#but fr 90% of horror fandom is this

[kaptainandy]

okay okay everyone always talks about how a medieval peasant wouldn't survive seeing/knowing about [insert modern day thing] BUT have we considered the following: would horror movie actors survive scrolling through the tumblr tag of the movie(s) they were in?

this is not only testable with many of the subjects in question being alive, but also put any horror movie into the search bar (if it was made in the 80s or 90s the following is even more likely to be the case) and i guarantee you the first 15 posts will include murder man either as a cat boy or in a maid outfit (or both), the most passionate gay lovemaking between either two very queer-coded characters or the most queerphobic characters to ever exist, a 100k fanfic that is actually really good (and really gay and horny amen), a meme that is incomprehensible to anyone above the age of 45 y/o, someone having a mental breakdown over the grainiest behind the scenes photo you've ever seen, grotesque (affectionate) monster girls having brunch, and/or someone having a religious experience over the most gremlin little guy to ever live.

i say all of this with the utmost love and respect as part of the community. no villain is safe from uwu-ification and we will reach knee-deep into the plot to pull out queer subtext like we are mining for rare ores to trade at the market that will save our village from starving. and i think that's lovely.

the "[insert youtuber here] reacts to their tumblr tag" was a popular trend about 10 years ago but they're already living in-tandem with fandom/online culture so there was little to shock or awe them. give me 65 y/o joe actorman sitting in front of a computer and facing what millenials/gen z have crafted in reverence through a sleep deprived-induced haze. this test will separate the blorbos from the glupshitos.

anyway i think i accidentally took 2 of my adhd meds today uwu

[youryurigoddess]

Aziraphale’s wine

It is a truth universally acknowledged in the Good Omens fandom that an angel in need of a drink turns to his secret stash of Châteauneuf-du-Pape in the back room. He picked up a dozen cases in 1921, and a whole century later there's still some left… for special occasions.

Just to put things in perspective, a standard case contains 12 750ml bottles, for a total of 9 liters of wine. A dozen cases equals 144 bottles, or 108 liters of wine. That’s quite a lot for a single purchase, so Aziraphale — the established sherry and sweet drinks connoisseur — must have had a good reason for it.

One potential explanation is the aura of grandeur around this particular wine. The papal connection, rich history of the region, and recognition of high quality products give Châteauneuf-du-Pape wines a very luxurious status, considerably influencing their price tags. And Aziraphale is known to have standards.

Another one is the way in which their taste differs from Aziraphale’s usual choices: Châteauneuf-du-Pape reds are often described as earthy with gamey flavors that have hints of tar and leather. The wines are considered tough and tannic in their youth, but maintain their rich spiciness as they age.

Since everything in Good Omens has a meaning, it never hurts to run through a quick Strong’s Concordance search whenever a date pops up in a dialogue or, even more importantly, somewhere on screen. More often than not the result seems to match the researched topic, as it’s the case here:

1921: to know exactly, to recognize.

Provided examples: I come to know by directing my attention to him or it, I perceive, discern, recognize; I found out. The general usage of the word usually refers to knowing someone aptly, properly, thoroughly, even biblically. Which might be either a wishful thinking on Aziraphale’s part or just another layer of subtext in this already romantically charged scene. The table dressing, multiple candles, and focus on the lamps with Auguste Moreau’s Young Lovers statues in the background seem to successfully communicate what the angel left unsaid.

Too bad that Crowley remained so adorably oblivious for the next eighty years. At least when he finally came to the realization, he responded with an attempted temptation to another vintage red wine @vidavalor already analyzed.

But back to Aziraphale’s wine. To be exact, it’s a 1921 Châteauneuf-du-Pape from the domaine de Baban. An actual French vineyard from the Rhône region that still exists to this day, even though a few decades ago it got merged with another estate into what is now known as domaine Riché-Baban. According to the local guides, the 11 hectares on the estate are located in the Châteauneuf-du-Pape designation area in the Bois Lauzon and Mourre de Baud districts. At the moment 90% of the wines produced there are sent to wine dealers.

