#The Bystander Magazine

[thefugitivesaint]

Wilmot Lunt (1856-1939), 'The Profiteer', ''The Bystander'', Vol. 54, #708, 1917 Source

[mote-historie]

Wilton Williams, Ladies Promenading along a Sea Front, Fashion Illustration for The Bystander Magazine, August 1925.

Wilton Williams as he was known was active as a poster designer, commercial artist and illustrator in Britain between 1915 and 1930.

The Bystander was a British weekly tabloid magazine that featured reviews, topical drawings, cartoons and short stories. Published from Fleet Street, it was established in 1903 by George Holt Thomas. Its first editor, William Comyns Beaumont, later edited the magazine again from 1928 to 1932.

[nebulablakemurphy]

Moves & Countermoves (Part 23)

Summary: No one ever wins the games, even fourteen years later, Y/N is still playing.

Part 22

Y/N is just about to sleep when she hears it.

“We have to move now! They’ve released the mutts!” Peeta warns, calling the rest of the squad to action.

Down the tunnel, damp at their feet. Creeping quietly as not to attract unwanted attention. The space before them is dark, gut wrenchingly so and the howls of muttations draw closer.

Gale fires one of the incendiary arrows into the walkway ahead, there’s nothing there.

Cashmere is behind Y/N, gripping her hand firmly. Don’t you dare let go.

The flashlights help, they keep moving, trudging through the water, through a crawl space and onward. Jackson is about to come through, she’s the last of them; the mutts get her instead. Fighting their way into the crawl space.

Katniss fires an explosive arrow, the force of it throwing her back into Castor.

“Pollux, get us out of here!” He yells over the chaos.

Y/N and Cashmere separate.

“Katniss,” Y/N says, hauling her to her feet.

“I’m ok,” a little shell shocked, but Katniss marches on.

“Peeta?”

“We’ve got him, come on,” Finnick replies.

They’re getting out of this, all of them, together. They’d suffered enough. They’ve earned it.

Down the pipeline farther, running faster-

“Ahhh!”

“Castor!”

The mutts got him too. Pulling him down into the water, sinking in their ragged teeth.

Pollux can’t even scream, for his brother, mouth open in a silent cry.

Cressida tugs him forward. They have to keep going.

Gunfire holds off the mutts for only a second, they just keep coming. Hundreds. Thousands. Their skin slick and reeking of roses.

A ladder is finally within view, one that leads up into the capitol.

They have to go, one at a time.

Y/N rains steady fire from her gun.

Pollux is up. Homes is up.

Cressida is next.

Gale.

Peeta.

Katniss.

Leaving only Finnick, Cashmere and Y/N. Fighting the creatures off as best they can.

“Finnick, go now.” Cashmere calls.

“No, you.” He fires back.

Y/N hesitates, starting up the ladder, hanging one arm off to fire at the mutts. “One of you come on!” She drops her empty magazine into the water, loading a fresh one with her arms looped through the rungs. She nearly loses her footing.

“Y/N!” Katniss calls, staring down at her, with worried eyes.

“I’m fine.”

Cashmere is behind her then, patting her bum playfully. “Giddy up.”

Y/N focuses, moving faster, making room behind Cashmere for Finnick. Still kicking off the occasional mutt attempting to scale the ladder.

They’re finally nearing the top when a Capitol creation latches onto Cashmere’s leg, sinking it’s teeth in deep.

Y/N reaches back for her, but it’s useless. She digs her heel into its skull.

Finnick, runs it through with his trident. Now coated in its blood and Cashmere’s.

“Keep moving.” They have to keep moving.

Once they’ve cleared the ladder, Katniss uses the hollow to blow it up.

Y/N removes her belt, knotting it tightly around the top of Cashmere’s thigh, above the wound, to slow the bleeding. “Can you walk?”

Cashmere presses her lips together, allowing Finnick to help her upright. “Yeah.”

————————————————————————

“Haymitch, it’s happening.” Madge makes her way to him, through the slew of bystanders, in front of the broadcast screen. “Snow called for all Capitol citizens to come to his mansion. This is it!”

Haymitch nods, numbly. Everest and Arista are still in school. Daisy is strapped against his chest, sleeping through the yelling and premature rejoicing of those around them.

“Have you heard from her?”

Her.

Y/N.

“No,” Haymitch admits. Not since two nights ago. She would call if she could. He doesn’t dwell on what might be keeping her.

“She’s coming home, Haymitch.” Madge says, with childlike glee. “She’s going to end this and then she’s coming home.”

————————————————————————-

Y/N gives Peeta her nightlock pill, just incase Snow sends peacekeepers to search houses. One of Cressida’s friends and former stylist for the games, Tigris, has taken them in.

It is decided that Y/N, Katniss and Gale are the ones going for Snow, while the others hang back.

“Thank you for everything.” Peeta captures his mentor in a long hug.

I would do more for you, if I could. “I love you, Peeta.” Y/N tells him, “and I am so proud.” She smooths a hand over his hair.

He buries his head in her shoulder, “I love you too.”

“I’ll see you soon, yeah?” Y/N pulls away slightly, so he can say his goodbyes to Katniss. Who is waiting anxiously behind Y/N.

Cressida is nearest the door, waving Y/N over. “They will have disarmed the pods to ensure the safety of Capitol citizens, just get yourselves into the crowd and you should be able to walk right in. You’re not all glammed up and you’ll be wearing hoods, chances are no one will recognize you.”

Y/N nods, not caring if she’s telling the truth. She has to see this through. For Katniss, for Peeta. For Haymitch and their children. For herself.

The three of them open the door, marching out into the streets, becoming one with the crowd.

Among the sea of bodies is a girl. A little girl, held in her mother’s arms, wide blue eyes staring back at them. Her blonde curls peeking out from the hood of her yellow coat. She couldn’t have been more than four.

Just a couple years younger than Arista.

Y/N has to get home to Arista.

The palace guards are checking civilians as they line up at the front gates. One of them will surely recognize them. They try to turn back, to regroup and make a better plan.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The world around them explodes.

“It’s the rebels!” One of the men cries out.

Bullets rain down. From above and below, all around.

“Mama!” The girl in the yellow jacket is crouched over her mother’s lifeless body. “Mama.” Her mother won’t wake up. There’s screaming, there’s so much noise and she’s all alone.

With one last nod to Katniss, Y/N takes off. Trying to reach her. Because she has to try, if it were one of her children, she hopes someone would try.

“Mama!”

Y/N sweeps the girl up into her arms, searching for Katniss and Gale. The child screams in protest. Y/N understands, she is not her Mama. “Shh, sweetheart. I know you want your Mama.”

“Mama!”

“My name is Y/N,” Y/N says, against her ear. “I’m going to be your friend for a little while, would that be ok?”

The girl keeps crying, but no longer screaming.

“What’s your name, hmm?” Y/N continues rushing them through the crowd.

From the corner of her eye she makes out Gale, being dragged away by peacekeepers.

Where is Katniss?

The girl mumbles out something through her sobs.

“Tell me one more time, honey.” Y/N says, rubbing circles into her back.

“Poppy.”

Y/N pulls back slightly, blinking at her. “That’s a pretty name.”

She nods.

“One of my daughters is named after a flower too. Her name is Daisy.”

When the crowd comes to a standstill in front of the mansion’s still sealed gates, Y/N manages to find Katniss. She’s just a few feet away.

One of the palace guards calls for the children to be brought forward, Y/N doesn’t hesitate to let the little girl go. She will be safe. Snow is smart, calculated and there is no reason for him to kill Capitol children.

“Be brave, Poppy. You’re going to be safe now.” Y/N gives the girl one last squeeze before handing her over to the outstretched arms in front of her. She then begins forging a path to Katniss.

A hovercraft flies overhead, dropping parachutes to the children, being moved towards the mansion.

