#Jeff Van Drew

[90s-2000s-barbie]

TV Guides 📺

Back before we had the TV Guide channel, we had to by the guides every week. Our area didn’t have a TV Guide channel till I was in high school. We bought these for decades.

[funnypages]

Asking the real questions

[mitjalovse]

A couple of surprising finales presented a direction that turned into a conclusion with a hindsight, but you also had a hunch there was more to be promised. Ice Cream For Crow by Captain Beefheart and The Magic Band, for instance, is quite weird. That's normal for him, though he did go on the LP I mentioned into a soundscape that could be described as the 80's Tom Waits taking a ton of hard drugs, then visiting his favourite place to gather some strangers to play music – notice I didn't say musicians – and finishing this with a trip to a local wasteland, where his cohorts are told to play whatever instrument the way they like. Unsurprisingly, he makes all that work out and yet he could've gone further in this mode, mind you, though he just … stopped.

[rottenaero]

Ao3

Part 1

Part 3

Part two to the roommates idea

Whenever the mall ‘burns down’, Eddie is just chilling at home; not doing anything special.

Actually, thats a complete lie. He hadn't seen Steve since he left for his shift the day before, and currently has his band+Wayne scattered in the living room as he paces.

“He may as well be dead, he always calls before staying the night somewhere, and he totally despises that place, so why would he stay after hours?” He comes to a halt infront of Jeff who looks considering. “What?!"

“Maybe, consider, he just forgot to call you." Eddie scoffed, “ ‘Maybe he just forgot’, except you don't know him, Jeff. Steve doesn't forget, tell ‘em Wayne."

Wayne nods from his spot on the lazyboy, “ ‘S true, he'd rather call at 2am than have us worrying.”

Gareth rolls his eyes, “Look Edmund, I get your worried about you boyfriend and all but why did we have to get dragged into this?" He complained, and Eddie began pacing again.

“ Not,my boyfriend, yet, and you’re getting-”

A ringing interrupts him.

The pacing stopped almost as soon as it began, and he darts to the phone. “ Y’hello, it's Eddie talking.” A sharp breath drew from the other end of the line.

“Hey Eds."

Eddie smiled, “Holy shit, Stevie. I thought you died. Wayne and the guys are literally gathered in the living room.” Upon hearing the name, Wayne visibly relaxed, going from hunched over to leaning backwards in seconds.

“Yeah I'm- Well shit not okay but I'm not dead.”In the background there was a noise, barely noticeable but-

“Wait, what? Are those sirens? Are you hurt? What the hell-” Wayne leaned forward again.

“I'm at the mall, there's been, uh, an accident? I don't- they took my keys, I need a ride back home.”

“Who took your keys? Steve you can't just be all ominous and-” The phone line shut off. "Fuck!”

Grant, who hasn't been helpful at all, stood up. "What did he do?”

Eddie groans, running a hand through his greasy hair, “Needs us to pick him up, might be hurt. He's such a- Wayne we're taking my van, you guys coming?”

Turns out the answer is yes.

-

They arrive at the mall five minutes later, mostly because Eddie was driving like a bat outta hell, to every emergency vehicle you can think of, plus thirty more, surrounding the place.

Eddie roles his window down when a cop signals him. “What are you doing over here?"

The metalhead bites his lip, what the hell, “Uh, I'm here to pick up Steve Harrington? He got involved in whatever's happening.”

The cops nods, "Alright, park your vehicle over there, and go get him.”

He does as he's told, a surprising feat showing just how scared he was, because Steve being hurt could mean so many things.

They get out the car, Wayne being the leading man, and head to where the commotion is.

The mall was totally destroyed, a couple kids he didn't know were sitting around, surrounded by their parents, there's a couple teens too, Nancy Wheeler, Johnny Byers, a girl in a sailor costume, and-

Eddie’s heart stopped and he fucking sped forward. “ Holy shit, what the fuck man." Steve looked like hell, understatement of the century but-

His face was bruised and bloody, his hands wrapped in casts, his hair was flat and gross and he was still in his damn sailor costume.

“Hey Munsons, Gareth, Jeff, Grant. It's the whole Scooby gang, or Smurfs, whoever you prefer.” Eddie grabbed his shoulders, and stared him dead in the eye. “ What. The. Fuck. Are you high too?!”

“Just what the hell did you get yourself into. " Wayne said more than asked, shaking his head.

Steve buzzed his lips, his eyebrows furrowed and he brought a hand to them and-

God they were split, and bleeding now. He looked back up at the long haired man infront of him, ignoring Wayne's question-not-question.

“Nah, just recovering from being drugged. Hey this is rivveting conversation and shit, but like, I wanna go home and sleep in your bed, man. Or the couch, or the floor.”

He let out a loud laugh, “Fuck I am not picky right now, I'll even take the back of the van.”

“Christ."

-

They don't talk about it, not after Hellfire goes home, not the next morning, not after Steve heals. They just don't, because the news told them all they need to know, that there was a fire. Eddie just assumed when they said he was drugged, that he meant medically.

(He didn't)

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

I'm taking a break from my regularly scheduled WIP to bring you this Scoops Ahoy AU one-shot. It's a long one.

Eddie was about to enter Scoops Ahoy when he saw Steve in front of the counter, his back to him. He was in full uniform, hat on top and all. He was practicing drawing his scoop like he was a cowboy. Eddie's eyes wondered over his backside, giggling at Steve being a dork, and his heart was beating rapidly. Yeah, he liked that a lot, especially the legs attached to the ass. Steve twirled around and smiled at Eddie. He drew his scoop and pretended to shoot him. Eddie clutched his chest and dropped to the floor. He heard Steve’s laughter ring out, and it was the best thing in the world. Shit. He liked Steve Harrington. Eddie jumped up and took off, barely listening to Steve screaming behind him.

"It was just an ice cream scoop!"

Eddie ran all the way out into the parking lot and jumped into his van. He turned it on and thought about where he wanted to go, and then he cursed. Shit, he was supposed to meet Jeff here for a movie. He turned off his van and jumped when someone knocked on his window. He yelped when he saw that it was Steve Harrington. Eddie looked at him wearily before rolling down his window.

"Making special deliveries now, Cap?" Eddie asked, hoping he was actually as calm as he thought he was being.

"Only for people who drop their wallets," Steve grinned, holding up his wallet.

Eddie squeaked and went to grab it, but Steve pulled it back with a grin.

"Never took you for a bully, Harrington," Eddie smirked.

"Seriously?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, a little bitchy? Yes. Bully? No. Not even you would do that. Too busy hiding secrets in that hair of yours," he said, his eyes twinkling.

"Oh. And what secrets are hiding in your hair, Munson?" Steve asked, leaning on the frame.

Eddie trailed his fingers across Steve’s arm. Shit, was he really flirting with him?

"How about you climb into the back of my van and find out?" Eddie asked.

He surprised both of them with that question. He didn't think that he would be so forward. Steve grinned.

"Okay, but I only have fifteen minutes," Steve said he set his watch.

Steve started walking around to the other side, and Eddie quickly scrambled into the back. He flopped onto his back and onto the blanket he kept in the van. Steve opened the door, crawled into the van, and closed the door behind him, lying down beside Eddie.

"So, I have to ask," Steve said, leaning on his elbow. "Why did you run away when I shot you with my ice cream scoop?"

"Uh, there was a bee. A really big bee," Eddie said.

"A big bee, huh?" Steve asked.

"Yeah. I, uh, I really didn't think I ever liked bees before, but I saw this bee, and it was actually kind of cute. A cute dorky bee," Eddie said. "It scared me how much I liked this bee."

"So, was this bee blue, white, and red?" Steve grinned.

"Hmm, you cracked my code," Eddie said. "Damn."

"So is it the fact that I'm a jock or the fact that I'm a guy?" He asked.

"I've always liked women, and I never even questioned it even when other people assumed it about me," Eddie said. "And they always did."

"Funny, people always assumed I was straight even though I wanted them to think otherwise," Steve said.

"I'm obvious. You're not," Eddie grinned.

Steve laughed and placed his hand on his chest, dragging his nails gently across his chest.

"So, you really didn't think I was an asshole in high school?" Steve asked.

"No, mostly because I know how much you tried to stop the basketball players from beating the shit out of us," Eddie said. "Even Tommy Hagan was harmless. He was all talk and too much of a chicken shit to actually do anything about it. Plus, Gareth told me all about how you once stopped Tommy Hayes from beating the shit out of him."

"I fucking hate that guy, him and Jason Carver both. I tried to go to Principal Higgins about it, but he seemed like he was really out to get you. I don't what the fuck that guy's problem with you is but I kind of wanted to kick his ass," Steve scoffed.

"There's a picture," Eddie grinned. "So, did you always know you liked guys? I mean, I should have known at some point, right?"

"I don't think that you can put an exact time frame on something like this, especially since it's different for everyone. I was reading a parenting book, and it suggested that you shouldn't compare your child with other children because they grow and develop at like different rates," Steve said. "I figure that probably works the same with sexuality too."

