#beach vives

[kaleidoscopeofmemories]

Zapallar, Chile

[justafterawintermorning]

Gambettes de la playa.

[lovepeaceandtarot]

Pick a card - Who’s your next partner?

(Escolha uma carta - Quem é o seu próximo parceiro?)

If you want a reading on your energy, just schedule a paid reading with me in DM!

(Se quiser uma leitura na sua energia, basta agendar uma leitura paga comigo na DM!)

If that found you, it was for a reason. Take what resonates and leave what doesn’t resonate.

(Se isso encontrou você, é por uma razão. Pegue o que ressoar e deixe o que não ressoa.)

Card 1 - It can be someone who is powerful, that he is a high standard boss. For some it can be a chef of a restaurant or hotel or inn. For others, it can be a carpenter. For others, it can be some artist in the field of music, acting, social media or painter. For others, it can be a gardener or a flower shop owner.

(Carta 1: Pode ser alguém que é poderoso, que ele é um chefe de alto padrão. Para alguns pode ser um chefe de cozinha de algum restaurante ou hotel ou pousada. Para outros, pode ser um carpinteiro. Para outros, pode ser algum artista em ramo de musica, atuação, midia social ou pintor. Para outros, pode ser um jardineiro ou dono de uma floricultura.)

Card 2 - It could be someone who lives on the beach. For some, it may be a fisherman. For others, it may be someone who lives in an area in the countryside. For others, it may be someone who likes or dresses in old clothes. For others, it may be someone who likes fish or the sign of fish. For others, it can be an older person. For others, it may be someone who lives in a cabin.

(Carta 2 - Pode ser alguém que vive na praia. Para alguns, pode ser que seja um pescador. Para outros, pode ser que seja alguém que vive em uma area do interior. Para outros, pode ser que seja alguém que goste ou se vista com roupas antigas. Para outros, pode ser alguém que goste de peixes ou seja do signo de peixes. Para outros, pode ser uma pessoa mais velha. Para outros, pode ser alguem que viva em uma cabana.).

Card 3: For some of you, it may be someone very closed and antisocial. For others, it may be someone who is responsible and who makes difficult decisions or it is someone who works in places where it requires making difficult decisions. For others, it may be someone who likes to wear winter clothes. It could be someone who likes plants.

(Carta 3: Para alguns de vocês, pode ser que seja alguém muito fechado e anti social. Para outros, pode ser alguem que é responsavel e que toma decisoes dificeis ou é alguém que trabalha em locais onde exige tomar decisões dificeis. Para outros, pode ser alguém que goste de usar roupas de inverno. Pode ser alguém que goste de plantas.)

#tarot #tarotportugal #tarotreading #career #careerreading #generalreading #foryou #foryoupage #explore #explorar #amorproprio #tarô #tarotcards #tarotcomunity #consultasdetarot #selfcare #autocuidado #freetarotreading #generalreading #acolhimento #loveyourself #pickapiletarot

[latinotiktok]

Propaganda:

Evangelion:

-Shinji, asuka y rei

-Shinji: todos los problemas psicológicos del dsm, necesita todo un país de psicólogos! (Argentina)

Asuka: insoportable pq así ignora sus traumas. representa el espíritu nacional argentino.

Rei: autista y crónicamente deprimida. representa el consiente colectivo nacional argentino.

Misato: vive a base de birras, te caga a puteadas por cualquier cosa, maneja como una psicópata y tiene un pingüino (argentina y de santa cruz)

-SHINJI 💯💯💯 LATIN KING

-shinji, no hay nada mas argentino-coded que un gay deprimido con un walkman

-Asuka, Es la típica morra castrosa con pedos mentales que te encuentras en una secundaria pública latina y también es tu mejor amiga con la que tendrás un rompimiento demasiado intenso

-Shinji Ikari because he's the prettiest girl at the quince

-Asuka nge mexicana para siempre

Asuka de evangelion. PORQUE SI EL PODER DEL JUEVES NO ES LATINO DE DONDE MÁS VA A SER A VER????

Hinata

-hinata shoyo. ya tenemos oikawa argentino y hinata se la paso en brasil y habla un poquito de portugues. denle chance al cabro (aparte es chikito y griton)

-Hinata Shoyo de Haikyuu (HQ!! pa los amigui) pq mi panita aquí presente vivió en Brasil por dos años para poder practicar voleibol de playa, trabajó de repartidor de pedidosya (bueno era Uber Eats pero y lo chistoso que es decir que tu blorbo en el canon fue repartidor de pedidosya en Brasil eso es un flex) sin saber UNA MIERDA de portugués y aparte le robaron la billetera 100/10 sin notas adicionales aparte que le gustó tanto el beta y se hizo tantos amigos que luego volvió a formar parte de un equipo brasileño de voleibol aparte que acabo de ver a Nishinoya entre los nominados y estos dos son amiguis entonces entonces lo quiero nominar lo porfa :) //

