faster!He stepped on the gas to pick up speed again, not noticing the speeding carheading right for him. He didn’t even have enough time to react before the carslammed into him, and all he saw was black.

As soonas the phone call from the police came, your heart dropped to your feet.Yoosung was…injured? Car accident? Hospital?You couldn’t comprehend this information, not even when you arrived and sat inthe waiting room and waited for someone to let you in to see him. Yoosung is fine, this is all a dream,you told yourself over and over again like a mantra.

Youdidn’t tell any of the RFA just yet; you wanted to see him first. But while youwaited, you almost called Jaehee or Zen multiple times, for emotional support. Afterwaiting for what seemed like an eternity of waiting in the waiting room, thedoctors let you see him.

Whenyou walked into the room, you let out a choked sob. There he was. He wasn’tunscathed, but he looked relatively okay, save for a bandage around hisforehead and a sling supporting his arm. There were IV’s taped to the back ofhis hands, an oxygen mask over his face, and his breathing was shallow, but he wasthere. He was alive. Unconscious, yes, but breathing and alive.

Youstayed with him the whole time he was asleep, holding his hand and murmuring tohim, letting him know you were there, pleading with him to come back to you, towake up, to be okay. The rest of the RFA came and sat with you during the day,as well as family and friends, and they all brought gifts. Soon, the sterile,white room was filled with balloons, stuffed animals, and get well soon cards,but it still felt empty. Yoosung wasn’t awake, so none of the gifts meantanything to you.

They would comfort you as you sat,staring at your husband’s face and willing his eyes to open, for his Amethystgaze to land on yours and crinkle as he smiled that smile you loved and missed.You wanted him to open his eyes and tell you he was fine, it was all just anelaborate joke. But he didn’t.

Jaehee brought you coffee, as wellas clothes from your house to change into, a pillow, and blanket to use whilesleeping in the uncomfortable chair beside his bed. Zen would come and sit withyou, wrapping an arm around you and holding you fast to his side. Jumin didn’tcome often, usually sending his condolences with Jaehee, but he worked hardbehind the scenes to get Yoosung the best care. Seven brought with him littletrinkets he created for you, and jokes to try and lighten the heavy atmosphere.You appreciated all of them, but it didn’t change the fact that Yoosung wasunreachable to you.

Then, one day about two weeks later,it happened: his eyes fluttered open, shut, then slowly opened again. His eyeswere narrowed from the light of the room, but he was awake. Yoosung was awake!

“Yoosung? Yoosung, it’s me, MC.”You gripped his hand and squeezed, bringing his eyes to you. You expected thesame warmth that he always looked at you with, but got nothing. It was as ifyou were a stranger to him. “Yoosung? D-do you know who I am? Do you rememberme?”

Slowly, he shook his head no, andthe world crumbled down before you. Your husband didn’t know you anymore.

Even though he didn’t remember you,you stayed with him. It stung a bit when he remembered the rest of the RFA,even scrunching his nose at the mention of V, but felt nothing towards you. Hecouldn’t speak much, but you would see him do things that would put your heartin your mouth; he would reach out and grip your hand, with the same intensityas he would have before the accident. He would occasionally reach up and brushthe tears off your cheeks as you cried above him, thinking he didn’t knowbecause he was resting or asleep.

You helped him through his recovery,and slowly, he grew closer to you. Within a few weeks, he was finally out ofthe hospital, and able to go home. You should have been ecstatic being able tobringing your husband home after weeks in the hospital, but there was only alead weight in your stomach. He didn’t remember you. How would you explain itwhen you go into the same house as him? How were you to explain why you livewith him?

As you drove down the road to whereyou two lived, Yoosung started to talk. “I… I remember things, that I can’texplain, MC,” He spoke slowly, eyes staring sadly out the window. “Like what?”

“I…I remember a girl,” he started,and then paused for a moment before continuing. “I remember this girl, with thesame name as you. I remember her warmth, how she made me feel complete. She hadthis beautiful, bright smile that always made me happy. She made me feel likethe man I never thought I could be, or deserved to be. I remember proposing toher, I remember crying as she walked up to the altar, I remember building alife with her. I can remember all of this, but I can’t remember who this personis, I can’t remember what she looks like, I can’t remember the sound of hervoice. I don’t know who the love of my life is, where she is, whether she’sokay or worried about me. And it hurts.”Your heart was in your throat, and you wanted to scream out, I’m here! I’m right here! But thatwouldn’t help this situation. You needed to show him evidence.

