#peacocks are beautiful and horrifying birds | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

flowercrown-bard · 3 years

Note

I have a sentence for you...or a prompt. I don't know what I want you to do with it, but by god please do something:

"He doesn't have anxiety. He just has a god complex and no opposable thumbs!"

My darling nonny. First of all, what. Second of all, I love you and I love this prompt! I made the weirdest noise when I read it. I did not expect that second sentence XD

The thing is, I didn't know what I wanted to do with this prompt either...while being sober, so here's what my slightly tipsy brain came up with :D

word count: 2160

can be read platonic or romatic I think

content warnings: use of the name ‘Julian’ (not by Geralt), one very bad sexual innuendo (nothing sexual happens)

part 2

The spell hit Jaskier square in the chest, before Geralt had time to react and throw himself in front of him.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s eyes went wide, though not in fear but in anticipation, as they snapped over to the witcher. “Geralt, what’s happening?”

Helplessly but not overly concerned, Geralt watched as Jaskier’s arms took on an unnatural position, bent at his sides. The bard’s head started to bob.

Geralt blinked at him and turned to the young sorcerer that looked curiously at Jaskier.

“Why aren’t you more worried?” The mage furrowed his brows. “Shouldn’t he be terrified?”

He turned to Geralt, who only shrugged.

“This happens regularly,” Geralt replied and his lips twitched up. “Last month, he’s been hit by a truth spell and the month before, he drank a potion that made him invisible to all but Roach.” His smile turned into a grin. “That was a very peaceful time.”

“Excuse me?” Jaskier squawked, his head still bobbing. “You missed me!”

“I didn’t. I could still hear you.” Geralt turned his attention back to the sorcerer who stared at them as if they were insane. “So, what exactly does this spell do?” Almost casually, Geralt’s hand wandered to the sword strapped to his back. “It better not be anything actually dangerous.”

Jaskier might have gotten cocky with how easily Geralt was able to break curses with all the experience he now had, but that didn’t mean Geralt wasn’t prepared to fight anyone who meant to cause Jaskier true harm. Even if Jaskier thought himself near invincible by now.

“No, no!” The mage held up his hands. “It’s not dangerous. I swear! It’s just supposed to…” he swallowed, his eyes darting between Jaskier and Geralt, clearly trying to figure out which one was more dangerous: The armed witcher or the bard who didn’t seem to be bothered in the least by being cursed but seemed rather giddy at the prospect of finding out what was going to happen next – after all, curses made for the most exciting songs, according to the bard. “It’s supposed to make his appearance match his character.”

Jaskier opened his mouth, probably to say something along the lines of ‘I already am as beautiful on the outside as I am on the inside’, but instead of words, a loud cock-a-doodle-doo left Jaskier’s lips. For a second, he looked terrified, before his expression morphed into one of fury and he let out a tirade of what was probably supposed to be insults.

Geralt exchanged a look with the mage, drawing up one eyebrow, when Jaskier continued to cluck.

“Ah, well, you see,” the mage turned bright red, “Marx was quite sure that he,” he glanced at Jaskier, who suddenly shrunk, his hair turning bright red and rising up and turning into a coxcomb, “was a coward and would turn into a chicken.”

Jaskier gave the mage one final indignant glare, probably cursing his rival’s name, before his mouth turned into a beak and his face was no longer that of a human, capable of expressing such emotions.

“Your employer was wrong,” Geralt deadpanned. “Jaskier is anything but a coward.” With the corners of his lips twitching and a glint in his eyes, he added, “But he definitely can be a cocky bastard.”

Jaskier, the cock, fluttered with his wings in indignation and let out another crow, looking up at Geralt. Though Jaskier could no longer speak or make facial expressions, Geralt knew exactly what the pleading look Jaskier sent him meant.

Geralt knew a hundred and one ways to break a curse. But more importantly, he knew Jaskier.

And so, Geralt knew exactly what Jaskier needed him to do.

It was ridiculously easy to break into Valdo Marx’ quarters at night, even while carrying a rooster that never stopped clucking and fluttering his wings excitedly in one arm. Jaskier could count himself lucky that he hadn’t turned into a peacock. It might have been more fitting, if Geralt had anything to say about it, but it would have definitely made scaling the building and squeezing through the window together, much harder.

Once inside the troubadour’s rooms, Geralt set Jaskier down gently.

“Do your worst,” he said with a grin and watched Jaskier ruffle his feathers in excitement, before he darted across the room, tearing at Valdo Marx’ notebooks with his beak, tearing at the decorative pillows on the armchair and plucking the strings of the lute standing against a wall harshly enough with his claws that they nearly snapped.

Geralt grimaced at the sound, but leaned back against a wall with his arms crossed in front of his chest, watching in amusement as his best friend wreaked as much havoc in his rival’s rooms as possible.

The noise must have roused Valdo Marx from his sleep, for a muffled curse came through the closed door, presumably leading to the troubadour’s bed room. The sound of Valdo Marx jumping out of his bed and hasting towards his now destroyed living room was interrupted by Jaskier, who crowed again and fluttered his wings in an attempt to make himself taller, preparing to make an impression when Valdo finally saw him.

The door was flung open and a dishevelled troubadour appeared, staring in horror at the mess that was his living space.

“What in the name of –“

His eyes fell on Jaskier first, then he saw the witcher still leaning against the wall, pointedly casual. Realisation dawned on Valdo’s face, followed briefly by a flash of triumph, that instantly turned into regret when Jaskier began hacking at the notebooks with more glee than before, preening under the horrified attention of his new audience.

“Witcher,” Valdo said breathlessly. “Put a stop to this, this instant!”

Geralt lifted a brow. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

“Yes, yes, I proved Julian is a coward.” He waved his hands through the air, his voice turning shrill with every second that his panic grew. “I get to see him anxious and he’s reacting very poorly and I have to face the consequences. I get it. I shouldn’t have hired that mage. Is that what you want to hear?”