BONUS OIKAWA PROPAGANDA BY ANON; Oikawa Tooru también del mismo anime (tanta gente que sale de este anime sobre voleibol loca) con base a que SE NACIONALIZÓ ARGENTINO AL FINAL DEL MANGA podría ser la persona más chistosa del mundo y nominarlo ahora mismo para des-canonización PERO ES MÁS CHISTOSO SABER QUE ESTE LOCO CRUZÓ EL MUNDO Y SE NACIONALIZÓ ARGENTINO CON EL EXPRESO PROPÓSITO DE PODER GANARLE AL TODOS SUS RIVALES JAPONESES AL MISMO TIEMPO EN LAS OLIMPIADAS (Y QUE NUNCA NOS DIJERON QUIÉN GANÓ) ESA ES LA COSA MÁS ARGENTINA QUE HE ESCUCHADO (no era argentino) (no sabe de qué está hablando)

-Hinata (from haikyuu!!) because he fits the vibes and also!! Because in the manga he actually lived in Brazil, worked as a delivery boy and played beach volleyball! He also learned the language and, again, he fits our vives

[burning-academia-if]

[Happy birthday Beck, my little sky]

            Once, during what he’d later learn to be his last visit to the island, his family had celebrated his birthday as they always. Him and his cousins ran through the small streets of town until they made it to the empty beaches (the kind tourists would never find because the kind of town they lived in was too poor. Too broken down. Too weather worn, for any of them to ever love. But Beck loved it, and he always would. A blessing and a curse). Some would take off their shirts and others would dive into the water without bothering to change.

            Beck’s voice, loud and bright, would call “You know the rules, whoever finds the most sand dollars gets the first of mamí’s mofongo.”

            As if it was a special treat, they’d scatter and laugh and if they were lucky, they’d find one. By the time they were tired and warm from sun and laughter, they’d find a truth which had persisted for years, since they started this game. Beck’s hands were full of sand dollars, all unbroken and various shades.

            When they’d rush back, they’d complain to mamí and ask how Beck always found so many, and she’d laugh and say it was because his heart was so bright it attracted many things. His sixteenth was different. After they came home and his grandmother laughed, she followed him to the cramped little bathroom with a sadness swirling in her dark brown eyes.

“El diablo vive en tú corazón, y yo también.” She’d said, pressing a hand to his heart and hers.

The devil lives in your heart, and mine as well.

In the years that followed he’d wonder what she’d meant.

Until the year came where he learned exactly what she meant.

[angeliqueacademy]

prologue & black coffee

I didn’t want to move. All I’ve known was moving from one town to the next. But this time this was permanent, well, semi-permanent at least. The first time I heard about Angelique was after my mother found my pack of cigarettes in my room. That was the last straw for her. I didn’t even know this place existed until she secretly applied for a scholarship against my wishes and got my acceptance letter later to rub it in my face that I was attending the start of the fall term. I obviously wasn’t pleased when my parents forced me to attend this school. 

It was a Sunday morning, I arrived in Limpet, a small town on the North Shore of Long Island. I was told that this place mostly consisted of swamps, lakes, and forests. On the outskirts of it were gift shops, independent businesses, beaches, and loads of nautical paraphernalia. The scenery was vastly different from the old town I lived in, there was so much green.

On my way to the academy, this school wasn’t like the previous schools I’d attended. The exterior looked outdated but not in a creepy, abandoned, start of a horror flick, black mold asbestos sense, but in an “I’m too lazy to spend money on the school’s exterior and we’re gonna spend all of our money towards outreach events” sense.

 The whole car ride with my mother was awkwardly quiet. I only brought two cases of luggage which suited me fine, I didn’t pack much moving-wise anyway. We both felt all butt nothing but disdain towards each other. The “trouble” I got into my freshman year of high school was never overlooked by my parents. They were extremely disappointed in me, but I didn’t care. 

“We’re here.” Mom ended up breaking the silence after I walked out of our white 1995 Honda Accord. “And take that stupid piece of metal out of your nose!” She pointed at my silver nose ring and snapped at me, “And those earcuffs! You’re going to one of the top twenty schools in America, start acting like it!” I scoffed as my ear cuffs weren’t even ear cuffs, they were genuine piercings that I pierced myself in the girls’ bathroom alongside my friends back at Sherman High. Was it a little bit crooked and doesn’t look done by a professional? Well a bit, but at least I put gloves on before I went through doing it! Besides, once you lose the studs you never go back, hoops for the win. I took them both out sulking like hell. I wouldn’t expect my mother nonetheless my parents to get or understand my sense of style. 

