fuctacles

[fuctacles]

Omg no way it's them again

[fuctacles]

Pop Princess Stevie who releases a new album called "Puppy Love", but it's actually her horniest album ever. The cover is a photo of her in a cutesy, baby blue negligee, lounging on a settee, a sharp contrast to the man in a puppy mask and leather shorts kneeling next to her.

The man's tattoos add another layer of juxtaposition between the two figures, but it's metal fans who recognize that those are the tattoos of one Eddie Munson, lead guitar and face of well-known metal band Corroded Coffin.

[fuctacles]

First Artfight attack ⋆⭒˚.⋆

@beandaqueen

I love your silly little circus moth they’re so fun :D

[fuctacles]

"It may not be high art but everyone's having too much fun to care" Cinematic Universe

The Mummy (1999) and The Mummy Returns

Men in Black

Dungeons and Dragons: Honor Among Thieves

Kingsman: The Secret Service and Kingsman: The Golden Circle

Pacific Rim

The Man from U.N.C.L.E.

Feel free to add your own. Please note this is not just "any" fun blockbuster, it's a certain subset where it's a bit of a romp, everyone in the cast is having fun and it's just a joy to watch.

[fuctacles]

Post s4 Eddie lives but the government makes him move away from Hawkins.

The Hawkins gang have no idea he's alive at all.

Fast forward 6 or 7 years .

Eddie’s busy working at a festival ( dealers choice what as but hes not performing hasn't picked up a guitar since the whole most epic concert the world has ever seen that got him 'killed' )

He stops to listen to one of the acts on one of the bigger stages not really paying attention to the people on stage.

But then he hears the lyrics.

They are his lyrics.

Lyrics he hadn't seen since before that night in 86.

His lyrics, but not his kind of music... and when he looks at the stage he understands.

Steve Harrington is standing centre stage, singing the words that Eddie never got the chance to. The melody is all wrong. But then Steve never heard the songs performed, so much like a child who learns only through reading its right but not quite. Turned into his own by osmosis.

Eddie should be mad, should be angry that Steve has stolen his words and is using them as his own.

But the words always belonged to him anyway.

[fuctacles]

Due to AO3 being maintained, I'm posting the first little bit of, what could be, the silliest thing I've ever written. The working title is 'Beauty and the Steve'.

Eddie does his best to dodge the morning traffic.

That crazy lady’s chickens are loose again, and it’s creating a minor amount of havoc. The baker always goes out of his way to say good morning to Eddie, and, when him and uncle Wayne had first moved to the little village of Hawkins, Eddie was sure he was just being polite.

Now Eddie thinks he may be a bit of an old lech. It’s no secret Eddie is the only male Omega in the village, but at least he isn’t completely alone. There’s three female Omega too; identical triplets though, which is just fucking weird in Eddie’s book. He’s sure that’s got to be somebody’s kink, right?

“Eddie, where are you off to in such a hurry?” The baker calls out of the window, and Eddie can clearly see his irritated mate behind him. She looks like she’s gearing up to skewer the guy with a baguette.

“Oh, just the bookshop!” And Eddie waves, trying to indicate politely that he’s done with this, slipping away in a confusion of chickens.

Eddie turns the corner, only to find his way blocked by a hay wagon, “good morning!”

“Errr…” Eddie, not for the first time, internally curses small villages, “morning, are you, uhm, moving?”

“Just getting ready to unload, won’t be long!” The man calls down cheerfully. Eddie eyes the bales, contemplates going back the way he has come, but he spies the bakers wife hitting the baker with a loaf, surrounded by chickens who appear to be excited by the prospect of violently created breadcrumbs.

Eddie climbs over the wagon.

Eddie makes it to the door of the bookshop, pulling hay out of his curls, cursing villages, narrow cobbled streets, the people who inhabit them, and the countryside in general.

“Ah! Eddie!” Owens calls out. He’s the old dude who owns the bookshop, the only shred of civilization that exists for at least, Eddie suspects, five days ride in any direction.

“Good morning! I've come to return the book I borrowed.”

Owens takes the book, “finished already?” he returns it easily to it’s place on the shelves.

“Oh, I couldn't put it down!” Eddie replies keenly, and he means it. He literally did not put it down because there's absolutely nothing else to do now that he's stuck living in the middle of nowhere. “Have you got anything new?”

Owens laughs good naturedly, “not since yesterday Eddie.”

“That’s alright,” Eddie assures him, because Eddie already knows exactly which book he wants to read again, and he knows exactly where it is, he takes a few steps up the ladder to retrieve it, “I’ll borrow...this one.”

“That one? But you've read it twice!”