Geralt let out a low hum, drawing it out longer than necessary, simply because he knew how much Jaskier enjoyed witnessing Valdo’s growing despair.

“You’re right, you’re the one who has to face the consequences for cursing him.”

Relief flooded Valdo’s face. “Great. Now make him stop!”

Jaskier looked Valdo directly in the eyes as he fluttered onto the table and ruined the remaining notes the troubadour had carefully arranged in neat piles on his desk in the least dignified way a bird could ruin something. Though Jaskier’s voice was stolen from him, the mess he left on the notes couldn’t have been a more obvious statement: Valdo’s songs were shit.

The slighted troubadour’s face turned red with fury.

“How dare you!” Valdo took a step towards the destructive rooster but thought better of it almost immediately. He settled on pointing an accusatory finger at Jaskier instead of risking coming anywhere near him. “You’re a cad and a coward! I should have known how poorly you’d react to being cursed – becoming panicked and being unable to control yourself!”

Geralt tilted his head to the side. “See, that’s the thing,” he said slowly, his voice even enough that only Jaskier would be able to tell how much he enjoyed this as well, “That’s where you are wrong. Jaskier isn’t a coward. His fluttering around and destroying things right now? He’s not having anxiety. He just has a god complex and no opposable thumbs!" Geralt gave Valdo a shit-eating grin. “And he’s got a crow to pluck with you.”

“He-“ Valdo visibly had to restrain himself. “Help me, witcher. You can’t just let this monster destroy my property. He…he-!”

“You want me to get rid of a monster for you?”

Valdo nodded eagerly.

Geralt exchanged a look with Jaskier and shrugged.

“I don’t work for free.”

Valdo spluttered. “You can’t be serious.”

Geralt remained silent and Jaskier took a threatening step towards the open door to Valdo’s bedroom, obviously with the intent of destroying Valdo’s bed in any way he could think of. Panic flashed across Valdo’s face.

“I’ll pay you!” he shouted quickly. “I – I’ll write a sing about you. If you help me, I’ll sing about…” his eyes darted around the room, clearly struggling to come up with something on the spot. His gaze found Jaskier, before he grabbed Geralt’s arm, licking his lips nervously, or perhaps in an attempt to look seductive, “ – about how masterfully you handle cock.”

Jaskier froze and Geralt could see the moment when Valdo realised that he had said the wrong fucking thing.

If cocks could look murderous, Jaskier definitely did in this moment.

Geralt couldn’t tell if his rage came from the prospect of Valdo writing a song about this encounter and making a profit out of it, or if he was indignant because Jaskier had had the exact same idea for a song. Or perhaps he had a problem with Valdo’s barely concealed attempt at compromising Geralt, something Jaskier himself had taken great joy in doing with the worst possible pick-up lines, since the day they had met.

Whatever the reason for his anger, Jaskier took a deliberate pause, in which Valdo had enough time to regret every decision that had led up to this moment, before he charged at the troubadour, fluttering his wings and jumping up into Valdo’s face, clawing at his curls and tearing at his lacy night shirt.

“Witcher!” Valdo screeched, not unlike a rooster himself, and waved his arms to shoo Jaskier off – unsuccessfully. “Make him go away! Break the fucking curse! I – I’ll pay you! Twenty crowns!”

“Seventy,” Geralt deadpanned. No one in their right mind would pay that much coin, but Valdo Marx was evidently desperate and his decision was helped along by the rooster, who’s beak came dangerously close to tugging at the troubadour’s moustache.

“Fine! I’ll pay you seventy crowns.” Valdo’s voice broke in his blind panic. He would likely be unable to sing the next day, from all the shouting he did. “Just get him off of me!”

Geralt waited another heartbeat, granting Jaskier a last moment of rightful – and undoubtedly petty – vengeance, before pushing off the wall, opening his arms invitingly.

“Jaskier?”

Jaskier clucked in disappointment and pecked one last time at Valdo’s hair, before fluttering into Geralt’s arms.

The witcher left the troubadour’s rooms with his best friend, still in the form of a very smug cock in his arms, seventy crows richer and an experience he and Jaskier would laugh about many times over the next years.

As Geralt sat the rooster down on the bed at the room they had rented and let himself fall onto the bed next to him, Jaskier looked incredibly pleased with himself, preening and making noises, as if recounting the happenings, though Geralt had witnessed them first- hand.

When Geralt tilted his head in amusement, Jaskier seemed to realise that he still had no voice – or opposable thumbs - and let out a rather loud and obnoxious noise.

“Sorry,” Geralt said with a shit-eating grin, “I have no idea what you want from me. You’ll have to speak more clearly.”

Jaskier glared at him and fluttered closer to tug at Geralt’s hair impatiently.

Geralt chuckled and ran a hand over Jaskier’s soft feathers, making the bird-bard relax under his ministrations, though it was clear that Jaskier did so very reluctantly and would hold a grudge, if Geralt didn’t break the curse in the next five minutes.

Geralt hummed thoughtfully as he petted Jaskier.

“Just for the record, I thought taking revenge on Marx was a terrible idea,” he said, and when Jaskier clucked reproachfully, he added, “but it was quite impressive. And I had a lot of fun watching you.”

Geralt hadn’t known that cocks had the ability to look proud, but Jaskier somehow managed to do just that.

“In fact,” Geralt said slowly, already knowing that Jaskier would agree, once he heard Geralt’s full proposition, “how would you like to wait just a little longer before I break the curse?”

Jaskier pecked at Geralt’s fingers and glared at him.

“Come to Kaer Morhen with me,” Geralt said, flicking his fingers lightly against Jaskier’s beak. At his words, Jaskier perked up, cocking his head to the side curiously.