I’m gonna put them back in anyway…

It was hot outside but not in a dry way like I’m used to. It was very murky and humid. Over to my left were many gnats flying in the same brainless motion. Birds were chirping and cicadas were buzzing from out of my vision. I then peered at the academy’s exterior more intricately, the outside certainly looked ten times better than this insane asylum-like architecture, and the groundskeeping looked straight out of a fairytale having a plethora of shrubs and flowers scattered throughout the lot. Immediately as I got out of the car, I could’ve sworn I got a mosquito bite on my ankle.

Behind me, I heard footsteps. My mother signaled for me to turn around. I saw a slender, bookish middle-aged woman in her late 40s, mousy brown hair with minor strays of gray slicked back in a neat bun, brown eyes, and big framed glasses with a burgundy blazer and pencil skirt down to her knees and thin black heels. I couldn’t help but notice the insignia of the school emblem pinned on the collar of a bee resting on an open book with letters on the top reading. “VIVE ET DISCE.” This must be the headmistress of the school. 

The Headmistress's face went from deadpan to having emotion, “Hello!  You must be the Da Silva’s! A pleasure to meet you both!” Mom eagerly shook her hand, “Yes, I’m Marie. And this is my daughter, Lacey.” I swallowed my pride and shook the headmistress’s hand as well. “I’m Mrs. McCoy, the Headmistress of the school, please do come inside!” We both followed the headmistress into the entrance of the school, our footsteps echoing throughout the halls and the doors slowly creaking shut behind us. The school’s entrance looked straight out of the Marie Antionette movie, minus the bright vibrant colors. It wasn’t super dark either, just really neutral and overly brown. The floor was checkered black and white. In front of me were a ton of trophies for various academic and athletic achievements and a marble bust of a Gibson Girl. Behind it was a commissioned portrait of the school founder who ironically looked angelic with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a white lace tea gown. The engraving at the foot of the painting frame read “Angelique Cuthbert.” 

To my side was the front desk, with an elderly woman with a straitlaced blouse and a plaid pleated skirt that went down to her ankles with pointy cat eyeglasses. This lady was fast asleep with her mouth wide open! I couldn’t tell if she was taking a nap or if she was dead. “Forgive Mrs. O’Shea, she’s a little tired.” The headmistress nervously chuckled then cleared her throat, “Welcome to Angelique Academy. Our faculty has been awaiting your arrival, our academy has been deeply rooted in transforming girls into young women since 1919.” She exclaims. “School isn't in session as of now, all classes start tomorrow. In a few minutes, I will take you upstairs on the second floor to my office to show you your schedule and residency information on campus.” The Headmistress gestured to follow her way.

As we followed Headmistress McCoy to her office I couldn’t help but smell the overwhelming scent of printed paper and freshly brewed coffee. I look around her room which typically consists of drawers, bookcases, and her desk. Standing next to Headmistress Mccoy’s chair, I saw a woman with big strawberry blonde curly hair and floral print business attire. My face turned pale, no shit, is that? “Aunt Jan?” My eyes widened in shock, surprised, “What are you doing here?” I haven’t seen my Aunt Jan in ages. Though I guess it makes sense. Although I only saw her once or twice growing up since she lived in New York, I do remember she used to teach mathematics to teens. Oh my gosh, does she work here? Does she know why I’m here? 

I slowly go over to Headmistress McCoy’s desk sitting alongside my mother. Aunt Jan smiled softly at me. Still dumbfounded, I just stared at her. 

Suddenly I turned back to Headmistress McCoy who seemingly pulled out my file while I was daydreaming into nothingness. As she sat down,  I stared into her cold harsh eyes, rigidness that could whip an addict back into shape. I wasn’t threatened. I was used to these types of people. She looked back down to my file and examined it carefully.  “Not many young women who applied here could be in your shoes, nor have this academic ineptitude of yours,” The stoic headmistress passed my academic records from across the desk I was sitting at and pointed at my absences and plummeting grades from middle school from freshman year. 

“Your parents must be very fortunate that you will be beginning your education at Angelique.”  My mother nodded at McCoy’s response, “Yes Headmistress, unfortunately my daughter has been under some ‘bad influences’ last year at her previous high school.” I rolled my eyes at my mother. She has no idea what she’s fucking talking about... “Her father as well as I are hoping maybe she’ll have a fresh new start at this school since her acceptance letter was received in the mail...” Headmistress McCoy gives a sympathetic expression, “Don’t worry Mrs. Da Silva, you're in good hands here. A few parents were in your shoes just like you last year, and now their daughters are all in the Debate Club here.” You’ve got to be kidding me, Debate? Do I seriously look like a high-achieving nutjob whose only goal in life is to pass all honors classes to go to an Ivy League University that would cause me so much student debt I wouldn’t be able to pay off by the day I die? Over my dead body.

All I’ve been doing for most of my life was listen, listen, listen, why should I listen to anyone if no one will ever listen to me? This school is nothing but a lie on a glossy pamphlet and the fact they think it could straighten me out when there’s barely anything to change about me in the first place. There was nothing all at this school would fix because quite truthfully, there’s absolutely nothing! 