“Well it's my favorite!” Eddie locks his boots either side of the ladder, sliding down the ladder, hopping off the last step, “far off places, daring sword fights, magic spells, and an Alpha prince in disguise!”

“Well, if you like it all that much, it's yours!” Owen’s tells him kindly.

“But sir!” Eddie starts to protest. He knows people are soft on him sometimes because of his designation. And the whole being an orphan thing, which, thanks to village gossip, spread like wildfire when he and uncle Wayne moved here, just the two of them. Eddie hates charity...but he really does love this book.

“I insist!”

“Well thank you...Thank you very much!” And Eddie is being sent out of the bookshop and into the sunshine. He’s pretty certain Owens doesn’t know how book shops are even supposed to work, considering he keeps letting Eddie borrow them – and now he’s even giving them away. Regardless, Eddie really shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

[fuctacles]

These monsters were suggested by @alicetallula and @mugloversonly 💚

[fuctacles]

[fuctacles]

Silly silly man

[fuctacles]

NON SIGN II is a billboard created in 2010 by Lead Pencil Studio and is located near the Canada-US border in Washington. It consists of thousands of stainless steel rods.

[fuctacles]

a set - do NOT separate !!! 🤚🏻💥

[fuctacles]

help this man

[fuctacles]

my favorite dumbass youtuber/streamer got into a bike accident and can't work. i'm not expecting anyone to donate to his gofundme to help with the medical bills, but please consider checking out his channels:

BionicPigtv for reacts, he does a lot of bodycam videos and true crime

BionicPig not as active anymore, but he's a big fan of animation and has some great movie reviews there

He's also a musician, here are my two favorite songs of his:

He mostly makes music under Fallen Pine and his wife's band is Oh My Ghosts:

[fuctacles]

Sign from Above

@steddiemicrofic sign + @stmonstercalendar alien

G | 507 | Alien!Eddie, pre-relationship | might write a full one shot, chopping this was hell esp bc wordcounter decided E.D. is one word and i was suddenly short 😩

"It's a sign."

"A sign that we should cut the grass," Steve nods, pondering the field before them. He can sense the glare Robin sends him but wisely chooses to ignore it. 

"These are clearly crop circles, Steven! I've read about them! It might not be aliens, but—!"

"You've clearly spent too much time talking to Murray."

"I've had one conversation with that man."

"Exactly."

"Steve," she hisses, following him to the chicken coop. "What if something is happening again?"

"Remember what our therapist said? What's more likely, a bunch of animals tossing around in the grass or alien spaceships? See? You're glaring at me because you know I'm right," he says, pointing at her face. "Come on, before Becky tramples all her eggs again."

That night, Steve walks down to the basement, puts on the heavy headphones and tunes into the frequency he knows by heart.

"E.D.?"

"Steve! Hello!"

He smiles at the readings on the radio's display. "Hi. Are you, by any chance, in the crop circle business?"

"What's a crop circle?"

"Uh. Like, ring in the grass?" Steve tries to explain.

"Oh! That would be my landing strip."

The line widens like sliding doors, and a humanoid figure steps through it.

The tree tops bend under a breeze that comes from nowhere, the grass flattens and a line of light appears. The air around shifts like it's a scorching summer afternoon, not a chilly night.

"Steve?"

The word is warped by a thick accent.

"E.D.?"

The alien comes into view. It looks... like a dude. 

With long hair, brown eyes, and dimples, wrapped in a skin-tight black suit. They make a sound that's mostly clicks and too many consonants.

"Sorry, I don't understand," Steve shakes his head. 

E.D. taps on their neck once, twice. Coughs. 

"Now?"

"Yeah, now's good. You look... human," Steve points out.

"Good." E.D. spreads their arms, looking down on themselves. "The human camouflage isn't used often, I was worried they'd get something wrong."

"It looks accurate," Steve reassures them. "But, uh..."

"Is the hair wrong?" they ask. "It does feel similar to mine." 

Steve shakes his head. "I'd like to see you."

E.D. stares at him for a long time, and he's ready to take it back, when:

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

They put a finger to their neck again, but this time they draw a line down their chest.

The air ripples as the mirage holding E.D.'s human form disappears.

Their skin is dark like the night around them, including their shiny eyes, about a foot higher than they were a second ago. Horns extend from their head, making them seem even taller, and a wild mane of long hair frames their slender silhouette.

"You don't like it," E.D. more points out than asks when the silence stretches. 

"No, no." Steve shakes his head furiously. "You look... more like how we describe demons than aliens, so I'm surprised." He laughs. "Wait until you see the covers of the metal albums you like so much. They definitely fit your look." 

tags: @wheneverfeasible @blasvemous

[fuctacles]

Sign from Above

@steddiemicrofic sign + @stmonstercalendar alien

G | 507 | Alien!Eddie, pre-relationship | Ao3 | might write a full one shot, chopping this was hell esp bc wordcounter decided E.D. is one word and i was suddenly short 😩

"It's a sign."