“I know who she is,” you saysoftly, but he hears. “Y-you do?” Biting your lip, you nod slowly, spotting thehouse you two shared. “Yes.”

“Can you tell me who she is?Please, I need to know, MC!” His voice was filled with desperation, but youcouldn’t tell him yet. You needed to show him, not tell him. “I’ll show youher, Yoosung. Let’s go inside.” You parked in front of the house, and you gotout, jogging around the car to help him out of the front. He leaned on youslightly as you walked with him to the front door, but you didn’t mind one bit.He stayed with his arm around your shoulder, resting some of his weight on youas you fumbled to unlock the door. “How do you have the keys to my house?” Youdon’t respond, instead pushing the door open and helping him in.

Settling him on the couch, you tellhim to wait and run upstairs to your guys’ bedroom, where you keep your photoalbums. When you return, Yoosung is still in the same position, shouldershunched and eyes downcast. You settle next to him and slide the first of thetwo photo albums into his lap. “This will tell you who she is, Yoosung. Look.”He sends you a wide-eyed glance before quickly opening the front cover. Thephoto in the front is from the day you first met, at the party. His eye wasstill bandaged up from his trip to Mint Eye with Seven, but both of your smileswere wide and bright.

His hand ran over the image beforehe flipped to the next page. You watched as he went through pictures of yourfirst date, all the way to the end, which is when he proposed. “That’s her,” Hebreathed, tearing up at the image of the two of you with your arms wrappedtightly around the other, wide smiles on your faces. “Yoosung, look at me.” Hedoes, and tears start to free-fall down his face as he connects two and two.“Oh, my precious MC.” The photo album in front of him was long forgotten andfell to the floor as he quickly engulfed you in his arms, a sob shaking hisbody. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he chanted into your chest, shaking his headsadly.

“Yoosung, don’t be. You couldn’tcontrol that you lost memory of me. Let’s just be glad you remembered and moveforward, okay?” He moved back to look at you, a beaming smile on his face andcheeks shiny with tears. Yours must have matched his as he pressed his lips toyours, and your heart exploded with the feelings you had to hold in for thepast few weeks. It would all be fine now. It would be hard, but now that heremembered, you felt like you could tackle the world.

Zen

It wasthe opening of his newest musical, and you were there, front row, ready tocheer him on as his biggest fan. He was so passionate about this role, as heplayed the role of a knight saving a damsel in distress, just like he wanted tobe to you. (I’m sorry I’m not creative aah) When he came out, your heartsoared. He knew exactly where you were, because he made sure you sat in thesame spot for every performance you went to. He locked eyes multiple times withyou, and would send you a little wink or discreet wave, which you gladlyreturned.

At theend, everyone stood up and cheered for the actors and actresses standing out onthe stage bowing. Zen had a wide smile stuck on his face as he waved to thecrowd. You cheered as loud as you could, but it quickly turned to a scream ofhorror as you watched a light hanging above Zen come loose, tumbling throughthe air as if in slow motion, and landing square on top of your boyfriend,knocking him to the floor.

Youwere up on the stage in an instant, tuning out the cries and screams of thepeople in the crowd and the cast. All you could hear was your heart pounding inyour ears. You kneeled down next to Zen, who was barely conscious. “Zen! Oh mygod, someone call an ambulance! Now!” You screeched at the gaping cast members nextto him, who seemed to be in a daze. You repeated it when nobody immediatelyacted, pulling his head gently into your lap while tears started to fall freelydown your cheeks. Finally, a girl standing nearby acts, running backstagequickly and returning, a phone pressed to one ear and a finger plugging theother as she frantically spoke to the person on the other line. “You’ll befine, you’ll be fine, don’t leave me damnit!” You cried out to Zen, whose eyeswere slowly drooping. He was bleeding where the light hit him in the head, andit was getting on your pants and stuck to your hands, but you couldn’t careless.

