#bluemoonperegrine

[gael-garcia]

My hard-working son. A boy will make you happy one day. Just don't end up with someone mean.

Gael García Bernal & Perla de la Rosa as Saúl & Yocasta in Cassandro (2023)

[abirdie]

[onbearfeet]

Thank you to @directorsnarrative for reminding me that I can put ponte side panels in my costume leather jacket to make it more breathable during cosplay, a thing I have done many times and temporarily forgot was possible.

I am an adult.

[thefourthnorn]

I would like to publicly apologize to any blogs in which I get caught in a scrolling loop and like or repost approximately 100 of your posts

I am a menace.

My bad.

[abirdie]

I'm a Dead Boy Detective. Unclear whether I'm a Repressed Edwardian Dead Boy Detective secretly in love with his best friend or a Less-Repressed 1980s Dead Boy Detective who looks spot-on for 1989 but doesn't sound quite right, but either way that's not great for me on account of the whole Dead thing.

[sigelfire]

Diego and Gael by Erica Hernandez for NPR

Thanks to @bluemoonperegrine and @abigailspinach for the headsup!

[midgardian-witch]

challenge -> you’re starring in a movie with the last person you saved in your camera roll and the last song you listened to is the title

thanks @reallyrallyauthor for the tag! 💙

Ironically writing a fic inspired by this song is on my idea list (it's giving me angsty Marc smut vibes but I am not sure it will end up being that)

What would this movie be? It's definitely angsty, maybe some tragic romance or exes getting back together in a 'we shouldn't do this but fuck it' trope type situation? Maybe vampires. I'd love for Oscar to play a vampire. And we don't have enough vampires with beards. Angsty vampire exes it is.

Alright who hasn't been tagged in this yet? @oddbunny @bluemoonperegrine @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction and anyone that what's to do this!

[blackleatherjacketz]

Find Me After

Kirk x La'an (Strange New Worlds)

Summary: What if Kirk was single when La’an told him about her love affair with his Alternate Self?

Warnings: 18+ Only!, Mature Content, Mutual Pining, Survivor's Guilt, Angst, Longing, Grief, Alcohol, Flirting, Confessions of Love, Kissing, Neck Kissing, Dry Humping, Vaginal Fingering, Finger Sucking, Kirk being his usual slutty self:)

Tags: @bluemoonperegrine @liminal-zone

An entire universe of possibilities flickers in the golden browns of his eyes, blending into olive streaks as he stares at her from across the table. Those deep, earthy tones hold her fast as she tries to convince herself to look away, to look at anything else in her immediate vicinity, but she finds herself helplessly drawn in. Drawn into the same eyes that had longingly studied her face in a world far beyond her own, ones that had once lingered on her lips before he decided to press his against hers. Eyes that will now forever remain shut.

“So what did Sam really do to make you dig through his personnel file, huh?” His smile warms the empty space between them as he takes a sip of whiskey, those lively eyes of his all but twinkling in the dimming lights of the bar.

“Oh, you know Sam,” she reaches for a believable answer to give him as she follows suit, cautiously sipping her espresso martini for a jolt of energy and a bit of liquid courage. “Always pushing the limits of protocol in the name of xenobiology.”

She doesn’t have the heart to tell him that Sam is just as far gone as his own doppelgänger, that both of them are lucky to be alive in this current universe where she gets to enjoy their company in very different ways. That the news that his brother could still be alive in another timeline was enough for him to help her until the very end.

“Nah, that’s typical,” he interrupts her morose thought pattern with a slight, barely noticeable lean forward; but La’an notices everything. “You know, when I asked him about the Enterprise’s chief security officer, the person that I pictured was more gruff, stern and cold…” He pauses his cruel description of her to gently place his hand on top of hers, his half-cocked smirk reminding her of the familiarity he once shared with her. “Not someone nearly as warm and beautiful as you.”

La’an freezes at his touch, his warm fingertips brushing over the fine hair of her knuckles as the space between them grows smaller with his blatant compliment. Is it possible that the instant connection she’d felt with his alternate is somehow still there between them, here and now as the blood rushes to warm her cheeks? Or is she merely projecting her own desires onto this unknowing version of a man she barely knows, a man who only looks like the first person who’s ever seen that side of her?