“Gifts.” The Capitol citizens marvel and little hands reach up to catch them in wonder.

Boom!

Screaming. Running.

The parachutes exploded.

Not parachutes, bombs.

Everyone rushes in to help the wounded. Y/N looks for her, for Poppy. Medics from district thirteen have arrived.

“Prim. Prim Rose.” Katniss recognizes her sister among them.

Prim looks to her sister. Sees that she is alive.

Boom!

What happened to the little girl in the yellow coat?

What happened to Katniss?

Oh. Y/N realizes.

Oh.

More bombs, the fire. It took the little girl in the yellow coat.

It took the medics from thirteen, including Prim.

It took Katniss, blowing her back, setting the jade green cloak ablaze.

Death takes everything. Her Aunt, her father, her tributes, her district.

Everyone but her.

She always tries to save them.

She always tries.

————————————————————————

Y/N startles awake, jerking upright in the hospital bed.

“Hey, hey, gentle. You’re still healing.”

Haymitch.

She’s in thirteen, she made it back to thirteen. Her skin burns, across her chest, down her arms. She glances down at herself, finding the reddened inflamed skin.

“Lie back.��� Haymitch soothes, fluffing her pillow before her head comes to rest on it. “You’re alright, no permanent damage.”

“What happened?” She can’t remember.

“Second round of bombs blew you back, knocked your head. Doc says it might be a little fuzzy for a while.”

“Katniss? Peeta?”

“Both safe.” Haymitch assures her. “Katniss has some burns, same as you, but she’ll pull through.”

“Cashmere? Finnick?”

“Cashmere’s leg is healing up nice and Finnick is fine. Back with Annie. The kids are good, they’ve been asking for you.”

“Can I see them?” Y/N’s eyes well with tears. “Please, Haymitch.”

“Of course,” he pats her cheek. “Madge will bring them down after school.

“How are you?” Y/N asks, reaching out for his hand.

“I’m still kicking.” He squeezes their entwined fingers.

“Will you lay with me for a while?” It’ll be cramped, but she needs him close.

“The doctors won’t approve.”

“Please?”

Haymitch sighs, as if he could ever say no to her. “Scoot over and be careful.”

His weight shifts the mattress as he sides in behind her. His arms wrap around her, so softly. As if she’ll break.

“We did it.” She forces her lungs to expand, willing away the pain.

“We did it.” Now they get to live. Now they’ve earned it.

Part 24

Series Taglist: @praline357 @flowercrowns-goodvibes @justheretoparty420 @avocadotoastwithegg @treehouse-mouse @emo-markie @spilled-mi1k @magical-spit @greaser9902 @jessicamellarky @yourebuckingkiddingme @smuha2004 @sendhelplease @ninimackbrews @wittiestrain184 @r1dd1kulus @erenluvr69 @helpimhyperfixating @jackierose902109 @jellybear455 @dreammgc @dadbodfanatic-x @ftdtcmlovr @inky-sun @ms-brek-ker @undercover55655 @mischiefmanaged21 @avoxrising @koiphisch @drwho-ess @daisydaisybilly @misfits1a @nj01 @eruannaaa-blog @thatkindofgurl @solikeapparently @innercreationflower

[sprnklersplashes]

reading gilmore girls posts or magazine articles that are like "maturing is realising rory and lorelai are the real villains of gilmore girls" is always so funny to me because the level of vitriol these thinkpieces use you'd think they killed someone and pinned the blame on an innocent bystander who then got executed for it.

and when you read the rest of it and its like... "lorelai has commitment issues and rory is a perfectionist and also lorelai was rude after emily subtly insulted her for the 280th time that episode".

[contemplatingoutlander]

How to cover an abnormal presidential race

Could the media coverage adhere closer to reality? Hard questions must be asked.

Jennifer Rubin offers a much needed road map as to how journalists should be covering an election between a politician who upholds democratic values (Biden) vs. a politician who is determined to undermine the Constitution and create a dictatorship (Trump). I wish mainstream journalists would follow her advice. Below are some excerpts, but you can use the gift🎁link to read the entire article.

The United States has never had an election in which: a felon runs for president on a major party ticket; a presidential candidate lays out a detailed plan for authoritarian rule; an entire party gaslights the public (e.g., claiming the president was behind their candidate’s state prosecution; pretending they won the last election); and, prominent leaders of one party signal they will not accept an adverse outcome in the next election. Yet, the coverage of the 2024 campaign is remarkably anodyne, if not oblivious, to the unprecedented nature of this election and its implications. [...] How could the coverage stick more closely to reality? Obsession with early polling that inevitably becomes meaningless after big events such as Trump’s conviction (stuff happens!) and that cannot yet gauge who is likely to vote should go by the wayside — or at least come with caveats and not drive coverage. What would be informative: A minute or two of unedited video showing Trump’s rambling, incoherent and deranged rants. Rather than merely “fact check” the nonsense blizzard, reports can explore the unprecedented nature of his rhetoric, illustrate the deterioration in his thinking and speech, and discuss how an obviously irrational and unhinged leader casts a spell over his devoted following. The media also can refuse to entertain laughable MAGA spin, such as claiming that Trump’s conviction will help him win the election.... When such incidents pop up, informative journalism would examine what else MAGA forces lie about (e.g., crowd size) and how authoritarians depend on creating a false aura of invincibility. When supposedly normal Republican officials parrot Trump’s obvious falsehoods and baseless accusations, interviewers must come prepared to debunk them. Republicans cannot be allowed to slide past hard questions about their election denial, false data points, baseless attacks on the courts and hypocrisy (the law and order party?). Treating Republicans as innocent bystanders in the democracy train wreck distorts reality. And instead of endless harping on President Biden’s age, some honest comparison between the disjointed, frightful interview responses from Trump and the detailed, policy-laden answers from Biden in Time magazine’s two interviews might illuminate the obvious disparity in acuity....There is simply no comparison between Biden, who talks in detail about policy, and Trump, who cannot get through a Newsmax(!) interview without sounding nuts. Likewise, treating Hunter Biden’s case (having nothing to do with the president) as though it were as significant as Trump’s criminal conviction betrays a lack of perspective and a hunger for clicks. Insisting this poses a problem or embarrassment for Biden amounts to amplifying MAGA spin. Finally, given voters’ misunderstanding of the economy, news outlets should focus on the results of Biden’s policies and the likely effect of his opponent’s shockingly inflationary plan. Focusing on the gap between public opinion and economic reality (to which coverage contributes) unwittingly reveals the media’s own shortcomings in educating voters. [emphasis added]

[random-brushstrokes]

Alick P. F. Ritchie (Scottish, 1868-1938)

Alick Ritchie was born in Dundee, Scotland. He studied at the Ecole des Beaux Arts in Antwerp before settling in London as a commercial artist. He produced many cartoons for Vanity Fair, the Sketch, the Bystander and many other magazines and journals. Ritchie's cartoons and caricatures included portraits of celebrities in a style satirising the Cubist and Futurist schools of art that were predominant at the time. In 1912, he published a book called Y? or Zoo-all-awry, consisting of drawings and rhymes of composite animals, such as the Octopussy Cat and the Porcupython. Ritchie became well known for his theatrical posters, and between the wars he also produced posters for the London Underground. (source)

[oneforthemunny]

girls on film |rockstar!eddie munson x nepo baby! reader|

prompt: eddie has you star in his latest music video. he wants it to be really authentic.

contains: 18+ MINORS DNI, language, drugs, alcohol, smut, exhibitionism, mentions of dom! and sub! themes, fingering fem receiving.

November, 1992

The dressing room had an overwhelming stench of aerosol hairspray and cigarette smoke, a dangerous mix. You wondered if the model next to you worried about going up in flames, her cigarette hanging loosely from her lips while she flipped through a magazine, the poor hairstylist behind her rolling curlers high and pinning them carefully into her long, black locks.