It gotquieter as security forced everyone out of the auditorium, but it quicklyfilled with the sound of static and shouting as paramedics filed in, rushing toZen. He tried to protest when you were forced away from him, but was so weak,he couldn’t. It broke your heart to watch him in so much pain, and you triedmultiple times to get to him. Eventually, two policemen had to hold you back sothe paramedics could load him on a stretcher to be taken out.

As theypassed by you, he raised a hand weakly towards you and opened his mouth as ifto call out to you, but no sound came out, and his hand fell limp on thestretcher as he gave into the pain and shut his eyes. The last image you had ofhim was of him being wheeled out of the auditorium. As soon as the backs of theparamedics wheeling him out were gone, you let out a bone-chilling cry thatechoed throughout the mostly empty area.

Youweren’t allowed to go with him in the ambulance as you weren’t immediate family,so you met him at the hospital. You hadn’t needed to call the RFA, this wasalready all over the news: The rising actor Zen injured in stage accident!There was no need to call; they promptly showed up and joined you in thewaiting room. To try and keep yourself occupied, you alternated between socialmedia apps until Seven noticed and promptly took your phone away, insistingthat was making it all worse; he was right. All that it was doing was makingyou feel nauseous and dizzy seeing all the posts about your boyfriend.

When anurse came out and told them he was awake and could have a visitor, you shotup. Nobody stopped you; they could see how worried you were, and weren’t aboutto stop you. The nurse led you past the nurse’s station and down a seeminglyendless hallway. Finally, the woman stopped in front of a room marked 1106. Youwere stopped when you tried to open the door, and said, “I must warn you, miss,he does seem to have a case of traumatic amnesia. He may or may not rememberyou, so just be prepared, okay?”

Amnesia?He couldn’t forget you, no, he wouldn’t. He loved you, which would be enough,of course.

You nodded and twisted the knob, practicallyfalling into the room. He had a bandage around his head, but other than that,he was there. He was Zen; he was your Zen-

“Huh, Ididn’t know they were letting fans visit. And why is there blood on your pants?”The words ran your blood cold. The nurse had warned you, but it didn’t makethis hurt more. It didn’t help that you told yourself he would remember you,further fueling your false hope. “…I’m glad you are okay, Zen. I’m so, so glad.” The words were barely audible,but filled with sadness. You took one last glance at him, his head cocked tothe side and eyes staring at you inquisitively, and left. You walked back tothe waiting room and collapsed into a seat, burying your head into your hands.When a pair of arms wrapped around you, a loud sob shook your body. It wasYoosung, not Zen. These weren’t the arms you craved. They were comforting, butit didn’t feel the same as hisreassuring, tight hugs you desperately needed.

Jaeheelet you stay at her place while Zen was in the hospital. You went back yoursand Zen’s house and left a note on the table after leaving the day of theaccident, describing what happened and who you were to him, in hopes that itwould spark some memory in his brain and bring him back to you. You took someclothes, your charger, and left.

On theday Zen was released, it was all over the news. You knew about it, there was noavoiding it. Jaehee was grinning the whole day after she saw, but the grin wastainted with worry. She must have had the same thoughts on her mind as you did.What would happen to you and Zen? Would he remember after being surrounded byyour belongings and after reading your note? What if he never remembered?

Whensomeone knocked on the door, you didn’t think much of it. Jaehee had orderedthe two of you takeout, so you sat dejectedly on her sofa, staring at the wallwhile waiting for her to bring in the mediocre food. But when Jaehee gasped,and you heard his voice calling out your name, you ripped the blanket off andran to greet him.

He looked healthy, alive, and so Zen. It wasn’t the one who called you a fan back in the hospital room;it was your Zen, waiting for you with arms wide open and tears flowing down hischeeks. You collapsed into him, and his arms wrapped around you tightly whilehe pressed his face into your hair and whispered words of love and apology. Theyweren’t Yoosung’s arms, they were Zen’s. They were the ones you’ve been cravingfor the last week. You were home.