Out of all the places I could go, out of all the places I could be, why here? 

[lachelledavies-winchester]

"Hi, I have a friend who is not doing well, he just won't tell me what the problem is and I'm ten hours away so I can't physically threaten him to get him to talk."

"I don't think that's enough to get him to confess."

"How about I send you audios of me singing until you quit?"

"I say from a distance you don't know how to threaten people at all, honey."

"Good thing I don't work for a collection agency," she tried to make him laugh. "Speaking of work, what are you guys up to with the case?"

"It was a crossroads demon, the same one who gave Becky a love potion that she used to frame that idiot Sam."

"Hmm, 'idiot Sam'; code red: Sam is the problem."

"There's no problem, I'm fine."

"All right, and when are you two coming back?"

"Let's finish the week. Las Vegas week has been a tradition for us for years..." he slowly lowered his voice, as if he was no longer convinced.

"I'll leave you to your programs. Will you just let me say hello to Sam?" she pressed on, sensing more and more of the situation.

"Um, yes, only today he locked himself in his room because that's how the day went."

"Are you going to decide to talk, or do I have to remind you that because of you I don't even have fingernails made for economy?" she pressed and heard him snort.

"Sam doesn't need me anymore, he's a grown man, and I don't know what to identify with if I can't be the big brother who takes care of him."

They strolled, she among the trees in the woods and he on the wide sidewalks among the people enjoying the bustling life of the neon city.

"The fact that he is doing well on his own shows that you have been a good brother."

"Now what should I do?"

"Sell one of my trinkets and rent a motorcycle and take a ride, take a moment and enjoy freedom while you can. Take a newspaper and a towel and lie on the shore and sunbathe. Dress well and go down and eat quietly by yourself in a restaurant, have you ever done that?"

"You're talking a load of crap."

"You can't help anyone unless you're okay with yourself first, and what better time than when your brother thinks he can manage without you?"

"So you think he will need me again?"

"Sam will always need you and you know it. Is there someone selling ice cream near you?" 

The colorful lights of the city that varied shapes and colors along with the buzz of passengers on one side, while the hooting of owls and the white light of the moon illuminated the forest on the other. They loved the simplicity of their talk, the freedom to express themselves as naive boys when life did not ask them to be adults.

"I would have liked to have traveled more, nothing in particular; shoot, go to the beach, maybe get an ice cream alone," he joked and they laughed together.

[sciatu]

ORTIGIA DI NOTTE

Abbiamo pranzato in un vecchio ristorante di Ortigia. Fino a qualche anno fa vi erano i due fratelli che l’avevano ereditato dal padre. Eravamo in confidenza e quando ci sedevamo a tavola non ci portavano neanche il menù ma una serie di piatti con antipasti tipici di Siracusa. La pasta alla Meggellina o allo scoglio gli spaghetti al nero di Sicci, la frittura, l’arrosto, la stessa cassata con cui si finiva il pranzo, seguivano le stagioni, la disponibilità del momento. Ora il ristorante è uno dei tanti, con piatti belli a vedersi ma insapori, ed un menù che è lo stesso di Milano o Düsseldorf. Siracusa dalla tavola è scomparsa nella ricerca del Glamour, di una supposta eleganza che giustifica un costo non equilibrato con il pranzo servito. Per questo ci avventuriamo nella notte di Origia con la paura di non trovare più la sua anima accogliente ed antica. Ci accolgono i grandi Yacht dalle forme eleganti che sanno di una ricchezza che cerca ancora l’avventura tra le vele di due alberi o nei ponti eleganti di una cattedrale marina. Poi però torna Ortigia, i suoi enormi baobab la fontana di Aretusa, torna nelle feste sulle barche luminose ormeggiate ai lati delle grandi mura o in quella nei balconi luminosi delle antiche case. Ortigia vive il suo mare e vive sé stessa, di giorno e di notte, indifferente ai tanti turisti per cui l’hanno camuffata e popolata di ristoranti, vive nel silenzio che avvolge i suoi balconi, nella luce giallognola dei suoi vicoli, nelle feste dei ragazzi nelle sue oscure spiaggette, nel vento che l’attraversa e nel tempo che non la vince. Nel silenzio della notte e nei pub stracolmi, tra tavolini e barche in cui rimbomba la musica da discoteca, come un’antica signora che l’oblio non potrà mai vincere, Ortigia vive.

