#street gallery magazine

[kvetch19]

[sthuenee]

Den Hague, Netherlands

[meavz]

Page 143

Artist social @Ryan.mkm on instagram

[dclife]

This iconic piece of Black Art fashionably displays the surrealist perspective of urban life in Washington D.C. The Urban Alley Surrealism painting, a vibrant handmade art piece printed on high-quality canvas, uses an array of colors to capture a complex mix of elements that blends the organic and abstract. The street art embraces the cultural connotations of the urban environment with the bold aesthetic of surrealism. The powerful emotive elements of the painting enable it to act as a visual representation of Washington D.C.’s past, present and future. It conveys the essence of the ongoing struggle for social justice and the fight for progress amidst the great disparity of the urban landscape. The painting uses the central figure as a symbol of resilience that radiates hope and potential. The unique piece of art, with its vivacious blend of colors and textures, will become a distinct conversation starter in your home or office. More than just a bedroom statement piece, it is also a representation of the spirit and resilience of the city of Washington D.C.

[uwmspeccoll]

BLACK HISTORY MONTH: Celebrating Artist Gordon Parks!

In a 2001 interview with the oral history project The History Makers, American photographer and filmmaker Gordon Parks (1912-2006) was asked to define his profession: “I think I was an artist,” he says, “photographer, writer, painter, poet, film director, and a lover.” He laughs. “Renaissance man. That’s what we call a lover” He might’ve added musician, composer, and documentarian. Parks was born in Kansas in 1912, left home at fifteen after the death of his mother, played piano and sang in brothels for money, worked in a Chicago flop house after the stock market crash, and found himself inspired by FSA photographs in the 1930s. After receiving work as a commercial photographer, he won a Julius Rosenwald Fellowship for his work documenting Chicago’s South Side, and was invited to join the Farm Security Administration himself.

The photographs highlighted here are drawn from his work at this early point in his long and dynamic career. They are reprinted in the 2018 book Gordon Parks : The New Tide, Early Work, 1940-1950, edited by Philip Brookman, consulting curator of photography at the National Gallery of Art. The book captures Parks’ work in and out of commercial photography, government projects, celebrity profiles, and his early years with LIFE magazine – where he would work until it stopped monthly publication in 1972. Parks was known for earning the trust of his subjects, and not betraying it. In a remembrance of Parks by one of his former editors at LIFE, Barbara Baker Burrows recalls Parks’ charm, and the confidence he earned, whether he was capturing foreign militaries, street gangs, celebrities, or civil servants. Parks died in 2006 at the age of 93.

For more about Gordon Parks and his legacy, visit The Gordon Parks Foundation.

See more Black History Month posts.

--Amanda, Special Collections Graduate Intern

[ellysdreamworldd]

𝓭r ideas ଂ ❀.ྀི

𝝑𝝔 strawberry shortcake dr. you live in strawberryland where you run your own little shop and just have fun with your friends in a pastel colored world.

𝝑𝝔 fairy dr. you live in a village on a tree, where you have your own flower shaped mini house, and you spend your days drinking tea with your fairy girlfriends, exploring the human world and adding things to your stolen objects collection.

𝝑𝝔 an oceans dr where you participate in large scale, slightly risky heists with your group.

𝝑𝝔 small town dr where you run your little business, like a bakery, a cafe, an art gallery, a florist shop or a secondhand bookstore and live a quiet life with an eventual romcom worthy love story.

𝝑𝝔 a film director dr where you can turn all your daydreams into real life movies full of aestethic sceneries.

𝝑𝝔 coastal town dr where you spend your days tanning, surfing and playing in the waves without a care in the world.

𝝑𝝔 a ballerina dr where you attend a prestigious ballet academy and become a famous ballerina, dancing on the stages of the biggest theatres in the world while wearing pretty costumes.

𝝑𝝔 a muse dr. a romantic, maybe forbidden love story with a foreign artist that will be remembered forever and studied in art school.

𝝑𝝔 anne with an e dr. you live in avonlea and are a part of the friend group while experiencing the rise of feminism and reading stories to eachother in the woods. (bonus: gilbert blythe)

𝝑𝝔 fashion journalist dr (or any kind of journalist really) where you turn you whole career around by creating your own magazine, for which you write and organize the layout.

𝝑𝝔 photographer dr. maybe you could be a wedding or wildlife photographer, and you get to immortalise forever the essence of all the beautiful things you see while traveling the world.

𝝑𝝔 a secret detective dr where you uncover dark mysteries while keeping a fake identity.

𝝑𝝔 a book jumper dr. this is lowkey just .. shifting, but in a cooler way. you can jump into any book or movie whenever you want, materializing into another world out of thin air and shocking everyone.

𝝑𝝔 miraculous dr. you're a new hero that appeared one day in the streets of paris during a fight, surprising both the other heroes and the civils.

𝝑𝝔 a pirate dr. you're the daughter of the captain of a pirate ship and you've lived your whole life on the sea, navigating through adventures in a world where the waters are alive and full of mysteries.

𝝑𝝔 an actress dr. not in a movie star way, but in an itinerant theatre way: you live with a company of actors that travels the world, performing plays on tour. (this could also be an itinerant circus or small band)

𝝑𝝔 fashion designer dr. from a young girl with a dream, you become one of the biggest faces in the fashion industry thanks to your original designs, owning a brand with a name as big as chanel or dior.

𝝑𝝔 ancient egypt dr where you're the daughter of the pharaoh, so you get to uncover all the mysteries around the egyptian civilisation.

𝝑𝝔 mia and me dr. you're just a normal girl until you get gifted a bracelet that gives you the power to teleport in a magical world where unicorns and elves exist. (basically another variation of shifting)

𝝑𝝔 a time machine dr. in case you're lazy like me, instead of having different drs you can just shift to a dr where you have a time machine, in which you set a date and a place and you just get teleported there, no backstory or anything.

[stochastique-blog]

Why ?!

Deception …

 #Magazine #tspf #streetphotographer #streetart #meistershots #tspf #bw #LensCulture #streetphotography #street #decisivemoment #streetphotographersawards #photography #art #contemporaryart #artist #fineart #artgallery #photo #photography #photographer #photooftheday #picture #picoftheday #magazine#creative #fineartphotography #gallery #instaart (à Rivetoile Plage) https://www.instagram.com/p/CBYm2lqqYjK/?igshid=1ea317urj772h

[chsims]

Hailey Dunham | Sim Download | CC Included

Hailey had a great love for fashion since she was little. She loved watching people on the streets, watching fashion shows on television and leafing through magazines full of clothes and trends. Hailey has always had a keen eye for the harmony of colors, shapes and fabrics. As she grew up, Hailey decided that she wanted to turn her passion into a profession and dedicate herself to the world of fashion. She enrolled in a renowned fashion school and began to study all aspects of this fascinating universe. Learning about fashion history, clothing design, sewing, modeling and styling became her greatest passions.