"A sign that we should cut the grass," Steve nods, pondering the field before them. He can sense the glare Robin sends him but wisely chooses to ignore it. 

"These are clearly crop circles, Steven! I've read about them! It might not be aliens, but—!"

"You've clearly spent too much time talking to Murray."

"I've had one conversation with that man."

"Exactly."

"Steve," she hisses, following him to the chicken coop. "What if something is happening again?"

"Remember what our therapist said? What's more likely, a bunch of animals tossing around in the grass or alien spaceships? See? You're glaring at me because you know I'm right," he says, pointing at her face. "Come on, before Becky tramples all her eggs again."

That night, Steve walks down to the basement, puts on the heavy headphones and tunes into the frequency he knows by heart.

"E.D.?"

"Steve! Hello!"

He smiles at the readings on the radio's display. "Hi. Are you, by any chance, in the crop circle business?"

"What's a crop circle?"

"Uh. Like, ring in the grass?" Steve tries to explain.

"Oh! That would be my landing strip."

The tree tops bend under a breeze that comes from nowhere, the grass flattens and a line of light appears. The air around shifts like it's a scorching summer afternoon, not a chilly night.

The line widens like sliding doors, and a humanoid figure steps through it.

"Steve?"

The word is warped by a thick accent.

"E.D.?"

The alien comes into view. It looks... like a dude. 

With long hair, brown eyes, and dimples, wrapped in a skin-tight black suit. They make a sound that's mostly clicks and too many consonants.

"Sorry, I don't understand," Steve shakes his head. 

E.D. taps on their neck once, twice. Coughs. 

"Now?"

"Yeah, now's good. You look... human," Steve points out.

"Good." E.D. spreads their arms, looking down on themselves. "The human camouflage isn't used often, I was worried they'd get something wrong."

"It looks accurate," Steve reassures them. "But, uh..."

"Is the hair wrong?" they ask. "It does feel similar to mine." 

Steve shakes his head. "I'd like to see you."

E.D. stares at him for a long time, and he's ready to take it back, when:

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

They put a finger to their neck again, but this time they draw a line down their chest.

The air ripples as the mirage holding E.D.'s human form disappears.

Their skin is dark like the night around them, including their shiny eyes, about a foot higher than they were a second ago. Horns extend from their head, making them seem even taller, and a wild mane of long hair frames their slender silhouette.

"You don't like it," E.D. more points out than asks when the silence stretches. 

"No, no." Steve shakes his head furiously. "You look... more like how we describe demons than aliens, so I'm surprised." He laughs. "Wait until you see the covers of the metal albums you like so much. They definitely fit your look." 

tags: @wheneverfeasible @blasvemous

[fuctacles]

You can't tell me that this isn't Steve Harrington and his parents

[fuctacles]

"What are those 'freaks' exactly?" Steve asks from the back seat of the car. He does have a vague idea but it's not something that comes up in daily conversation or gets covered in classes. He's not even interested in going, but his parents rarely take him anywhere, so when his mom mentioned that a freak show came to town and she wanted to check it out, he backed her up and his father reluctantly agreed to make it a family trip.

“Human curiosities,” his mother answers, which explains nothing to him.

“Mother Nature’s fuck-ups,” adds his father, making Steve frown. 

Wasn’t nature supposed to be orderly and thought out? Meticulously crafted by evolution or god’s plan, whichever you believed in? (Steve’s teachers had a confusing beef about it.)

Then again, nature invented spiders, which Steve would consider a fuck-up on its part. He remembers Dustin telling him about a comic about a spider-man. The thought of a human-shaped arachnid makes his skin crawl and he loses all his curiosity on the topic. Suddenly the family trip doesn't seem so fun anymore.

The short drive to the empty fields on the outskirts of Hawkins is filled with the Top 40 playing on the radio. His father taps his fingers to the beat of some of them, proving against all odds that he's capable of enjoying trivial human things. Steve loves to sing along and dance in the confines of his room but here, trapped in a car with his parents, he just bops his head slightly, not wanting to disturb the silence.

The freak show is a lot like the circus his uncle took him to once. There is a scattering of tents and trucks in varying sizes, all in a similar, kitschy theme of a fun fair. The air even smells of popcorn and hot dogs.

His mother scrunches her nose as soon she steps out of the car.

“This is not what I expected,” she comments, eyeing the scattering of kids and families running around.