We had lunch in an old restaurant in Ortigia. Until a few years ago there were two brothers who had inherited it from their father. We were friend and when we sat down at the table they didn't even bring us the menu but a series of dishes with typical Syracuse appetizers. The Meggellina or scoglio pasta, black Sicci's spaghetti (cutttlefish spaghetti) with black sauce, the fried food, the roast, the same cassata with which we finished lunch, followed the seasons, the availability of the moment. Now the restaurant is one of many, with dishes that are beautiful to look at but tasteless, and a menu that is the same as in Milan or Düsseldorf. Syracuse has disappeared from the table in the search for Glamour, for a supposed elegance that justifies a cost that is not balanced with the lunch served. This is why we venture into the night of Origia with the fear of no longer finding its welcoming and ancient soul. We are welcomed by large yachts with elegant shapes that smell of a richness that still seeks adventure between the sails of two masted ship or in the elegant descks of a marine cathedral. But then Ortigia returns, its enormous baobabs, the fountain of Arethusa, returns to the celebrations on the bright boats moored at the sides of the great walls or in the bright balconies of the ancient houses. Ortigia lives its sea and lives itself, day and night, indifferent to the many tourists for whom they have disguised it and populated it with restaurants, it lives in the silence that envelops its balconies, in the yellowish light of its alleys, in the festivals of teeneger in its dark little beaches, in the wind that crosses it and in the time that does not overcome it. In the silence of the night and in busy pubs, between tables and boats in which disco music booms, like an ancient lady that oblivion can never conquer, Ortigia lives.

[lyledebeast]

August 16: Under Paris (2024)

Between this and Raw (2016), the French are the true heroes of horror month. This film by Xavier Gens is a fun, woman-centered take on the classic killer shark theme. The main protagonist is a woman marine biologist. The main villain is a woman, whether you consider her to be the egotistical mayor (who has my vote) or Lilith, the matriarch of the VERY extended shark family that inhabits the Seine.

"The triathlon begins tomorrow" is the new "The beaches will be open for 4th of July weekend." French and American solidarity once again: united in hubris!

Along with a lot of explosions and amputations by shark (and a fair bit of swallowed whole by shark!), there are surprisingly well crafted relationships. Bérénice Bejo turns in a particularly compelling performance as the lead, who is working through her own shark-related trauma.

Best of all, the number of sharks who survive to the end of the film is much higher than of alligators in Crawl (2019) or lions in Prey (2007). By A LOT!

This will be my last creature feature for this series; I want to end on a high note. Vive la France! Vive les requins!

[dykeboi]

Jacqueline Marval

(Marie-Joséphine Vallet, dite) Quaix-en-Chartreuse, 1866-Paris, 1932

La grande plage à Biarritz, 1923, Huile sur toile

Ce tableau au format panoramique donne une vision fraîche et colorée de Biarritz, lieu de villégiature à la mode pendant la période de l'entre-deux-guerres. Le spectateur trouve sa place au premier plan, au côté des élégantes à ombrelles et des enfants en maillot. En contrebas, les baigneurs, touches rapides de couleurs vives ou noires, prennent le soleil sur la plage. Au loin, plus téméraires, de noires silhouettes à peine esquissées entrent en grappe compacte dans l'océan démonté. Le phare de Biarritz apparaît sur la ligne d'horizon. Jacqueline Marval réalise ce tableau lors de son séjour à Biarritz pendant l'été 1923, puis le présente à Paris au Salon d'Automne. Peintre autodidacte, sa carrière commence en 1901 à Paris. Elle fréquente les artistes de l'avant-garde et les personnalités marquantes de son temps et témoigne dans sa peinture de la vie mondaine de son époque.

This panoramic painting gives a fresh and colorful vision of Biarritz, a fashionable vacation spot of the interwar period. The viewer finds their place in the foreground alongside elegant ladies with parasols and children in bathing suits. Below, bathers, made of quick touches of bright or black colors, take in the sun on the beach. Further, more daringly, black silhouettes, barely sketched, enter the breaking waves in a compact group. The lighthouse of Biarritz appears on the horizon line. Jacqueline Marval realized this painting during her stay in Biarritz during the summer of 1923, then presented it in Paris at the autumn Salon. A self-taught painter, her career began in 1901 in Paris. She frequented the artists of the avant garde and notable personalities of her time, and testifies to the social life of the time in her paintings. (Pictures and translation my own)

[lunamagicablu]

Osserva un bambino che raccoglie conchiglie sulla spiaggia: è più felice dell’uomo più ricco del mondo. Qual è il suo segreto? Quel segreto è anche il mio. Il bambino vive nel momento presente, si gode il sole, l’aria salmastra della spiaggia, la meravigliosa distesa di sabbia. È qui e ora. Non pensa al passato, non pensa al futuro. E qualsiasi cosa fa, la fa con totalità, intensamente; ne è così assorbito da scordare ogni altra cosa. Osho ****************** Observe a child collecting shells on the beach: he is happier than the richest man in the world. What is his secret? That secret is mine too. The child lives in the present moment, enjoying the sun, the salty air of the beach, the wonderful expanse of sand. He is here and now. He doesn't think about the past, he doesn't think about the future. And whatever he does, he does with totality, intensely; he is so absorbed in it that he forgets everything else. Osho 

[tacendasrevenge]

"Exploring Body Hair Preferences Around the Globe"

Been slaving over a hot A.I asking the real questions.