"Look down for me, sweetheart," Maurine, your makeup artist- the only makeup artist you'd ever let touch your face- instructed, eyes squinting as she pressed her thumb above your brow, raising the skin tighter.

Corroded Coffin had the music industry in a tizzy, their latest album releasing just days before you and Eddie announced your relationship; before you and Eddie announced your engagement. It was shocking, sure, but what wasn't with you and Eddie?

What was more shocking than the engagement bombshell, was the fact that you'd managed to keep the relationship under wraps for so long. Clandestine meetings in hotel rooms, sneaking through back entrances with hidden faces, stumbling out on shaky legs with a longing ache in your chest. You wanted nothing more than to be with Eddie all the time, but the privacy, the intimacy and secrecy of your relationship was so sacred to you, to both of you. You cherished every second. Trips to remote locations, free of paparazzi or gawking stares from bystanders, where the two of you could just be. Content in your own pleasure, a far cry from the first time you met. A meeting that started so fiery and jagged with hatred morphed into something beautiful; red-hot passion and permanent attachment.

Now, the secret was out. You and Eddie Munson, polar opposites- or so the media thought. Eddie had proposed to you one night, at your family's beach house in Malibu. He dropped to one knee, surprising to even you that Hollywood's raunchiest bad boy could be so sweet, sweet for you. He presented you with the dazzling Harry Winston, spilling out his heart over crashing waves, knee digging into the sand.

The reaction from the press had been nothing less than expected. Headlines, paparazzi photos, and both your agent's phones ringing off the hook with interview requests. You'd declined them, of course, liking the mystery of it all. The only thing you'd agreed to was the music video.

Your publicist pitched the idea first, after getting a request for a booking of another client, a super model. "It would be good press, for both of you." Kathleen gave you a pointed look.

So here you sat, in a stuffy room behind the set with the rest of the models and lucky girl who'd been picked to star with the other boys in the music video for Nailed in the Coffin, premiering exclusively on MTV. A racy, sexy, filthy song, and judging by your attire for the shoot- or lack thereof- you could only imagine what the video would come out to be.

"Alright, ladies!" Ricardo, the producer, entered the dressing room, careless of the half naked models and bustling artists. "Fifteen minutes!" He clapped, before walking over to a chair, finger pointed in accusation at a flaw.

"That's the guy shooting this?" Maurine scoffed lowly in your ear, smudging the eyeliner out from your waterline.

You smirked. "Yeah, Ed says he's a total wild card." You looked at her for a moment, brows raised in amusement. "Says he's a little weird, but makes good videos. Likes to take risks or something."

Maurine shrugged, pressing a powdered sponger under your eyes. "Well, he knows best, I guess." She sighed, looking over her shoulder.

"They've won best video a few times, so yeah, I guess he would." You giggled.

"Mrs. Munson," Ricardo purred from behind you. You could feel him over your shoulder, meeting his eyes in the illuminated mirror.

"Not yet," You teased, giving him a dazzling smile that only years in the limelight of Hollywood could produce.

"But soon, yes?" Ricardo quipped his brow. You giggled, shrugging, playing off the ditzy, spoiled role. You recognized sharks like Ricardo, sweet but would sell your story to the press for next to nothing. "Did your hubby tell you what he has planned for your scenes?" The way his eyes rose, wide and blown with excitement had your tummy twisting gently.

Knowing Eddie, he'd have you over his knee, paddling you with the Corroded Coffin engraved leather paddle until the band's emblem glowed on your backside- he already had the pictures, what would stop him from filming it?

"Oh?" You quipped, brows raising slightly. "Should I be worried?"

"No, darling, it's perfect. Very intimate. The world will love it." Ricardo clapped giddily. "Finish up and we'll shoot you first. Eddie was very adamant about getting done first. He said you're a very busy lady, so I don't want to keep you."

You grinned, shaking your head slightly. More like Eddie wanted to be done shooting as soon as possible. He was bored at the possibility of staying here all day, rambling off a million other things he'd rather do. "Gonna have you in all my videos, sweetheart." Eddie grinned, pecking your cheek. "At least you're there to keep me company."

"Wonderful, thank you." You smiled politely, watching the director turn. "Wait!" You called, turning in your chair to look over your shoulder at the man. "Where is my wardrobe?"

Ricardo gave you a wicked grin before barking out a laugh. "Darling, there is no wardrobe for you." He grinned. "Come as you are, as you came into this world."

You blinked, brows furrowing at his riddled words. "Naked?"

Ricardo nodded, winking at you before walking away. You huffed, turning back to Maurine with a small pout. She laughed, shaking her head at you. "Well, I guess we don't have to worry about messing up your hair getting you into wardrobe." She shrugged.

You rolled your eyes, letting her finish your look- blown out, sultry, bedroom eyes and hair, sexy. Maurine made sure to add your signature lip, contouring the bottom slightly over so you'd have your signature pout, a feature that made Eddie weak in the knees. Your engagement ring that caught the light from the mirror, the obnoxiously large stone dazzling for you. It was dramatic, big, heavy on your ring finger. You expected nothing less from Eddie, truly, everything he did was over the top, especially for you.

Eddie's loud, piercing wolf whistle cut through the deafening sound of machinery and chatter from behind the scenes of the set. You could hear him before you saw him, sitting on the bed in the middle of the set, but he certainly saw you.

"Didn't you get the memo, baby?" Eddie grinned, eyes rolling down your frame when you padded towards him. "Why aren't you in wardrobe?"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes slightly. Eddie quipped a brow in warning, making your thighs clench, the unspoken dynamic that always carried outside the bedroom in some way.

"'M not walking around naked." You rolled your eyes playfully back at him, taking in his inked skin, shirtless in nothing but a pair of tight leather pants. You salivated at the sight, his bulge teasing you through the black, tight material.

His hands found your waist easily, running over the smooth material of the silk robe, pulling you closer to him, hand traveling down the the swell of your ass. You grinned at him, your noses nearly touching. He cupped your jaw, ringed finger splaying over your cheek.

"Munson! Hands off!" Maurine snapped, pointing at him from behind the line of cameras. "Do not mess up her makeup!"

Eddie huffed, pulling back, glaring at your stylist with a pout that rivaled your own. You giggled, running a hand down his cheek sweetly. "Heard you wanted to get this done quick?" You raised a brow, brushing his wild mess of curls behind his ear.

"Can you blame me?" Eddie's head tipped to the side, tongue running over his lower lip.

You snorted lightly, pressing your thumb lightly against his bottom lip. He looked so pretty, curls styled and fluffed, muscles glittering with the oil they'd rubbed him down with so he'd shine under the lights for the camera, his tattoos vibrant against his skin.

Eddie pressed a kiss into the pad of your thumb, winking up at you. You swooned, lips spreading in a smile, shrilling when he squeezed your ass through the robe. You two were infatuated with each other, the sick, obsessed, over the top type of love you used to snarl at when you saw.

"Alright, darling," Ricardo called, heeled cowboy boots- very eccentric for the 90's even- clacked across the set towards you. "Love birds, we're ready when you are."

You nodded slipping under the bed next to Eddie. Thin white sheets on the mattress, with an even thinner white sheet on top. You were sure under the harshness of the lights, they'd be able to see right through. Eddie grinned down at you, hand sliding over your hip gently.

"Can you hold the sheet up for me, Ed?" You asked, untying your robe under the sheet. You'd try to maintain some sort of privacy.

Eddie held the sheet while you slipped your robe off, handing it to the antsy tech who waited besides Ricardo. You slipped down further on the bed, holding the sheet tightly against your naked chest. Your nipples pebbled at the bite of the cold air, goosebumps kissing your skin.