Information & Download

Gallery ID | Chiarahunt

CC included

Everyday outfit only

Traits | Active, Art lover & Vegetarian

Aspiration | Academic

Download | Hailey Dunham

[movingmusically]

What Are Friends For? - Chapter 1

Series Synopsis: Callum Turner thinks he’s a genius matchmaker. Angie, his best friend, thinks he’s meddling. Austin? He’s just curious. But as sparks fly, one question lingers—is this just a fleeting moment, or something worth holding on to?

Word Count: 3.2k

Masterlist

I’ve known Callum Turner since before I could walk—literally. Our mums were inseparable from the antenatal classes all the way through to playgroups. We were born three days apart, grew up living opposite each other on a quiet street in West London, and spent so much time together that people used to joke we were like twins.

In a way, they weren’t wrong. He’s the brother I never had, my partner-in-crime for as long as I can remember. The kind of friend you can scream at one minute and laugh with the next, no grudges, no pretence. We’ve been through everything together—bruised knees, first crushes, exam stress, and all the rest of it.

Now he’s off being an actor, doing incredible things, while I’ve stayed behind in the “real world.” Teaching primary school isn’t glamorous, but it’s solid. It’s meaningful. And while I’d never say it out loud, part of me envies the freedom Callum’s life offers—the chance to take big risks and chase something extraordinary.

So when he called me a few months back, buzzing with the news about Masters of the Air, I couldn’t help but feel proud of him. He was practically bouncing through the phone, telling me about the part, the cast, the bootcamp they’d be doing. “It’s a proper World War Two epic,” he’d said. “You’d love it, Ange. You’re the expert, after all.”

The “expert” part was pushing it, but he wasn’t wrong about my love for the era. It started with my Nan’s stories—tales of bomb shelters, rationing, and dancing with American soldiers. She made that time sound equal parts terrifying and magical. When she passed a few years ago, I started writing about it, trying to weave her stories into something meaningful. Not that anyone’s read it.

“You’ll have to let me visit the set,” I’d teased Callum.

“Absolutely,” he’d promised. “Though you might have to cook me a roast first.”

Now, standing in my tiny kitchen on a grey Sunday afternoon, I was realising he hadn’t been joking. Callum had insisted on coming home for the day, and of course, I couldn’t say no. It had been ages since we’d caught up properly. But the mention of a “plus one” came only yesterday.

“Don’t stress,” Callum had said over the phone. “He’s just a mate. You’ll get on great.”

The buzzer rang, and I wiped my hands on my apron before pressing the intercom. “Come on up,” I said, unlocking the door. A moment later, footsteps echoed in the stairwell, followed by a familiar knock.

I pulled the door open to find Callum grinning like the cat that got the cream. Beside him stood a man I didn’t recognise. A beautiful man. Striking, really, with sandy blonde hair and sharp features that belonged on the cover of a glossy magazine. His piercing blue eyes locked onto mine, and for a second, I forgot how to speak.

Callum beamed. “Angie, meet Austin. Austin, Angie.”

Austin shifted slightly, offering a small smile. “Hey. Thanks for having me.”

His voice was warm, low but unassuming, and for some reason, that grounded me more than anything else. I blinked, recovering from my momentary lapse into silence, and stepped aside. “Oh—yeah, of course. Come in.”

Callum breezed past me first, kicking off his shoes without a care in the world, while Austin followed more carefully, glancing around my flat with quiet interest. I suddenly became hyper-aware of everything—the books stacked on my coffee table, the slightly wonky gallery wall I’d been meaning to fix, the faint smell of roast chicken lingering in the air.

“It smells amazing in here,” Austin said, his smile soft but genuine.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s a bloody domestic goddess,” Callum called over his shoulder as he collapsed onto my sofa, sprawling out like he owned the place. “You’ll never eat a better roast in your life, mate.”

I rolled my eyes, untying my apron as I followed them in. “Don’t oversell it, Cal. It’s just a roast.”

“No, it’s the roast,” Callum corrected, before turning to Austin. “I’ve had Michelin-star meals that don’t come close to this.”

Austin let out a quiet laugh, looking at me. “That true?”

I shook my head, smirking. “He’s full of it. But I appreciate the enthusiasm.”

Austin nodded like he was taking mental notes, then hesitated for half a second. “Do you need any help with anything?”

The offer surprised me. I was used to Callum doing absolutely nothing when it came to meals, except for showing up and eating. I waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, it’s all under control. You can make yourself comfortable.”

Austin seemed to consider that for a moment before choosing a seat at the table, resting his forearms on the wood. He was relaxed, but not in an arrogant way—more like someone who was perfectly fine just observing for now. Callum, meanwhile, was already flicking through the books on my coffee table.

“Oh, come on,” I sighed. “At least pretend you’re a guest.”

“I am a guest,” he shot back. “A regular guest. I’m like—like an honorary flatmate.”

“You're not even in the city most of the time,” I pointed out.

“Details,” Callum said, dismissing me with a wave. “The point is, Austin, my dear friend, you’re in for a treat.”

Austin chuckled, glancing between us. “You guys really are like siblings.”

I huffed, heading back toward the kitchen to check on the gravy. “Unfortunately.”

Callum grinned. “You love it.”

I didn’t dignify that with an answer.

By the time we sat down to eat, the atmosphere had settled into something easier, more familiar. Callum had always had a way of making a room feel alive, and Austin—while quieter—seemed to absorb it rather than deflect it. He wasn’t trying to keep up or match Callum’s energy, but he wasn’t shrinking back either.

“So, how do you two know each other?” I asked as I passed Austin the potatoes.

“Work,” Callum said through a mouthful of food. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” I echoed dryly. “I mean, how? Did they stick you in a room together and tell you to bond?”

“Pretty much,” Austin said, amusement flickering in his expression. “Bootcamp started a few weeks before we began filming, so we were thrown together pretty quickly.”

“You mean torture camp,” Callum corrected. “It was brutal, Ange. You’d have cried.”

I shot him a look. “Wow, thanks.”

“You know what I mean.” He waved his fork at me. “You don’t do military nonsense.”

“No, I don’t do your nonsense,” I muttered. Then I glanced at Austin, curious. “Was that the training thing Cal mentioned? Was it really that bad?”

Austin hesitated, as if weighing his answer. “It was intense. But I get why they did it. They wanted us to feel like a unit.”

“And did you?” I asked.

His gaze flicked toward Callum, then back to me. “Yeah,” he said simply. “I think we did.”

Callum grinned. “See? That’s soldier talk right there.”