General attitudes on body hair from 9 countries

1. **United States: A Mosaic of Choices**

In the U.S., attitudes toward body hair are incredibly diverse. Some embrace the natural look, while others opt for smooth, hair-free skin. Preferences often vary across regions, reflecting the country's melting pot of cultures and influences.

2. **France: Vive la Différence!**

French culture is known for its appreciation of natural beauty. While there's a preference for grooming, it's often less stringent than in some other Western countries. The French generally value an effortless, "je ne sais quoi" style.

3. **South Korea: The K-Beauty Influence**

Influenced by the K-beauty trend, South Korea tends to favor a meticulous and groomed appearance. Smooth, hair-free skin is often seen as a standard of beauty, especially among the younger generation.

4. **Brazil: Embracing Natural Beauty**

In Brazil, where the beach culture is prevalent, many individuals embrace a more natural look. While grooming is common, there's less pressure to conform to strict standards, promoting a celebration of diverse body types.

5. **India: Cultural and Regional Variances**

With its rich cultural diversity, India showcases a spectrum of attitudes towards body hair. Preferences can differ based on cultural backgrounds and geographical regions, highlighting the complexity of beauty standards in the country.

6. **Russia: A Mix of Tradition and Modernity**

Russia reflects a blend of traditional values and modern influences. While grooming is generally appreciated, there's room for individual expression, with a growing acceptance of diverse choices.

7. **Japan: Harmony in Grooming**

Japanese culture often places importance on harmony and balance. Grooming is considered essential, but preferences can vary. The emphasis is on neatness, with many opting for subtle and minimalistic styles.

8. **Iran: A Balance of Modesty and Style**

In Iran, cultural and religious influences play a significant role. Modesty is valued, but there's a growing trend of blending tradition with modern styles, allowing for personal expression within cultural norms.

9. **Sweden: Embracing Diversity**

Sweden promotes an inclusive and diverse perspective on beauty. The cultural attitude is generally accepting, with individuals feeling empowered to make personal choices based on their comfort and preferences.

[imtryingmybeskar]

Inspired by this week's @writer-wednesday

I've been writing quite a lot of angst and hurt recently so here is a piece of tooth rotting fluff to get you in a Christmassy mood. And oh yes, they're back.

Ezra x OFC. Word count: 1,495

🌟 This is set between Chapters 15 and 17 of Starman 🌟

Starman

Earthlings

The sky outside was steely purple grey, heavy with the promise of snow. If she had been brave enough to open the windows she knew that she would be able to smell the tang of the same in the air. She sighed happily, closed the curtain against the rapidly approaching night. But only halfway. She left one side open to be able to see when Ezra would return.

He had expressed a desire to be more independent recently, and she felt today to be the right day for that to begin in earnest. He was unable to drive a car as yet - those lessons would come during longer days and better weather. He did however love the coastal road that her little cottage was on, so when she had suggested he walk the mile-and-a-bit to the nearest town he was only too pleased to go.

Before he left they had discussed the parameters of his trip – what to do if he couldn’t work out how something worked, or ran out of money, or lost his way. He had his own phone and most foreseen problems could be easily solved with a call to her. She would come and get him if he really wanted her to. But she knew that call would never come. Ezra was far too stubborn not to see an adventure through, no matter how small it seemed. So she had encouraged him to take his time, to explore a little without her, to visit the beach if he so desired.

"Ah, you want rid of me already, my love?" he had asked in a dramatic tone as he swept her into his arm. His hand was at the small of her back while he nosed softly at her cheek, a pleasant tingling warmth spreading from where their skin met. "Tell me what I might do to win your favour once more."

His eyes were sparkling, his grin lopsided and roguish as her hands came around his neck to tangle in his curls and bring his lips to hers in a feverish kiss.

"Never," she had said, her murmured reply fervent and sincere against his mouth despite the fact she could hear the joking tone of his words. "I never want rid of you Ezra." Another kiss, deeper and more explorative before she added with a smile, “I’m sure I can think of some things for you to do though!”

When she had presented him with the shopping list shortly after, he had laughed heartily and faintly protested that he had had other pursuits in mind before kissing her gently on the nose and then on the forehead, his soft lips tender and full of promise.

"Anything for you my Vive," he said simply. "I love you."

She smiled at the memory. This was perfect. Not only would the little excursion give him a chance to practice his English, but it would allow her to prepare the house in the way that she wanted in order to surprise him. She couldn't wait to see what he made of her handiwork. Christmas had been explained to him - the meaning behind it, the traditions – but learning about it and experiencing it were very different things. And she hoped his first one would be a joy. Turning away from the window, she surveyed the room.