1920s were quite an interesting time for this region, but not because of the flapper cabarets or drag shows usually associated with the era on the Old Continent. To the horror of European oenophiles, right after World War I the whole of France found itself awash with fake wine. One of the worst outrages was the use of lead that magically transformed cheap, acid wine into something deceptively rich and sweet on the outside and one of the most powerful neurotoxins on the inside. People were already well aware of its effects — the poisoning from drinking sweetened wine probably made Handel go blind and Beethoven go deaf, but it shows how desperate for sweetness they were before sugar became available to the masses.

Admittably, it wasn’t a new practice. Far from it — the Romans liked it so much that they even advised to pack lead pans on travels to boil local wine in them to make it sweeter, especially in colder provinces like Britannia. But Aziraphale didn’t buy twelve cases of counterfeit wine for the sake of some good memories of Rome and its many health hazards. No, the fussy angel made sure to get the actually good stuff from the other side of the English Channel.

Henry Tacussel, whose name is mentioned on his wine label, was a French viticulturalist and a close friend of Baron Pierre Le Roy of the Chateau Fortia nearby, a trained lawyer and fellow winegrower from Châteauneuf-du-Pape who established the Winegrowers' Union of the Rhône Valley. Together with the Baron he became one of the founders of Appellation d'origine contrôlée (AOC), a labeling system intended to protect regional products and technologies that is still in use in France and serves as an inspiration to similar solutions worldwide. Their efforts were deliberately centred on Châteauneuf-du-Pape because with such a beguiling name even in comparison to other labels it seemed to attract an undue share of fraudsters at the time.

Soon after Aziraphale’s shopping spree, the local wine producers led by Le Roy and Tacussel began a very long campaign to establish legal protection for the wine from their commune. The delimited area and the method of wine production were finally awarded legal recognition after a decade, in 1933, but it wasn’t the end of the criminal activities on this front. An undercover investigation by The Sunday Times discovered that most of the “Châteauneuf” in the 1960s Britain was actually blended and bottled in Ipswich.

One question remains: was it a purely human affair, or maybe one requiring a demonic or angelic intervention?

[dubacheryking]

It seems like you really like the IT book( it 1986), so do you remember Eddie Corcoran’s story from chapter 6. Because like his chapter is for real one of the most heartbreaking chapters in the whole book and he’s like so underrated for no reason. Soooo like what’s your opinions on him and other little interesting thing like that lol.

:)

oh my GOG tbh i think eddie corcoran's death is straight up the most horrifying part of the book. like if u put a gun to my head and said "what part of IT 86 do u find the most stomach churning" THATS IT RIGHT THERE. no one ever really talks abt it by 90% of the fandom on here is movie based and they dont FUCKING include it for some godawful reason (i can understand the 1990 ver not including it specifically for censorship reasons, since it was the 90s and also made for tv and ALSO cut to 3hrs lol) but like. the fact that it wasnt in the movies is criminal tbh.

but i digress.

as for opinions and such regarding the corcoran boy.... i mean, we get next to nothing abt him. what we know is a) his stepdad is an abusive piece of shit b) he had a younger brother that he seemingly cared about deeply (SOBS) c) his pos stepdad killed his baby brother (LIKE ACTUAL BABY. A 4YO???? FR????) d) his death was horrific. theres a little bit more but but but i havent reread that chapter recently so some of it is certainly escaping me. i wish there was more about him as an actual person, but i also understand that w the book already being a billion pages long there is only so much small details that could actually be included, and the history of derry and main story obvs will trump this specific smaller story--but like, fr, i want to know more abt eddie. we know he was terrified of the thing from the black lagoon (fair) and obvs holds a lot of fear and anger and guilt regarding dorsey's death, we know hes abused, we know how he dies. its a weird paradox of being very close to this character (in terms of his pov at the time, being in his head and all just like w any of the main losers) and being extremely removed (we know nothing abt his internal life beyond what his abuse brings out). which. frankly it's somewhat genius bc, yeah, abuse DOES tend to stifle the actual personality/interests of the person being abused and DOES like literally fuck w the brain chemistry and processessing of a child (source: happened to me lolololol), but its also heartbreaking that all we know him as is One of The Missing. he can never be more. its fucked.