Austin rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

The conversation meandered between filming, travel, and Callum’s usual over-the-top stories. Austin listened more than he spoke, but when he did chime in, his words carried weight. He wasn’t just nodding along—he was engaged, asking me questions about my job, my life, like he actually cared to know the answers.

“So, Callum tells me you’re a teacher?” he asked at one point.

“Yeah, Year Four,” I said. “Mostly wrangling kids, trying to get them to listen.”

Austin smiled. “That’s impressive. I bet it takes a lot of patience.”

“Some days more than others,” I admitted. “But they’re great. Keeps life interesting.”

“I believe it,” he said. “My mom ran daycare out of our house when I was a kid. Always a full house. I don’t know how she did it.”

That caught my attention. “So you grew up surrounded by kids?”

“Pretty much,” he said. “I got good at sharing.”

That made me laugh. “Wish I could say the same about my lot. They’d fight over air if I let them.”

Austin chuckled. “I feel like that’s just kids in general.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, shaking my head. “Still. They’re brilliant. Exhausting, but brilliant.”

Austin didn’t look away, and I found myself holding his gaze for just a beat longer than necessary before I cleared my throat and reached for my drink.

After dinner, Callum predictably migrated back to the sofa, stretching out like he had no plans to move for the next several hours. Austin, however, surprised me.

“Let me help,” he said, standing and gathering his plate.

“You don’t have to,” I said automatically.

“I want to,” he replied simply.

I hesitated, then nodded toward the kitchen. “Alright. If you insist.”

He followed me in, rolling up his sleeves before reaching for the drying rack. “That was seriously good,” he said as I ran the tap. “Callum wasn’t lying.”

“He usually is,” I joked, elbowing him lightly. “But I appreciate that.”

Austin chuckled, taking a plate from me to dry. “Does he always invite himself over like this?”

“Like clockwork,” I said. “It started when we were kids. He realised my mum made better Sunday dinners than his and never left.”

Austin smirked. “Smart man.”

“Debatable.”

We worked in comfortable silence for a minute before he spoke again. “So, Callum mentioned you’re into World War Two history?”

I paused. “Did he?”

Austin nodded. “Said your Nan had stories.”

I swallowed, focusing on rinsing a glass. “Yeah. She grew up during the war. She used to tell me about it all the time.”

“That’s amazing,” Austin said, genuine interest in his voice. “You must’ve learned a lot from her.”

“I did,” I said softly. “She made it feel real.”

Austin studied me for a moment, as if he wanted to ask something else, but instead, he just nodded. “That’s really cool.”

I exhaled, forcing myself to relax. I hadn’t expected that conversation to affect me, but something about the way he listened—really listened—made me feel oddly seen.

And I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

With the dishes done, we moved into the living room, where Callum had sprawled himself out on the sofa like he owned the place. I settled into the armchair across from him, while Austin took the spot beside Callum, resting his forearm on the back of the sofa, looking perfectly at ease but not overconfident.

The conversation drifted between light topics—London weather (predictably unpredictable), the state of Callum’s flat (“a disaster zone,” according to him), and the absurdity of filming in wool uniforms during a heatwave. Then, during a lull, I turned to Austin.

“So,” I said, tucking my legs under myself, “what else have you worked on? I’ll be honest—I haven’t seen much of Callum’s castmates’ work. He tends to just tell me they’re ‘brilliant’ and leave it at that.”

Austin let out a quiet laugh but hesitated before answering. He rubbed his hands together absently, as if weighing his words. “Uh, a few things here and there,” he said finally, his voice even. “Mostly smaller roles until recently.”

“He’s being modest,” Callum cut in, nudging him with his elbow. “You should’ve seen him in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood. Absolutely terrifying.”

I blinked. “Wait—you were in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood? I’ve seen that!”

Austin gave a small, almost sheepish smile, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “I played Tex.”

The name clicked instantly, and my eyes widened. “The guy in the ranch scene? That was you?”

He nodded, ducking his head slightly like he wasn’t used to this kind of attention. “Yeah, that was me.”

“That’s insane,” I said, leaning back. “I remember watching that scene and thinking, ‘This guy is way too good at being creepy.’ No offence.”

“None taken,” he replied with a quiet laugh, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “That was the goal, after all.”

“Tarantino helped, I bet,” Callum added, taking a sip of his drink. “But seriously, tell her about Elvis.”

Austin shot him a quick look, somewhere between exasperated and amused, but Callum wasn’t about to let it go.

“He just wrapped filming on Elvis,” Callum announced, grinning like he was proud of himself for being the first to say it. “Spent two years working on it. Two years!”

“Almost,” Austin corrected, rubbing the back of his neck. “It was… a lot. A lot of prep, a lot of music, a lot of late nights.”

“Two years?” I echoed, eyebrows shooting up. “That’s… intense. I can’t imagine staying in someone else’s head for that long.”

Austin nodded, his gaze dropping briefly to his hands. “It was one of those roles where you don’t really have a choice. You either give it everything, or you don’t do it at all.”

I studied him for a moment, trying to imagine what that kind of commitment must have felt like. Callum had told me before about getting lost in characters, but there was something different about the way Austin spoke—like the experience still lingered with him, its weight undeniable but not unwelcome.

“That must’ve been overwhelming,” I said carefully, unsure how much to press.

“It was,” he admitted, his voice steady as his eyes met mine again. “But it was worth it. I learned a lot—about the music, about him, about myself.”

Callum, mercifully, took the reins, raising his glass in a mock toast. “He killed it. I’ve seen clips. Absolutely smashed it.”

Austin shook his head, smiling faintly. “It’s not out yet, so we’ll see what people think. You never know how something like that will land.”

“If you’re even half as good as you were in bootcamp, it’ll be amazing,” Callum said confidently.

“High praise,” I quipped, grateful for the chance to lighten the mood. “Callum doesn’t usually compliment anyone who might outshine him.”

“Oi!” Callum protested, though his grin betrayed his amusement.

Austin laughed, the sound rich and low, his earlier heaviness lifting just enough to make the moment feel lighter again.

And just like that, the evening settled into something easy—Callum cracking jokes, Austin chiming in with dry humour, and me, caught between the two of them, realising that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t such a bad way to spend a Sunday.

Monday morning came too quickly.

One minute, I was sitting in my flat, laughing with Callum and Austin, half a glass of wine in my hand and no real obligations beyond tidying up. The next, I was back in the real world, standing in my classroom at 8 a.m., trying to summon the energy to wrangle a group of nine-year-olds into being remotely functional human beings for the day.

The contrast was almost comical.

I stacked the last of the exercise books on my desk, exhaling as I glanced around the room. The weekend already felt like a strange, detached memory—like something I’d watched happen to someone else rather than lived myself. That, or I’d dreamt the whole thing.

Except I hadn’t.