"Why were you reading a parenting book?" Eddie asked.

"Oh, these kids that I babysit have been having nightmares, and I've been trying to figure out the best way to help them," Steve said.

Eddie pinned him down and climbed on top of him. Steve looked at him in surprise.

"You're the fucking cutest," Eddie said.

He leaned down and kissed him. Eddie mewed softly against his mouth when Steve kissed him back and grabbed the back of his head. His other hand was pressed against Eddie's lower back. Eddie kissed him roughly, rocking his hips against his. He liked the feeling of Steve’s lips against his and the way his hands felt in his hair. He definitely liked the way his hand felt against his backside. His entire body was buzzing. Eddie reached behind him to grab Steve’s hand and moved it so it was cupping his butt. Steve chuckled against his mouth. Suddenly, the van door flew open, causing them to break the kiss. Jeff stood there, staring at the scene with wide eyes.

"Hey, man," Eddie said casually as he continued to straddle Steve Harrington.

He couldn't explain this one away, considering Steve’s hand was on his ass.

"What?!" Jeff exclaimed.

"This is exactly what it looks like," Eddie said.

"I didn't know that you were into guys," Jeff said, looking at them both.

"Is this going to be a problem?" Steve asked with wide eyes, and Jeff laughed.

"No, man, I'm gay," Jeff said, and Steve breathed a sigh of relief.

"You didn't know I was into guys?" Eddie asked with a scoff. "I didn't know I was into guys."

"So, new discovery then?" Jeff asked, and Eddie nodded. "Want me to close the door?"

Jeff wiggled his eyebrows at Eddie. He was about to reply when Steve’s watch went off. Eddie frowned.

"Damn it!" Steve cursed. "I have to get back to work."

"We were making out longer than we thought," Eddie said with grin. "Can we do this again?"

"Yeah, you got a pen?" Steve asked.

Eddie dove towards the front of his van, grabbing a pen out of a cup holder. Steve whistled at his ass and Eddie cackled as he turned around, handing Steve the pen. Steve grabbed his arm and began writing numbers into Eddie's skin. Once he was finished, he bent down and blew on the ink to let it dry, looking directly at Eddie while he did it. Eddie shuddered as his breath hit his skin.

"Call me," Steve winked and hopped out of the van. "See you . . .?"

"Jeff," he replied.

"Jeff," Steve said, nodding at him and walking off.

"Wait, my wallet!" Eddie exclaimed.

"Check your back pocket!" Steve yelled.

Eddie frowned and checked his back pocket. Sure enough, his wallet was there.

"You sexy magician," Eddie muttered.

"Dude, that thing with the number was insanely hot," Jeff said. "Are you going to be able to concentrate on the movie?"

"I'm going to do something to screw this up. I know it!" Eddie exclaimed and buried his head into the blanket.

A couple of weeks later, and so far, Eddie hadn't screwed anything up. It was going well for him and Steve. He had called Steve that very same night, and they had talked for an hour before agreeing to meet at Steve's house for their first date. The asshole had cooked him dinner and everything. Eddie had insisted on cleaning the dishes with Steve, which had turned into them splashing soapy water at each other. After that, they sprawled onto the couch to watch TV, which had turned into a heavy makeout session that had Eddie losing his shirt and Steve nibbling on his tattoos. According to Steve, they're hot. Now, here he was bouncing into Scoops Ahoy to visit Steve. Steve’s co-worker, Robin, rolled her eyes at him.

"Hey, Stevie, is it your breaktime yet?" Eddie grinned.

"Yes, and for the love of God, do your little drug deal in the storage closet," Robin said. "If you must."

Steve grinned as he pulled Eddie into the break room and then into the storage closet, turning the lock.

"She thinks I'm selling you drugs," Eddie laughed as Steve pushed him up against the wall.

"Yeah, I got you something," Steve smiled and started digging around in his pockets.

"Yeah, you do," Eddie wiggled his eyebrows.

"No, not that," Steve snorted. "Although, maybe later if you're a good boy. Here."

He pulled a bumblebee pin out of his pocket. Eddie grinned and took it, an overwhelming wave or affection for the guy in front of him. He quickly added it to the pins on his vest.

"Thanks, Stevie," Eddie said and kissed him softly before cooing at him. "Sweet boy."

Steve blushed as he fiddled with the pin on his vest.

"I was hoping to ask you a question, and I'd get if you don't want to or if you want to keep thing the way they are but - ," Steve said.

"Will you be my boyfriend?" Eddie blurted out.

"Yeah!" He exclaimed, his eyes bright. "That's what I was going to ask you."

"You should know that I've never wanted to be someone's boyfriend before, not until you came along," Eddie said. "I don't know even know how to be a boyfriend."

"We'll figure it out together," Steve grinned.

Eddie kissed him, pulling his body close to his as he wrapped his arms around his neck. Steve smiled against his lips, slipping his tongue into his mouth. Suddenly, the door opened, and Robin burst in.

"I need help - Shit!" Robin exclaimed.

"I, uh, lost something," Eddie said.

"What? Did you lose your keys in his mouth?" Robin asked.

"I might have," Eddie scowled.

"And you searched for them with your tongue?" She asked.

"It's really good search method," he said.

"Try again," she said.

"He really wanted a discount," Eddie said.

"Hm, that's a little more believable," Robin said.

"Steve," Eddie whined.

"Relax, Munson, I'm a lesbian," Robin said.

"Really?" Eddie and Steve grinned.

"Yeah, I hate to pull you away from your boyfriend, but there are a lot of customers now, and I need help," Robin said softly. "Oh, did you know that the lock on this door is broken?"

"I do now," Steve replied.

"Nice bee pin, Munson," Robin said.

"Thanks, my new boyfriend gave it to me," he said, batting his eyelashes at Steve.

"That's cute," Robin said. "He pinned you."

"I know! We're sooo going steady. I'm hoping he'll give me his letterman and takes me to the sock hop," Eddie squealed, batting his eyelashes again.

"Okay," Steve rolled his eyes and pushed them out of the closet. "You two are not becoming friends."

"We're all becoming friends, Harrington," Robin replied.

"Oh. Well, that's okay then," Steve said softly.

And friends the three of them did become. Eddie even invited them to see their band play at the Hideout. They had both enjoyed it immensely to his delight. Robin and Jeff had hit it off, most likely laughing about Eddie and Steve. Eddie didn't think that Steve would pull him into the bathroom and get on his knees for him. He didn't think he was that good, but Steve, apparently, thought differently. Steve had been a big hit with all of his friends, especially when he remembered Gareth by making note of the fact that he didn't have his braces anymore. The only thing left to do was introduce Steve to his uncle. Coming out to Wayne had been easy because it didn't change anything between them like he thought it would.

"You're my nephew, and I'm still your uncle. If I didn't give up on you when you robbed that truck full of weed, then there is nothing you can do or be that's gonna scare me off, son," Wayne said.

Now, here they were, waiting for Steve to arrive. He should have been here by now. Eddie was pacing the floor of the living room, his stomach in knots.

"Relax, son, he's going to be here," Wayne said.

"I feel like something is wrong. Something is seriously wrong," Eddie frowned.

Suddenly, there was a loud mechanical roaring sound like the sound of a helicopter. Eddie and Wayne walked outside to find several military looking helicopters flying overhead. Eddie quickly scrambled on top of the trailer to see where they were flying. Eddie blanched when he saw the smoke, and he quickly scrambled back down.

"What?" Wayne asked.

"There's smoke coming from Starcourt," Eddie said. "Steve works there. I need to go!"

"We're both going, and I'll drive," Wayne said, clapping a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"I knew it, I knew it," Eddie kept muttering as they drove.

When they pulled up to Starcourt, they found a military blockade in front of the mall. They were denied entry as soon as they walked up. Wayne pulled him aside.

"I'll distract them. You go find your boy," he said.

Eddie looked at him doubtfully for a moment before Wayne started yelling at the guards. Eddie took the opportunity to run past them.

"STEVE! STEVE?!" Eddie shrieked as he fought through people's arms.

He was full on sobbing, his eyes blurry with tears. He didn't notice until he ran into Hopper.

"Munson, what the hell are you doing here?" Hopper asked.

"I'm looking for Steve. Is he okay? He's not - tell me he's not - " Eddie started to babble.

"EDDIE?!" Steve’s voice sounded from across the parking lot.

Eddie let out a strangled sob and ran across the parking lot. He threw his arms around Steve’s neck, hugging him tightly. Steve was stunned for a moment, but he soon wrapped his arms around Eddie, hugging him back just as tightly. Eddie pulled back slightly, but not out of his arms.

"Oh my God, baby, what happened to your face?" Eddie asked and then sighed. "It's okay. You don't have to talk about it right now. I'm just glad you're okay."

"Steve. . .who is this guy, and why did he just call you baby?" A curly haired boy in a hat asked.

"This must be Dustin," Eddie grinned.

"Oh, you talked about me?" Dustin asked with a grin.