“Last winter, Lambert destroyed my room with a moon dust bomb. The damn silver shavings are still everywhere.” Geralt’s lips stretched into a wolfish grin. “I’m sure, as my ‘best friend in the whole wide world’, you wouldn’t mind returning the favour and wreaking a little havoc in my brother’s room. I couldn’t imagine anyone would be better suited for that job than you.”

Jaskier fluttered excitedly into Geralt’s lap and the sound he made in response to Geralt’s words could only be described as incredibly cocky.

252 notes · View notes

dansnaturepictures · 4 years

Photo

22/03/20-Little Owls and more at Fort Cumberland and Brimstone on the way

Today we headed to Fort Cumberland and beside the motorway on the way I was delighted to spot a lovely and bright green Brimstone butterfly. It was my first this year and a quite long awaited second butterfly species of 2020 for me after a winter Peacock just before all the storms in February. This is always a very special moment in days lately that have felt increasingly spring like for me with Sand Martins, sunshine and Skylark song alongside the blossom and seasonal flowers I have long since noticed. But I think whilst Brimstones are ones that are around all butterfly season if I am to go into lockdown or self isolation some butterflies are so time sensitive to see only being around for weeks. So I could possibly sadly miss a few species in this current climate this year so I think this weekend with the weather I just had to see a butterfly and I took a chance to today which was great I had known I should be looking for this species beside roads lately.

We then had a social distancing friendly walk at Fort Cumberland, our third visit this year. I would just like to mention that all wildlife watching/photography outside our property I have been and will be (as able) doing over the coming weeks/months are alongside dog walks which we consider essential and following the government guidelines on social distancing. (Which is very easy at some locations).‬ The walks would obviously not be undertaken if any of us were to have the Covid 19 symptoms. If by any chance my postings of certain species at locations prompt others to go and look, whilst I am not saying you are not allowed or anything silly like that which I do not have the power or right to say and wouldn’t dream of saying, I would urge you to do so responsibly within the current government social distancing advice. As I would just say it’s so important for everyone to generally right now to consider the vulnerable some of which I do live with. So yeah whilst I’m posting pictures and blogs on my trips I wanted to clarify this and just assure you that we are not taking this horrifying pandemic lightly. Most of all though as I’ve said maybe with different words before take care all.

Once again though this weekend being out by the sea in glorious sunshine really took my mind off current events and made me feel great especially with all that blue in the sky or sea. I took the first picture in this photoset of a view from the car park area here, and second-sixth of beautiful sunny sea views. With Mediterranean Gulls gliding over the beach and nearby it was ideal this afternoon. I also took the seventh picture in this photoset of a lovely Herring Gull flying over.

We had come here so much and even as recently as two weeks ago so far this year as its one place where we saw Little Owls last year a bird we needed to see. On an initial look at the holes in the fort buildings they usually appear from we once again did not see one. But after walking up the beach and back we had another look and were thrilled to see one Little Owl peeping from the hole basking in this sun which they like as shown by the eighth picture I took today in this photoset of it. We got a really nice distant view of it even if it was brief as it disappeared back in minutes later. This is another amazing bird of prey to see this weekend and another amazing bird to see this year.

It ensured for a second year running we’ve seen three owl species alongside one of my joint favourites the short-eared and second favourite the barn. I love the owls and feel extremely lucky to have seen three types again. It’s bird 139 in my year getting a bird year tick three days running this long weekend for me with a day off Friday has put me in great shape just one away from another milestone. 139 is a figure I’ve only reached on my year list in April before so my year list is still the highest one of mine had ever been on this date. It rather means we won’t really need to come to Fort Cumberland again this year we didn’t after seeing the owls last year so I’d like to reiterate what a beautiful and joyful spot it is and its so great for wildlife watching.

I also took the ninth and final picture in this photoset today of a beautiful Kestrel. Some really precious time spent outdoors in glorious weather this weekend, with wonderful bird, butterfly and mammal species seen. It’s been great respite from current events and one of my weekends of the year for wildlife and photography really I have had great fun.

Attentions turn to next week now when I will be working from home. It may bring challenges and interesting things but I am so lucky to have Lakeside on my doorstep so I may be able to do more social distancing friendly walks there on my lunch break or evenings with them getting lighter and me not needing to commute. If I end up doing a walk every lunch time or something I shall not take my camera every day but there may well be more weekday photos and posts so you know whilst we are on current government advice measures. Once again I hope you all stay safe and please know I am always here for you.

Wildlife Sightings Summary: My first Little Owl of the year, Kestrel, Mediterranean Gull, Herring Gull, Carrion Crow, Feral Pigeon, Woodpigeon, lots of Greenfinches like yesterday and House Sparrow.

1 note · View note

amarguerite · 5 years

Note

Apologies if you've already done this or aren't interested, but what do you think Our Heroines' daemons would be? Specifically Elizabeth and Anne, but also feel free to speculate on Jane, Bingley, Wickham, Lady Catherine, Wentworth, etc. (I personally like the idea of Lizzy having a crow daemon, something clever and witty and social.)

hmmmm, daemons are usually the opposite of their gender, right? And witches have birds and servants have dogs? (It’s been eons since I’ve read His Dark Materials.) But based on those vague memories:

Elizabeth Bennet: arctic fox. Trickster spirit, very pretty, striking eyes. Could be persuaded to crow if she’s a witch or w/e.

Anne Elliot: capybara. Friend-shaped. Everyone’s chill when they’re around capybaras and around Anne.

Emma Woodhouse: peacock. Hugely impressive, gorgeous, the loudest voice in any room, and... not entirely practical. I also feel like of the Austen heroines in a HMD universe, Emma would be the most likely to be a witch.

Jane: I kind of want to say a manatee? Like so docile and gentle it’s viscerally horrifying when something bad happens to one. But idk how Jane would ever get around if that’s the case, so how about a quokka? Friendly to all, adorable, perpetually smiling.