I’d met Austin Butler. He’d been in my flat, eating my food, washing my dishes. He’d laughed at my jokes. And, perhaps most disorientingly, he’d listened to me—really listened.

Not that it mattered now. I had a full day of lessons ahead, and the only people listening to me today would be my students, who, judging by the volume level in the corridor, were already far too awake for a Monday morning.

Midday—The Staff Room

“…And then he says, ‘Angie, meet Austin,’ like it’s the most casual thing in the world. Meanwhile, I’m standing there like an idiot, trying to remember how to speak.”

Zara, a Year Three teacher and my closest work friend, let out an exaggerated gasp, nearly spilling her tea. “Wait, wait, Austin Butler? Are you kidding?”

“Not kidding,” I said, stabbing at my pasta salad with my fork. “I had no clue who he was. Just thought, ‘Wow, this guy is stupidly attractive.’”

“That’s because he is stupidly attractive.” She leaned forward. “Angie. Angie. This man played Elvis.”

“Technically, not yet,” I corrected. “The film isn’t out.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t do that thing where you act like this is normal. You had Austin Butler in your flat, eating your roast dinner, probably having a borderline religious experience because Yorkshire puddings aren’t a thing in America—”

“I don’t think it was religious—”

“—and you didn’t realise who he was?”

“I don’t live under a rock,” I said, exasperated. “I knew Callum’s new co-star was called Austin. I just hadn’t seen his films, and Callum’s descriptions of people are always useless.”

Zara groaned, flopping back in her chair. “I cannot believe you just casually had dinner with him.”

“It wasn’t a date,” I pointed out.

“Yet,” she shot back.

I rolled my eyes, but before I could argue, the bell rang, signalling the end of lunch.

Zara sighed dramatically. “You’re lucky I love my class, otherwise I’d stay here and interrogate you for another half hour.”

“Your class is adorable,” I agreed, standing up.

“So are you and Austin, apparently.” She winked before slipping out the door, leaving me shaking my head as I headed back to my classroom.

By the time I got home, I was exhausted. Monday always took it out of me, but today felt worse than usual. Maybe it was the mental whiplash—going from sipping wine with an A-lister (who I hadn’t even known was an A-lister at the time) to breaking up an argument between two nine-year-olds over whose turn it was to be goalie at lunchtime.

I dropped onto my sofa with a sigh, already thinking about ordering takeaway, when my phone buzzed.

Callum: Did you survive Monday?

I huffed a laugh and typed back: Barely. Back to reality and all that.

A second later, another message popped up.

Callum: Austin says thanks for dinner. Also, he thinks you’re cool.

I frowned at my phone. What does that mean?

Me: I’m cool? That’s a vague review.

Callum: Mate, just take the compliment.

I rolled my eyes but smiled despite myself.

I hovered for a second, debating whether to ask something before my curiosity got the better of me.

Me: So… what’s his deal?

Callum: What do you mean?

Me: Like… he seems quieter than the guys you usually hang out with. More serious. Is he always like that?

A pause. Then—

Callum: Yeah, he’s a good one. He thinks a lot before he speaks. And he’s proper dedicated to his work. Probably the most disciplined person I’ve met, if I’m honest.

That didn’t surprise me. I’d sensed something like that when Austin talked about Elvis—the way his voice had changed, the weight in his words.

I chewed on my lip before typing:

Me: What’s he like outside of work?

Callum: Why, you interested?

I groaned. I walked straight into that one.

Me: Forget I asked.

Callum: Nah, nah, I love this. Let’s unpack it.

Me: I hate you.

Callum: You love me.

I was about to throw my phone across the room when another message came through.

Callum: Just come to brunch on Sunday. You’ll see for yourself.

[garadinervi]

Corky Lee (photograph), Yuri Kochiyama [takes a stand in the streets of New York City's Chinatown neighborhood to defend the rights of Silver Palace restaurant workers], (gelatin silver print), 1980, Printed 2016 [National Portrait Gallery, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. © Corky Lee Estate]

Plus: Alice George, Behind This Photo Is the Story of Two Asian American Folk Heroes, Smithsonian Magazine, May 20, 2021

[beautifulbizarremagazine]

'The Paracosmist’s Pallet' [Oil on linen panel, 40 x 50cm] by @hannahflowers_art for the upcoming Beautiful Bizarre exhibition ‘Paracosmic Escape’ at @moderneden Gallery.

This exhibition includes the work of over 80 of the world’s best contemporary artists, from across the globe, including the Winners of the 2024 Beautiful Bizarre Art Prize! To receive the Collectors Preview please email Gallery Director, Kim Larson at info@moderneden.com or register your interest > www.moderneden.com/en-au/collections/paracosmic-escape-curated-by-beautiful-bizarre-magazine [link in our profile]

‘Paracosmic Escape’ Curated by: Beautiful Bizarre | Art Direction by: @musoniumgallery Exhibition Dates: November 9 - December 5, 2024 Opening Reception: Saturday 9 November, 6 - 9pm At: Modern Eden Gallery, 1100 Sutter Street | San Francisco CA 94109 united States

‘Paracosmic Escape’ explores themes of retrospection, introspection, and complex relationships with the real world, where internal gateways offer a place of sanctuary to heal from and provide explanation to the effects of reality. ~ keeleygerardart (Art Director of @musoniumgallery)

[innovacancy]

Fontaines DC College Street Music Hall, New Haven, CT 14 May 2025 full article and gallery at Music Madness Magazine

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Reginald Marsh, Cabaret, 1938. Tempera and pencil on gessoed panel.

The painting’s subject, Casa Mañana, was a nightclub at 50th Street and Seventh Avenue, equidistant between Times Square and Carnegie Hall in the center of the theater district. In 1938, the Club was owned and operated by the flamboyant entertainment impresario Billy Rose. Fortune magazine commissioned Reginald Marsh to paint a picture of the interior during a performance for a full-page illustration in its planned article, “Put Their Name in Lights,” an examination of the very substantial business of the William Morris Agency, the “oldest theatrical agent in the U.S.” The article ran in Fortune’s September 1938 issue. …

Fortune accompanied the illustration in its September 1938 issue with a text explaining that vaudeville, “with its old-time acts has almost vanished. But variety as an entertainment form lives and thrives in theatre restaurants like Billy Rose’s Casa Mañana … The roster of artists who passed through Casa Mañana in its brief year-and-a-half run (it closed in May 1939) illustrates Rose’s ability to present the talent that the people wanted to see: Helen Morgan, Abbot & Costello, the Three Stooges, Jimmy Durante, Bert Wheeler, Betty Hutton, Louis Armstrong, and Millie Picon among many others with orchestras led, at various times, by Vincent Lopez, Louis Prima, and Paul Whiteman. …

In classic Marsh fashion, the artist focuses his attention on a few figures of special interest. In the left foreground, a waitress leans over in conversation with a male patron. Behind her, a waiter makes his way through the crowd, holding aloft with one uplifted arm a tray with food and drink balanced high over his head, an acrobatic feat as much a part of the nightclub show as the activity on the stage. Two women and a man share a table near the stage, all watching the show intently. A bottle in an ice bucket sits adjacent to the table, the economic engine that made this whole scene a working business model. The patrons are dressed neatly in street clothing, the ladies with everyday hats. They are decent but there is no show of finery. While Billy Rose was famous for glamorous showgirls and as much bare skin as the law would allow, he also had an enduring fondness for vaudeville-style family entertainment. The two performers on the stage appear to be some version of acrobatic dancers, the excitement in their performance the result of breathtaking agility and grace with nothing to arouse either the libidos of the audience or the attention of the licensing authorities.