soooo . this got away from me. sorry if it makes little to no sense ill just do a small bit on my thoughts summarized HERE:

i wholeheartedly agree that eddie corcoran's death is like. the worst part of the story. listening to it makes me legit sick to my stomach in a way NO OTHER PART OF THE BOOK DOES. LEGIT. and i think the main reason for that is while cosmic horror space clown spider thing is fake, duh, and more obviously used as a stand in for trauma and specifically for childhood trauma and the lasting effects that it has on our psyche, eddie's death is REAL. dorsey's death is REAL. we see, in grusome, up close detail, the actual consequences of abuse and how it destroys people's lives--specifically children's. we see how the complacency of those around such families (eddie's mom, the teachers, the principal, the town of derry at large) contributes to the horrific mistreatment of the most vulnerable, and how NONE OF THEM suffer any consequences for their lack of action. the section ends with eddie's mother getting access to his savings, which amount to less than 20$. to do so, she has to have him legally declared dead, EVEN THOUGH THEY DO NOT HAVE A BODY. AND THAT'S FUCKED. SHE DOESN'T EVEN WANT TO MAKE SURE HE'S FUCKING DEAD BEFORE SHE DOES THIS, DOESN'T WANT THE CLOSURE, DOESN'T WANT TO LAY HIM TO REST, DOESN'T WANT A PLACE TO VISIT. I CAN'T. like obviously we see themes of abuse and neglect in the whole book, that's the whole point, but eddie's story is different. there is no winning. there is no escape. you can't spin it into a better life.

he's a kid, just like any of the losers, but to the universe, he's not 'special,' so his death doesn't matter. he could have been swapped in with any of the other characters--fuck, he literally shares the name of one of them!! and yet he's not, and because of that, he doesn't matter. his death effects no one. the only positive is that it reopens dorsey's case, and even then, the reopening of his brother's death almost entirely sweeps eddie under the rug. the town of derry turns away, and when the truth of dorsey corcoran's death is revealed, the shrug, go so very sad, and wipe their hands of it. just another child death at the hands of an adult monster, just another day.

[onewhoturns]

Fireworks (3/4)

This is... the fluffiest. xD Hello and welcome to Jonas and Alex are dorks with each other. If you want to start from the beginning: Part 1, Part 2. Feel free to hit up my AO3 if you’re interested.

Fandom: Oxenfree Pairing: Alex/Jonas Chapter: 3/4 Characters: Alex, Jonas, Michael, Ren, (later) Nona, Clarissa Word count: 2568 Rating: T for language Summary: The one saving grace of that first kiss (apart from, well, it wasn’t a bad kiss) – the one thing she could point to as making the kiss sort of okay, morally – was that it was in a timeline where they were just friends. Well… okay, maybe the kiss might have changed that. A little? Or maybe it didn’t get a chance to, much, cause Alex was too busy shutting herself away and having a teensy tiny crisis over kissing her sometimes-stepbrother. And then, naturally, as always seemed to happen July 8th, it would be May 1st all over again. or: the First, the Fourth, the Fireworks.

-

If anyone had told her that approximately 14 months after whatever the hell happened on Edwards Island she’d - they’d all - be heading back to that cursed place, Alex wouldn’t have believed them. And as she watches her friends faces, as Michael hands the drive thru bag to Clarissa, and the fast food is doled out among them, she thinks that maybe there’s some fear under their smiles.

“Not to put too fine a point on it,” Clarissa is doing that thing where she wants to be a bitch but is just a hair past the line of ‘too nice’ to do it. She’s always so much nicer in the later half of the loops. When she exists. “But… is there any particular reason we’ve jammed five people in this car when Jonas is stuck driving alone?”

Michael hums a noise that is suspicious for its innocence, and Alex feels like everyone’s eyes turn to her. Michael is stopped at the turn out of the parking lot, shooting her a look over his shoulder that says well it had to happen sooner or later. And he’s right.