"Dustin, this is Eddie Munson," Steve rolled his eyes.

"Oh! He's the friend you wouldn't shut up about," Dustin said.

"You wouldn't shut up about little old me?" Eddie batted his eyelashes at him and paused. "You can tell your kids, I don't mind."

"Eddie's my boyfriend," Steve said.

"Boyfriend?!" Dustin and the kids exclaimed.

"Eddie, the redhead is Max Mayfield, El Hopper, Lucas Sinclair, Mike Wheeler, and this is - "

"Will, right?" Eddie asked.

"Oh my God! You're the guy from the music store!" Will exclaimed excitedly.

"Huh?" Steve asked.

"Mom! It's that guy from the music store that I told you about!" Will said excitedly. "The one who took the baseball for me!"

A short woman with brown hair and brown eyes came wondering over.

"You're the one who did that for my boy?" She asked.

"Yeah," Eddie said.

"Thank you. I'm Joyce Byers, by the way," she said and hugged him tightly. "Did I just hear you're Steve’s boyfriend?"

"Yes," he said.

"Oh, that's so great. I'm happy for you, Steve. He sounds like a great guy," Joyce said. "You guys are cute."

"Thanks, Joyce," Steve smiled.

"I didn't know you were gay, Steve," Mike said, not unkindly.

"We're bisexual," Steve and Eddie said in unison.

"We like both," Eddie explained when some of them looked confused.

"You can do that?!" Lucas exclaimed.

"Yes, idiot," Max said. "I think it's so cool that you're both bisexual."

"We think so too," Steve said.

He felt Steve leaning against him, and he looked over at him in concern.

"I'm going to get this one to a hospital," Eddie said.

Robin parted her way through the kids and stood on Steve’s other side.

"I'm going with you," Robin said.

"I don't need to go to the hospital," Steve said.

"Yes, dingus, you do," Robin said.

"I'm not taking no for an answer, sweetheart," Eddie said.

"Okay," Steve said as Eddie slipped an arm around his waist.

His uncle was waiting by the van, and he grimaced at the sight of Steve.

"You okay, son?" Wayne asked.

"He will be once he gets to the hospital," Eddie said.

"You must be Wayne. I'm glad to finally meet you. Wish it was under better circumstances, though," Steve said.

"Me too, son," Wayne said and helped Eddie get him into the van.

Robin climbed up front while Eddie climbed in the back with Steve. He pulled him into his arms as Wayne drove off.

"You scared the hell out of me," Eddie whispered.

"Sorry," Steve replied.

"Nothing to apologize for," Eddie said. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too," Steve said.

"Steve - I, uh, - " Eddie said nervously.

"Yeah?" Steve asked.

"I love you," Eddie whispered.

Steve picked his head up and gazed at him. It was true. He loved him. This time, he wasn't going to run away or sabotage it. The only direction he wanted to run to was towards Steve.

"I love you too," Steve said.

Suddenly, there came a loud sniffle from up front.

"Uncle Wayne, are you crying?" Eddie asked.

"No!" Wayne exclaimed, and Eddie cackled. "Shut up, boy!"

Eddie threw his head back and laughed. His life was complete.

[randomitemdrop]

Trick or trivia

Happy Halloween! I do enjoy trivia of many types, but one of my favorite genres is what I call the Berenstein Timeline: unmade shows and movies, versions of classic movies where studios and producers made different decisions, some better, some much worse. All of these are real projects that were, on some level, considered (there are some recurring names)

"Heat Vision & Jack", a 90s pastiche of 70s-80s action shows starring Jack Black as an astronaut on the run from the law and Owen Wilson as his talking motorcycle

"Jurassic Park" directed by Tim Burton with Johnny Depp as Alan Grant, Jim Carrey as Ian Malcolm, and Vincent Price as John Hammond

the 90s "Batman" directed by Ivan Reitman; Bill Murray and Eddie Murphy were going to star but couldn't decide which of them would be Batman and which would be Robin

Back in the 1970s the American network was getting good numbers showing heavily-edited reruns of "Monty Python's Flying Circus", so they tried to sell the Pythons on the next logical step: an animated Saturday morning cartoon

"Edward Scissorhands" still directed by Burton but starring Tom Cruise or maybe Michael Jackson

"Return of the Jedi" directed by David Lynch; Harrison Ford was considering not coming back for the third movie and so when he came out of the carbonite there was a chance he would have been Christopher Walken

Guillermo del Toro's "At the Mountains of Madness". Also "the Hobbit" and lots of other things, he seems to have a lot of unmade projects

the 2010s "Star Trek" movie directed by Quentin Tarantino, where the edgy reboot crew visits the Gangster Planet from that one stupid episode of the original series

Everybody knows about the unmade "Superman Lives" starring Nicolas Cage in the title role, but did you know it was going to be directed by Tim Burton and include Christopher Walken as Brainiac, who would have been a green head on spider legs

Harold Ramis didn't particularly want to act on camera, so when they were casting "Ghostbusters" Egon could have been Christopher Walken, Christopher Lloyd, Jeff Goldblum, or John Lithgow. Supposedly the movie was originally intended to be a relatively serious exploration of Dan Akroyd's very real interest in paranormal investigation, although this clashes a bit with the fact that Peter Venkman was originally going to be played by John Belushi and Winston Zeddmore was written for Eddie Murphy who backed out when the character's backstory and most of his lines were cut

John Waters' animated series "Uncle John" on 90s MTV

the original version of "Bill & Ted's Time Van" starring Pauly Shore and Sean Penn

"Red Dragon" (the original Hannibal Lecter novel) directed by David Lynch starring John Lithgow as Hannibal Lecter and Mel Gibson as Will Graham

the 1970s "Dr. Strange" TV series

the 1990s Disney animated "John Carter of Mars"

the 1990s Warner Bros animated "King Tut" musical with songs by Prince

the serious horror version of "Beetlejuice"

Drew Barrymore's 2000s remake of "Barbarella"

the Dungeons & Dragons movie James Cameron was going to make until TSR left the table over merchandising disputes, forcing Cameron to go work on some dumb movie about the Titanic

American "Doctor Who" movie starring Michael Jackson

Canadian "Doctor Who" cartoon by Nelvana starring a Doctor based intensely off of either Jeff Goldblum or Christopher Lloyd

"Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone" directed by Terry Gilliam

"Good Omens" directed by Terry Gilliam and starring Johnny Depp and Robin Williams

"The Black Cauldron" using character and background designs by Nightmare-era Tim Burton

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Luck of the Draw

Day #8 - Prompt: Band Politics | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language | POV: Jeff | Pairing: None | Tags: Making Decisions, Fussing and Fighting, Like Overgrown Children

Jeff passes out the poker chips, counting out a stack for each of them, to see how this goes. Because there's clearly no other way. They keep fighting about the stupidest shit, and if they're gonna make this tour work, they're gonna have to stop bickering over nonsense.

"Each chip is a unilateral decision, no pushback. Over and done," Jeff says, and pulls out the baggie full of paper slips covering all the dumb shit they've been arguing about. 

It's not any of the big decisions. Those things can't be decided like this. But the small shit? Absolutely. 

"Draw a slip of paper," Jeff says, "and if you care enough about what's on it, you spend one of your chips to make the decision between the options we've been discussing. No going rogue. These have to be decisions that make sense, logically, even if we all don't agree."

Everybody nods. They roll a die, to decide who will get to go first, and it's Eddie, which is no surprise. He's always had that kind of good luck behind a roll.

Eddie draws a piece of paper, and reads, "What to paint on the van."

Goodie and Gareth both groan, and Eddie squirms in his seat with delight, handing over one of his chips.

Eddie's had strong opinions about this, and it's pretty fucking lucky that this is what he drew. If Jeff hadn't set everything up himself, he'd definitely think Eddie had cheated somehow to rig the system. There's probably nothing else Eddie has fought harder for, so this is a best case scenario, because they won't have to listen to him bitch anymore.

"Picture it," Eddie says, hands waving, as if he's setting the scene, "Corroded Coffin. Naked pin-up lady-"

"Why on earth do you want a naked lady?" Goodie interrupts, the ongoing fight picking right back up.

Which is not allowed. The luck of the draw has spoken. Eddie gets to choose.

"It's ironic," Eddie says, as if that's obvious.

"It's not-" Goodie starts to snap, and Jeff has to nip this in the bud.

"No. Nope. Eddie gets to decide this one. Next!"

And Gareth grabs a slip of paper from the hat, reads it, and groans.

"What is it? Jeff asks.

"Getting to decide the standard setlist," Gareth answers.

"You want it?"

Gareth waffles, not wanting to give up his turn, clearly, but also probably not caring about the setlist. This has been a back-and-forth Jeff has had with Eddie, and Eddie alone. Gareth doesn't care what order they play songs, just that they play. 

"Pass," Gareth says, throwing the slip of paper back into the drawing pool.

Jeff shakes them again, and lets Goodie take his pick.