Photo & text: Hirschl & Adler Galleries

[moonystoes]

Safe Dance - Elisa De Almeida x international!reader

summary: this pretty much explains it all lol.

Warning: Sexual assault, old man being a creep, mentions of alcohol, not well written, slowww burn like it's pissing me off too im sorry, elisa being our protective queen.

a/n: i'm bringing this up again, i just started writing, especially fics as long as this (the last one -and the first- had only 500 words). So feedback and help is needed!! also sorry i got a little bored and wrote too many useless things lol.

w/c: 5.218k

You knew you needed to celebrate your high GPA after graduating from your bachelor degree at some point. But you've been putting it off, feeling like it's too much effort and energy for your introverted self. It's no secret French people are distant towards foreigners, it's been something known worldwide (which is ironic since a big part of their population are people of color coming from different countries from Africa and Asia). But you ignored all the toxic things you heard about France when you unexpectedly got a scholarship into the University of Paris.

Now, four years later, you are still alone. You have made friends in some projects, but right when the project is over, your friendship ends as well. Your mom has messaged you a long paragraph on how proud she is of you, but the loneliness is still wearing you down. You knew you probably looked silly walking down the street, wearing a short V-neck dress with high heels obviously to party, but there is a permanent frown on your face.

When you looked up from your phone, you didn't even need to look for the club. You can feel the music vibrate the ground and there is a huge line at the entrance. You turned off your phone and waited in line, wanting to just drink all day and celebrate by then. You checked on your friend (an international student like you) who promised that she'll be here, but your message was left on delivered for 2 hours. 

After 15 minutes of scrolling through your Instagram and 3 missed calls to Liz, it was your turn to show the security your ID. His dark eye bags showed you that he was too exhausted to care, so he took less than a second to glance at your card before returning it to you, and opening the door for you in a frustrated way.

You walked in awkwardly, couples grinding and dancing around you, you felt disgusted - and secretly jealous. The club was dark and had red LED lights, it was filled with large posters of icons and models from the 70s, and of course the playboy magazines of women wearing lingerie. It looked good enough for you to settle down on the bar stool and immediately order a light drink. 

While you were sitting there to decide whether you should dance or wait for Liz (you were honestly frustrated at her for ditching you with no explanation), the bartender passed a large drink towards you. You glanced at him with a confused look, “oh sorry, I didn't order this.”

“Yeah I know, it's the man there.” He pointed to the table on your left, to an older man with thin white hair. Your jaw dropped when you looked at him, realizing that he caught you staring.

“Umm… that old man?” You tried your hardest to whisper over the thudding music, trying not to let the creep that is sitting just 2 meters away from you hear what you said. The bartender nodded and walked away to the other side of the bar, making you sigh in annoyance that he didn't bother to even help you out. You slowly pushed the light pink drink away from you, it smelled strong which showed his true intentions, getting you drunk.

You pulled out your phone and texted Liz a quick message, “Liz a man is being weird where are you ☹️☹️?” You scrolled through your gallery to pretend you are doing something and distract yourself from the man on your left, until you are tapped on the shoulder. You froze, quickly turning off your phone as you took a deep breath, pretending that you didn't feel it.

“May I know why you didn't accept the drink, it was really expensive.” you flinched when you felt his breath hit your neck, no way this is happening today. Where the fuck is Liz? You turned around slowly, trying to act calm and collected, “sorry, I didn't want to drink today, I'm just here for someone.”

“I don't see anyone here,” he mockingly glanced around the bar to see the ‘person’ you were waiting for. “I saw you drink just a few minutes ago.”

You closed your eyes for a second and took a deep breath. You glanced at his striking blue eyes and felt your hands starting to shake, you looked away back to the drink he ordered for you and grasped it, taking a small sip just to taste what it is. You knew you were fucked, Liz isn't here and she's probably not going to come, the bartender couldn't give a shit, and this man won't leave you alone. Why was he at a bar on a Wednesday night? Doesn't he have some office job to do tomorrow or is he too old that he's retired now.

The drink tasted sour and tangy, but had a strawberry flavor. The burning of your throat made you cough and your eyes shutting close, it was definitely alcoholic, very alcoholic. You rested the drink on the table and faked-smiled and awkwardly nodded, but your smile disappeared when his hand clutched your arm and pulled you forward, “why don't you dance with me, huh? Wearing this dress for nothing must be a shame.” 

You panicked and took a quick scan of your surroundings to see who could help. On the bar table to your left, there were other older men, possibly friends of the weirdo that's now bruising your arm. On the large leather sofas that were placed on the other corner, there was a couple?...a throple? A man was sitting comfortably on it as he crossed his legs on the mini table in front of him, two girls were sprawled over him, one playing with his hair and the other playing with his shirt while she chugs from a beer can…yeah they will be too busy to help.

You took a quick turn to the VIP entrance, seeing a short girl with a Gucci bag waiting to be let in… rich spoiled people are too busy to look around. You swore you never cared about religion until then, when the man tugged you to his chest, your eyes slowly closing as you were holding your tears praying to God to let you out of this misery.

You felt his hands being placed on your hips, as he forcefully tugged your back towards his groin. He pushed you to the crowded area so people can't see your discomfort in your face. 

But before he does more than this, a large hand tugged you away from the man, making the man behind you exhale loudly. “Anna! I'm sorry for making you wait, hey let's go…umm do you know him?” you've never heard such a soft yet deep voice like this. Before you even had the chance to look at who grabbed you, her right arm tugged you into her chest, trying to hide you from the stranger. “No, I don't.” You whispered, afraid of making the situation even bigger.

“Seriously? you were waiting for this…” His angry voice and arm pointing at the both of you made you anxiously stare at him. He looked at the woman hugging you up and down with disgust before muttering a ‘nevermind’ and stomping off.