“You don't mean that.” She leans in just enough to mirror his level of interest, a smile curling at the corner of her lips as her hand happily remains under his. She figures it couldn’t hurt to play into it, after all.

“I’m a Star Fleet officer, Lieutenant,” he reassures her with a wink. “I always say what I mean.” He smiles before swiftly pulling away, leaving her hand cool and empty as he leans back in his chair to take another swig of his drink. “So why don’t you start with the truth.”

“Excuse me?” She leans back in unison, taking offense at his tone before removing her hand from the table.

“So, why don’t you tell me why you really called me that day about Sam’s record,” he prods, a knowing smile crossing his lips, contradicting the consistent warmth of his friendly stare. “I may not always get along with my brother the way that I should, but I know he isn’t one to break protocol or get into trouble.”

He knows. The Jim that she’d gotten close to was always two or three moves ahead of everyone else on the chessboard, constantly thinking his way out of any problem that might come across his path, and saw no reason for this version of him to be any different.

“Lieutenant?” He attempts to bring her back to reality.

Uh-oh, she panics.

This was a mistake. She should have known better than to have tempted fate like this, than to have said anything or brought him here as if nothing had ever happened between the two of them. She should have never thought that she deserved something more than that brief glimmer of hope… than that fleeting flash of love she chose to share with him. She should have known that all she was destined to experience in this life was the heavy grief and painful heartache of survivor’s guilt.

“I should go,” she whispers under her breath, standing up from her seat to disguise her obvious embarrassment.

“Please don’t.” He grabs onto her wrist, eyes wearily aiding him in keeping her near as he silently pleads for her to stay. “You’ll waste a perfectly good martini.” He points to her half finished cocktail with his opposite hand as nearly every eye in the bar begins to watch them, their collective conversations hushed into a dull whisper.

La’an watches his features soften, that mask of performative flirtation seeming to melt away entirely as flashes of the other Kirk, of ‘her Jim’ begin to break through. She takes her time sitting with the obvious discomfort of her crew’s heated glare, weighing the pros and cons of berating him in front of them for touching her in such a flippant manner. They all knew that if any other person had grabbed her like that, they’d have been met with a quick elbow to the nose or shoulder… or something worse. Only he wasn’t any other person.

“You can finish it for me, if you’d like,” she suggests, gingerly taking her arm back from his longing grasp as the crowd slowly begins talking amongst themselves again. “But if you really want to know,” she clears her throat and adjusts the top half of her uniform, pulling it taut down her torso. “Meet me in my quarters in twenty minutes.”

————————-

“So what was so important you couldn’t tell me at the bar, huh?” He waltzes into her personal quarters after she opens the door, turning around to face her once he’s halfway into her living room. “Did Sam tell you about all the bar fights I got into back in the day or…?”

“No,” she cuts him off with a shake of her head. “Nothing like that.” Instead, she points to her coffee table adorned with an ancient tea set, silently inviting him to sit and stay a while.

He follows her gaze over to the couch, nodding before casually sitting down on the stiff sofa with his arm slung across the back rest. “Is there another reason you invited me back to your quarters late at night?” He smirks, “People might talk.”

“Right,” she hadn’t really thought of that. “Well, I just didn’t want anyone else to hear what I’m about to tell you.”

“Okay,” he leans forward with piqued interest. “I’m listening.”

“It’s just that I know you.” She bites the bullet and confesses the bulk of the bitter truth right away, not allowing herself any room for retreat. If she doesn’t tell him how she feels right here and now, she fears that she won't ever be able to do it again.

“Yeah, and now I know you. That’s hardly a good enough reason to invite someone out then leave your guest all alone at the bar after only one drink.” He relaxes a bit and sits back in his seat. “Half of one, actually.”

“No, that’s not what I'm saying.” She follows suit and sits down next to him, his scent somehow more intoxicating at this close proximity. Are those notes of sandalwood and citrus she’s smelling? How had she not noticed those before?

Focus, La’an, focus!

“What I’m trying to say is that I really know you… romantically.” She picks up the handle of the teapot and begins pouring the piping hot liquid into both of their cups, glancing up quickly before setting it down and looking away. “Or at least… a different version of you.”