"Shotgun schedule," Goodie says with absolute glee, and Gareth throws his hands in the air.

"Well, that's fucking great!" Gareth snaps.

Jeff reaches over and squeezes Gareth's shoulder, "He gets to choose the schedule, he does not get it all the time. Right, Goodie?" Jeff prompts and Goodie grumbles, but nods. 

Gareth will still get screwed, Jeff's absolutely certain of that, but he will get his turn. Jeff will make sure of it. They aren't trying to piss each other off that bad, he hopes.

And then Jeff grabs one himself, "Tour routing."

Eddie starts to argue, because he has big thoughts about this, too. Eddie has big thoughts about everything, and he'd steamroll them all if they'd let him. 

They've been fighting about the route the next tour should take. Stay in the Midwest, or venture out further. Whether the van can handle that, even. This one is a big responsibility, and Jeff wants to take it on, so they don't end up on a wild goose chase of a tour.

"It's mine," Jeff says, forking over his chip.

And then they start all over, picking and choosing, until there's a stack of papers left, and Gareth is the only one with a chip left, because he skipped that first turn.

He keeps drawing and throwing them back, ending up redrawing things over and over again, and Jeff's not sure what he's looking for in there. They're never gonna finish this up at this rate.

"Gareth. It's just you. Open them and set them aside. Pick the one you want. It's fine. Just get on with it," Jeff says, trying to steer this in the right direction.

Gareth does, until he has a table full of open slips, looking over all the options leftover. Options they will still have to make decisions on, eventually, but not today. Jeff's hit his limit for the day, they all have, except Gareth apparently, as he wavers.

"For fuck's sake, pick one or I'm picking one for you!" Goodie shouts at him, and Gareth just ignores him.

"What do you want, kid? What are you looking for?" Eddie finally asks. 

"Room assignments," Gareth said, "did someone else get that?"

They all shake their heads.

"That wasn't even an option. Have we been fighting about that?" Jeff asks.

Gareth looks disappointed, "No. But I just didn't want to fight about it."

Jeff always assumed he'd stay with Goodie and Gareth would stay with Eddie. A given. But if Gareth wants to pick that, fine. Jeff scrawls it on a piece of paper and slides it over, "All yours."

Gareth looks thrilled, and Jeff starts to clean up the mess. This isn't over, not by a long shot, but at least they've made some progress. 

Eddie and Goodie are gone, out to grab a couple pizzas, and Jeff can't resist asking. "Why the room assignments?" 

Gareth looks up, "Because I don't want to fight with Goodie all day and then all night, too."

Oh. This is gonna be a bigger issue than he thought, probably. Nobody warns you that these things are the hardest parts about being in a band. 

The little squabbles, and slights, that snowball.

The resentments that build, and fester.

Jeff catches his eye, "I'll make sure that doesn't happen."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[robthegoodfellow]

whenever I see a post about corvid intelligence or crows befriending people I wanna write this scenario where Eddie accidentally earns the loyalty of Hawkins' crows. Like it starts with him tossing his leftover sandwich crusts at a few hanging around the trailer park, and then...

A squawking fracas woke him one morning, so obnoxious that he dragged himself outside to investigate or chase away the mob of birds fighting over dibs at the dumpster. Instead, he followed the noise to the rusted fence behind his uncle's place that'd been holding on by a corroded thread for years—until approximately ten minutes ago, when the racket started up. Beneath the fallen section of flaking chain links was a tangled lump of black feathers, beaked head poking through to bay at the air. Its comrades ducked and bobbed around it, pecking at the metal bars, but every tug only ensnared the trapped bird worse.

On reflection, rushing in with an oh, shit wasn't the best move—the crowd of hecklers launched to hover in the air, feinting at him in screeching chorus.

"I come in peace!" he cried, hunched under pleading hands. Kept one arm raised like he sported an invisible shield, one eye on the dive-bombers, and crouching low, groped at the snarl of metal on the ground.

One bomber dove for his face, veering to avoid a defensive swipe.

"I'm trying to help. Quit murdering me!"

The hecklers heckled. Tough crowd. Eddie grimaced, trying to get a grip that wouldn't also give him tetanus, and managed to lift the shorn links. Soon as it cleared off the dirt, the squished feathers wriggled and twisted, yanking free with a rattle.

"See?" Eddie shouted, as the bolt of black shook itself and took to the air. "You're welcome. Now shut the fuck up!"

They didn't, but allowed him to escape back his trailer unmolested.

He hadn't thought anything of it, until a few days later, when he found a small pile of shiny trash on his doorstep. Broken teeny-bopper charm bracelet, a nickle, a bottle cap... and a guitar pick.

A squawk drew his attention to the pair of crows perched on the roof. Bending, Eddie grabbed the pick.

"This?" he said, waving it. "This is legal tender! Not the rest of this junk. Although..." He crouched to get a better look at the bracelet. "This does have its charms," he admitted.

The crows heckled. Eddie ignored them, fiddling to detach the dolphin, repurpose the clip to latch the plastic chain round his wrist. Liked the contrast—garish neons against his leather cuff, dark bands of brown and black.

"Fuck it, right?" He raised his fist, newly bedazzled, to salute the supplicants with some devil horns. "Rock and roll."

And from then on, he and the crows had an understanding. If they were making a racket within earshot, he'd go check if they needed help, and if they found something he might like, they'd leave an offering on the stoop. Highlights included a BIC lighter and a tattered twenty dollar bill. Once, he'd accidentally left his keys at the picnic table where he did business and barely had time to notice, patting his pockets with sinking realization, when they clattered to the pavement—just dropped from the sky.

"Ah, killer!" Relieved, he scooped them up, then put fist to palm and bowed his thanks to the crow alighting atop the van.

As a sign of respect, he'd started incorporating crows as part of his aesthetic: got some sick tattoos on his chest and forearm, had a growing collection of feathers he kept in a jar like a goth bouquet, added a couple silhouettes to perch inside the Os of the Corroded Coffin banner. Even designed a druid character with a crow familiar, which he kindly gifted to Gareth when his player got roasted beyond revival by a wyvern.

"You're like Snow White," Jeff joked, as Eddie pocketed a quarter, binning the rest of the stoop offerings. Jeff was crashing there for the weekend to escape divorce drama at home.

"Quid pro crow, man," said Eddie, shrugging. "Do them a solid and they'll get you back."

A pair of hecklers cawed from the roof. Ed flipped them the bird. They were his regulars, the ones he’d dubbed Statler and Waldorf.

Jeff paused, squinting at them, speculative. Then dug out a packet of half-eaten peanut butter crackers and tossed them up, one at a time. Cue the jubilant, cackling duet.

“Yeah, that’ll do it,” Eddie predicted, motioning him inside.

Didn’t know at the time how right he was—or how closely his crownies were following his movements around town, monitoring from on high. And not just his movements, but the people considered part of his “flock,” so to speak.

One day, Gareth and Jeff showed up for practice a little worse for wear, victims of the knuckle-draggers that populated the football team. Ripped shirt, bloody lip. The usual.

Unusual was the crowd gathered in the parking lot the next day, a baffled circle around the quarterback’s hot rod, which that morning gleamed red but at some point during school had been treated to a fresh coat of bird shit. White gooey splatters from hood to trunk.

It was a convertible. He’d left the top down.

And stuck to the windshield, like a calling card: a black feather.

Eddie was quick to corral the guys away, hushing all vengeful laughter until they were safely in the van, then they let loose. Jeff was wiping tears of mirth, wheezing: “You weren’t kidding, man.”

“Look,” Frankie cried, pointing out the windshield, and lo—Statler and Waldorf were perched on the wipers, joined by Damsel, so named because Ed was pretty sure it’d been the one he found in such distress, way back when.

As one, the band saluted their benefactors, and Eddie swore the birds puffed their chests, bobbing their heads in satisfaction.

From then on, it was swooping season for anyone who bothered him or the boys under the keen surveillance of those eyes in the skies.

But Eddie knew he’d gone beyond Disney princess status that summer. He was fooling around on the Warlock outside the trailer, unplugged, lounging in a lawn chair, humming under his breath—just some Ozzy, flying high again—when a sudden flapping weight dipped the neck of the guitar.

“You scratch this thing, I will murder you,” he warned, eying the pinchy talons gripping between the pegs. Damsel cocked its head, like oh, really? Eddie gently jerked the Warlock, a shooing motion, and Damsel hopped with a huffy flutter onto his knee.

They stared each other down for a sec—a measuring stare. Almost daring. Some of the feathers around its neck stuck out all scruffy where the fence had bit into it, left a scar. Halting, hesitant, Eddie extended a finger, then his hand, nice and slow, intending to… give a scritch or something?

An inch away, the beak snapped at him, barely missed, and he jumped so hard the damn bird launched skyward, flapping to hover.

Behind them, he could hear the hecklers in hysterics.

“Bitch!” he shouted, clutching the Warlock close to calm his racing heart. “See if I ever save your scrawny necks again.”