Alex sighs melodramatically. “Yeah okay fine, I’ll go be Jonas’s navigator.” She pops the door open and steps out, pulling her backpack from where it was wedged under the seat.

“Great! Finally getting my fries all to myself!” Ren seems overjoyed, and Alex’s eyes narrow at his mischievous grin, wondering just how much he knows. Jonas and Ren always get along a lot better in the timelines when Michael’s back. But well enough for him to mention the— um…? “Alex, if you don’t get moving you’ll be holding up traffic and we’ll get stopped and our glorious plans will never come to fruition.”

“...Not necessarily a bad thing…” she mutters, but closes the door and lets them drive off as Jonas’s truck pulls forward.

It’s a hand-me-down, well worn, and by now she’s familiar with it— how much the handle sticks, how she’s really gotta yank the passenger side door, the right spot to step on the running board to swing herself up into the front seat.

He looks surprised to see her, though he obviously knew she was getting in since he was the one who stopped for her. “Hey.”

“Hey.” She avoids his eyes, settling her pack between her feet as he pulls out of the lot, and digging in her paper bag for— “Yesss.” The box is popped and that perfect high sodium nugget is in her mouth immediately.

“Still think it’s weird you don’t use sauces. Not that I’m complaining--I mean, I’d rather not have ketchup smell soaking into the upholstery, but still.”

“Why on Earth would I mar the perfection of a well-fried nugget?” She gives him a pitying look, but he’s grinning, and she’s grinning, and everything is back to normal. And when he looks back to the road, she feels a little tug in her gut that could be anxiety but feels a lot less awful.

“You know that stuff is just fleshy bits all held together with meat glue-”

“Shushushushush!” Alex waves a finger at him. “Do not. Ruin this for me.”

He’s smirking, and it’s cute. Dammit, he’s cute. Since when is he cute?

“...Just for that, I’m taking a fry tax.”

“What?!” For all his shock and horror he can’t hide his smile and she’s already digging in his to-go bag. “If anything, I deserve a tax of your disgusting dry nuggets, for driving.”

“Jonas, seriously? A burger? How exactly did you plan on eating this while driving?”

He shrugs, “I dunno. Wait til we get there? I mean, it’s July, it’ll keep warm-ish.”

He’s kind of right, but it’s also kind of gross. Plus the sun will be down in the next hour and it’s already cooling down outside. “Hoo, bud, that is a str-etch.”

“Hey, give me a break, okay? I haven’t driven to the ferry before, how was I supposed to know it’s far enough that we’ll need provisions for the drive?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe Google?”

“Okay you know what? You’re the fry wench now. For that, you are the fry wench.”

She snorts, rolling her eyes. “Riiiight.”

“Nope, it’s a thing now. Fry me. Wench.”

There’s a vicious grin on her lips, spotting her secret weapon nestled in the cup holder. “Owo, what’s this?”

“Did you seriously just—” Jonas’s words stop as she lifts the cup. “Alex…” It’s a warning, but not one she plans to heed. Her fingers pop off the lid. “Don’t you dare.”

“Oh: I dare.” Her smirk is straight up evil as she brings the fry to the milkshake’s edge. “I am the dare-iest.” She snorts and repeats, “I am the dairy -est.”

“First you ruin my threaten to ruin my milkshake and now you’re punning about it?” He shakes his head disappointedly.

“The only fry sauce for me.”

Jonas lets out an audible hiss, wincing as she dunks the fry. “You’re a monster.”

“You’re a cretin with an unrefined palate,” she shoots back, exaggeratedly humming her enjoyment as she chows down on french fry and chocolate milkshake.

“Dry nuggets and soggy fries,” he tuts his tongue in disapproval.

“One day you will taste the majesty that I taste and you will be enlightened and choirs of angels will sing you to flavor heaven.”

He’s skeptical, but amused as he shoots her a look out the corner of his eye. “...Okay.” He catches the raise of her eyebrow and laughs. “Screw it, right? Why not now? Fry me, humble fry wench. Gimme that soggy fry.”