You shakingly held tightly into her, staring at the spot the man was at. “Are you okay?” She let out a soft whisper from above your head. You were shaken at the whole encounter, blocking off what she said until you felt soft taps on your shoulder, making you look up at her.

This was the first opportunity you had to actually see who saved you from this, and she was gorgeous. She had sunglasses placed on the collar of her dress shirt with two of the buttons opened. Why was she even wearing a dress shirt at a club? When you looked up to her face (because she's 5 '9 and the first thing you saw was her tan skin), her hair was short, swooped to the side. Her cheekbones were sharp and her eyes were furrowed worriedly. You quickly separated from her and took two steps away.

“Hey, it's okay.” She took a step forward, opening her hands around her face to show you she doesn't want to hurt you, “are you waiting for someone?”

You looked away from her eyes, the smell of alcohol and sweat is making it difficult for you to think straight -literally. You looked at your phone, finding a new notification, “oh thank God she responded!” You relaxed, until you pressed on it.

“Hey baby!! It's your favorite uncle 😉, just saw your post about graduating. Congratulations! I miss you so much. Maybe one day we can all reunite when you graduate your masters 💪keep working hard!”

You inhaled deeply, turning off your phone and throwing it in your mini purse. You looked at the woman, she looked at you with raised brows waiting for an explanation for your reaction. You rested your hand on your forehead and frustratedly groaned out, “no she fucking ignored my messages.”

Her face turned sour as she looked behind you, probably to the place where the old men were sitting, giving you the chance to look at her face once again. You blushed at her clenched sharp jaw, slight pink cheeks, and the soft lips. When you looked back at her eyes, she was already looking at you.

You internally wanted to kill yourself for looking at her lips, because she definitely caught that. You looked away to her arms, doing everything in your power to not look at her face again. But then you realized glancing at her arms will make the situation even worse. Her arms were athletic and the sleeves were tight around her biceps. How is she this hot?

“You can stay with me, my friends are here.” She softly grasped your hand, pulling you away from the crowded dance floor. “It's fine, I'll just go home.”

“No, come on! It's a secluded area, no one will bother us.” She encouraged you, her hand still in yours. You looked down at your heels, you felt like shit. This whole time at the bar was for you and Liz to celebrate your day and you end up being a charity case for a hot woman. You don't even know why you chose the club, you hated partying anyways. You bit into your lip, one single line going through your head:

I deserve to celebrate my achievements no matter with who. I'm the one who worked hard for this, I need this.

“Okay just… Please don't do this because you feel bad for what happened.” her eyes softened, intertwining your fingers with hers and whispering a soft ‘never’. You felt embarrassed as she was dragging you around the bar to the place her friends are staying at, you didn't want to see anyone’s face so you just looked down at your intertwined hands and hoped you won't collide with anyone. Your hand looked small compared to her large ones as she held into you, feeling her rough skin tightly around yours.

When you realized she stopped, you looked up to where she took you. “Oh no… I'm not going there,” You frowned at her, “VIP? I heard it's expensive here.” You felt guilty that she might spend money on a spot for you, but you were curious on how she makes enough money to be here.

“Don't worry, my work has paid for the night here, I didn’t spend a euro on me or anyone.” She smiled at you, finding it cute how you were worried about her money. She let go of your hand and opened the door slowly, signaling her hand to follow her.

You stood still for a few seconds, feeling exhausted and tired. And unfortunately, you felt gross. You looked down at your dress, remembering what the old man said. It was your favorite, it may not look fancy but you've loved it and waited for a moment to wear it, now you can't even glance at it without feeling down. You glanced at the woman, she had already taken a few steps until she realized you weren't following her, “Do you want to go home? I can order you an Uber?”

This was your chance to actually get to know someone, you've been alone all this time in Paris and Liz was an American student. The woman in front of you seemed like the first French woman that actually tried to befriend you, and she's attractive. Her face softened as she took a few steps towards you again, understanding your silence. “My name is Elisa, what's yours?”

“Y/n.” You didn't know what to do after this so you reached out your hand to handshake her, internally cringing from how awkward you are…no wonder why your love life is as low as your mood today. She giggled and grasped your hand, shaking it aggressively. You looked at her with a confused face and she just winked quickly, “so… y/n why are you here at the club on a Wednesday night?”

“I just graduated so I wanted to celebrate.” You were staring at your held hands, feeling awkward when looking at anyone's eyes, especially élisa's. But when you felt her hand immediately let go of yours and wipe it off with her dress pants, you looked at her face slightly hurt. Her eyes are slightly widened, which made you realize why she let go of your hand, “bachelor degree in physical therapy.”

“Ohh! That's so nice. You know at my job we need a lot of physiotherapists, I like them.” Her body physically relaxed, making you laugh at her panic. The poor woman thought you were some high school student, but you didn't blame her, you never made it clear when you spoke about it.

“Cool… what do you work as?” You asked, a smile appearing in your face. You didn't realize that by a small comment, Elise made your feelings better just as she planned. She let out an open smile when she noticed yours, feeling proud of herself for making you feel better.

“Guess.” 

Your smile wiped off your face, “no please I don't like doing this game just say it.”

She laughed, “I'll give you a hint, I wear number 5.”

It took a moment for you to answer because you froze when you heard her laugh, making a stupid grin plaster into your face, “...football?” You dragged the word as you questioned, worried it might be wrong. She nodded with a proud smile.

“Wow, that's so cool I do watch football!... not the women, I don't know where to watch…sorry.”

She laughed, stepping closer and resting her left arm around your shoulder, encouraging you to walk through the dark maroon hallway with her. “It's okay, we're used to it.”

When you looked up from this angle, your attraction worsened. Her side profile was perfect. It took a moment for you to recover from it, “ehm…some girls in my class wanted to be football physios so they could work with Szoboszlai.” You muttered, obviously not knowing what to say. You didn't know if you should wrap your right hand around her waist or just keep it awkwardly limping between the both of you.

She glanced at you and laughed, “and you? Is that what you wanted?”. You looked away, deciding to focus on the dark walnut wood corridor in front of you instead of her eyes. “I don't really like men.”

“Ha! Me too.” Her left arm tapped your shoulder to the beat of the music. Elisa was glad that you weren't into men; she felt like it's finally her time where she can get attention from a woman that isn't a fangirl. She pulled you inside a room, filled with people singing and jumping around.

You felt sick all over again, not knowing Elisa had this many friends. You remembered her speaking about her work paying for this, are all of these people her teammates? The room was built almost like a sunken living room, the leather couches were placed into the ground around the walls with stairs in the side, and two small tables placed in two opposite corners that were filled with drinks and purses. Elisa felt your body turn rigid, she leaned in close to your ear and whispered gently, “They're all nice, I promise.” You turned to look at her, you didn't understand why but you felt at ease around her, maybe because of what she did earlier, but you took a deep breath and calmed down.