Heedless, Damsel swooped to land on his knee—again. Like it knew full well he would. Save them. Again. If it came down to it.

“Calling my bluff,” he muttered, aggrieved. “Gonna make me eat crow?”

Statler and Waldorf voiced their displeasure.

“Fuck off! You love it.”

They did, was the thing. Eddie knew it. They’d thrown their lots in with him, and he with them. So in the end, he wasn’t so much a princess.

More an accessory to murder.

Also on AO3

[beardedmrbean]

After a surge in home energy bills that left many New Jersey residents with costs that have doubled, or more, there have been widespread calls for hearings to hold the state utility commission, the governor and supporters of green energy accountable.

State Sen. Mike Testa, R-Salem, echoed those calls and said on Wednesday that much of the blame goes to Democrat Gov. Phil Murphy’s "Energy Master Plan," launched in 2020.

"New Jersey is already one of the most unaffordable states in the United States of America. Now people are being hit with energy bills that are essentially doubled. And look, I get it that it was a hot July, but it wasn't that hot that your energy bills should have doubled," Testa said.

One constituent apparently told Testa they raised their thermostat four degrees on average this summer in the hopes of saving money but that the cost still somehow increased "significantly."

Homeowners in suburban Morris County vented about the news on a local social media group, according to the Morristown Daily Record, with a Parsippany resident questioning a $782 monthly bill.

"Quite frankly, what I think happened is, via the Murphy Energy Master Plan that I've often called the energy disaster plan, it seemed that the BPU (New Jersey Board of Public Utilities) and the Murphy administration are working in tandem chasing this green energy dream.

"It’s what I call the energy disaster plan. It's a green energy nightmare," he said, adding that BPU officials went so far as to wear windmill pins at public functions amid New Jersey’s kerfuffle over offshore turbines.

In a lengthy statement, BPU acknowledged it had received correspondence from New Jerseyans and offered several potential reasons for the rate hikes.

The board cited increases in generation costs and usage, and it asked customers to contact their utility or the board right away if they find an "anomaly and cannot determine an explanation" A one-time $175 bill credit program is also available, a board spokesperson said.

PJM, the energy transmission company that covers much of the Mid-Atlantic, offered data to Fox News Digital on the matter as well.

PJM research showed electricity demand is likely to increase in the region particularly due to "proliferation of high-demand data centers" and "thermal generators retiring at a rapid pace due to government and private sector policies as well as economics."

Meanwhile, at the federal level, Rep. Jeff Van Drew, R-N.J., fumed at the BPU this week in a letter obtained by Fox News Digital, which cited "thousands" of constituents discovering unbearable bill increases.

"Given these alarming reports, I demand that the New Jersey Board of Public Utilities (NJBPU) hold a public hearing in South Jersey to allow residents to voice their concerns directly to the Board," he wrote, adding the board must also determine whether there is a correlation between the rate hikes and the offshore wind turbine operations in his Cape May district.

Van Drew said New Jersey officials must take the situation seriously, and he dismissed claims that the "unseasonably warm summer" was the only variable.

"We need transparency and accountability from the NJBPU to ensure that the needs and concerns of South Jersey residents are being effectively addressed," he said.

Van Drew previously noted how Danish green power company Ørsted withdrew its windmill plans for the Jersey Shore despite Murphy’s full support and taxpayer funding: "They still couldn't make it."

While Murphy’s office did not return a request for comment, the governor previously praised his Energy Master Plan’s goal of 100% clean energy by 2050 in the Garden State.

"The Energy Master Plan comprehensively addresses New Jersey’s energy system, including electricity generation, transportation and buildings, and their associated greenhouse gas emissions and related air pollutants," he said.

In a statement Tuesday, the Murphy administration highlighted a "Residential Energy Assistance Payment (REAP) Initiative" to provide financial relief to thousands of households, of the same $175 figure cited by BPU.

"Making our state more affordable for New Jersey families has been the top priority since day one," Murphy said in the statement.

State Assembly Speaker Craig Coughlin, D-Perth Amboy, added it is "great to see this resource added to the growing list of support available to residents who need a little extra help in our state."

Assemblywoman Nancy Munoz, R-Summit, said price-per-kilowatt hour increases averaged 8.6% in Central Jersey.

"It’s simple economics: When supply drops and demand surges, prices go up," she told Fox News Digital.

"I'm of the belief that Americans are innovative. … The government can't be mandating deadlines at the same time that they're … shutting down natural gas production."

Munoz, who serves on the Budget Committee, said there are likely Democrats who agree the rate hikes are a problem: "That's kind of a silly concept for them to think, like, do they not care that their constituents are the ones that are having to absorb these massive increases in cost?"

Fox News Digital reached out to state Senate President Nick Scutari, D-Clark, for such a perspective.

Citing attempts to make New Jersey vehicle sales 60% electric by 2035, Munoz said there won’t be the proper infrastructure to fulfill the need, regardless of opinions on EVs themselves.

When Testa was asked about other states’ similar green energy endeavors – such as then-New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo shuttering the Indian Point nuke plant on the Hudson River opposite Haverstraw in 2020 – he expressed relief that crackdowns hadn’t gotten that far at home.

A similar nuclear plant in Lower Alloways Creek Township remains operational, he noted, adding that he is proud to have it and its jobs and generation ability in his district.

Testa said the state’s energy portfolio is 50% natural gas, 40% nuclear and 10% other, which flies in the face of Murphy’s aversion to additional natural gas production.

While some energy experts fear crises arising from nuclear power, such as the 1979 Three Mile Island meltdown in Dauphin County, Pa., Testa said technology has advanced since and that there are also small modular nuclear reactors similar to those on submarines that could generate safe, clean energy inland at low cost.

"By the way, we’re positive that those don’t kill whales," he said.

[whitesinhistory]

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So the Republicans are trying to shut down the government to damage their own states so that they make the Democrats look bad before the election… Is that the game plan they’re going with?

Here is the full list of Republicans who voted against the stopgap bill to prevent a government shutdown in September 2024:

Indiana: James R. Baird, Jim Banks, Rudy Yakym III, Victoria Spartz

Ohio: Troy Balderson, Warren Davidson, Jim Jordan, Max L. Miller

Florida: Aaron Bean, Gus M. Bilirakis, Kat Cammack, Byron Donalds, Matt Gaetz, Anna Paulina Luna, Cory Mills, Bill Posey, Michael Waltz, Daniel Webster

Texas: Michael Cloud, Tony Gonzales, Lance Gooden, Morgan Luttrell, Nathaniel Moran, Chip Roy, Keith Self, Randy Weber Sr., Beth Van Duyne, Roger Williams

Arizona: Andy Biggs, Elijah Crane, Paul A. Gosar, Debbie Lesko, David Schweikert

North Carolina: Dan Bishop

Colorado: Lauren Boebert

Illinois: Mike Bost, Mary E. Miller, Darin LaHood

Oklahoma: Josh Brecheen

Tennessee: Tim Burchett, John W. Rose, Andrew Ogles

Missouri: Eric Burlison

Georgia: Andrew S. Clyde, Mike Collins, Marjorie Taylor Greene, Richard McCormick

Utah: John R. Curtis

South Carolina: Jeff Duncan, Russell Fry, Nancy Mace, Ralph Norman, William R. Timmons IV

Kansas: Ron Estes, Tracey Mann

Mississippi: Mike Ezell, Michael Guest, Trent Kelly

Iowa: Randy Feenstra

Minnesota: Brad Finstad, Michelle Fischbach

Idaho: Russ Fulcher

Virginia: Bob Good, H. Morgan Griffith

Wyoming: Harriet M. Hageman

Maryland: Andy Harris

Louisiana: Clay Higgins

Pennsylvania: John Joyce, Scott Perry

West Virginia: Alexander X. Mooney

California: Tom McClintock

Kentucky: Thomas Massie

Montana: Matthew M. Rosendale Sr.

New York: Claudia Tenney

Wisconsin: Thomas P. Tiffany, Derrick Van Orden

New Jersey: Jefferson Van Drew

Alabama: Barry Moore, Gary J. Palmer

Arkansas: Bruce Westerman

Why is this important to me? I would have been out of a job. Government contractors would rather cut you and rehire you for less pay or benefits. Also, if I miss 1 or 2 paychecks I will be homeless.

[fuckyeah-jessicabiel]

GQ Magazine - July 2007

The Summer of Jessica Biel

To celebrate Biel’s being in a movie actually worth seeing, we sent Adam Stein to play carnival games with her.

When I told various friends I’d be interviewing Jessica Biel, I got the responses you’d expect—jealousy, mild rage, a plea to give her a phone number because she’s the one person that a friend’s wife would give him a free pass to sleep with. The uncanny thing is, when I asked these guys what they thought of her as an actress, most of them drew a blank. They hadn’t seen a single motion picture of hers. Okay, one or two had girlfriends who’d brought them to see The Illusionist, but otherwise, nada. As my friend Taj put it: “I’m obsessed with a girl I’ve never seen move.“

Well, that’s about to change. Later this month, men across America will see Jessica being very good in a very funny movie, and the nature of their love for her will…deepen. She’ll still be inhumanly beautiful, sure, but now they’ll have to contend with genuine talent, too, and that one-two punch can be disorienting. You know what else can? The fact that despite her recent tabloid exposure, she’s actually sweet, funny, earnest, occasionally a little crude, and—if my time playing carnival games with her can be used as evidence—uniquely driven to conquer whatever stands between Jessica Biel and what she wants.