#mystic messenger #mysme #mm #mystic messenger fics #mystic messenger angst #yoosung kim #yoosung mystic messenger #yoosung mysme #yoosung mm #zen #hyun ryu #mystic mesenger hyun #mystic messenger zen #mysme hyun ryu #mysme z #mm hyun ryu #mm zen

174 notes · View notes

photomaniacs · 7 years

Photo

An Interview with Photographer Richard McLaren http://ift.tt/2vp7qVk

What do President Nelson Mandela, Archbishop Desmond Tutu, Tina Turner, Halle Berry, Gwyneth Paltrow, Pierce Brosnan, Jon Bon Jovi, Marc Anthony, Mariah Carey, Jennifer Lopez, Eva Mendes, Orlando Bloom, Patrick Swayze and Heath Ledger have in common? The magical lens of Richard McLaren has captured them all. And this is only a small sampling of famous people who McLaren has photographed in his four decades in the industry.

McLaren, who had already been around the world twice by age 18, has photographed for top publications throughout the globe, including Vogue, InStyle, GQ, Vanity Fair, Elle, Rolling Stone, Glamour, Cosmopolitan, Esquire and more. NASCAR, Ford, The National Guard, Chevrolet, Gulfstream, Rolls Royce, and Sketchers are some of the commercial clients who have also relied on McLaren’s artistry.

Movie studios trust McLaren. When he is provided access to the talent for a day, he tends to do 15 to 20 different set-ups, which means a lot of really fast shooting. This allows the studio to have enough material to send out and promote the movie.

Pierce Brosnan

Phil Mistry: How long have you worked in photography?

Richard McLaren: I have been taking pictures for 35 years, closer to 40 years.

How did you get started?

I started my career when I was about 16 or 17 when I had come out of school and went into work for Scope Features, a photo print news agency which had all the top photographers in London, England on their books. So I used to assist them, all over the world on different assignments from music to fashion to advertising campaigns. I stayed at this agency for about seven or eight years and became a freelance photographer after that.

Heath Ledger

What brought you from London to Los Angeles?

I used to shoot all big-name celebrities. I used to come to America with my photo team and my wife and kids, and we rented a house in Beverly Hills. We used to spend six months in the year in Los Angeles. We would work five-six weeks at a time and then come back after about a month. And then I thought we might as well move here. So in January 2000, I moved the whole family to Los Angeles.

So were you into photography in school?

Oh, yeah. In school, we used to shoot 16mm documentaries, and there was a film club at school.

I have heard that your first job involved putting oil on naked ladies. Is that true?

As I mentioned earlier, I was 16 when I joined the agency in London. There was a studio attached to the agency, and there was one photographer who did all the glamor shots. On my first day, he asked me to rub oil onto naked ladies.

At home that evening my mother asked me how my first day at the job was. I said, “Great, I rubbed oil on two naked ladies, ” and she said, “You’re not going back there tomorrow.” And my brothers said, “Oh, we’ll go in there for you.” My mother is now 96, God bless her, and if I mention it, she still remembers the story and laughs over it.

Eddie Van Halen and David Lee Roth together after 23 years

In 2006 David Lee Roth and the Van Halen brothers, two icons of the music industry reunited, and you witnessed it?

Yes, David Lee Roth and Eddie Van Halen’s hadn’t seen each other for 23 years [since disbanding after their classic 1984 album]. When I turned up, Eddie Van Halen was getting his makeup done, and David Lee Roth’s walked by and they looked at each other and sort of nodded. I told my assistant, “Give me the camera,” as they may have a fight. And then Van Halen said to me, “I would like to do a picture with David?”

The picture of the two of them together that I did ran in Rolling Stone [on the website], and I got thousands upon thousands of hits and turned out to be a historical picture. But then something interesting happened. We shot on a Wednesday, and his manager called me on Friday and asked me not to release the pictures as Van Halen was going into rehab. So the pictures just appeared on the Rolling Stone site.

Tina Turner

Tina Turner did not know how to swim. How did you get her to go into the pool chest deep?

Her manager knew that I could do just one shoot and get them a ton of publicity. Tina had an infinity pool in the south of France, and yes she couldn’t swim, but I managed to get her in the water. It was a funny shoot as I didn’t bring any swimwear with me and I was in the pool in my underpants. My guys were holding the lights in the water, and I was shooting on a 4 x 5 film camera. She was terrified of the water, and one of my assistants was underwater holding her legs.