She pointed at an empty seat next to a blonde woman, “hey Jackie, this is y/n, she's a physiotherapy graduate.” Jackie turned to look at you and elisa, she smiled brightly and raised her hand to signal you to sit with her. You let out a tight-lipped smile and approached the table to sit. You noticed Jackie looking at your attire and glancing at Elisa with a confused look, but before she said a thing, Elisa interrupted her by saying she needed to go to the bathroom.

Well shit, now you have to do this alone. You stared at Elisa as she was walking out, secretly checking her out and also praying that she’ll come back soon. “Umm… do you work here?”

You turned to look at Jackie, “oh, no. I'm just here to party.”

“Ohh…I thought you were one of the dancers offered here.” She looked at her whiskey and took a sip, clearly not seeing the shock in your face.

You froze as you gave her a confused glance, “oh. You thought I was a stripper?” You glanced down at your dress… It's a short dress, yes, but a dancer? You had no disrespect for them, just felt a little confused. Does Elisa call dancers for a lap dance? Is this where she went to?

“Oh not your dress! It's just that Elisa never spoke about bringing someone here so I assumed. Also, you're really pretty.” She gave you a wink with her compliment.

You gave her a soft smile with a shy ‘thanks’. “Elisa isn't really into those things, that’s why I was kind of confused.” She nudged your arm when you glanced at the exit again, realizing that you were waiting for Elisa. After hearing what Jackie said, you relaxed into your seat and looked at your surroundings.

Everyone seemed drunk except one, her thick black hair was tied in a high ponytail, too engrossed with her phone to really notice anyone. The other players were dancing, some were singing loudly to some song by Aya, an icon in french music from what you noticed in the past four years living here. “May I ask how you know elisa?” Jackie asked.

“Oh we just met here so…” you shrugged, you didn't feel like telling anyone what actually happened. Jackie nodded, taking her purse into her lap and pulling things out, trying to find something in it. After a while of scrolling on tiktok and looking at the girls partying, Elisa came back in, immediately settling down next to you. You looked at her with a smile, glad that she's back, but your smile was wiped off when you saw her frustrated and sweaty state. When she noticed the worry in your eyes she leaned in closer to you, “Do you like this club?”

You were caught off guard from this question and nodded slowly, “good because I want you to come back here,” You were confused, obviously you'll never come here. It doesn't matter how nice and fancy this place is, after that weirdo, you'll never step foot here. “I kicked him out, he's banned from coming here again.”

“Wa- wait what?” You gasped, looking at the door she came back from, expecting to see him standing there. But he wasn't, and even from the small glass window on the door, you can see that his spot is now empty, as well as his friends’.

“I want you to feel safe celebrating your achievements, I know today has probably been shit.” You bit your lip, turning to look at Jackie playing with her now found camera. You couldn't look at Elisa's eyes or else you would cry. You felt her hand softly caress your shoulder, bringing your body closer to hers. “Thank you, I mean… I don't even know what else to say.”

She gave you a gentle smile and turned to look at her teammates singing karaoke now. “No problem, now do you want to sing and dance with them? Or just sit here?”

“I'll just sit here, you can have fun with them.”

She looked back at you, deciding to lean back into the coach and find a comfortable position. “I play for Paris Saint Germain.”

“What! No way…I feel like shit for not watching you play.” You gasped, psg is the biggest team in France. And that's probably because they are loaded with money and can afford the top players, but you wondered how powerful the women's team is.

She laughed, quickly shaking her head, “don't feel that way! I just wanted to tell you. We just got qualified for the quarterfinals of the champions league that's why they're all drunk and shit.” She tilted her head towards a player dancing on the table. You bit your lip trying not to laugh at the poor woman, but when you heard Elisa's cackle, you let out a little laugh.

“Quarterfinals to the champions league… that's great! That's so cool, honestly, you should go and dance with them!” You pushed her towards the women, but she didn't even budge. She winked at you when she saw you try to move her and held your arm down, “Are you actually trying to push me or are you playing around?”

You knew she was joking, she can tell your struggling face when you tried to push her. You glanced at the way she grabbed your forearm, feeling the blush coming around your cheeks. Her muscles tensed beneath her fitted black shirt, elisa has been trying to subtly send you hints without panicking too much. But she knew she needed to do something even more, so she let her hand slowly go from your forearm to your hand, intertwining your fingers with hers. A shy smile broke out in both of your faces, looking up to see her already smiling at you. “Okay…maybe I do want to dance a little.”

You bite your lip and give her a soft nod, indicating that you wanted to dance with her. She grinned brightly and stood up from the couch, delicately pulling you with her. You felt content for the first time, you're finally going to dance and party like how you wanted before you came here in the first place. Elisa pulled you into her body, looking at your eyes to see if you're okay with her wrapping her arms around your waist. You felt speechless so you just nodded and dragged your hands from her forearms all the way to her shoulders, blushing at the feeling of her rough muscles.

Because you were busy trying to mask your flustered state, you didn't notice the panic Elisa was in. Her tightly wrapped hands were shaking and it seemed like she couldn't even glance at your face for three seconds without finding something else to look at. The girls had stopped singing karaoke now, the speaker playing some french afrobeats. “I forgot to tell you, I'm shit at dancing. I was planning on getting too drunk to care.” You admitted with a laugh, elisa tightened her hands around your waist, making your chest flush with hers. “Oh wait until you see me dance.” 

“You do realize this song isn’t for slow dancing?” You loved the feeling of her body against yours, but the idea of slow dancing to afrobeats in front of people is confusing you. “Shhh don’t ruin the moment now.” she joked, turning her head around the room, she looked back at you and said, “They’re all too drunk to care.”

You looked around the room, and fortunately she was right. The girls were all dancing, separated into multiple groups and only focusing on them. Even the sober one had stood up and was dancing with the rest. You rested your head on her shoulder, feeling like it doesn’t matter at this point what happens between you. Elisa will probably forget about you, and date an instagram model like every football player does -well… that’s what the male players do at least.

“You tired?” her velvety voice soothed you as she leaned her head on yours. You closed your eyes and hummed in response, not feeling like moving your body. You tried to excuse the exhaustion as the sickness from the old man, but throughout the semester, you have been sleeping 4 hours and only working and studying. And today has been the day you can finally rest.

Elisa moved her hands from your waist to wrap them around your shoulders instead. As much as she was worried about the possible rejection from you, she felt great about you being okay with her physical touches and wanted to enjoy the chance. She can feel your beating heart from the thin dress you’re wearing against her sternum. Elisa’s long fingers were playing with the hem of the dress from your neck, her body slowly rocking as if she’s putting a baby to sleep.

“Thank you,” You whispered, opening your eyes just to see her jaw. “For today. I may not seem happy, but I am really grateful for this, I’m happy.”