"Perfect." Ricardo grinned, all teeth and blown pupils. "So, we only need a few scenes, but I know this will be the most talked about part, of course." He laughed to himself. Your eyes cut to Eddie, raising a brow gently.

"I want sexy, hot, vulgar. Give me a sex tape." Ricardo clapped his hands together.

"Sex tape?" You lifted a brow, frowning at Eddie. "You didn't say sex tape. I didn't agree to that, Edward."

"Not a sex tape," Eddie countered, gently rubbing a hand down your arm soothingly. "He means sexy. Just allude to it, like play it up like we're having sex."

"Exactly." Ricardo snapped, pointing at Eddie. "Give me some va-va-voom, darling!"

"You can do that." Eddie grinned. "I know you can. You do it for me all the time, baby." You blushed hard, rolling your eyes at him.

Once the two of you were positioned, Eddie hovering over top of you, the sheet strategically placed so it barely covered you, Ricardo went back barking orders manically. Eddie's inked hand slid down your naked hip, thumb tracing close to your freshly waxed bikini line.

"You alright?" Eddie asked, brown eyes searching your expression. "This good with you? I thought you'd be ok with it, but, baby, if you're not-"

"No, it's good, Ed." You smiled, hand reaching out to cup his cheek. Your ring cool against his face. "I just... What am I supposed to do? Act like you're fucking me?"

Eddie snorted, lips nuzzling into your cheek. "Something like that." He muttered against the skin. "Just give 'em a show, baby. I know you can do that."

You rolled your eyes, his hand squeezing on your hip; a warning. "That's three times you've rolled your eyes at me." His head quipped to the side, eyes darkening in warning. "You do it a fourth, I'm gonna drag you back to my dressing room, understand?"

You throbbed, clenching around nothing under his dominant stare. You nodded slowly, biting your lip. Eddie smirked, squeezing your hip playfully. "Good girl."

"Ok! Let's get ready! Love birds, are you ready?" Ricardo called from behind the cameras and lights.

Eddie grinned, nodding while you moved your hands to his forearms, rubbing the veiny, inked skin softly. The start of the music played, lights flashing even brighter over you, blinding you from anything other than the set.

"Ok," Ricardo called from his megaphone. "We'll start at the first line. Eddie, move over her, lip-sync the lyrics." He instructed. Eddie moved so he was hovering farther over you, hips grinding through the sheet onto you.

"Mrs. Munson," You fought back another eye roll at the nickname. "Give us those bedroom eyes. Show us how good Eddie makes you feel."

You cringed at the instruction, but moved your leg to hook over his hip. This felt familiar, natural, a position you were in this morning with Eddie before you arrived here. Your nails dug into his arm, lightly, for show of course, while you turned your head to the side, eyes closed and pinched in fake pleasure. It felt weird, having to fake the ecstasy that Eddie constantly gave you, but not having him do it to you now.

"Ok, cut," Ricardo called after a moment. The music halted, screeching to a stop while you pulled apart. "Eddie, let me talk to you for a moment." He motioned him over.

Eddie climbed off of you, squeezing your thigh gently through the sheet. You watched, propped up on your forearms while Eddie talked to the director, eyes cutting back to you.

"Let's take that from the top again." Ricardo clapped, walking away. "Eddie, whenever you're ready."

Eddie climbed back into the bed with you, hand brushing hair out of your face. You laid back on your back, fixing your sheet. "What did he say?"

"He wants it to be more authentic." Eddie replied, moving his knee so it was between your legs. You furrowed your brows softly. "He said we looked robotic." Eddie scoffed, shaking his head.

You giggled. "I don't really know how to look like we're fucking without actually fucking." You admitted with a sheepish smile. Eddie's heart swelled, he loved seeing you so sweet and small like that. "Feels awkward."

"Yeah," Eddie hummed in agreement, his hand dipping under the sheet. You felt him rub across your hip, glide across your tummy softly. "Maybe we should change that."

You frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?" You asked carefully. You felt his fingers trail further, tracing down your mound just barely over your lips. You gasped, pushing him slightly.

"Ed," You hissed, eyes cutting to the producers and film staff hidden behind the blinding lights from the set. You lifted the white, thin, cotton sheet higher over your chest. "Have you lost your mind?"

"What?" Eddie shrugged. "They said to make it as authentic as possible. Sell it up big for the cameras, baby." His grin was salacious, hungry. It made your legs clamp further.

"C'mon, angel, they'll never know I promise." Eddie cooed, ringed hand pushing back your perfectly tousled hair. "I'll make sure Donno watches the whole thing before it's released. Just let me help you out."

You huffed, his hand cupping your thing through the sheets, dangerously close to your core, but of course, he knew that. Eddie leaned forward, lips on the shell of your ear, hot breath tickling and nipping at your flushed skin. "You gotta admit it will be exciting." He grinned. You squirmed, his hand cupping your heat through the sheets. "Our little, dirty secret, huh? The world will never know. How fuckin' hot is that, baby?"

You felt his fingers tickle the top of your lips, your own legs parting to let him in further. He grinned, lips against your cheek. "C'mon, let's give 'em a show." The pad of his thumb rubbed the hood of your clit so lightly, it made your head spin.

You let out a staggered huff, before nodding gently, eyes locking with his. His pupils were blow, looking lustfully down at you with a wolfish smile. Your thighs clenched.

"Ricardo," Eddie called, his eyes never leaving yours. You felt the pad of his thumb slowly circle your clit. "We're ready."

You couldn't even register the sounds of the music starting, lights and cameras whirring into place. Your hand clamped down onto Eddie's arms, eyes pinching closed as he worked you slowly, circling your clit at the perfect place that had you writhing.

"Fuck, Eddie, just like that," You whimpered, legs hooking over his hips, pulling him closer.

"Ok, Eddie, and in three, two..."

Eddie's lips moved against yours, low, gravelly voice signing the words of the song into your skin. You writhed gently beneath him, his free hand moving to your face to look at him. Just as your eyes listed, shining and glassy to meet him, he slipped his middle finger in, pumping slowly in and out of you.

Your back arched, gasping when Eddie's fingers curled into you. You gripped onto his arm, his own hand moving to cradle your chin, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. Your hips ground under the sheets, eyes rolling back when he curled into your g-spot, pulling out to circle your clit, then repeating the actions until you were reeling.

His thumb swiped against your bottom lip again, pressing against the soft, lipstick coated mouth. You opened your mouth easily, cheeks hollowing while your eyes met his, obedient. Just like he trained you to be.

Eddie smirked, still mouthing the lyrics that played over the loud speakers. If he wouldn't have been in the music video, he would've praised you for what a good girl you were being for him.

"Beautiful! Beautiful! Keep it up, let's go to the chorus! No cuts!" Ricardo chanted through his megaphone, the music continuing.

Your walls clenched around his finger, moaning against his thumb while he toyed with you, playing with you expertly. Eddie took his thumb out of your mouth, inching closer and closer to you. His calloused thumb was rough against your clit, providing the perfect friction that had your toes curling, hips lifting against his.

Eddie continued to sign the lyrics slow to you, eyes locked. The two of you were in a trance, locked in on each other, uncaring of the others around you. Your mind was spinning, racing and dizzy with the blinding pleasure that Eddie always brought to you. You tipped your head back, the lights above blinding you, centering you back to your own reality a little. The crew around you, watching as Eddie finger banged you relentlessly on camera. You knew you should be ashamed, mortified; but the deep burning pleasure in the pit of your tummy only built more, growing higher and higher, with every flick, pump, curl, and rub of Eddie's magical fingers.

You whimpered, reaching up to grab his curls, threading your fingers through the base of his hair. He knew you were close, your rounded eyes and desperate little mewls. Eddie rocked his hips against your thigh, relieving his own throbbing cock of some of the uncomfortable pressure.

"'M close, Eddie." You whined softly, pulling back on the hairs gently, clutching them for purchase while his fingers moved slow and deep inside of you.