There’s a look of triumph, of complete and utter self-satisfaction, as Alex picks out the perfect fry for the job.

And then eats that one, and picks out another.

“Why don’t you just buy your own fr-” He stops cause she’s about to poke him in the chin with a milkshake-covered fry, so he just shoots her a side-eyed glance and eats it. She’s chomping down on her own (perfectly seasoned, no-sauce-needed) nuggets as she watches his brow furrow, watching the road before them - Michael’s tail lights - with a look of utter concentration.

“Hm?” She bats her eyelashes, about 90% sure she’s won this debate.

Jonas’s lips twist and she thinks he’s chewing his cheek before he finally speaks. “...It’s… okay.”

“Ha! It’s delicious, you lying liar.”

His tongue swipes out for just a second to catch the last grains of salt on his lip, and he’s giving her that begrudging amused look, and she suddenly remembers that kissing isn’t bad and-- oof-- where did that even come from?

“It’s… what’s the opposite of sub?”

She knows what he means, though the context is lacking. “Super?”

“It’s super-par? That doesn’t sound right.”

Finishing off her nuggets and licking her fingers clean, Alex preens; “Just super will do. Super duper, even,” and ignores his snorted response.

“...How much longer is this drive, anyway?”

“Like… thirty minutes?”

For the first time since she entered the car, there’s a moment of silence.

“Um…”

She’s suddenly holding her breath. There’s just a teeensy bit of terror that he’s gonna ask her some Big Loaded Question about their kiss. But when he finally brings himself to say something, it’s a lot more relevant.

“So. The island.”

Crap. She’d almost forgotten about that for a second. “Yeah… Why did Ren pick it?”

Jonas lets out a heavy breath. “Pretty sure it’s some BS about closure.”

Alex is definitely too comfortable with him, cause the bitter laugh is nervously bubbling from her throat before she thinks to stop it. “Pretty sure there’s no closure in a loop. Or-- well, like, I mean it’s a closed loop, but-- but it’s already happened? Or… something?” Ugh. So much for living in the moment. She makes a weak attempt to wipe the soles of her mostly clean beat-up high tops on the car’s rubber mats before pulling her legs onto the seat, criss-cross applesauce, just like elementary school. His annoyance at feet on the upholstery is minimal. This truck has seen much worse than a few pebbles and a bit of dirt.

“Well, yeah, but…” His fingers are drumming on the steering wheel. “...I mean, maybe he’s right. It was a year ago. It’s over.”

His free hand digs through the bag for his food, and unthinkingly grabs the spilled fry pieces and dips them in the uncapped shake before popping them in his mouth. There’s definitely an urge to point it out and crow about it, but Alex is no longer in the mood. It’s not over. It’s never over. Instead, since he seems intent on doing it, she unwraps the burger for him and holds her tongue from warning him how ridiculously stupid it is to try to eat a burger while driving. And when he reaches for it he has that same soft look on his face, and he maybe takes a little too long to take it from her hand, and she feels a tiny bit noodle-y as blood rushes to her cheeks.

The effect is lessened a bit as he inevitably drops shredded lettuce on his shirt, and there’s a cynical edge to her poorly hidden affectionate smirk. Of course she’d figure this out now. Too late. Too early. Too much of a wrench in the cycle of island-island-island. He’s… bent the spokes of her tire, or... something. Whatever it is, it’s just gonna make it harder to deal with the leaving.

She sighs, feeling like her lungs are being pressed of all their air. It’s not the first time she’s backhandedly grateful that she won’t remember it all at once. A twisted kind of blessing and curse all at once. She remembers too late to stop it, but still has to remember. It usually just ends up confusing. Or depressing.

Or both.

If she were looking at him she might see the way he glances over at her, the way he keeps glancing back and forth between her and the road, mildly irritated by the food in his hand, looking at her hand instead, before he finally settles on just finishing his burger as soon as possible. But she’s not, so all she sees is him taking massive bites.

She raises an eyebrow. “You good there, bucko? Don’t forget to breathe.”