“A different version of me?” His eyebrows all but disappear into his hairline before falling back down, only to furrow in between his eyes. He swallows hard, scooting in closer with genuine curiosity as she maintains her stoic posture. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

She nods, mentally urging herself to continue. “I know that I’m supposed to ignore it, to pretend that it never happened, but whenever I see you here on this ship…” She takes the chance to stare into his eyes, ready to be ridiculed, only to be met with solemn understanding. “Whenever you look at me like that, it reminds me of the other version of you and it’s almost the exact same feeling I get when he looked at me on Earth.”

Jim tilts his head before placing his hand onto her knee, holding eye contact as he studies the pieces on the board in front of him, trying to plan out his next move. He allows his thumb to gently rub the inside of her thigh, to change that worried expression on her face into a relaxed smile as it brushes over the dark fabric of her uniform. “Do you like the way I look at you?”

“More than anything,” she confesses in a stifled whisper. “And I know it wasn’t you, but a part of me can’t help but wish that it was.” She takes in a deep breath, turning her body towards him as his knee slowly slides between her thighs, his hand all but guiding her into him. “Look, I know it’s a lot to take in, that it’s unfair to compare you to someone who made me feel so happy and free, but there was an alternate timeline and he…”

Jim’s lips press against hers just as easily as they had before, soft and gentle as the warmth of his kiss intensifies, magically relieving all the tension she held in her neck and shoulders. That faint scent of his cologne mixes in with the hint of whiskey still on his lips as she parts her own to embrace this welcome connection. Somehow all of that grief and sorrow she’s been carrying with her has been lifted, the sensation of his mouth now all she can think about as her hands find their way onto his chest.

“What was that for?” She can’t help but ask as he barely pulls away.

“You were about to tell me the secrets to an alternate timeline,” he pecks at her lips again, an amused smile wrinkling the skin around his eyes as he runs his fingertips over the grooves in her braids. “I’m just trying to save your ass from the time police.”

“Oh, is that right?” She laughs, nudging her nose against his as her hands smooth their way up his neck into his hairline. “You know about the time police?”

“I thought everybody did.” He kisses her again, more fervently this time as his tongue brushes against hers, parting her lips with a more passionate hunger than the other version of him ever had.

La’an allows herself to feel that hunger, too, that need she always heard about but never quite understood until now. It pulses in her core, growing in warmth the more he touches her as he practically breathes new life into her lungs. She inhales this new yet familiar feeling, remembering flashes of it with the other Jim before it increases her desire to taste every inch of him, that primal urge to feel his skin flush against hers. In an attempt to do so, her teeth practically clash against his as she pulls him in even closer, her breath quickening as she feels the shock of his palms against the bare skin beneath her uniform.

“Did the other Me make you feel anything like this?” He shifts his weight so that he’s practically on top of her, his thigh rhythmically rubbing against her needy center as his hands survey every supple peak and valley of her chest beneath the fabric of her shirt.

“Yes,” she gasps as he continues kissing a blissful trail down her jaw and neck, his tongue doing wonders to her sensitive, untouched skin. “I mean no, nothing like this.”

He smirks against her throat as he feels her match the slow, hypnotic rhythm of his knee, thrusting her hips up into him as the sporadic pattern of her breathing eventually mirrors his own.

“How about this?” He slides his hand down the front of her pants and watches her face change, those dark brows of hers knitting together in pleasure as his fingers dip down between her folds before the deafening sound of a hail echoes against the walls, halting his progress.

“LA’AN, YOU’RE NEEDED ON THE BRIDGE.” Una’s authoritative tone brings them out of the moment and into the present as they both hold their breath in unison, looking up at the speaker on the wall. “LA’AN?”

“Yes,” she finally responds as Jim brushes his fingertips over her swollen bud a few times, spreading her growing moisture up and down her length before freeing his hand from her wasteband. She watches him coyly suck her juices off his digits as she attempts to finish communicating with her superior officer, clearing her throat in order to sound more professional. “Yes, I’ll be there soon. Umm… acknowledged!”

“Damnit.” He laughs before his head drops onto her chest with a defeated sigh, his auburn locks now resting against her chin as he listens to the pounding beat of her heart. He smoothes his hands up under her shirt as her back instinctively arches into his embrace, kissing the fabric of her shirt before laying there in silence. He wonders just how lucky his alternate had to have been to find her in an another universe, especially one that ended up bringing them both together in this one, here and now.