Eddie pressed his lips to the side of your cheek, lightly, still singing the words to you in a low rasp, more of a growl.

"Perfect! Last line, Eddie! Last line!" Ricardo shouted excitedly.

Eddie fingers moved, curling deep inside of you, while you gasped loudly, mouth falling open slightly, rounding in pleasure, while Eddie kept pumping in and out of you. He could feel your release, the gush of it drenching his hand, making a sickening squelching sound as he still fucked you through it.

Teeth clenched together, eyes narrowed near predatory, Eddie watched you fall apart for him. Whining and gasping, while he still finger fucked you relentlessly. His lips were pillowy soft against your blushed cheeks, finishing out the last lyric with a growl, before his licked a long stripe up the side of your face.

You knew Maurine would be furious, her work destroyed by him, but you were too wrapped up in a cloud of satisfaction that followed your release to care.

Ricardo sounded far away, your eyes glassy when you blinked back up at Eddie, familiar brown eyes shining sweetly back at you. "You alright, angel?" Eddie asked, curls tickling the side of your cheeks as he hovered over you.

You blinked, moving to sit up on your forearms. "Are we done?" You asked, looking around at Ricardo, who frantically moved, barking orders.

"They're done with us," Eddie nodded towards the crew. "But 'm not done with you." Your legs clamped under the sheets at his wolfish grin, dark and hungry. You could feel him grinding gently against your leg, leather pants harboring his growing bulge.

You shrunk under the sheets to hide the blush that was creeping over your chest and neck. Ricardo clacked over, loud boots snapping against the hardwood. "That was beautiful, you two, gorgeous! So authentic!" He shrieked. You blushed harder. Eddie grinned, eyes cutting over to you.

"What can I say? I'm a great actor. Maybe your dad should put me in one of his films, whattya think, baby?" Eddie teased, looking back at you.

You scoffed, shaking your head with a small smile. "Sure. I think you're Oscar worthy." You jested back.

"Totally. Eat your heart out, De Niro." Eddie barked out a laugh.

You rolled your eyes, playfully, halting when Eddie's eyes narrowed at you. Ricardo didn't notice, thankfully, too high off whatever powdery substance was still around his nose, laughing erratically at the two of you. "You two are perfect, perfect. Your fans are going to lose their minds, their sanity entirely, when they see this."

"So we're good?" Eddie asked. "I can go change?"

"I've got everything I need from you." Ricardo gave a half bow to Eddie. "Mr. and Mrs. Munson, it's been a pleasure, as always." He grinned, wide and toothy.

You smiled politely back, still clutching the sheet to your chest. Eddie turned back to you slowly, giving you a pointed look. "What did I tell you?" He asked, tilting his head to this side.

You pouted at him. "I didn't mean to." You huffed, biting back a smirk when his jaw set. Even if the two of you are together and in love now, that didn't mean you couldn't still have a little fun with him, rile him up a little. Give him a little glimpse at the girl you once were before he knew you better.

Eddie let out a sharp breath out of his nose, lips pursing slightly. He knew what you were doing, and that was fine. He'd handle you back in his dressing room, make you gag on his cock until all that pretty makeup smeared and ran down your cheeks.

He grabbed the robe from the tech, handing it to you while you carefully slipped it on under the sheet. Eddie nodded, extending his hand out for you, what a sweetheart.

"Eddie," You mumbled, eyes cutting down to the sheets. You flushed with embarrassment, looking at the wet spot let on the white sheets. Eddie just shrugged, and you gaped at him, tongue clicking in annoyance. "We can't just leave that. They'll know."

Eddie scoffed, stopping one of the bustling techs that was scampering by. "Hey, man, you might need to change those sheets before someone else gets in 'em, alright?"

He didn't wait to see their confused, stuttering response. Reaching out for you, Eddie took your hand in his, pulling you close to his wide while the two of you scampered into his private dressing room.

A month later, you sat at the MTV viewing party, hosted at a club in West Hollywood for the band. Eddie pulled you close, smirking when you hid into his leather jacket as the video played on the large screen. Even with the editing and the features, it still looked so raw, so real.

The media seemed to agree too, magazines and articles barreling out by the dozens about the sexy, sensual music video featuring you two, boasting on how intimate it appeared. No one knew exactly how that was possible, except you and Eddie... and maybe the tech responsible for cleaning up the messy sheets.

[togegiri]

✎ᝰ ❛ Y/N'S DRAGON BUTLER ! ❜ — malleus draconia.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ featuring. malleus draconia x gender neutral reader.

.ೃ࿐ WARNINGS ! gender neutral reader. you/your and they/them pronouns is used. master is used but still is gender neutral reader. — not proofread ( 1.3k words )

content. You never knew that your drunken state would hire a dragon butler accidentally.

As the sun began to show up, the shine shoned at the blinds of your window. The alarm made a sound making you furrow your brows. Opening your eyes you slowly groaned as you stopped the beeping of your alarm as you got out of your bed. 

“Ahh… my head hurts,” you complained, feeling your head hurt from having a migraine like autopilot mode. You did your usual routine, like changing to your usual working clothes, eating a simple breakfast, brushing your teeth. 

Meanwhile, there a tall male looked at himself in the mirror, putting on an all black and cool looking butler uniform. On the table on the side there placed a magazine and there a male posing as a butler is seen. Looking at any imperfection he looks at himself, “there, good,” he huffs with a smile. Pride on his face as he feels that his looks are good enough.

“Ooh~ little malmal is all grown up now huh?” a small male said putting his weight on the door looking at the taller draconic like male before him. “Yes, well then I'll be on my way now.. I don't want my master to wait for me,” with that he opens the big windows. Feeling the cold winds of the day. 

“Well then good luck to your job little malmal,” the vampiric like male said waving at him as the male jumped at the window. Turning into a black dragon as they flew away. The pink-black haired person chuckles, “must be nice being a youth in love~” 

Back to you, you looked at the mess of your apartment that was filled with cans of beer making you sigh. Putting on a coat you take your bag as your eyes widen at the time, “uwah, I'm gonna be late.” you say as you make your way to the door of your apartment. 

The dragon male placing himself infront of your apartment, as you open the door your eyes widen. A gust of wind came to your face as your eyes met with a deep shade of green ones. Breathing heavily as you blinked your eyes. 'eh?’ you thought as the dragon disappeared. Appearing as a tall, handsome male with a butler uniform, “ehh…?” you say aloud.

Malleus smiled at you, “hello, It's me, malleus draconia your dragon butler from today onwards,” he closed his eyes. Suddenly sparkles went behind him as your brain tried to compute what just happened. Thus a reason came to your head, 'ah… a dream?’ 

“Please do come in,” 

You open the door for him, letting him walk in (hospitality is always good to have.) 

“Thank you,” malleus walked in as you followed him closing the door, you sat down at the chair as he too sat down. You looked at him weirdly as you bit our lower lip feeling awkward,  “so uhmm who are you?” 

His eyes widen, chuckling as he tilts his head to the side, “oh? I'm pretty sure I have introduced myself already (name),” he spoke in a matter-of-fact tone.

“y- yeah you did… but I'm pretty sure I didnt hire a… butler you know,” 

“oh…” his tone was laced with disappointment. 

“I even don't remember how we met,” 

His brows furrow as his lips curl up in a small pout, “you don't remember? we met in the mountains,” you tilt your head cluelessly at this, “mountains, mountains… mountains?” you repeated the words until your eyes widen remembering the events happened last night. 

—

“hehe… hehe~” you laugh, your face feeling hot as you stumble upon the rocky road on the mountain. The place was scary if said by a bystander. You didn't know that, you're drunk right now. With the fog on the mountain, the trees seemingly do not have any leaves and have pointy branches. 