“Do you want to go home?”

You stayed silent for a few seconds, before letting out a short breathy laugh, “Is it obvious I don’t like to party?” You didn’t want to offend her, especially after what she did.

“I can call an uber for you, or I can drive you home if you don’t feel safe.” You almost wanted to cry at how thoughtful she is, but you knew you needed some alone time after all of this. Also, the thought of parting ways with Elisa and her completely forgetting about you is eating you alive.

“Thank you, but I’ll feel very guilty if I take you away from the party you should be celebrating.” You let go of the tight embrace you were in, looking at her eyes to let her know how much you meant it. She sighed and nodded with a small hidden frown in her face. Elisa felt like a child attached to a toy, she was worried to let you go and never find you again. Now that she kicked the assaulters out, she hoped you’d come to the club more often.

“Okay, I’ll walk you out.” She held your hand and walked you out of the VIP entrance. The smell of sweat and alcohol hit you in the face, the club is even busier now since it was around 10 at night. Elisa pulled you to her body, putting her arm around your shoulder protectively in case someone does a thing to you. Once you reached the closest exit, she pushed the heavy door and let you go out.

“Ehm… Can I have your phone number?” Elisa suddenly blurted, she wasn’t ready to say goodbye, so she said the lamest thing she thought, “Just to make sure you went home safe…you never know what can happen.”

When Elisa asked that question, your heart started beating faster, your worry about losing her is now out of your head, feeling glad that she wanted to contact you. But after her explanation, you sighed in disappointment, she’s probably not interested in you, she wants to know if you went home safe only.

“Yeah, okay.” You opened your hand, waiting for her to hand you her phone. She pulled out her phone from her front pocket, and passed it to you quickly. Her palms were sweaty from anxiousness, and she hoped her sweat wasn’t all over the phone. She knew she fucked up, she could’ve told you the truth but instead she acted like some sick teenager, and it made her even more annoyed with herself when she saw the excitement in your face disappear like fog. She wanted you to know she’s interested in you. You typed your phone number quickly, before giving it back to her with a tight smile.

“Bye-Bye,” You stepped back, still facing her. “Again, thank you for today.” You gave her a small wave, and then turned and walked your way back home. She was invading your thoughts, her face, her smile, her deep yet delicate voice, her body, and the fact that she’s a professional player that can get anyone she wants.

Once you reached home, you looked at your phone notifications, there were none. 0 from Liz, and 0 from Elisa. You cussed yourself, why would she even bother to text you? She is the hottest woman you’ve ever seen, you probably look like charity work next to her exes. You boiled water for instant noodles, feeling too low to even worry about making dinner. After eating the soggy cheap noodles, you turned on the bathtub faucet and added some oils to calm you down and distract you from Elisa. You contemplated on searching up her name and see what google says about her, but you forced yourself to not even look up a picture of her. She clearly doesn’t care about you, why would you care about her?

After the 30 minute depressing bath, you plopped into the bed, not bothering to put the blanket over you. You suddenly heard a notification ding from your phone. Closing your eyes tightly, you swore that if it's Liz you'll run to her house barefoot to yell at her. When you heard another ding, you opened your eyes slowly and reached out for your bedside table.

[Unknown number]

I'm sorry

I was acting like a kid around u I wanted to ask you out but I got too shy

Can I take you to dinner one day?

You bit into your lip harshly, trying so hard to suppress your blush. You thought about it for a second, you weren't mad because she couldn't ask you out in front of you. You couldn't do it either, and you were also flattered to the thought of her being too shy in front of you. It felt as though she was the confident one there. It didn't matter anyways, what mattered is that you wanted to be hers. And if this date is the first step, you'll take it.

[You]

Okay

Only if I can go and watch you play on the quarterfinals

[Elisa ⚽️]

Really??

YES OF COURSE

Only with my jersey 😉

You turned off your phone and banged your head into the pillow, grabbing your phone again to send her a quick message.

[You]

Of course

I'm going to sleep rn

Good night 💞

[Elisa ⚽️]

Good night 😴

You turned off your phone and closed your eyes, immediately sleeping from the exhaustion of the day.

[Elisa⚽️]

The dress looked perfect on you.

[dclife]

This painting of the Urban Life in Washington, D.C. captures the essence of the city's surrealism. Depicted in vivid colors and bright palettes, this canvas art reflects a unique artistic perspective of the nation's capital. From the crumbling cityscape with its graffiti-laden walls adorned with urban artwork to the hustle and bustle of the busy streets below as citizens go about their day-to-day routines, this painting captures all the nuances that make D.C. one of the most iconic cities in the world. The overall effect is an evocative portrayal of the city's collective spirit, creating an artistic narrative that celebrates the vibrant, multi-cultural mixture of art, fashion, and culture that D.C. has come to represent. This unique canvas art is sure to be an eye-catching addition to any wall, reminding viewers of the vibrant and diverse city that lies just outside their door. #WashingtonDC #UrbanLife #ArtCanvas #Surrealism #BlackArt #Graffiti #Cityscapes #DCStreets #CapitalCulture #CapitalCityVibes #HustleAndBustle #DCSpirit

[psygull]

title and content of the book that each of your ocs would write:)

GOOD QUESTION THANK YOU

Paul Z. Bell: the only actual writer on here. has written a dozen or so science fiction novellas, most notably The Minotaur Cipher, which got adapted into a concept album by Victor's Midnight Revival. has also done a bunch of contract articles for magazines like Playboy. a few years after the hws story ends he publishes an account of its events titled The Vanishing of Donovan Crane that becomes a like. minor "true crime" sensation (ala Michelle Remembers)

Donovan Crane: not particularly inclined towards writing, but if he was it would probably be either a very dry treatise on a specific style of architecture or strange and metaphysical with no in between

Astrid Lang: has had her photography published in a couple art magazines and a (very) short run of printed collections of her early street photos. i like to think she gets a big gallery retrospective after she dies and her work is rediscovered

Kit Pike: again, not literarily inclined, but i think in college he wrote a string of comedy sketches full of stupid injokes parodying the professors and other students for his theatre club to perform that were a great success

J.A. Teigman: grimy manila folder full of random documents and photos of you specifically. where did he get those. unpublished

Radio Ghost: i would be denying them their calling if they didn't try writing at LEAST one angsty violent fantasy novel full of blood and guts and babes and beheadings as a teenager. they do all get abandoned about halfway through though

Bruce Janacek: as a regional celebrity with a cult following and a zany public image, he's got a lame joke book or two called something like The Patch's Guide To Surviving Winter or 114 Jokes To Leave You In Patches or whatever. he is NOT proud of them and is hoarding most of the leftover stock himself to keep them out of circulation, but somehow people keep bringing him copies to sign