Soft lights twinkled warmly in the corner of the living room, reflecting off the glittery golden ornaments that adorned the rest of the tree, while the comforting sweet smell of cinnamon was emanating from homemade garlands. A pile of beautifully wrapped gifts surrounded its base, their red ribbon bows enticingly perfect, wrapping paper gleaming. The fire was dispersing its crackling warmth throughout the room and Ben had forsaken his bed to stretch out in front of it for a snooze, the luxury of his experience writ plain upon his little furry face.

He suddenly stirred, opened his eyes and raised his head toward the door expectantly. Sure enough, a moment later she heard Ezra’s footsteps coming up the path. She flung open the door and met him with a tight embrace on the porch.

“I missed you,” she whispered as she nuzzled affectionately into the scruffy patches at his cheeks.

“Though I was gone only for a matter of hours, it felt like a lifetime without you my love,” he replied, kissing the top of her head.

She drew back, unable to hide the excitement in her smile. “I have a surprise for you,” she announced.

He smiled gently down at her. “Well, I must admit I did get the notion that you were up to something."

She took the bag of shopping from him and placed it carefully inside the house before turning back to him. “Close your eyes.”

She could see the moment when his smile turned from pure sweetness to amused indulgence and he did as she said, covering them over with his hand so she knew he couldn't see anything. She took him by the elbow and led him into the welcome warmth of the living room, settling him gently on the couch and sitting next to him so she could observe his reaction.

“Okay,” she said. “Open them.”

His mouth fell open, and his full lips quirked a little to the side in an amazed half-smile as he exhaled sharply. The blazing fire mixed with the off-white of the fairy lights turned his skin golden, and were reflected in the inky depths of his beautiful dark eyes. Her attention was captured so completely that she forgot to breathe for a moment, so lost was she in the soft rapture of his expression. He muttered something under his breath - something in his own language - the only word of which she definitely understood was ‘beautiful’. He had called her that enough in his own tongue and hers for her to recognise it. Before she could even reach for the translator where it was propped up on the bookcase, he turned to her and his eyes were lit with a fervent flame.

“This…you did all this?” he asked.

She nodded. “I want you to share in my experience of Christmas. It’s always been such a happy time for me. I adore it, and I hope that you will too.”

He took both of her hands into his larger one. “My life, my only love…I adore any time that I am with you. All of the time that I am with you. And this…thank you. This is so beautiful! I feel so lucky to share in your celebration." He smiled warmly before his eyes flickered, his attention caught by something. He shot a questioning look over her shoulder. “What’s the matter with Dog?” he asked.

She turned to look. Ben had scuffled over to his bed underneath the window, but not to sleep. He was standing up in it on his little hind legs, his head and upper body obscured behind the curtain she had closed earlier. She went to him, peeking behind the curtain to check what he was looking at.

“Ohhh Ezra,” she said happily as she stroked Ben’s ears. “Come and see!”

She drew back the curtain again so that the window showed a complete view of her front garden. Fat white flakes were beginning to descend from the heavens, falling starkly against the blackness of the evening winter sky. She felt Ezra’s approach behind her - in her heart and in her mind she felt him, before he slipped his arm around her waist and held her against the broadness of his chest.

He exhaled an excited little breath from behind her. “This is…don’t tell me. I’ll remember the word. This is…snew?”

“Very nearly. Its snow,” she corrected him. “I’m glad you got back before it started. You didn’t have snow where you were from did you?”

“Not on my homeworld. I did encounter places where the precipitation fell frozen, but it was usually less…pretty than this. I’ve never seen it white before.”

“Tomorrow we can go out in it. Take Ben for a walk. He loves to roll around in the snow and chase snowballs. We can make a snowman too.” She tipped her head back to meet his upside-down gaze, his adoring grin spreading her own smile upon her face. “And then we can come back and I’ll make us hot chocolate and we can get under the blankets to warm up-“

He stopped her words with a gentle kiss, his hand slipping underneath her jumper and t-shirt to rest against the bare skin of her stomach. “And what about now?” he asked meaningfully. “Can we get under the blankets now?”

How could she ever refuse an offer like that?

The snow continued to fall outside – silent, soft, glittering and abundant. And inside the little house all was warm and cosy and beautiful, the fated lovers entwined, entangled, enmeshed eternally in their joyful love.