Bingley: I’d say a golden retriever but dogs are servants so... uh. Maybe a guinea pig or an angora rabbit? Something domesticated, charming, and friendly, but easily led.

Colonel Fitzwilliam: a deer. stag’s a noble symbol of england, and idk. he just strikes me as having a doe for a daemon.

Wickham: I’m having a lot of trouble with this one since a chameleon seems too like... on the nose. what's an animal that seems cool but is actually terrible?

Lady Catherine: a swan. Seems graceful, beautiful and elegant. Really just a mean motherfucker who will break your leg at the slightest provocation.

Wentworth: Otter. Clever, charming, works well in groups. Can be at home on land or at sea.

20 notes · View notes

barbaranestor · 6 years

Text

A rehearsed week 6

Monday you’re a tragicomic buffoon selling pranks and abstract stories to though called intelligent artsy magazines they get you like they get Chagall and Picasso you know they’ve marshmallow brains you swallow the bitter pill alone and in silence you’re an unknown artist you’ve to make a living in your heart you’re all the time depressed and on the verge of suicide sometimes your cute daughter makes you smile and you forget for a moment the load on your shoulders

Tuesday you’re a fabulous remarkable actress fans and groupies idolize you but you get to play only cheese characters on soap operas directors and screenwriters underestimate you they think you’re beautiful and charming but humorless promiscuous and quite stupid so you drown your sorrow shooting speedballs in maximum one month you’ll be dead and dreaming protected by a cherub in your tombstone

Wednesday you’re an imperial cashmere bed in renaissance period you’re so disgusted of the miserable baroness that’s peeing and pooping under your curtains sometimes you wish you was a grotesque poem or a dead comet in your next life you’ll be a venomous scorpion revenge it’s a dish best served cold as we all know

Thursday you’re a romantic vampire haunting Jim Morison tomb and skeleton he’s still bananas and gifted he quitted heroine but smokes dope ten times more than Snoop Dog a rock star remains for a damned eternity still a rock star and an ingénue dead man bones addict

Friday you’re an imperial peacock proud and selfish you’re jealous of doves and nightingales you hate wings and clouds and Hermes golden sandals

Saturday you’re a beautiful and kind demon helping humans animals and birds clothed incognito under an invisible cloak no one knows of your endeavors your black soul is loaded with mirages gentle manners and sparkling ingenuity you love a seraphim in silence you have no courage to confess fearing rejection you’re a miraculous sumptuous wall flower and Lucifer loves you to death God is a bit jealous he wishes you was a docile puppet in his front line base

Sunday you’re a dead former mauve butterfly your family and friends misses you and mourns you you’re irreplaceable your soul watches from heaven the mourning casino you decide to send a sign that all is safe and sound but God doesn’t let you it’s forbidden you run away Satan helps you but you lose your wings and your soul now you’re much more content in hell it’s more fun you meet a squad of interesting scholars and poets

Monday you’re Death tired of your duties you quit and all ghosts and souls end up in limbo the terrain is overpopulated in the baroque chamber is suffocating an electroshocked werewolf falls in love with Orestes and Electra confused he proposes a ménage a trois surely platonic and sexless you interfere to calm down the horrified brothers suddenly you decide to go back in business saturated and tired of the insane cuckoo nest created

in the end my dear ones all my humble stories are much a do about nothing please forgive me if I stole your time and if I bored you

#poetry #alt lit #twcpoetry #queued post #writerscreed

100 notes · View notes

suck-mein-balls-blog · 7 years

Text

Crow

There once was a Crow who lived in a lush forest, surrounded by other birds. Birds that looked at him with scorn. He didn't fit in, and he knew it; his feathers dull compared to that of the Peacocks. His voice gruff and obnoxious compared to the Songbirds. Cousin Raven was smarter, and brother Blackbird was quicker. Loneliness was his lifestyle and jealousy his only companion. Every morning he'd be awoken by the chatter of Bluejays and Cardinals. He's taken song lessons with them in the past, but he never learned and they grew tired of his failure. But this morning was different. He heard hushed tones and flapping of wings. Emerging from his nest, he saw a small Sparrow perched on his tree limb. She had gotten separated from her flock and was too weak to return. The Crow took comfort in her weakness, he was no longer the lone outcast. The two grew friendly, and he allowed for her to stay. She fetched every meal for him and organized his nest. Upon request, she told the Crow all of the tales she knew and all the things she's done. She had a heart like no other, and her warmth was intriguing to his cold being. The Crow wanted to be as kind as her, but his spite too strong. She tried to teach him to be understanding, but his hatred overcame him. He wanted her heart. It seemed the only thing he could obtain, so one night, he did just that. She had just returned from hunting worms with the other birds she'd become acquaintances with. She placed down dinner, and he put his plan into action. He could never be beautiful, smart, or graceful, but he could finally have a good heart full of love and peace. The Sparrows mutilated body fell from the branches landing with a bone cracking smash. The forest was silent, horrified with the event. He gazed at the corpse of his only friend on the cold ground. The Crow had swallowed her pure heart, now containing her joy and compassion. He felt no changes. What had he done wrong? He stood in confusion. His stomach was full, but he still felt so empty.

#my story #text #birds #sad #depressing #lonely

1 note · View note

rachelisnotatwork · 6 years

Text

Week 5: the one in which we meet all of Australia’s creepiest creatures (and some cute ones)

The site we’d been smoked out of is just one of two sites in Kakadu that are famous for rock paintings. We decided to head out to the next one the next day. It was extremely muggy when we got up in the morning with thick cloud and constant rumbling thunder. Apparently these dry thunderstorms are incredibly common at this time of year; they promise rain that never comes and start bush fires. We came across one of these burning by the side of the road just as we came out of town. It was pretty small (hence we drove past it) but even passing it at 100kmph you got an incredible wave of heat off it.