“Oho? a human, tell me why have you come here?” malleus eyes widen seeing a human casually comes in the mountain, nevertheless in his territory. Especially in a very drunk state, “hmm? oooh? ah! hello! hello! want a drink?” you smile stupidly waving at him with alcohol on the other side of your hand. 

He lets out a chuckle amuse at your actions, “I supposed why not,” you smile as you take a cup in your pocket(why did you even put that there?). Pouring him the alcohol, “Hehehe! drink up! drink up!” you encourage with a big smile on your face. 

“I am, I am,” he chuckles as he drank all the alcohol in the cup in one go, “oooh! you know how to drink huh? I love it!” you giggled drunkenly patting his shoulder making his eyes widen at the contact. His surprised face turned into one with adoration. 

“hahaha what an interesting human you are,” he laughs as you cocked your head to the side, “I am..? hehe thank youuu~ say you know about butlers?” 

“hm? a little bit,” malleus tilts his head at the sudden topic about butler, “you should know alot more about them they—” thus you began a long rant about how great butlers and the many more facts about them. Rambling like a passionate mad man about butlers. 

“Say.. Why do you live here alone?” your sudden question caught the draconic male off guard, “haha how do you know I live alone?” he asks cocking his hide to side as you smile at him, “its easy to tell you look lonely after all…” 

His eyes widened at this as he smiled back at you, “well I do have some servants here but… It does get lonely from time to time, humans are… well quite scared of such things as, I,” malleus grip the cup with a little more strength as he looked down sadly. “live with me."

His green eyes looked at you with suprise as you smiled at him, “pardon me?” in his eyes suddenly you were bright and sparkling, “live with me, I'll make you meet with many people, and I promise you… you won't be lonely with me by your side malleus,” a warmth spread on his heart as he felt his face hot, “oh…” 

The sake is certainly not the one for this flustered state of his. 

—

“sorry but… I- …I can't keep that promise, I didn't even say I want a butler,” you mutter the last part though malleus heard it quite well. “Oh the butler part was my idea, I wanted to surprise you but… I- I see.. no worries (name), it was my fault for barging in so suddenly,” he looked down as he smiled at you sadly apologizing as he got up the chair. 

Your eyes linger towards his retreating figure seeing a tear forming in the corner of his eyes feeling guilt in the pit of your stomach, ‘wait if this isn't a dream… that means!’ your eyes widen looking, remembering something as you look at the clock in your arm. 

Running towards Malleus who was near the door, you yelled his name, “Malleus!”  you took his wrist as he looked back at you in surprise. “Yes?” 

“Can you fly?” 

“y- yes?” 

—

“Uwaaaah! too fast!” you say that as you feel the wind hit your face too hard. Making you close your eyes, “apologies, I didn't hear what you just said.” malleus says in his dragon form. There you sat on the back of a black dragon. “I say too fast!” he slows down. 

“Right, I'll try to not be too fast,” feeling the wind slow down you open your eyes seeing the great view of the city up here, “hmm… guess I can hire him.” You say aloud making the dragon perk up, “really?”

You let out a low chuckle, “so you can hear me,” making the dragon sweatdrop. Though soon your eyes widen as you feel a bone crack in your lower back, ‘ah… this kind of transportation hurts my back.' 

“oh well… I guess I could use some dragon butler plus I promise you that you won't be lonely, so might as well keep that,” 

The dragon underneath you smiles feeling the same warm feeling blooming in his heart. He shouldn't have doubted you from backing away from your promise. 

“Sorry for cowering away at first but I swear I'll do my best malleus,” 

“Me too, I'll do my best, master,” 

You smile looking at the sky. Today is a great day.

[accio-victuuri]

HAPPY 27th BIRTHDAY WANG YIBO 👑 !!!!

What a year this was for our Bobo, before crossing into 27 we saw him go through so many things and i’m proud to see him rise above it all with grace. We met Chen Shuo, Yang Zhen and Wei Ruolai. Each characters showing his strength as an actor and how versatile he is. Allowed fans to see him and interact with the Yibo they only see on screen. With the films, he has established himself as a stable actor who can pull in box office numbers and still deliver quality. Wei Ruolai, truly introduced him to a new set of audience and fans and proved that he is someone that the industry should watch out for in terms of talent. No matter the drama that came after, what i’m thankful for is that no one can take away how much this role showcased what he is capable of. if there is anything we know of WYB, absolutely no one can question his acting skills anymore. We saw him dance for the Asian Games, combining both modern and ancient — later on, we found out that WYB himself pulled in resources to make the promotions work.

He went to different parts of the world to promote his partnerships with Chanel, Lacoste and Loewe ; establishing himself as an international influence. He attended various events towards the end of the year and wowed us with his presence — picking up awards, the most important one being nominated for a Golden Rooster Award. He gave is 2 amazing songs : Bystander & Everything is lovely, which showed his versatility as an artist. Amazing magazine covers. Valuable partnerships with brands. Excellent stage performances — special mention to his SDC hiphop stage.

A definite highlight would have to be him being an Olympic Torchbearer, bringing pride to his fans and his country. Finishing the filming of Mermaid/Intercross, Doing the Pangolin Documentary, Starring in a discovery channel documentary, racing cars, learning to play tennis and whatever else that he does that we don’t know. There is really no stopping him. Despite the noises bringing him down, in true wang yibo style, he will always shut them all up once his projects are out.

He deserves every bit of recognition he is getting and i can only hope that in the next couple of years — more people will see the side of Wang Yibo that we all love. I’m so grateful to be celebrating yet another year of life with WYB, and i shall remain for as long as I can. it’s tripping me up so much how fast time has gone by that he is already 27. But one thing is for sure, he is still the same WYB. He is still that sweet, earnest and hardworking yibo we have come to know.

Yibo, my only wish is that you can continue to do the things you love and try whatever it is that takes your interest — Also that you remain healthy & energetic. This world is so much better with you in it. ���✨✨

[eretzyisrael]

By GIANLUCA PACCHIANI

BERLIN — In 2019, Gazan activists Hamza Howidy and Amin Abed organized and participated in demonstrations against the harsh living conditions in the impoverished Strip. They were both arrested by Hamas and placed in the same prison cell. Every day, they were subjected to beatings and torture.

Last August, Howidy, 26, managed to leave Gaza after another round of protests and another detention. Abed, 35, stayed behind, unable to afford the exorbitant exit fees from the enclave, and unwilling to let his beloved Gaza collapse further under the weight of Hamas’s mismanagement and repression.

Even after October 7, Abed refused to remain silent in the face of the devastation that the terror group brought upon Gaza. Earlier this month, the well-known activist, a longstanding thorn in Hamas’s side, published a Facebook post in Arabic excoriating the Islamist group for its onslaught against Israel.

“Hamas knew from the very first moment [that Israel would retaliate], but it was ready to give anything in return for the continuation of its rule, the hen that lays golden eggs for its leaders and its investments abroad,” a paragraph in the post read.

Shortly after publishing it, Abed was assaulted by over 20 “thugs” – Hamas security members, according to bystanders – wearing masks and wielding batons and knives in the school where he was sheltering with his family. His arms and legs were broken.

“Amin [Abed] is the bravest Gazan you could ever meet,” said Howidy of his audacious friend and former cellmate, in an interview with The Times of Israel.

“He was never afraid of Hamas. Whenever we thought of organizing a protest, he was the first one to post about it, to speak up. He dedicated everything to opposing Hamas,” Howidy said. (Following his assault, Abed said in a recent interview he is now considering leaving Gaza as well.)

Howidy lives today in Germany, where he arrived a few months ago and submitted an asylum application. He receives shelter and a stipend from the German government.

Safe from Hamas’s retaliation against himself and his family – who in the interim lost their home in an Israeli airstrike and have also left the Strip for Egypt – Howidy is now a vocal Hamas critic on the international stage.