“I’d better go,” she sighs, weaving her fingers through his hair as her chest rises and falls in utter disbelief. “Even if I don’t want to.”

“I don’t want you to, either.” He lifts his head to look her over, to really take her in as he caresses her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “But I’m pretty sure Captain Pike would have something to say if he knew I was keeping you.” He leans down to kiss her lips one more time. “Come find me after?”

[oddbunny]

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@sokovianfortune @bluemoonperegrine @onbearfeet @grabyoursaintsandpray @abirdie

[agirlwithachakram]

Last Line Tag Game

thanks for the tag @bluemoonperegrine

Rules: Post the last sentence paragraph you have written and tag as many people as it has words in it!

----

"You tell yourself you're just some sort of construct and you tell me I'm real. You make friends and sleep around and you, you learned a whole instrument! You play and sing and you love to drive and you care so much about others, and really, you have more zest for life than Marc and I put together, and I think that you're pretending you're not real because that way, anything you do is a bonus. If you're a real person, you'd have to catch up to some unmanageable ideal. If you're not, it's all gravy. You're both afraid to want things, just in different ways."

--

if you see this and you want to do it, consider yourself tagged and feel free to tag me in your post so i can read it!

[bluemoonperegrine]

Those Who Wander

Rated T | Chapter 1/? | 1865 words | ao3 link

Authors: @bluemoonperegrine and @vicarious-rebel

Fandoms: Moon Knight, Werewolf By Night

Tags: Marc Spector/Jack Russell, Marc Spector & Steven Grant & Jake Lockley, mentions of Khonshu, mentions of Layla El-Faouly, San Diego/Tijuana area, alternate universe, fluff, romance, silliness

Summary: The Moon Knight system, now living in San Diego, decides to get back to nature after a mission investigating a human trafficking ring. Hiking in a national park in the mountains east of San Diego doesn't go as planned.

Notes: This is such an alternate universe. Seriously. It doesn't get much AU-ier than this! It's somewhere around 2010, the system and Jack are in their late 20s, and we've done a number on their backstories. Fun! We'll update tags as the story progresses.

-----------------------

Chapter 1: Well-Met

Out of all of the criminals Marc Spector had hunted down in his twenty-six years, he despised human traffickers the most. Although they weren’t the most depraved of those who’d received Khonshu’s justice by his or Jake’s hand, their calculating opportunism made his blood boil. These lowlifes were modern-day slavers. Following Khonshu’s orders regarding them wasn’t a problem.

One such lowlife by the name of La Araña was the reason why Marc had moved from London to San Diego last month. One of the reasons, really. Somehow Khonshu had learned about an explosion in human trafficking in the San Diego/Tijuana area and ordered him and Jake to cease Araña’s operations by any means necessary. The bird had ordered Steven as well, but the Brit has managed to talk his way out of it for the most part. Steven was smarter than the skeletal blowhard, much to his annoyance and Marc’s, Jake’s, and Steven’s amusement.

Rather than embark on a long-term mission, the system had decided to move back to the States. Although a few months had passed after their mother’s death and the Harrow/Ammit mess, they still felt off-kilter. Moreso than usual, anyway. A change of scenery would do them good, Steven and Jake thought. 

Marc didn’t care either way. Life was pretty lousy no matter where you lived, so whatever. Their best friend Layla traveled constantly for archaeological or Taweret-related reasons, so they’d see her often. She and Frenchie were their—particularly Marc’s—rock. Thank god for cell phones.

Despite being at the top of a rocky ridge, Marc’s flip phone had no signal. He withheld a sigh as he swept his gaze around the arid, rugged landscape. He needed to get moving before the morning sun climbed higher in the sky. Somehow he’d forgotten to pack a hat in the small rucksack that Khonshu’s suit could absorb. Steven had wanted to experiment more to see exactly how much mass the moon god’s magic could manage. It sounded like a long and tedious process, so Marc vetoed it entirely. If it could fit in his Army rucksack, it would work. Simple.

After taking a long swig of water from his half-empty canteen, Marc stowed it, shouldered his pack, and started down the narrow animal trail that led down the steep, east-facing hillside and into the canyon below. They’d need water from the stream that had carved the deep, narrow valley by the time they got there. Water purification tablets would make it safe to drink.