I am waiting for her at the Santa Monica Pier, sitting on a stool next to one of those games where you shoot water from a gun into a clown’s mouth. I haven’t shaved for a week, because I read somewhere that Jessica Biel likes guys with beards. I’m inspecting mine in the reflective back of my iPod when a nice-looking young woman materializes in my view. “Excuse me,“ she says. “Are you Adam?“ “Jessica?“ I ask, ridiculously. Of course it’s her, in wraparound sunglasses, an open gray sweater over a white blouse, and faded jeans. She wears checkered Vans, like Jeff Spicoli. On the pier, no one recognizes her, which I suppose makes sense: There’s little resemblance between the pinup girl and the sneaker-wearing civilian out on a Monday afternoon. She doesn’t stick out as we walk the wooden planks of the amusement park; she blends in. She is, you might say, a very chill girl.

“Can we get a photo next to a star?“ she asks, stopping in front of a booth hawking photographs with huge cardboard cutouts of celebrities. It’s an impressive, eclectic array: Bill Clinton, Mini Me, Michael Jordan, Hilary Duff, Enrique Iglesias(!), Jean-Claude Van Damme, DiCaprio in Titanic. “They’re all kind of old,“ she says. I don’t know if she means the cutouts or the celebrities themselves (because to me, Mini Me will never age). She’s only 25 years old, so it could go either way. I ask her who she’d most want to pose with. She scrutinizes the assembly and makes her call: “I’d probably pick Van Damme, ‘cause he looks the coolest.“ She takes the Muscles from Brussels over Leo—a victory of might over sensitivity. Nice.

Then she decides it’s time for the games to begin. She passes up the Riptide Ring Toss (“That one is impossible,“ she says) and focuses her attention on the Pier Plank Plunge. The PPP is basically a rope ladder suspended horizontally over an inflatable mattress. The trick is to climb, perfectly balanced, to a taunting red button placed approximately ten feet away. Press the button, win the prize—an enormous Sonic the Hedgehog. I ask her if she’s ever Pier Plank Plunged before. “Yes,“ she says, assessing the structure, looking for its weaknesses. “But I’ve never been able to achieve it.“ She begins barraging the bored-looking carny with questions. “Do you have any tips?“ (It’s all about balance.) “Have you done it before?“ (Nope.) “Has anyone ever won?“ (Yeah.) “Has anyone won today?“ (Not yet.) She turns to me, and I have to say she seems genuinely excited. “This is our chance,“ she says. “It’s our chance to win.“ I’m beginning to get the distinct impression that winning is important to Jessica Biel. “Ladies first“ being the imperative, I take the initial go-round. It’s harder than it looks. My arms shake. Everything shakes. I can feel her hopefulness—Do it, get there—but I fall off within seconds. The shame is truly surprising. I wanted to do it for Jessica and failed. She throws me a “good try“ before stepping up herself.

Jessica was a gymnast when she was younger, and the training appears to be paying off as she mounts the unstable rope ladder. (It also occurs to me that the view I currently have is one the paparazzi would kill for.) She deploys a disciplined crawl, gets tantalizingly close to the red button, reaches for it—and loses her balance, flips over, and lands flat on the cushion, laughing. “Holy shit,“ she yells. “It’s so hard. That’s so frustrating.“ The carny asks if we’d like to try again. She pauses for a moment, looking at the button, and then, with obvious reservations, demurs. “You were really, really close,“ I tell her. “I know,“ she says, still staring at it, reluctant to move, apparently, without conquering the damn thing. “That’s how it gets you.“

Next up is something called the Hi-Striker, a game in which you swing a mallet to test your strength. I take three feeble swings, each one less successful than the last. A huge Hispanic man laughs every time I bring the mallet down on the metal block, and when I exit the cage and hand it off to the female attendant, she takes one exhibition swing and makes my emasculation complete. Up goes the projectile. Ping goes the bell.

J.B. watches, rapt. “Look at her awesome stance,“ she whispers, absorbing the details, memorizing the motion. Some actors “find“ their characters via a process of internalization—investigating emotions, plumbing psychology, creating an “inner life.“ This is known as the inside-out approach. Other actors work outside-in—developing a walk, a gesture, a physicality. Look at, say, Hilary Swank in Million Dollar Baby. Look at Jessica Biel in the Hi-Striker cage.

Mimicking the attendant’s, her first swing easily skunks my best effort. And she improves with each attempt. She’s getting into character. As she exits the cage, there’s a look of satisfaction on her face. She returns the mallet to the attendant, who looks at me and says: “She did better than you.“ As we leave, I ask her: “Is it more technique than strength?“ She shakes her head. “Brute strength,“ she says. “You just throw it up and slam it as hard as you can.“ On our way off the pier, we pass Zoltar, the animatronic fortune-teller who turned that kid into Tom Hanks in Big. Zoltar senses us and speaks: “Destiny is not a matter of chance; it is a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for; it is a thing to be achieved.“ Zoltar makes Jessica smile. She digs his philosophy.

Jessica Biel’s destiny, at least of late, has led her to a prominent place in the trashy supermarket gossip rags. First it was snapshots of social excursions with second-banana studs (Chris Evans, Ryan Reynolds). Then, upping the ante, there was a beach fling with a sports icon (Derek Jeter). And then, in February, she grabbed the tabloid brass ring for reportedly nabbing the world’s most eligible bachelor, Justin Timberlake. Unsurprisingly, it’s not something she’ll discuss.

One thing she is happy talking about, though, is the unladylike girth of her knuckles. We’re getting dinner at an unassuming Italian trattoria across the street from the pier when she flashes those meaty joints and describes her nascent production company. “It was almost called Fat Knuckle Films. Because I have fat knuckles. See?“ she asks. “They don’t really look that way until you start putting rings on them, and then it stops right there.“

I have to say, Jessica Biel’s chunky midfingers are endearing, human, attainable—a word she uses a number of times in our conversation, as if to remind the world that she’s just a regular girl from Boulder, Colorado, who happens to have been called, by Esquire magazine in 2005, the Sexiest Woman Alive.

“At first I felt really embarrassed about it,“ she says. “You know, it’s a weird thing to talk about. Like, ‘Hey, guys. Guess what?’ You don’t just go telling everybody that.“ She shifts her weight forward and goes on: “But after I got over that, I just started to embrace it. I started thinking, If I ever do have kids, and if they have kids, I can tell them: ‘You know what? Your grandma in 2000-and-whatever was the Sexiest Woman Alive. How about that, kids?’ That’s what I started to think about. I’ll always have that picture to say, ‘That’s what Granny used to look like.’ “

Before coming out here to get my ass handed to me at the Hi-Striker, I immersed myself in Jessica Biel’s Collected Works. She got her start in the mid-’90s on 7th Heaven, the WB dramedy that made a splash with the moral-values set, before leaving around 2002 for bigger (and badder) things. It’s been a grim scene ever since: Summer Catch (2001), which starred Freddie Prinze Jr. and stands at number forty-nine on Rotten Tomatoes’ 100 Worst- Reviewed Films of All Time. The Rules of Attraction (2002), notable only for Fred Savage shooting heroin between his toes and saying things like “I can feel my dick.“ (Remarkably, Biel comes across as fresh and charming, despite the astonishing pointlessness and nihilism of the flick.) The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003), which was Biel’s first top billing and is her biggest box-office performer to date, with a take of about $80 million. J.B. screams her head off throughout the movie and is entirely believable in distress, but you can’t help thinking as you watch her, There’s got to be better material than this. Sadly, no. There was an atrocity called Cellular, in 2004, and Blade: Trinity that same year (in which Biel kicks much undead ass as a midriff-baring vampire hunter). But the nadir has to be London, in ’06, a delusional piece of trash that starts off with a sex scene, Biel on top, saying, “Are you coming? Are you coming?“ before she proceeds to another not-quite-dignified act and then dips out of the frame to, presumably, swallow. Like I said, a grim scene.

And then, just in the nick of time, salvation arrived. A script called The Illusionist, to star Edward Norton and Paul Giamatti. There was a problem, though. The filmmakers didn’t want to give Biel an audition. They weren’t convinced the vampire-hunting Hollywood creation could rearrange herself into the role of a refined fin de siècle Hungarian duchess.

But Jessica Biel has a hard time taking no for an answer. And when another actress “dropped out“ of the film, her tenacity paid off. They finally brought her in. She arrived wearing a full period costume. She made them take her seriously, she says, and three days later, an offer arrived.