He maintains an English-language Twitter account where he documents the suffering of Gazan civilians at the hands of both Hamas and the IDF. He has also penned a number of op-eds in prominent magazines, chiefly among them Newsweek, and given interviews to international media outlets describing Hamas’s terror rule over Gazans and chastising self-professed liberals on Western university campuses for hurting Palestinians by absolving Hamas of its crimes against them.

[cazzyf1]

Some facts and stories about Roland Ratzenberger

• When he was seven years old his grandmother took him to a local hill climb race at Gaisberg.

• His first word was 'car'

• He was nine years old when year the family home the Salzburg ring opened. He was get through the gates to go watch the cars drive.

• He had a poster of Jochen Rindt on his wall as a kid.

• When he started karting at sixteen years old he had to get a secondary job at a bakery to fund it.

• In the winter of 1991 he married the former partner of another driver, becoming the stepfather of her son, however they were divorced in early 1992.

• While in the UK, he briefly gained some fame for having a similar name to the TV puppet 'Roland Rat'. ITV invited film to film a segment with the puppet for national breakfast television. He raced against the rat (who was in a car dubbed 'Ratmobile') the Rat Puppet ended up winning the race down to cheating.

• F1 author David Tremayne son's who was three years old insisted on calling Roland Ratzenburg-and-chips-and-beans to his face. Roland found it hilarious and became that young boy's hero.

• Described as 'gentle, always unfailingly polite, tall, good-looking, and with a ready smile'

• Journalist Adam Cooper went out drinking with Roland in Japan and at the end of the night they had decided he should come stay in Japan for a year or two to cover the local racing scene. When he turned up and realised the hotel was more expensive than he had planned Roland let him stay in the spare twin bed he had in his room. He was happy to have company.

• One of his unusual goals was to try to enjoy female company in the team motorhome between stints in 24 hour races. Adam Cooper reccounts ' I think the last time we discussed it he’d managed the feat twice at Le Mans, and once at the Nurburgring.'

• One time he used his deep Austrain accent to record a Terminator style 'I'll be back' answer machine message for rival Jeff Krosnoff

• He kept a black book full of 'ladies' numbers

• One time his friend Anthony Reid had an accident in a F3000 race, and had a lot of blood streaming down his face. Roland had to take charge of the scene as the marshals freaked out. He made sure his journalist friend wrote about the shortcomings of safety in a Japanese magazine afterwards.

• At a Formula Ford festival his team either ran out of funds or walked out and Roland was left with just his car and a toolbox. Because he was so well liked mechanics and personnel from other teams helped him prepare his car. He won that festival.

• On one occasion, Heinz-Harald Frentzen and Ratzenberger entered a nightclub. There was a confrontation between Frentzen and another guy which saw a knife pulled on either Frentzen or a random female bystander. Either way, Ratzenberger selflessly stepped in and wrestled the knife away from the man. 

• A documentary has been put out on YouTube about Roland by Levay film production, detailing all about his life. A recommended watch.

• Bernie Ecclestone personally delivered the confirmation of Ratzenburg's death to the Simtek team

• Ayton Senna commandeered an offical car to hurry to the medical center where he learnt of Roland's fate from his friend, Dr Sid Watkins

• Only five drivers attended his funeral

[waight-gain]

The Chef and the Critic

Chapter 2: The Review and Revelation

The week following Jacob's visit to La Cuisine was a whirlwind for Alex. The buzz among patrons and critics alike was palpable, and reservations were pouring in at an unprecedented rate. Word had spread of Jacob's visit and bystanders spread rumors, both about his food and their obvious attraction to each other. Alex knew that his review, when it finally came out, would either solidify his restaurant's status or catapult it into the culinary stratosphere. He found himself in a state of eager anticipation, nervously awaiting the critic's verdict.

Meanwhile, Jacob had been equally affected by the evening at La Cuisine. Alex's culinary prowess had left an indelible impression on him, and he found himself both excited and nervous to put his thoughts into words. He wanted his review to do justice to the extraordinary experience he'd had, while also maintaining the objectivity and high standards that his readers expected.

Finally, the day of the review arrived. Alex woke up early, his stomach churning with a mix of excitement and nerves. He grabbed a copy of the city's most influential food magazine from the newsstand on his way to the restaurant, his heart pounding as he flipped to Jacob's column.

The review was titled "A Chef's Masterclass in Desire: La Cuisine's Alex Chevalier." Alex's eyes scanned the page, drinking in Jacob's words like a thirsty man in the desert.

From the moment I stepped into La Cuisine, I knew I was in for an extraordinary dining experience. The dimly lit dining room, the soft hum of conversation, and the scent of tantalizing dishes wafting from the kitchen all conspired to create an atmosphere of anticipation and desire.

Alex's heart swelled with pride as he read Jacob's words, each one painting a vivid picture of the culinary journey he'd experienced. He could almost taste the dishes as Jacob described them, feeling a sense of accomplishment and connection to the critic.

The first course was a testament to Chef Chevalier's skill and creativity—a delicate composition of seared scallops atop a bed of citrus foam, garnished with microgreens and edible flowers. The plate was a masterpiece, each element carefully curated to dance on the palate. The scallop melted in my mouth, its sweetness complemented by the tangy foam, while the microgreens provided a crisp contrast. It was a symphony of textures and flavors, a perfect introduction to the culinary symphony that was to follow.

As Alex read, he found himself transported back to that evening, the pride and satisfaction he felt as he watched Jacob savor each bite. He could almost see the critic's eyes closing, his features softening as he savored the dish.

The review continued, each paragraph a celebration of Alex's culinary prowess. Jacob praised his innovative techniques, his bold flavor combinations, and his ability to evoke emotions through food. But it was the personal nature of the review that truly resonated with Alex.

There is something undeniably sensual about Chef Chevalier's cooking. It is not merely food; it is an experience, a seduction. One cannot help but be captivated, both by the chef's artistry and his magnetic presence. In the dimly lit dining room of La Cuisine, I found myself drawn into a world where desire and delight intertwined, and I was eager for more.

Alex reread the paragraph, his heart racing. He hadn't been imagining the connection between them; Jacob had felt it too. A slow smile spread across his face as he continued reading.

The evening at La Cuisine was one of the most memorable dining experiences of my career. Chef Chevalier's cuisine is not just exceptional; it is transformative. It has the power to challenge our perceptions, to awaken our senses, and to leave us craving more. I, for one, am already eager to return to La Cuisine, to lose myself once again in the chef's culinary embrace.

As Alex put the magazine down, he found himself thinking about Jacob. The critic's words had been so personal, so intimate. It was clear that Jacob had felt the same spark between them, the same unspoken connection. Alex couldn't help but wonder what this meant for them, both professionally and personally.

Lost in thought, Alex found himself in the kitchen, a new dish taking shape before him. He chopped, stirred, and tasted, each action a reflection of his emotions. As he added a final touch of garnish, he heard a soft knock at the kitchen door.

He turned to find Jacob standing in the doorway, a small smile playing on his lips. Alex's heart skipped a beat, surprise and pleasure warring within him.

"Jacob," he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. "What brings you to La Cuisine today?"

Jacob held up the magazine, his eyes twinkling. "I thought I'd come by to see if you'd read the review yet."

Alex chuckled, wiping his hands on his apron. "I have. Thank you, Jacob. It's truly an honor to have you write such kind words about my cooking."

Jacob stepped further into the kitchen, his eyes never leaving Alex's. "It was an honor to taste your cuisine, Alex. And I must admit, I found myself hoping that our professional relationship could become something more."

Alex's heart skipped a beat. He had been hoping for the same thing, but hearing Jacob say it out loud sent a thrill through him. He took a step closer to the critic, their eyes locked.