A pulse of anxiety washed over him. This time Marc sighed. “What, Steven?”

Kinda steep, innit?

“Kinda. Jake and I hiked worse in the Army.”

Sure did, jefe.

Marc grinned; he hadn’t realized that Jake was awake. “You keeping an eye on things, Jake?”

He felt his headmate’s mental nod. Yup.

We’re not lost, Steven said as if reassuring himself. Marc said he knows where we are. I don’t see how, flying at night after our mission when there’s no moon and there’s hardly anything out here! How do pilots—

“Steven,” Jake and Marc said simultaneously. Marc continued, “Even if we were lost, which we’re not, it’s fine. We’re trained for this. Packed accordingly, and—”

You forgot a hat.

Jake chuckled as Marc grumbled under his breath. “I wanted a relaxing hike, Steven. This right now is the opposite of relaxing.”

Está bien, hermanito. We’ve got the suit, remember?

Steven chuckled. Right. One of you nudge me when we’re not on a cliff or if something interesting happens.

Marc grinned. “You got it, buddy.” He felt Steven retreat just in time for the first switchback. The footing was a bit dicey unless you were a mule deer. He’d manage, and if he didn’t the suit would save their ass again. The suit didn’t dull pain, so Marc focused on the rocky trail and enjoyed the wilderness stretching out in all directions.

Three hours later the sun was directly overhead and felt searing due to the thinner atmosphere at this elevation. Marc was halfway through his canteen of safe but gross-tasting purified stream water. He’d stripped off his T-shirt an hour earlier to act as an improvised headwrap/scarf to protect his scalp and the back of his neck. It was working, but allowing his rucksack straps to chafe on his shoulders. Most worryingly, the canyon floor was now sloping uphill. He’d been walking southwest as planned. Barrett Junction should be a half mile ahead and downhill.

Steven did the mental equivalent of a stretch and a yawn. We there yet, bruv?

“Getting close,” Marc hedged.

Jake chuckled softly.

Wot? Steven asked.

We’re—

“Do not, Jake.”

We’re what?

Marc sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Taking the scenic route.”

Jake laughed and soon was joined by Steven. It’s all scenic, mate!

Hold up, Jake said, and Marc halted. Despite sharing the same body, somehow Jake picked up on things before he and Steven did. 

Marc looked and listened intently. Nothing was moving other than a few birds high overhead, but he heard something, just barely.

Jake stated, Vehicle. East.

Brilliant! Steven enthused as Marc darted behind a stand of pine-tree-like shrubs. What’re you doing? We can get a ride to civilization!

Gotta make sure he’s not a hostile.

Marc felt Steven virtually roll his eyes. You lot are paranoid. ‘E’s—or she, could be a woman, you know—prob’ly just out enjoying nature, but not lost like—

“WE’RE NOT LOST!”

The sound of the approaching engine quieted. “Hey!” a male voice called from the southeast. Maybe the canyon branched that way. “You need a hand? ¿Necesitas ayuda?” 

Yes! Steven replied as if the guy could hear him. 

Marc shushed his headmate so he could continue observing. Footsteps crunched on sand and gravel. Soon a slender man in a park ranger’s uniform stepped through an opening in the canyon wall and into view. His wide-brimmed hat shaded his face.

Feeling foolish, Marc shifted his weight to his other foot and debated waiting the ranger out. Maybe he should just summon the suit and fly off after all. He’d be a lot less sunburned that way.

The park ranger seemed to look right at Marc despite the evergreen shrubs hiding him. He started jogging toward him, calling “¿Estás herido? Are you hurt? I have a first aid kit in the jeep.” His English had a light Mexican accent.

Busted, Jake chortled as Steven snickered.

Wishing he’d never attempted a relaxing post-mission hike, Marc strode around the edge of the shrubby trees. “I’m okay, just…”

The ranger had halted about ten feet from him, close enough to make out his features despite the shade from his hat. He was drop-dead handsome, clean-shaven with tan skin and short dark hair. Seemed to be about Marc’s age and height.

Blimey, Steven murmured. Those eyes!

I thought you liked Layla, Jake said.

I do, Steven returned, but she doesn’t like any of us like that—

¡Gracias a Dios!