We decided to drop into the visitors centre to learn something more about the area/enjoy some air-con before seeing the rock paintings. It was alas not air-conned. We thus poured sweat and steamed away in the 40c heat whilst learning about frogs etc.

By the time we arrived at the first site there was a bit of a breeze. This was pleasant. The rock art was pleasant. We walked to the second site. Just as we stepped under the rock awnings to the sheltered spot where ancient people had sheltered from thunderstorms and doodled on the walls, teeming rain began. And continued. Apparently the weather hadn’t got the memo it was still supposed to be the dry season. We assumed it would last a couple of minutes. It did not. 20 minutes later, us and a very wet tour group were still in there.

Eventually we made a dash for the car. We were booked into a sunset river cruise about 60km away so our hope was we’d drive out of the weather. Which we did. By the time we arrived at the yellow water cruise site, the weather was cloudy but there was no rain. This lasted about ten minutes after we set off, after which the heavens opened with thunder and lightening. And the rain was cold. And furious. We were in a little aluminium boat (having just received a safety briefing involving having no limbs over the side at all unless we wanted crocodiles to pull us under) with open sides. Our tour operator, who was driving the boat, said he was just going to “stick near the trees to protect us from lightening”. This was a strategy I was not sure was based in science at all. Also if we weren’t struck my lightening, having a boat capsized because a tree has been struck and fallen onto the boat, is what I would describe as suboptimal in a river packed full of saltwater crocodiles.

And we did see a LOT of those. Hanging out, fighting, trying to catch fish from our bow waves. It was pretty horrifying. Bit like being in Jurassic Park- since as nature’s perfect killing machines, they haven’t needed to evolve since then. We did also see water buffalo, cows and brumbies, but some huge bird thing, and eventually the rain stopped. Plus we didn’t get struck by lightening and no one got dragged overboard by a crocodile, so that’s a win.

The next day was thankfully more sunny. We were heading back to Katherine, because we’d not yet had a chance to visit Katherine Gorge, which is the big “must see” of the area. However on the way there was another beautiful swimming spot to visit- Edith Falls. Marcel suggested we could either read and swim or swim and go for a hike. Since it was, as usual for sunny days, about 38c and I could see the hike and it was full of climbing giant rocky hills, I told him he could go for a hike and I’d stick around and swim and read. He considered the hike but the swimming hole really was delightful and in the end he stuck with me.

The pool had a warning sign saying the waterfall at the back of it was 150m away and to swim within your ability. Apparently everyone who visited Edith Springs (all 7-8 of them) had a very low impression of their abilities (perhaps having had a similar riptide experience to me) so they all stuck within about 3m of the steps down into the lake. We swum over to the waterfall and had the whole place to ourselves, all afternoon, which was rather delightful. We alternated between swimming and reading and enjoying a ridiculously beautiful spot that was nearly empty.

We awoke the next morning to the sounds of a thunderstorm. Which again shouldn’t have been happening and was also a little dispiriting as our afternoon plan was 4 hours of kayaking. An activity that is distinctly less enjoyable in teeming rain. However we decided to see how things played out. Our first planned activity of the day was a trip to Cutta-Cutta Caves, which is a series of caves near Katherine that Marcel mostly wanted to visit as they apparently have a lot of snakes. This he did not tell me when he booked us onto it. I was somewhat unkeen to enter the caves most caves flood in the rain and I didn’t want a repeat of the Thai football team, only in a cave jam-packed with snakes. However by the time we’d arrived the rain had stopped and our guide promised us that the only snakes in the caves most days were tree snakes and “they are only mildly venomous so if you get bitten you just have to chill out for a couple of hours with a beer”. Probably this just meant your leg would fall off. Mild by Australian venom standards.

We were the only people on the cave tour. It was thankfully very dry, unfortunately not cold (not deep enough) and we did see some tree snakes. One of them was doing a great impression of a stalactite. They apparently hang out on the walls and eat bats as they fly in and out the cave.

After that we set off for the gorges. By this time, the sun was out and it was boiling hot again. This was in some respects great (good for kayaking) but in other respects suboptimal, as you aren’t supposed to “pollute” the freshwater with suncream. So I had decided to put on my burkini. Which is fine but to get to the gorges where you can kayak, you have to take a boat trip through the first gorge because it could potentially have crocodiles. So we had to walk 500m down to the dock and then sit on a boat for 15 minutes. Swaddled in neck-to-foot black swimwear, I was concerned I was going to die of heat stroke before reaching the kayak.

We grabbed our double kayak (he tried to give us two solo ones but screw paddling for myself) and paddled to the nearest marked beach for a swim (some of the gorge beaches are designated for the freshwater crocodiles to lay their eggs). Swimming having just cooked in my suit for that long felt amazing. We had an amazing afternoon of paddling, swimming, paddling, picnicking and swimming. There was only one other pair out in kayaks and we only saw them once all afternoon so it felt like we were pretty much the only people in the gorge system. It was amazing.

This was at least gave us some nice memories to revel in during the next day. In which we drove for hours and hours and hours to get to Tenant Creek, a town that is generally described as a shithole. It wasn’t particularly obviously awful, but the only recommended activity in town was to visit the local lake “recreational park”. Being big on swimming and finally being out of crocodile territory we grabbed our swimsuits and headed out there. To find at this time of year it is a muddy waterhole, surrounded by an all-male collection of peacocks, guinea fowl, geese and about a million ants that immediately tried to eat our feet. We did not stay for long.

The next day we drove on down to Alice Springs, via the Devil’s Marbles (a bunch of large, roundish rocks) which we found underwhelming (although full of interesting frog facts).