It worked out to be a very successful picture as we got 40 or 50 covers from the selected frame. I was very into doing pictures that would cause a stir, get a lot of attention and generate publicity—and that was what I was known for.

Jean-Claude Van Damme

How did you get Jean-Claude Van Damme to strip naked and pose with lions?

He was out in South Africa doing a movie, and his manager asked me if I would go out there and do a shoot. My friend has a lion farm in South Africa, and I organized some lion cubs. Ultimately Van Damme, who had a great body and loved himself, was naked and holding up two cubs by the scruff of their necks and that picture ran around the world to promote the movie.

Can things go wrong with celebrities and lions?

They were only lion cubs. However, things went wrong in a different way. I asked a Dubai sheik whether I could shoot in his suite at the hotel in South Africa and he agreed. We shot with six lion cubs, and they ended up ripping the cushions and furniture in the $25,000-per-night suite!

Andrew Zimmern Bizarre Foods poster

Andrew Zimmern Bizarre Foods shoot

Any other disasters ever happened on your shoots?

Sure… I was shooting photos for Paulina Rubio, the Latin singer and actress. It was for a shoe company, and I had pictured her naked on a horse with just her shoes. The daylight studio that the client chose was four floors up, so we got the horse in the freight elevator. The horse wasn’t scared but as soon as we got in the studio he did the biggest pee and it stank. Yes, we had to spend 30 minutes mopping it all up before we could continue.

The picture went up in Mexico City on a huge billboard. However, they had to take it down in 24 hours as numerous drivers kept staring at the poster and crashed their cars!

Nelson Mandela

How did you end up shooting Nelson Mandela?

I was shooting the Miss World pageant in South Africa when I met an associate of Mandela and requested her for an opportunity. There were 78 photography applications before me and I did not have much hope but then two days later she called me and asked to come over the next day.

It was the only time I’ve been nervous on a shoot and I have been with some of the most prestigious people in the world. Understanding what he had gone through, it was the pinnacle of my career.

Desmond Tutu

And Desmond Tutu?

At the same time that I was photographing Mandela, Desmond Tutu was scheduled to retire. The day he retired I got to go to the church, see him pray and did a series of portraits.

And you shot Winnie Mandela as well?

Yes, and also on the same trip without Mandela knowing, I photographed Winnie Mandela as well in Soweto. So I actually shot three iconic people in South Africa on a single trip.

National Guard

What’s in your camera bag?

Digital now although I am a film man, a pure film man! I’ve got 28 boxes of film cameras from 35mm, 645, 66, 67, 4×5, 8×10, whatever, I’ve got basically everything. But now, nobody wants film as such, which is a shame. I am a Canon man and I also shoot digital H2 Hasselblad as well with the IQ digital backs.

The problem with the digital cameras is that they are so d*mn sharp so that if you are shooting anyone older than 15, they look terrible because they show every line and every flaw in your skin. And you have to end up softening everything down. And when you have a big 27-inch preview monitor they say, “Do I look that bad?”

Gulfstream

In the film days, I had certain cameras and lenses that were soft with different qualities. I was then able to use the camera that would work correctly for the person I was shooting. But nowadays you don’t have an option, as the digital cameras are so sharp that they are scary.

I recently shot a veteran singer-songwriter who’s has had a career of 50 years. When the pictures come on the 40-inch monitor, whoa, you see every sore, every vein, everything. These are not the most flattering of cameras but clients like these cameras because they got great quality as you can do a postcard or put it on the side of the hotel and it still looks beautiful. I don’t particularly like it, I think they are too sharp, they are too critical but you have to deliver what the clients want.

But I got this beauty software, which is fantastic, as clients love the way it makes them look.

Colin Farrell

Can you make anybody look beautiful?

My forte in photography is lighting. I always make people look beautiful.

The problem with digital now is that you don’t have to be technically fantastic or brilliant or even good because you got all these computer experts that can tweak and change the color, soften it, make it look flattering on the skin or whatever.

Heather Graham, Polaroid Transfer

In the film days, you just got [the film] processed and that was WHAT IT WAS. Now you can pull a recipe on the computer so that when you shoot a picture, it comes in the way you wanted it to look. At the end of the day, it’s the end result that matters not what came out of the camera.