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[napuleh]

Se interrogate uno storico, o buoni ed amabili lettori, vi risponderà che la tomba della bella Parthenope è sull’altura di San Giovanni Maggiore, dove allora il mare lambiva il piede della montagnola. Un altro vi dirà che la tomba di Parthenope è sull’altura di Sant’Aniello, verso la campagna, sotto Capodimonte. Ebbene, io vi dico che non è vero. Parthenope non ha tomba, Parthenope non è morta. Ella vive, splendida, giovane e bella, da cinquemila anni. Ella corre ancora sui poggi, ella erra sulla spiaggia, ella si affaccia al vulcano, ella si smarrisce nelle vallate. È lei che rende la nostra città ebbra di luce e folle di colori: è lei che fa brillare le stelle nelle notti serene; è lei che rende irresistibile il profumo dell’arancio; è lei che fa fosforeggiare il mare.

"If you ask a historian, or good and amiable readers, he will answer that the tomb of the beautiful Parthenope is on the hill of San Giovanni Maggiore, where at that time the sea lapped the foot of the mountain. Another will tell you that Parthenope's tomb is on the hill of Sant'Aniello, towards the countryside, below Capodimonte.

Well, I tell you that is not true. Parthenope has no grave, Parthenope is not dead. She has lived, splendid, young and beautiful, for five thousand years. She still runs on the hillocks, she wanders on the beach, she looks out over the volcano, she gets lost in the valleys. It is she who makes our city intoxicated with light and mad with colors: it is she who makes the stars shine on clear nights; it is she who makes the scent of orange irresistible; it is she who makes the sea phosphorize."

[ansiavamos]

Eu sinto tanto a sua falta... Que dói.

É e tem sido muito, muito difícil pra mim ter que ficar sem falar com você. E eu nunca vou te enviar isso que digito agora, ou deixar você saber, acho que talvez, isso seja o que me dói mais.

Assim como talvez eu me pego pensando que nunca deveria ter deixado claro... Bem, meus sentimentos por ti. Não que eu me arrependa, eu só não queria te deixar mal.

Afinal, minha intenção nunca foi te magoar, nem me machucar, acredito que sempre floresceram coisas boas entre nós. Não havia espaço para mágoas, nunca teve... Mesmo em momentos em que estive brava contigo.

Agora meu coração dói, tento não pensar em como você está, ou o que está fazendo, mas parece que quanto mais eu tento te afastar da minha mente, mais você gruda no meu coração. É mesmo errado eu me sentir assim?

Estou passando por momentos difíceis, crises, crises estas que estão além de questões de relacionamentos, e também não posso desabafar com você, porque não quero bagunçar mais a sua vida e te envolver nas minhas tristezas.

Eu só ando cansada, sabe? Me sinto vazia, inútil e fracassada. Às vezes parece que não vou conseguir aguentar nem mais um dia, algumas poucas pessoas conseguem tirar uma risada ou outra pela madrugada nas lives, mas então tudo volta... Eu já não aguento mais. Mas tô tentando levar um dia de cada vez, sabe? Tento dizer a mim mesma que devo ser importante, nem que seja um pouquinho e que uma hora tudo isso vai passar, apesar de parecer que nunca passa.

A propósito, acho que nunca te agradeci direito, né? Obrigada por todos os momentos bons, por sempre estar ao meu lado quando precisei, me fazendo rir e esquecer esses sentimentos ruins que guardo no peito. Eu espero de verdade, ter te proporcionado um pouco de felicidade também! Eu também não quero me afastar de você, e não sei se você também pensa dessa forma, mas esse sentimento sempre me assustou um pouco. Justamente porque sei que iria me sentir mal se nos afastássemos.

Ah e me perdoe as palavras pesadas sobre mim mesma, esse texto é apenas um desabafo de alguns dos meus dias meio depressivos antes de dormir pela manhã, que ninguém jamais irá ler.

Se cuida, tá? Vê se não vive de comer só biscoitinhos.

[adgp35]

Vive La Resistance Pt 1

Paris, August 1944: the Allies had broken out of their Normandy beach heads and were advancing east and south, driving their defeated German foes before them, but for Helmut and Hans, the British and American troops, now on the outskirts of Paris, may as well have been a thousand miles away. Lost in the reverie of Madame Dubois’ “recreation apartment”, the two servicemen had anything but the war on their mind…

Louise extended her hand to Hans who kissed it gently while Marie Dubois looked on. “Nice to see you again, sailor boy..” the young woman teased, striking in her orange red filmy dress. “Mmmmm…” replied the naval rating dreamily and closed his eyes.

Marie ran her fingers through the German’s blonde hair. “Louise will take very good care of you tonight, my love,” she told him with a sweet yet maternal smile on her lips but her eyes were fixed the younger woman with a meaningful look, “won’t you, my beauty?”

Meanwhile, Marlene Dietrich sounded from the scratchy gramophone and over at the other side of the room, Helmut clung to the scantily clad Gabrielle as though his life depended upon it. The blonde woman looked over to her friends as she gripped her dancing partner’s neck tightly. “You see, I am wearing the stockings you love so much, my brave soldier,” she told the lusting man even as her eyes fixed on those of Louise.

To be continued…

Source: The movie Escape To Athena (1979)