We set off quite early because we’d booked onto a kangaroo tour that only runs in the evenings on the week days and so we had to make the Friday night trip out to the sanctuary. The sanctuary there is run by a guy who has spent years saving orphaned baby kangaroos (second to their general idiocy as adults when it comes to cars). He had a BBC TV programme made about him because clearly nothing ticks the British boxes like slightly handsome man and adorable baby animals.

The tour was fantastic though, because he always has a bunch of orphaned kangaroos on the go, so you spend the tour holding baby kangaroos and feeding them whilst he shows you the sanctuary. It was amazing and about level 10 Australian on the scale of experiences.

Just as soon as we’d left it started teeming with rain and a thunderstorm began. We dashed back to our airbnb to discover the rain had brought out….a fucking giant spider. Like the size of your nightmares. I immediately requested Marcel killed it. He refused as thought it might be dangerous...so thought it would be safer to catch and release. I suggested it was his funeral but I would stand on the other side of the room and watch. One terrifying spider released.

We sat down at the table and tried to relax. Google suggested it was a harmless Huntsman spider. We decided whatever it was we were glad it was gone, only to notice sitting on the picture frame right by the table was ANOTHER FUCKING MASSIVE ONE. Catch and release repeated again. Then I made Marcel pretty much crawl around the airbnb with a torch before I would sit down on any surface.

The next day we decided we’d have a lazy day in town. It was a cool 29c, which felt amazing. We wandered into the free aviation museum to see the wreck of the Kookaburra- a plane that was scrambled to rescue the plane that crashed on the mudflats of Wyndham (the ones I talked about a few years ago where they drank coffee and rum cocktails until they were rescued) and crashed killing the rescuers. I was mostly just curious to see how tiny a 1920s plane was. So tiny. So fragile.

After that we went to the Desert Animal Park, which was basically a zoo of local creatures. Given I’ve never seen a Quoll, dingo, weird thorny devil lizard thing, it was pretty exciting. Also they had a bird show featuring a magpie that called out on command etc. A pleasantly relaxing afternoon was had by all.

When we got back home though, relaxation time was over fairly immediately as we came back to find one of the giant spiders wanted back in and was hanging out on the screen door.

Marcel chased it under the house with a broom and we spent the evening with our legs drawn up on the sofa, watching movies and feeling very twitchy glaring at the shadows.

On Sunday, we decided to head out of town for a swim. We went out to a place called Ellery Creek Big Hole. For the last few weeks all of our swims had been in gloriously warm waters. However around Alice Springs it gets cold at night, and the water in the Big Hole was deep and very very cold. It was hot enough that it made swimming pleasant, but the cold was quite shocking. We spent the afternoon alternating between swimming and warming up on the sand around the pool.

And so concluded week 5. Warm swims left behind us, but still plenty of adventures ahead!

Ways I’ve thought I might die in Australia this week: caught in a wildfire, drowned in a flash flood when rain came in epic proportions, struck by lightening, eaten by a crocodile after the boat was sunk by a tree that had been hit by lightening, overly keen crocodile grabbing one of my limbs that was too close to the side of the boat and dragging me under, drowned in a flash-flooded cave, killed by a not particularly venomous tree snake because I’m weak, of heat stroke in my burkini, death by spider bite, death by heart attack having imagined a giant spider just crawled over my foot, cold immersion syndrome from swimming in cold water after getting used to bathing in essentially bathwater temperatures

0 notes

latestnews2018-blog · 6 years

Text

Bob Mackie on dressing Cher, Tina Turner and Elton John as Donald Duck

New Post has been published on https://latestnews2018.com/bob-mackie-on-dressing-cher-tina-turner-and-elton-john-as-donald-duck/

Bob Mackie on dressing Cher, Tina Turner and Elton John as Donald Duck

The fashion designer reminisces about sequins, surprises — and why he’ll never retire

Fashion and Costume Designer Bob Mackie poses with two of his iconic designs, a scarlet red satin gown worn by Cher in 1975, right, and a marigold jersey jumpsuit worn by Cher between 1971-1976, left, in London, Thursday, Aug. 16, 2018. The gowns are estimated at 3,000-5,000 US Dollars ( 2,363-3,938 UK Pounds) each will be auctioned in the ‘Property from the Collection of Bob Mackie’ sale by Julien’s Auctions in Los Angeles on Nov. 17. (AP Photo/Kirsty Wigglesworth)

You could dine out for a lifetime on Bob Mackie’s stories. After 60 years of designing sequin-encrusted stage costumes for Cher, Bette Midler and Diana Ross, to name a few, the 79-year-old has anecdotes to spare. He sprinkles them into conversation like glitter.

He once dressed Elton John as Donald Duck, complete with tail and webbed feet, making it very difficult for the Rocket Man to play the piano. He worked with Tina Turner during her post-Ike transformation, when “she wanted to look like a sexy cave woman”. Barbra Streisand, he says, “was always questioning everything. ‘Does this really look good? Can we try on three or four, then decide?’ With that kind of sensibility, you work harder, believe me.”

He was friends with Marlene Dietrich, an uber-perfectionist whose gowns would be worn out by multiple minute alterations before they had even left the fitting room. She would also root around “in our community refrigerator, and throw out old food if she found it. And if someone was sick, there was always something in her purse that would work. She was like a grandmother.”

And then there is Cher, his closest collaborator, with whom, in the 70s, he developed a design philosophy best described as “more razzle-dazzle, less fabric”. Without him, Cher has said: “I would have been a peacock without feathers.”

Mackie was scheduled to board a cruise ship from Southampton to New York City with more than 100 of his sketches and gowns, for a seaborne exhibition to promote a sale at Julien’s Auctions, in Los Angeles and online, on November 17.

Why sell the frocks now? “When you have been in a business as long as I have,” he says, “you end up with a lot of interesting things. I certainly don’t need to keep the lot of them. I still have a lot of memories left.”