It’s [beauty software] amazing software for men or women. You can change the noses, you can change the lips, and you can change the eyes. You don’t have to have a retoucher with you anymore as you can just run this software, which takes roughly 3 minutes to work.

Emirates Airline, HQ Building, Dubai

Your Emirates image landed up covering the complete side of a building at the airport. Did you have to shoot it in a particular way, so that it could be enlarged this big?

No, we just shot that on the Hasselblad and they enlarged it to something crazy like 240 feet high. It ended up being the biggest Billboard ever done in Dubai

Do your photos get used without permission?

My photos go directly to the clients or magazines. But after they have used it they do end up on the Internet and there is not much you can do about it, whether they have scanned it from a magazine or whatever.

Dance Moms

Have you ever sued for unauthorized use?

No. But back in London, many years ago, there was a company I did shoot for and they were published in Esquire and someone scanned the images and was selling in a record store. Esquire went to court after them but then that company just closed down. So you end up spending 30 grand and get nothing. It may work out for big companies but for me, it doesn’t make sense as it costs thousands of dollars and you may not get any money back.

Patrick Swayze

When you photographed Patrick Swayze dancing in Pinewood Studios, a paparazzi shooter got the photos published before you could even process the film. How did that feel?

That shoot was actually at an airport hangar in Santa Monica and was for Mondo Uomo in Italy. I never saw any other photographer there but he must have been shooting from far with a 400-600mm lens and the next day the photos appeared in one of those rag magazines. The editor called me to protest but that was the only time it happened to me, after which I have been much more on the ball. If I have done big names, I have had security.

Jennifer Lopez and Marc Anthony got together for the first time for their album in a Miami house by the ocean. Paparazzi were coming by in boats but I just had a 12 feet high black curtain put around the location. If you are going to shoot near a public beach where paparazzi are going to be there, they are going to find you but you have to be alert.

Marc Anthony

Celebrities like Beyoncé are taking their own pictures and posting them to Instagram. Is this cutting out the professional photographer?

No. Social media has made it easier for celebrities to post pictures but they still need great photographers to shoot great photos.

How limited are the limited-edition prints you are selling on your site?

I’m doing 20×30 inch prints in an edition of 20 prints at the moment. I will see how the interest is and then maybe release another edition in a different size, like 30×40 or 16×20 inches.

Emirates Airline’s A319 private jet charter fleet, Dubai

Do you still shoot in anything other than digital?

Yes, I do personal projects. I do portraits on wet-plate collodion [invented in 1851] on 16×20 inch cameras with brass lenses. I take the photos on black glass or aluminum and the photos are incredible. I love shooting on large format cameras like Linhof but nobody wants it anymore, which is a shame.

Recently you have been directing videos. How does it feel not to be behind the camera yourself?

I love shooting motion and I have got into it because the cameras we use are capable of shooting it now, so it’s opened up the business for the photographer. I like directing and I operate the camera as well, so I can do all basically. We do TV poster shoots for shows and nine times out of ten the client will ask for a video as well. And it works out cheaper for the client, as they don’t have to bring in different crews for stills and motion.

NASCAR drivers at Daytona

What cameras are you using to shoot video?

We shoot on the RED, ARRI Alexa and the Canons. When we shot the Emirates Airlines commercial, we shot the Canon on 4K and the quality is beautiful.

Do you pull stills from your 4K videos?

I don’t because I prefer to shoot stills with my still cameras unless it’s something you can’t get on your still camera. When you have someone running towards you, there is a greater chance of getting a perfect frame at 24 fps than with just 10 fps on a still camera.

Eva Mendes

What lighting do you use?

Profoto. That’s what I like. I’ll shoot Broncolor. I’ll shoot whatever is available but my go to is Profoto.

And what lighting do you use for videos?

We’ll just bring HMIs although we shoot a lot of daylight videos as well.

Emirates Airlines

Between still and video how much equipment do you have to carry to a shoot?

For the Emirates Airlines campaign, I took 3 tons of equipment to Dubai: 6 huge flat cases with the lighting, 12 camera cases and probably 10 bags of accessories. There were 80 people on the shoot that lasted for 12 days. I had 40 models, 7 assistants, 1 digital tech, hair and makeup stylists, art directors and ad agency people from Holland, clients, crew and local runners.