"I'd like that very much, Jacob," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

[ladyjaneasherr]

Gorgeous Jane Asher photographed by Willie Christie while modelling royal ascot hats for the magazine Tatler and Bystander, June 1978 issue. ❤️🌻

First picture is my colourisation and seems to be very similar to the one used for the magazine!

[uispeccoll]

Voices from the Stacks - The Morris Family

For the Morris family, achievement at Iowa is a family tradition. And luckily for all of us, it’s preserved with care in the Libraries Special Collections and Archives and the Iowa Women’s Archives. In today’s blog, we trace three generations of trailblazers in this impressive family tree.

James B. Morris Sr. - Image courtesy of Joan Liffring-Zug Bourget Collection, State Historical Society of Iowa, Iowa City, Iowa

James B. Morris Sr. launches a legacy

James Morris Sr., left his descendants with large shoes to fill. James Sr. served as the owner and editor of the Bystander, the oldest Black newspaper west of the Mississippi. He also founded the Negro Bar Association, now known as the National Bar Association, along with the Iowa State Conference of the NAACP in 1939 with his wife Georgine. Today, James Sr.’s legacy lives on through the James B. Morris Scholarship Fund, which “provides financial assistance, motivation and internship opportunities for Iowa’s minority students pursuing post-secondary degrees,” and through the accomplishments of the Morris family members who came after him.

Image: James B. Morris Jr. found on Iowa Digital Library

Journeying on with James B. Morris Jr.

James Sr. and Georgine’s son, James B. Morris Jr., graduated from the University of Iowa in 1949. During his undergraduate years, he documented much of his time in Iowa City in a scrapbook filled with photos and charming captions for the various characters in his life. In this scrapbook we can see early photos of James and his then girlfriend, Arlene, who would later become his wife. Though the scrapbook is mostly centered on staged photos of James, Arlene, and their friends, it also contains a few photos of James throughout his service as a captain in the US Army from 1941–1945.

Images: Cover of James B. Morris Scrapbook and photos of friends

After graduation, James returned to Des Moines, joining his father’s law practice and becoming an active civil rights leader. He worked as legal counsel and served as president for the Des Moines branch of the NAACP as well as an officer in the National Conference of Christians and Jews. Heavily engaged with local concerns, James served as a frequent mediator between the Black Panther Party and the Des Moines Police Department—alongside his role helping his father with the Iowa Bystander newspaper. It was with the Bystander that James wrote a column, “Looking Over the Hawkeyes,” which details the experiences of 65 Black men and 10 Black women who attended the University of Iowa but were not allowed to live in the dorms or eat in the university dining rooms. One of those 10 women was James’ wife, Arlene.  

Images: Left, Arlene and James. Right, Arlene for the cover of Eyes magazine found at Iowa Women's Archives

Arlene was very accomplished herself. While in college, Arlene appeared on the cover of the first issue of Eyes magazine, a publication focused on African American life and culture, as well as serving on the magazine’s staff. After graduating from the University of Iowa, Arlene moved on to Drake University in Des Moines to earn a master's degree in psychology. With this qualification, Arlene established herself as the first African American female psychologist to be licensed by the Iowa State Board of Psychology. Heavily engaged with local organizations, Arlene participated in the Know Your Neighborhood Panel, a group consisting of a diverse group of women who traveled around Iowa and to several other states to speak about tolerance among races and religions. Arlene Morris also served on the Iowa Advisory Committee of the United States Civil Rights Commission for more than three years in the 1980s.  

Image: Robert V. Morris, 1976 from Iowa Digital Library

Robert V. Morris carries the torch

Robert V. Morris, James and Arlene’s son, continued the legacy of his family with a long list of accomplishments in his communities. Following in his grandfather’s footsteps, Robert would take over the Iowa Bystander from 1979 to 1983, a heavy role for someone who was still enrolled as an undergraduate. But Robert was no stranger to taking on challenges from a young age; in 1979, when he was just three years out of high school, he founded the Iowa City branch of the NAACP, leading it while pursuing his education and his position at the newspaper. After graduating, Robert became president of the Iowa-Nebraska chapter of the NAACP and wrote Black Faces of War: A Legacy of Honor from the American Revolution to Today, a book stemming from his previous television documentary project.  

Image: Robert interviewing Atlanta mayor Maynard Jackson, 1979 at the Iowa Memorial Union

The legacy of the Morris family has incredible significance within Iowa City and across the Midwest. Many materials related to the Morris family are held in the University of Iowa Libraries Special Collections and Archives and have been digitized. They can be viewed online in the Morris Family Papers Digital Collection. Arlene Morris’ personal papers, IWA 276, can be found in the Iowa Women’s Archives. 

-Kaylee S., Olson Graduate Research Assistant

[creecherfeecherofficial]

Monster Mags Discord

Hello friends and fellow monster lovers! I'm your local Creecher, here to let you all know about my funky lil projects. Due to a lack of monster content, I have decided we need monster magazines.

Critter Corner is a sfw, creature design magazine for authors and artists of any medium (except AI)! Written entries would be written as a person observing a fictional creature, such as a researcher, bystander, or victim of said creature.

Monster Smash is our 18+ magazine for monsterfuckers of all tiers, but is geared towards higher tiers such as formless monstrosities or non-human monsters! We aim for it to also feature authors and artists of all mediums (except AI), as well as having a special feature in our Monster Match dating quiz!

We are currently seeking friends who would be interested in participating in either one of these to join the discord and help make these magazines a reality. If you're interested, please join us at our Monster Mags Discord here!

[byneddiedingo]

Joe Pesci and Barbara Hershey in The Public Eye (Howard Franklin, 1992)

Cast: Joe Pesci, Barbara Hershey, Stanley Tucci, Jerry Adler, Dominic Chianese, Richard Riehle, Richard Schiff, Jared Harris. Screenplay: Howard Franklin. Cinematography: Peter Suschitzky. Production design: Marcia Hinds. Film editing: Evan A. Lottman. Music: Mark Isham. 

Before they were paparazzi, they were shutterbugs, and the most notorious of them was Arthur Fellig, known as Weegee. Fellig's ability to get to a crime scene first, often before the police, made him famous, but he also thought of himself as a serious documentary photographer. Howard Franklin based the protagonist of The Public Eye, Leon Bernstein, aka Bernzy (Joe Pesci), on Fellig/Weegee, including the character's willingness to cheat a little to make his pictures better. Bernzy, for example, coming upon a corpse before the cops arrive, rearranges the body a little to make the composition of the shot better. Once, he asks a bystander to toss the victim's hat into the frame: "People like to see the hat," he says. Weegee likewise knew how to pose and frame his pictures: One of his most famous documents the arrival of a pair of bejeweled and befurred dowagers at the Metropolitan Opera opening night in 1943, while a drab and frowzy woman gawps at them. It was published in Life magazine and in the following year was exhibited at the Museum of Modern Art, where the reaction to its comic juxtaposition gave the shutterbug a reputation as an artist. But it was not a candid photograph: Weegee and his friends had found a barfly, plied her with wine, and shoved her into the frame at just the right moment. Franklin gives Bernzy some of Weegee's duplicity, but he's more intent on making his shutterbug into a hero who uses his street smarts to foil a plot by the mob to muscle in on the distribution of gasoline rationing coupons -- the film takes place in 1942. He also falls in love with Kay Levitz (Barbara Hershey), a beautiful nightclub owner. In short, the movie is slick when it should be gritty. Pesci gives a restrained performance, almost as if he doesn't want to repeat himself, having just won an Oscar as the volatile Tommy DeVito ("What do you mean I'm funny?") in Goodfellas (Martin Scorsese, 1990). There are good performances by Hershey, Stanley Tucci as a young mobster, Jerry Adler as a newspaper columnist friend of Bernzy's, and Jared Harris as a doorman at Kay's nightclub. But the movie never builds the tension it needs for the story to have much payoff at the end.