Mackie is neatly dressed in a gold-buttoned navy blazer with a cobalt-blue, silk pocket handkerchief. His hair is the colour of weak tea and he has a wide, boyish face. He looks like the treasurer of a local Rotary Club, or a daytime gameshow host, rather than a purveyor of showgirl chic.

FASHION ICON

Some of Mackie’s most vivid memories are of Cher. When they met, he says, her look was totally new: “She was the first hippy, really; the bellbottoms, the fur vests, the long straight hair. She created a whole fashion turnaround.” Together, they built her next visual incarnation, which often centred on her naked abs. “The doctor,” he says, “said she had some kind of strange malady of tight stomach muscles.” (Mackie refers frequently to the lithe proportions of his most famous canvas; he has been known to point out that her armpits were the best in the business.)

Their fashion hits included the sequin-studded, feathered “nude” dress she wore to the 1974 Met Gala, which created “a lot of hullaballoo”. Afterwards, “I got a lot of calls from performers wanting something ‘like Cher wears’ because it got a lot of attention.”

More eyeballs were drawn by Cher’s 1986 Oscars ensemble, a sort of “Big Bird goes for a night out with Maleficent in Las Vegas” number, with a perilously low-rise skirt. The outfit was conceived as a dig at the Academy, which, Cher felt, had snubbed her that year. “I wasn’t sure if it was the proper, polite thing to do,” says Mackie, noting that he was “apprehensive” about it (he is always apprehensive, he explains; a wardrobe malfunction is often just a millimetre of tape away). “Some people were horrified but it was in every newspaper,” he says. Cher loved it, of course. He says, with a knowing smile: “Halloween’s her favourite holiday.”

It was often Cher pushing Mackie to create more revealing and outlandish outfits, not the other way around. For example, she came up with the mesh bodysuit worn to mount a cannon in the video for If I Could Turn Back Time. He thought it was “vulgar and horrid. I told her: please, I don’t want any credit for this.”

EARLY YEARS

Mackie grew up in a more reserved time. His childhood sounds pretty dour: between the ages of six and 14 he lived with his British grandmother, who “believed children should be seen and not heard”. His escape was the cinema. He recalls the “religious experience” of seeing the ballet scene from An American in Paris for the first time. He built mini movie sets, complete with stars dressed in paper outfits, on top of his dresser.

In 1960, he married LuLu Porter, a singer, actor and acting teacher. They had a son, Robin, and divorced after three years. That year, when he was 23, he started working on The Judy Garland Show, assisting costume designer Ray Aghayan, who became his partner, in life and business, until his death in 2011.

Garland was, he says, “a phenomenally talented individual, but she had been so mistreated in the beginning, as a child, that she was very troubled”. The show was disastrous, with a high turnover of personnel, but the situation proved unexpectedly useful for Mackie, as he quickly met almost everyone who was anyone in the industry. It sounds tougher for Aghayan who, in the past, Mackie has said, received phone calls from Garland in the middle of the night, asking him to take her to hospital. Clearly, the dark side of Hollywood is never hidden for long, no matter how thick the crust of glitter.

Mackie is also from a time before debates about cultural appropriation in design were commonplace. Cher herself has recently been criticised for the 1973 song Half-Breed — even that title might make a contemporary audience wince — and for the Mackie-designed Native American war bonnets she wore when singing it.

Mackie doesn’t understand the fuss. “People are becoming much too sensitive about their cultures; we’re losing the humour, and that is very sad. She wore that for 40-odd years. Now, all of a sudden, you have a couple of hard-nosed people saying: ‘Oh no, she can’t.’ Well, you’re a little late honey.”

That said, he confirms that Cher won’t be wearing a war bonnet for her forthcoming tour, even though he has faithfully remade a lot of the other costumes. “I just ended up doing a whole new costume, with a different twist to it.” (The claim that Cher can sing this song because her mother has some Cherokee heritage seems to hold less water these days. Mackie says: “I don’t know how much Native American blood Cher has in her, I don’t think very much. I think she gets her dark good looks from her Armenian father.”)

Mackie’s life is still monopolised by work; he is working on the costumes for a huge Cher-themed Broadway musical. “I think I’m the oldest living designer in Hollywood,” he says. Will he ever retire? “I hope not.”

Work has been a balm in difficult times. The year 1993 was unbearable. His son died, at 33, from an Aids-related illness, and Mackie was forced to close the New York fashion business he had launched in order to move beyond pure costume design. Rather than lying low to grieve, he went straight back to work, with Midler, on the TV movie Gypsy, a project that, he has said, saved him.

Has Mackie created icons — by swathing them in sequins — or have existing icons approached him because they like his aesthetic? “It works both ways,” he says. They are also, often, women who pile on the shimmer to shine at dark times, who must always project otherworldly charisma and talent. That is quite a challenge, says Mackie, “because your public always expects to see it. They want to be delighted — ‘Oh, she’s so beautiful did you see what she wore?’ — but very often these actresses are just homebodies with kids at home and a husband. It’s when they go out and make the bucks they have to change the whole thing.”

0 notes

caredogstips · 7 years

Text

Are funny parties sexy … or are sexy people funny? | Dean Burnett

Dean Burnett: Humour is often considered a very attractive mannerism in a potential spouse. But does the science subsidize this?

In a recent client pole, Girl On The Net looked at the assumption that females desired a bad son, the clich that females are attracted to more rebellious, undisciplined, aloof personas who play by their own regulates like treat them mean, keep them keen etc.

But never mind the bad guy, what about the entertaining guy? Its an equally common clich that wives are often charmed by a guy who can draw them laugh. It certainly pops up in the media often enough. How many sitcoms have you discovered where the at-best-average-looking bloke purposes up with a woman whos clearly out of his conference, exclusively because hes wacky, or witty, or cuttingly sarcastic?