I shot 30 print campaigns and four motion commercials. And earlier it took 2 hours to clear all that equipment through customs at 1 AM in the morning at Dubai airport!

Pamela Anderson

You have said that photography is 90% personality and 10% photography. What do you mean?

For me it is. I’m not blowing my own trumpet but I feel I have a very good personality and can really converse with people whatever they are, homeless individuals or kings and queens. Sometimes I have a DJ on set to get a great atmosphere going and relax everybody.

I know a lot of creative directors who work with photographers who won’t say anything during a shoot. They will let the creative director direct and they will just press the button. Now I can’t do that, as I like to be in control of how the shot is going to look. Working with the creative director is very important but once the creative director starts talking they lose respect for the photographer because the photographer is letting someone else take control of the shoot.

I like to speak to the celebrity and tell them what we are trying to achieve. I will let them come and look at the monitor to review the images because most of them are very insecure. They are great in front of the motion camera but when they get in front of the still camera, there’s not too many of them comfortable to be there. So I try to make it fun for them to be there and get them in and out of the studio or location as quickly as possible and do what’s needed and not overshoot.

National Guard

You have said that you would like to shoot Nicole Kidman in Antarctica. Why Antarctica?

I love shooting in offbeat places. Celebrities are always shot in the studio or their beautiful homes, but rarely in great locations. If you look at the great photographs of movie stars from the 50s and 60s, there’s a jazz photographer called William Claxton. He did great images of Steve McQueen in various situations and you just don’t see those kinds of images anymore.

The pictures that are shot now are very safe, very easy and just what the magazine wants. I just think Nicole Kidman in Antarctica would be incredible, maybe fishing through a hole in the ice or something.

Jenny McCarthy

What attracts you about the photos of Stephen Klein and Peter Lindbergh?

Oh yeah, I love their stuff especially Klein’s work for Italian Vogue. I love the classic photographers, including Richard Avedon, Irving Penn and Patrick Demarchelier. I’ve got probably 350 photography books from pinhole to modern day. Film was tough to shoot on, mostly black-and-white film. Color is easy but when you shoot black-and-white, you got to know your tones to get a great image.

Gwyneth Paltrow

Your black-and-white portrait of Gwyneth Paltrow is high in contrast with the middle tones washed out. Do you like that kind of tonality?

My best medium is black-and-white. Back in the day, there used to be six grades of printing paper from 0 to 5. I would always print on grade 5 so that the blacks were black and the whites were white and there were no gray tones. I got all my black-and-white prints hanging up in my house and all of them are printed real contrasty: jet-black blacks and white whites, there are no mid tones or grays in them at all. That’s how I like my black and whites.

How did you get the assignment on the book China: The New Long March?

A book publisher in Australia asked me if I would shoot for the book on China. They work with Chinese photographers and I was the only photographer from outside China. It was about re-tracing Mao Zedong’s long march. I don’t exactly remember but this book was the 75th year of the Long March. Each photographer had a section of China to shoot and I was in Chengdu and went up to the snow mountain.

Barry Manilow

What’s on your bucket list?

I want to travel more. I want to go to different parts of the world. There is an Indian festival called Holi where all the colorful powder is thrown over everybody. I love to go off and do these adventurous things. Maybe photograph Queen Elizabeth II!

Would that make you nervous?

No, no. I got nervous with only Mandela because he’s one of the biggest icons in the world. That’s the only time in my career that I’ve ever been nervous. You have protocols to follow and how you address her and that’s a bit nerve-racking, but the photography side wouldn’t bother me at all and I’m sure I’d make her look beautiful.

John Hurt

How did you get Halle Barry to do that risqué pose for the magazine covers?

It might have been for the X-Men movie that she was in. She was known in America but not really in Europe. This was for the FHM (For Him Magazine) and I talked to her manager and said I want to shoot her naked because I want to create a stir. And that shot went on to 22 FHM covers around the world. And it helped her get recognized in Europe!

How do you get celebrities to trust you?

The press representatives usually know who the photographers are and so do the celebrities. It’s easier now with digital as they come and look at the monitor and see the picture the instant you click the camera. I always make sure that the first picture is a beautiful, beautiful image and straightaway you have them in your pocket and they trust you.