The Illusionist wasn’t what you’d call a “hit,“ but it got good reviews, made decent money, and changed the industry’s perception of her. Doors that were closed began to open. They just weren’t opening fast enough for her taste.

She sets down her after-dinner tea and says, “I want choices. I want options. I want to lay out all the directions I could go and have the ability to choose. I’m slowly starting to have that now.“ It’s the “slowly“ that kills her.

One film that will almost surely expedite the process is I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry, which will be released this month. It stars Adam Sandler and Kevin James as two Brooklyn firefighters who pretend to be a gay couple in order to receive domestic-partner benefits. J.B. plays the female lead, their hoodwinked attorney who falls for Sandler by the end of the picture.

Chuck and Larry is Jessica’s first real shot at popular, mainstream film success. Unlike her previous big-budget endeavors, it doesn’t rely on CGI or fetishistic weaponry to make its points. It is also—apologies to Freddie Prinze Jr. —her first comedy.

“It was a little bit intimidating,“ she says. “I really admire Adam and Kevin, but then, I didn’t try to equal them or one-up them, and the character I created didn’t have to be that. She’s the straight woman, but very fun and very cool and just—attainable. That’s the kind of part that I’d like to play more. I mean, a vampire hunter? Is that really attainable? I’d just like to play something a little more quirky, interesting, outrageous. And uninhibited.“

“You’re not worried that she can do comedy,“ the movie’s director, Dennis Dugan, tells me. “You can tell she can do comedy. So we just met her and cast her. I really think she can have one of those diverse, Oscar-winning careers. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no horizon to her talent.“

The sun has gone down, and we’re standing on the sidewalk in front of the Italian joint, across from the pier. I’m holding a small stuffed Spider-Man doll that Jessica won as a prize back at the amusement park and which she’s given to me to give to my son. I ask what she’s doing tonight, and she says she’s playing chaperone to a girlfriend on a first date. “Basically, I’m her wingman tonight,“ she says. “I’ll probably slip away if it’s rolling along well.“

She graciously agrees to a photograph with me, which I would include except for two reasons: (1) I don’t want to make Justin Timberlake jealous, and (2) you never quite understand how unattractive you are until you see yourself in a picture with Jessica Biel.

I watch her as she walks toward the pier. I know it’s where her car is parked, but I have this image of her heading straight back to the Pier Plank Plunge. The carny won’t know who she is, nobody on the pier will recognize her, and she’ll just hand over her fiver and go at it. That red button, almost within her reach. Attainable.

[fairuzfan]

It’s “vote blue no matter who” but then you get Dems like Kyrsten Sinema, Joe Manchin, and John Fetterman or people like Tricia Cotham and Jeff Van Drew who switched parties and then it’s every excuse in the book as to why Dems can’t get shit done and just “vote harder.”

Dems did know that embracing disenchanted conservatives would push the party further right, and that’s precisely why centrists and the upper middle class liberals were all so excited to join ranks with “never Trump” republicans.

The issue is that voting is great and all in theory. Some of my family is residing in a country where you can't vote so like, having a say in your government?! That's great!

But I don't *really* have a say in my government when all the standard forms of calling and emailing are being flat out ignored. Sure I voted. But now what. Fetterman is a racist asshole that pretended to be "on the side of the oppressed" to get his position. Sinema is.... like that. Manchin is annoying as hell. And what, you're telling me "just wait til next election and they'll be gone"? Like at what point will this endless spiral of "it could be worse" honestly start benefiting anyone.

And people are saying "join unions or organize" as some sort of gotcha... Palestinians have been organizing for 75 years. The whole reason people know so much about Palestine is because we've been organizing for YEARS, have been participating in the system for YEARS. Sure I can unionize. Sure I can organize. But when absolutely no one takes you seriously in your government?? Then what are you supposed to do??

I still am an advocate for voting locally, but I honestly don't see the point in voting higher than that. I remember a comment in the "can't vote out fascism" post was saying "actual physical fascism is worse than passive fascism" and I'm like.... yeah for you maybe? I'm disabled and I've been mostly in my house for the past 3 years because I want to avoid COVID at all costs. Disabled people around the states have as well. People have been dying well before the past couple of months. Are you saying you'd rather have silent deaths than loud ones?

And another comment that really annoyed me and felt severely disconnected from reality was "Trump's Foreign Policy is the same if not worse than Biden..." Worse than funding a genocide...? Like I hate Trump so much and would never vote for him. But I also won't ever vote for Biden.

Also something that "Vote Blue" people don't realize.... Biden's already lost. I'm not saying this to be smug or anything. Many Muslims and SWANA immigrants vote PRIMARILY based on foreign policy. Like that's one of our main concerns. Every single election, we consider which person would be "better" for people overseas — this isn't me projecting, we talk amongst ourselves about it to make a decision. And these people live in major cities and swing states like Michigan in Dearborn and Detroit. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if Illinois turns red next election. Many Palestinian refugees after the Nakba and Naksa settled in Chicago and the greater Chicago area. I've heard that people hate Fetterman so much that they're not voting for him next election or wanting anything to do with democrats anymore. Dems have completely neglected the Muslim and SWANA community and that will come back to bite them in the butt.

Like at this point, you should be thinking of what to do when Trump becomes president lol. Actually think about it. Because honestly, you can yell at me all you want and call me stupid or an idiot for not voting/doing a write in — but I'm 10000% sure that Trump is going to win next election. What more are you going to do other than vote?

[godeatershq]

Poderiam sugerir fcs masculinos e femininos por favor?

Aqui você encontra várias sugestões que ainda não foram utilizadas, mas alguns outros que eu gostaria de ver são:

F: Hannah Dodd, Alexa Demie, Grace Van Dien, Taylor Russell, Havana Rose Liu, Alisha Boe, Zendaya, Sadie Soverall, Ashley Moore, Niamh Mccormack, Ayo Edebiri, Camila Morrone, Ava Capri, Kim Lip, Suzanna Son, Francesca Reale, Sab Zada, Maris Racal, India Love, Emilia Mernes, Ava Capri, Gracie Abrams, Faouzia Ouihya, Claudia Sulewski, Anna Cathcart, Isabela Merced, Jenna Ortega, Jessie Mae Alonzo, Ruby Stokes, Phoebe Dynevor, Fukutomi Tsuki, Sophie Thatcher, Tashi Rodriguez, Olivia Rodrigo, Maggie Lindemann, Jessica Alexander, Megan Suri, Maitreyi Ramakrishnan, Ayesha Madon, Asher Yasbincek, Hunter Schafer, Ella Purnell, Courtney Eaton, Milly Alcock, Emily Carey, Phia Saban, Savannah Steyn, Quintessa Swindell, Maia Roberts, Brittany O'grady, Ryan Destiny, Ashley Puzemis, Sofia Black D'elia, Ama Qamata, Haley Lu Richardson, Stefanie Scott, Madelyn Cline, Kristine Froseth, Rachel Hilson, Marlo Kelly, Emily Alyn Lind, Madison Iseman, Auli'i Cravalho, Freya Allan, Mackenzie Foy, Sharon Alexie, Benedetta Gargari, Camila Mendes, Cierra Ramirez, Danielle Rose Russell, Danna Paola, Giorgia Whigham, Lovie Simone.

M: Park Serim,  Jan Buxaderas, Alex Fitzalan, Gabriel Guevara, Jacob Elordi, Henry Eikenberry, Avan Jogia, Damson Idris, Joshua Stradowski, Maxence Danet-Fauvel, Jeff Satur, Taylor Zakhar Perez, Jordan Fisher, David Castro, Nicholas Cirillo, Keith Powers, Jeremy Allen White, Drew Starkey, Charles Melton, Joshua Heuston, Thomas Weatherall, Darren Barnet, Noah Centineo, Brenton Thwaites, Zethphan Smith-Gneist, Michael Cimino, Evan Mock, Felix Mallard, Dylan Minnette, Froy Gutierrez, Barret Carnahan, Gavin Leatherwood, Ross Lynch, Ruairi O'connor, Harry Collett, Tom Glynn-Carney, Jabari Banks, Luka Sabbat, Algee Smith, Rome Flynn, Will Poulter, Charlie Gillespie, Chase Stokes, Léo Daudin, Jonathan Daviss, Caelan Moriarty, Willem De Schryver, Alex Aiono, Aramis Knight, Archie Renaux, Deaken Bluman, Jorge Lopez, Mason Gooding, Reece King, Rudy Pankow, Drake Rodger.