He shoots her a vaguely irritated look, but his mouth is too full for a comeback. Which, okay, maybe that does lighten her mood just a bit. Alex does not stop stealing fries. She, of course, rationalizes this with the fact that they’re already getting cold, and cold fries are of no use to anyone. The only sign that he spots her continuous filching is the occasional side-eye she gets. But she just turns straight ahead, watches the back window of Michael’s sedan.

That’s one of the things she loves about Jonas’s car, no matter how… well-loved it is; it’s a solid foot or more taller than all the smaller cars on the road. And yes, that means it’s a pain in the ass to climb into, but once she’s in she’s so tall! She likes tall. Jonas is tall. She likes Jonas.

...Oh no, not this again.

He opened that whole can of worms and now… they’re just… flailing around on the asphalt of her heart, or… whatever worms do. The metaphor in her head is very promptly heading just about nowhere. The point is: she likes him. She really really likes him. But there’s A Lot happening-- the fact that she like likes anyone, for one, when she’s more used to friend crushes in the ‘you seem so cool I want to hang out with you’ way and not in the ‘okay yeah, actually, this kissing thing, not too bad, please hold me’ way.

She chews her lips, pulling her knees to her chest and making a noise like a hurnnngh cause she is very A Lot right now and -- hhh.

“We don’t have to go, you know.” Jonas is done with his food, with minimal spillage, and is watching her closely in quick glances.

“Hm? No, no, that’s-- it’s fine. It’s just an island.”

She hasn’t been back since that night. Maybe she should’ve. Maybe she could’ve learned something. Maybe-- and it was a slim-to-none chance, but maybe -- there was a clue there to ending this hopeless cycle.

“If it helps, I’m like 99.9% sure no one wants to fuck with any radios.”

Her smile is grateful but weak, cause now she’s not so sure that that’s it. Maybe they do need a radio. Maybe it’s time she gave the Sunken a piece of her mind, instead of running away and hiding and trying to live her life one 14-month dose at a time.

“And, y’know… um…” Jonas’s words are becoming more uncertain, more mumbled as he continues. “I’ll… be there, I guess. With you. If that even-- I mean, if that makes a difference.”

She’s not expecting the sudden jab of pain in her chest. Because-- well, it does and it doesn’t. For Alex, Jonas was always the one on the island. He was the one who believed her when no one else did, who stuck by her and occasionally scared the shit out of her, and sat by her side when she went God knows where with the ghosts in her head. But… that isn’t how it happened here. In this timeline.

Her breath is held for a half second before she puts her head against her knees and sighs. It can’t hurt. Whatever pain she’s due for, she’s due for it no matter what. So she flops her arm out, onto the cupholders, narrowly avoiding toppling the milkshake and instead just crunching down the now-empty to-go bag. She’s not looking at him. Not even when she flexes her fingers out, expectantly. But she can guess at his expression, when his fingers twine with hers. Soft.

She shifts her head sideways to glance at him when he turns her hand over, and feels her face going flush when he pulls the back of her hand to his lips. He’s watching the road, but he’s-- alright, it’s cheesy to say he’s glowing, but… well. His ears are pinker than the light of the setting sun and she suspects he’s trying to play it cool, but his lips are twitching.

“You are such a sucker.” Not that she isn’t blushing, too. But she can at least attempt to hide her face in the shadow of her knees.

“Shut up. I’m a romantic.”

She’s smiling at him, rolling her eyes. “Oh really. Since when?”

“I’ll have you know, it’s genetic.”

And okay so maybe it’s also a little contagious, cause he’s shooting her a look, and the sun is just at that really annoying height where it’s blasting orange light into everyone’s eyes, but it’s kinda beautiful. He’s kinda beautiful. And he’s very nearly grinning, and Michael’s words pop into her head-- “...he’s been in love with you for… like, ever?”

She doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even make an attempt at a comeback, especially since she knows it’s true. She just lets whatever’s doing little loop de lous in her stomach keep doing its thing, and she holds his hand and-- yeah, maybe it’s a little sweaty, but it’s July so what could she expect really. She just holds his hand. And they’ll figure the rest out later.