Lagoon Jewels

Should photographers have an agent?

I’ve never really had an agent in the past. My ex-wife used to run my business and when we split up, I did my own thing. I go from jump to jump by word of mouth. I took on, Joanna Flores as my agent recently.

The problem with agents is that photographers rely on them to get work. When I’m not working, I’m in my office with my staff looking for a job and what the next thing is to do. Right now I have reached out to Air New Zealand, cruise ships including P&O Cruises, Discover Ireland, Alaska Airlines, Visit Britain and something very dear to my heart The David Sheldrick Wildlife Trust in Kenya.

Doobie Brothers

Have you shot covers of magazines in the US?

I’ve done a couple of covers in America but the most of my covers when I used to shoot for them are European publications as they are more risqué. I can do nudes on the cover of German GQ and that’s acceptable. With the European magazines, they’re not so set in what they want whereas here if you shoot for Cosmopolitan, it has to be on a white background or a yellow background, the lighting has to be the same, etc. So every cover looks the same just that it has a different person. This is boring to me.

Linda Evangalista

How has celebrity photography changed in the last 35 years that you have been in it?

I think social media is hurting it a lot. The celebrities can now shoot their own pictures. If Ronaldo comes out with a new soccer boot and puts it up on his Facebook page, he gets 3 million hits or whatever! Social media has changed the way the celebrity thing works now which never used to be the case when I was actively shooting. Now with iPhones, it is more accessible for everybody. The paparazzi are videoing the celebrities and then it’s all over online.

Do you think still shooting will go away and everything will be on video?

No, there will always be a need for [still] photography in some sort.

Do you use social media to get work?

I’m not into social media. If you look at my Facebook page, I got about a thousand followers. I don’t really care about social media. I do it because my daughters ask me to. My office posts stuff. I’m not bothered about it. It doesn’t make or break me, and it doesn’t get me work. A lot of people rely on it to get work, but I don’t think it’s going to get me one job. I can use social media to say this is what I’ve recently done if you want to look at it.

Brush Company

Do you shoot selfies with celebrities?

No, never. I don’t have one picture of me with a celebrity. Not my scene. If a celebrity wants to do a picture with me, I do it. I don’t like having my pictures taken. I don’t think I look great in pictures.

Magazines are folding up, and in 10 years there might be very few left. How will that work for you?

In 10 years there won’t be any [printed] magazines. Everything will be online. I get 50 magazines delivered to me every month. It’s nice to flip through them, and you don’t get that same feeling when you do it online. I like to rip pages out and reference them, so I hope magazines never go away.

Jeff Gordon

So if you hadn’t made it as a photographer what would you have done?

A racecar driver! I don’t know, maybe because of the McLaren [British sports/racing car] name or whatever it was, but I always wanted to be a racing driver of some sort. That was my dream, and then I stumbled into photography by sheer chance. But I am a fanatical Formula 1 and motorsport fan and would have loved to be a racing driver.

Brooke Shields

You have been shooting for almost 40 years. Does the word retirement ever cross your mind?

No, not at all. I love the business too much. Every day I wake up I kick myself because I can’t believe I am in the business I am in. I get to travel the world extensively, and meet great people, from Nelson Mandela to Tina Turner to aborigines in Australia. I have an amazing life, and I am just a boy from London from a working-class family. You couldn’t even get these experiences if you are willing to pay for them. I feel I am blessed in life and it couldn’t be any better. Even now I get excited as every day you don’t know what you’re going to do next.

You can follow Richard McLaren and see more of his work on his website, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram and Vimeo.

About the author: Phil Mistry is a photographer and teacher based in Atlanta, GA. He started one of the first digital camera classes in New York City at International Center of Photography in the 90s. He was the director and teacher for Sony/Popular Photography magazine’s Digital Days Workshops. You can reach him via email here.

Go to Source Author: <a href="http://ift.tt/2rSvwoU Mistry</a> If you’d like us to remove any content please send us a message here CHECK OUT THE TOP SELLING CAMERAS!

The post An Interview with Photographer Richard McLaren appeared first on CameraFreaks.

August 04, 2017 at 10:02PM

#photo photography art camera cameras

0 notes