Real life isnt short of lessons either. The acronym GSOH is essentially mandatory for dating charts. In his brilliant( if psychologically horrifying) autobiography Becoming Johnny Vegas, Vegas gathers no pierces when it comes to criticising his own physical appearance and drawbacks, but highlights how his increased comedy success lead to similarly particular attention from females( much to the exasperation of the more typically-attractive blokes watching, a phenomenon that has been scientifically preserved ).

And for those with a strong constitution, theres Dirty British Comedy Confessions, a area where people profess their sexual fictions about British( and beyond) comedy wizards, in often eye-watering item( thanks to Richard Herrings Leicester Square Theatre Podcast for pennant this up, and the Greg Davies and Nick Helm episodes in particular ).

Ken Dodd has been shaping innumerable parties laugh for over half a century, but still isnt considered a sex symbol for some reason. Photograph: Gary Calton for the Guardian

The link between witticism and sexual attraction has a lot to back it up, as the bishop said to the nun. Humour is widely regarded as a complex anatomy of communication, allowing people to communicate sentiments and information in an pleasant and engaging mode. If youve ever seen a seasoned speaker become jokes( or at the least, attempt to) youve realized how prevalent this notion is. So humour is a complex and valuable tool for modern humen. Nonetheless, when you render a usual human anything at all, one of the main responses will unavoidably be how can I use this is something that get sexuality? And lo, humour has already become profoundly are enshrined in what is questionably refers to as human mating, and in a variety of ways.

At the most basic rank, it constructs sense that united was becoming increasingly drawn to someone we find amusing. We encounter someone, they shape us find amusement by making us laugh, we form a positive association with them, and have more positive pities towards them. Basic associative see, the genu Pavlovs bird-dogs demonstrated. Clearly, its a lot more complex than that; people can find novelty coffee mugs funny, doesnt means that they want to have sex with them( although no doubt people who work in A& E could support evidence to the contrary ).

Another theory is that the ability to stimulate laughs and entertain parties is a sign of mental health and fitness, as it requires ability, speedy believe, versatility etc. All these acts hint the person is a good copulate, from a health and genetics perspective. So maybe puns and wordplay are the oral equivalents of a stags antlers, or a peacocks posterior; undue showings of biological health and fitness.

Again, its clearly most complex than this. Extremely few wives will look at a husband who forms her laugh and think Phwoarr, Id cherished some of his gametes. Also, the assumption that funny= psychologically health isnt a definite judgment; theres attest to suggest that numerous people determine excessive witticism as a clue that someone is psychologically unwell, hence the whole tears of a clown clich.

Depressingly for those who accept being funny can compensate for being physically unattractive, that seems to only work up to a moment. An interesting analyse by Cowan and Little , which looked at humor and attractiveness found that physically attractive people were be considered to be funnier than less attractive parties when the subjects could see the speaker. When presented with audio simply, this impact wasnt so pronounced.

Why would attractive parties be considered funnier? Surely thats not how humour efforts? One interpretation is the halo gist, where our initial notion of person or persons makes a bias in all our other assessments of them. So if you look at a man and think he is attractive, when he makes parodies youre more likely to think he is funny because you already have positive feelings about him due to how he gazes.

Its technically possible to mark witticism from physical figure, but it takes “youve got to” strange lieu. Photo: Alamy

In contrast, because the humour-attraction connection is well established and manifests in various ways, numerous might consider attempts at humor as synonymous with flirting. And if a person you dont find attractive tries to flirt with you, most people certainly dont like that, so you know a negative reaction. Overall, it hints attractive people have a much simpler time of it when it comes to obligating beings laugh. At last, the physically beautiful eventually catch a transgres!

All this come here for many caveats. The style of humour and romantic intent plays a role, because people are complex and arent limited to binary entertaining/ unfunny or sexy/ unsexy judgements. You also cant certainly filter out the countless cultural forces on our sensings.

For example, the study mentioned above shows that humour is linked to attractiveness for both men and women, but the effect is stronger for women. Is this some deep-rooted advanced mechanism, or research results of everyone around us assuming that women arent supposed to be the amusing ones? Any that are are daring convening, so receive negative responses for the purposes of our. Its nonsense of course, but then most women who exposes positive attributes seems destined to be attacked for it. We live in a world where even the most physically flawless maiden can be criticised and mocked in major pamphlets because a photographer with a strong camera viewed some cellulite between 2 adjacent scalp cells.

So its assumed that men should be the amusing ones, and women are the ones who choose funnier guys. But theres no regulation saying it has to be this mode. And this( and nearly every analyze into the region) concentrates solely on heterosexual relationships. Theres nothing to say lesbian interaction doesnt use comedy in same courses, but the stereotypical culture characters would now throw everything off, so cause even more headaches for scientists.

Overall, while it seems clear that humour and sexual interaction are strongly associated, the idea that amusing people are sexier isnt quite so evident. Parties who ever attractive often get perceived as funnier, because the people attracted to them crave them to be, even if it is at a subconscious level.

This isnt an absolute of course, what with humen being as messy and complex as “they il be”, specially when it is necessary to fornication. Some parties certainly are irresistably drawn to someone who prepares them laugh, irrespective of examines. Other beings have no interest in dating a wannabe comic at all. But, with everything that in mind, if youre wondering why so many current comics seem to be attractive young men with trendy fuzz , now you know.

Dean Burnett will be attempting to be funny on stage with Robin Ince at the Guardian Live event about his introduction journal The Idiot Brain, taking place in London on June 2 nd .

The Idiot Brain by Dean Burnett( Guardian Faber, 12.99 ). To guild a imitate for 7.99, going to see bookshop.theguardian.comor call 0330 333 6846. Free UK p& p over 10, online orders only. Phone guilds min. p& p of 1.99.