[jonasgoonface]

Happy anniversary of Willem Van Spronsen's attack on the Tacoma ICE detention center. Here's a thing I drew a while back. Here's a manifesto that he wrote, it's v good. ------

What follows is the written manifesto of Willem Van Spronsen:

there's wrong and there's right. it's time to take action against the forces of evil. evil says one life is worth less than another. evil says the flow of commerce is our purpose here. evil says concentration camps for folks deemed lesser are necessary. the handmaid of evil says the concentration camps should be more humane. beware the centrist.

i have a father's broken heart i have a broken down body and i have an unshakable abhorrence of injustice. that is what brings me here. this is my clear opportunity to try to make a difference, i'd be an ingrate to be waiting for a more obvious invitation.

i follow three teachers: don pritts, my spiritual guide, "love without action is just a word." john brown, my moral guide, "what is needed is action!" emma goldman, my political guide, "if i can't dance, i don't want to be in your revolution."

i'm a head in the clouds dreamer, i believe in love and redemption. i believe we're going to win i'm joyfully revolutionary. (we all should have been reading emma goldman in school instead of the jingo drivel we were fed. but i digress.) (we should all be looking at the photos of the YJP heroes should we falter and think our dreams are impossible, but i double digress. fight me.)

in these days of fascist hooligans preying on vulnerable people on our streets, in the name of the state or supported and defended by the state,

in these days of highly profitable detention/concentration camps and a battle over the semantics, in these days of hopelessness, empty pursuit and endless yearning,

we are living in visible fascism ascendant. (i say visible, because those paying attention watched it survive and thrive under the protection of the state for decades [see howard zinn, "a people's history of the united states.") now it unabashedly follows its agenda with open and full cooperation from the government. from governments around the world.

fascism serves the needs of the state serves the needs of business and at your expense. who benefits? jeff bezos, warren buffet, elon musk, tim cook, bill gates, betsy de vos, george soros, and need i go on? let me say it again: rich guys, (who think you're not really all that good,) really dig government, (every government everywhere, including "communist" governments,) because they make rules that make rich guys richer.

simple. don't overthink it.

(are you patriots in the back paying attention?)

when i was a boy, in post war holland, later france, my head was filled with stories of the rise of fascism in the 30's. i promised myself that i would not be one of those who stands by as neighbors are torn from their homes and imprisoned for somehow being perceived as lesser. you don't have to burn the motherfucker down, but are you just going to stand by?

this is the test of our fundamental belief in real freedom and our responsibility to each other. this is a call to patriots, too, to stand against this travesty against everything that you hold sacred. i know you. i know that in your hearts, you see the dishonor in these camps. it's time for you, too, to stand up to the money pulling the strings of every goddamn puppet pretending to represent us.

i'm a man who loves you all and this spinning ball so much that i'm going to fulfill my childhood promise to myself to be noble.

here it is, in these corporate for profit concentration camps. here it is, in brown and non conforming folks afraid to show their faces for fear of the police/migra/proud boys/the boss/beckies... here it is, a planet almost used up by the market's greed.

i'm a black and white thinker. detention camps are an abomination. i'm not standing by. i really shouldn't have to say any more than this.

i set aside my broken heart and i heal the only way i know how- by being useful. i efficiently compartmentalize my pain... and i joyfully go about this work. (to those burdened with the wreckage from my actions, i hope that you will make the best use of that burden.)

to my comrades:

i regret that i will miss the rest of the revolution. thank you for the honor of having me in your midst.

giving me space to be useful, to feel that i was fulfilling my ideals, has been the spiritual pinnacle of my life.

doing what i can to help defend my precious and wondrous people is an experience too rich to describe.

my trans comrades have transformed me, solidifying my conviction that we will be guided to a dreamed of future by those most marginalized among us today. i have dreamed it so clearly that i have no regret for not seeing how it turns out. thank you for bringing me so far along.

i am antifa, i stand with comrades around the world who act from the love of life in every permutation. comrades who understand that freedom means real freedom for all and a life worth living.

keep the faith! all power to the people! bella ciao

don't let your silly government agencies spend money "investigating" this one. i was radicalized in civics class at 13 when we were taught about the electoral college. it was at that point that i decided that the status quo might be a house of cards. further reading confirmed in the positive. i highly recommend reading! i am not affiliated with any organization, i have disaffiliated from any organizations who disagree with my choice of tactics. the semi automatic weapon i used was a cheap, home built unregistered "ghost" ar15, had six magazines. i strongly encourage comrades and incoming comrades to arm themselves. we are now responsible for defending people from the predatory state. ignore the laws of arming yourself if you have the luxury, i did.

[shares-a-vest]

@eddiemonth Day 8: Rockstar, Confident

Word Count: 952 Rating: T | cw: No Happy Ending, Break-Up Fic, No Resolution, Hurt No Comfort My first post for Eddie Month! With this event's prompts, I reallyyy want to challenge myself and write things I typically wouldn't/haven't so far. I'm sorry for starting out a week late with a no-happy-ending fic, I didn't mean for it to work out this way 😭😅 Thanks to both Lex and Lex for creating and hosting this event 💖💖💖

Since he was a boy, listening to a healthy combination of his mother's records and any and every radio station his dad could tune into, Eddie dreamed of being a rockstar.

When he was six, his grandma gifted him a battery-operated plastic microphone with sound effects. Later when he first moved in with his uncle and the Munson family had dwindled down to just the two of them, Wayne brought home an acoustic guitar from Goodwill.

Eddie practised and played away, sometimes for hours too long until underdeveloped callouses stung and bled. Wayne helped him paint 'This Machine Slays Dragons' on it so he could be just like Woody Guthrie, one of his mom's favourites.

He soon found his fellow bandmates in Jeff, Gareth and George. Gareth offered up his garage and Jeff came up with the name Corroded Coffin. Eddie and George made merch and drew up posters.

They practised and played until Gareth's mother kicked them out of the garage, complaining about what the neighbours might think of their noisy metal thrashing. They entered the Battle of the Bands contest in middle school, then started playing at The Hideout perhaps a few years too early for a handful of drunks who probably weren't listening anyway.

Then they spent the next few years scrimping and saving between jobs, travelling to other towns in his shitty van until they found an even shittier (but bigger) van and a studio that was willing to give them a booking to record a demo.

They shopped it around for a good long while as Eddie turned on his charm.

And one day they got a chance.

George called Eddie, frantically talking about a producer who wanted to re-record the demo with an expert on hand, all the while promising more music and a meeting with a potential manager.

And if all that wasn't enough, Eddie found himself with none other than Steve Harrington by his side.

After a good few years of pining and failed dates and the temporary comfort of other people, they finally got their act together. It was Christmas, just a few months after the demo got picked up. They kissed out on Claudia Henderson's front porch with snow falling around them as they promised each other more.

Then Corroded Coffin made it.

The perks came fast. Money – oh-so-much fucking money! Private cars and drivers to take them anywhere they wanted. Touring around the world and sightseeing between gigs. Adoring fans. Photoshoots. Magazine covers, interviews and TV spots.

Eddie always maintained it was about the music, though. The rush, the confidence and power it gave him to be performing on stage. Whether it be The Hideout or a goddamn stadium. It filled his soul from the moment he stepped on stage until the band finished their encore.

But most of all, he had Steve by his side. Always.

Until he didn't.

Until the night he got back to their hotel room, a swanky penthouse overlooking New York City that they always stayed in. They were barely a night out from returning back to the States from a quick promo tour in Europe for the new album.

Steve had left a note scrawled in his messy handwriting on the hotel's branded notepad.

'Going to Robin's' is all it said.

Eddie was angry at the time. He balled the note up in his fist and hurled it across the room.

At the time he was pissed because Steve was acting all bitchy pouty at the airport after barely speaking a word to him the whole flight. Then he was tapping away incessantly on the limo's middle armrest the whole car ride, looking at the window with his stupid Tom Cruise sunglasses on.

At the time he guessed it had something to do with the last night in Amsterdam. The band had a gig, the last one and Eddie just wanted some quiet so he skipped out on dinner, telling their security to pass the message on to Steve.

But it was just a tiff, right? Steve knew what it was like – how exhausting being on the road could get sometimes.

He thought Steve knew what the deal was, that he didn't mean anything by not going to dinner. Hell, Steve was used to a last-minute change of plans after years of this, right?

At least that's what Eddie told himself until Steve didn't call.

Or come back.

So, Eddie called Robin's number. No answer.

Then he asked Jeff to call, even their manager. Still nothing.

A call to Wayne made it real though.

"Eddie," his uncle had sighed, voice low and impossibly disappointed.

And then everything he had gained came to mean nothing.

As Eddie now stands at the door to Robin's apartment in Chicago, he knows he fucked up. Knows that it won't be easily forgiven.

Knows that Robin will probably cut his dick off if she arrives home from... Which gallery had she moved to, again? Steve told him. Weeks ago... months? He thinks...

He should have asked his publicist to look up the name of the gallery along with Buckley's address.

His stomach drops and tears begin to fall as Steve opens the door.

"Oh," his boyfr – Steve – mutters as his brows quickly knit together.

Eddie slaps his hand onto the doorframe, chancing the guy slamming the door shut and thus smooshing his guitar-wielding digits.

But then Steve rips off his wire-framed glasses and presses the heels of his palms into his reddening eyes.

"How could you just forget about me?" he sobs, his whole body shaking.

And Eddie is confident the sound of Steve choking on his own breath as he cries will haunt him for the rest of his life.