“Well...” His father slams the door shut, pulling out a cigarette even before locking the car. “These things are dying off because of human rights activists,” he says around the cig he's trying to light. “Guess they had to rebrand to keep the business afloat.”

It's Steve’s turn to scrunch his face. His dad makes everything about business and money, even something supposedly fun, like a Sunday family trip to a fair; freak show, circus, whatever this is.

“It used to be a huge tent with displays. Now each of them gets their own? Who do they think they are?” his mother laments while hanging onto her husband’s arm, while Steve tails behind.

They pass a tent with a Siamese Twins sign hanging from the front, with a man at the front of the line, gathering money and letting people in. Nearby is another tent, occupied by a Bearded Lady, then a Half-man Half-wolf behind it. The line to that one is particularly long.

The Harringtons agree to take a walk around and decide which ones they want to spend money on, and whether it's even worth it. They've already paid an entrance fee that gives them access to most of the attractions anyway.

They pass a couple of smaller booths, a face-painting clown, and a juggler, before reaching the biggest tent in the center. In front of it stands a chalkboard with a schedule of main events. According to it the next show, between 1 pm and 2:30 pm, was a music performance, pricing a dollar per song: The Twisted Jukebox. 

Steve decides to stay back, with a couple of bills burning in his pocket, while his parents keep exploring.

The light coming in from the top of the tent illuminates a box in the stage center, throwing a long shadow against the soft glow. As he comes closer he realizes it's a jukebox, and he wonders what could possibly be so special about it to warrant an hour-and-a-half-long performance slot. The sign says 'a dollar per song', but does it even take bills?

He decides that the couple of minutes left until the start gives him enough time to examine the machine. It isn't as close to the edge of the stage as he’d like but he presses against the wooden construction nevertheless, cocking his head to the side. The jukebox looks off, different from the ones he'd see at diners, but he can't exactly put his finger on why.

“Hi! Would you like to request a song?”

The sudden voice to his left startles him into bumping his elbow against the stage. He winces as he turns around.

A blonde girl is smiling at him apologetically. She's wearing a short green dress, with a jacket he's seen on other circus staff thrown over her shoulders. She must be involved in the show, then.

He glances back at the jukebox, the song list unreadable from his vantage point.

“What are my options?” he asks, looking at the girl again. 

“Any song works!” she says with a bright smile, and he frowns at her, confused.

"That's not how jukeboxes work," he observes. But her smile only widens.

"This one does," she assures him. "So?"

His mind blanks in when put on the spot like that, but he thinks back to the songs he's heard on the radio today.

"Madonna's Material Girl?" he suggests hesitantly. For some reason, she laughs.

"That's perfect. You're the first one today, so you'll get the honors. Do you have a token already?"

The face he makes must be answer enough because she smiles and produces a coin from her pocket. Or a poker chip painted gold to resemble a coin.

"I hope you have a dollar because I don't have any change yet."

He remembers how gigs work, that you have to pay the performers, and dives into his pocket. He didn't take much with him, but one dollar isn't a problem. He exchanges it for the golden token.

"Follow me." The girl motions at him and turns around abruptly. Stunned, he does as he's told until they reach the steps on the side of the stage. She moves aside as if expecting him to go up there.

He's confused as all hell. Is this how all circus performers were? Freaks in both senses of the word?

The girl chuckles at him and she's too cute for Steve to be offended but it's a close call.

"Hop up there, put the coin in the slot and the show will start. I'll come get you after that."

His confusion triples down but he's used to nodding along when a cute girl talks to him so that's what he does now as well. Blondes are not exactly his type, but maybe he could ask her out and show her around town later.

"Okay," he says before stepping on the stage. When he turns around the girl is gone and he hopes it's not some kind of twisted joke.

The sunlight coming through an open flap on the tent's dome lights the stage, casting the surrounding audience in shadows, which Steve is grateful for. He doesn't want to know what kind of faces they are making looking at the dumbass on stage approaching a jukebox.

It looks almost like any other he's seen before, though the paint job is custom. Twisted Jukebox is written at the top in scratchy letters, and the sides are painted with images of fantastical creatures: dragons, unicorns, and the like. Not Steve's style but someone did a good job on it.

The songs list though, is... peculiar. It has things like:

Anything by Metallica, please,

No Wham! I beg of you,

Country over Pop.

Steve wonders briefly if he had even woken up this morning. Everything from the moment his mother proposed a family outing has been too weird to be real.

Finally, his eyes land on the colorful slot with an arrow pointing to it saying "$1 - 1song". He rubs his thumb over the token he's been given before flipping it sideways and sliding it in.

The coin rattles inside like it just fell through into an empty box. He frowns.

read the rest here with art by @blasvemous

And then, the sides of the jukebox fall apart.