—and that’s fine, and I dunno, I’m still figuring things out so—

Shut. Up. Marc managed to say silently, if through gritted teeth. Mercifully, they listened.

The ranger—Russell per his name tag—tilted his head and frowned. “You’re sweating. That’s good.” He resumed walking toward him.

“Good?” Marc echoed, acutely aware that he was shirtless. Why did he care? He’d been in the army for crying out loud!

Russell smiled broadly. “You don’t have heat stroke. Do you have water?” Marc nodded. “Good.” He stretched one arm in the direction he’d come from and reached the other toward Marc’s shoulder but didn’t touch him. “Let me give you a ride back to wherever you’d parked. Was it the main lot, or one of the others?”

Marc found himself walking with the young man. “I, uh, was dropped off.”

Jake snorted.

Russell looked at him askance, then shrugged. “We’ll go to the station. It’s air-conditioned. You can rest, then go from there.” Marc nodded agreement.

They walked uphill along a short, narrow gap in the canyon wall heading east. Marc spotted the ranger’s dusty jeep parked near its mouth.

“Got a name?” Russell asked.

“Marc,” he replied.

Russell grinned. “Nice to meet you, Marc.” He put one hand on his stomach. “Jack.”

Steven chuckled, which made Marc frown. What? he asked.

“Yes, like the dog,” Jack said with a brilliant smile. “It wasn’t intentional.” He stopped walking, so Marc followed suit, abruptly realizing they’d reached the jeep. His situational awareness had gone to shit for some reason. 

Jack’s brow furrowed again. He motioned at the passenger side of the jeep. “Go ahead, get in. It’s a half hour drive on rough roads to the station, so be sure to drink some water. I’ve got jerky and trail mix if you need something to eat.”

Marc nodded again and did so, putting on his shirt after setting his rucksack in the back seat. Jack steered the jeep further east, then turned north on a rutted jeep trail. They were headed in the opposite direction he’d intended to go, not that it mattered. He caught Jack’s eye and waved southwest. “How much further was Barrett Junction?”

Jack’s eyebrows shot up as smile crept across his face. “That’s where you were headed?”

“Yeah.” Marc felt his headmates’ amusement loud and clear.

“I’m glad I found you,” Jack said, now serious. “Eight miles as the crow flies, but with this terrain? No offense, but I don’t think you’re prepared for it. And there’s no backcountry permits issued for this area right now. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Oh.” Marc faced forward, stared out the windshield, and tried to ignore Steven’s and Jake’s laughter. “I’ll be sure to get a permit in the future.”

Jack nodded, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. “They’re for safety more than anything. It’s not good to do this stuff alone. I love it out here, but have to admit it can be dangerous. There are predators.”

“Yeah,” Marc agreed, his thoughts returning to La Araña. With the border only a few miles to the south, the trafficker may have routes nearby. For a moment Marc considered asking Jack if he’d heard of Araña, but decided otherwise. If anything he might seem suspicious, being in a remote area of the park near the border without a permit. So he drank more of the bitter-tasting water from his canteen, and waited to return to civilization.

Look at ‘im, bruv.

Marc didn’t on general principle and to not be weird; Jack was navigating a tooth-rattlingly rough section of road. Why?

‘Cos I want to see him. He’s cute!

Dios, Jake moaned. It’s Layla all over again.

Would that be so bad? Steven countered. She’s brilliant! A good mate.

Marc sighed. Enough. It’s not like we’ll be out this way again. 

Unless we want to go on another relaxing hike, Steven said. I’d say this is the perfect place to go!

Jake drawled, Try not to get lost, jefe.

Marc tried to lean the back of his head against the headrest, but the lurching jeep made that impossible. I hate you guys.

You don’t, Steven returned, affection clear in his words.

Marc returned it, smiling. I don’t.

[gael-garcia]

It's too bad you weren't there to see Cassandro.

Gael García Bernal w/ Bad Bunny in Cassandro (2023, Roger Ross Williams)

[abirdie]

Gael García Bernal (and Alice Braga) in El Ardor / The Burning (2014, dir. Pablo Fendrik)

I'm not convinced that this film works overall, but the cinematography of the final showdown (from around 01:18:30) is stunning and worth watching (I'm not even going to try to render it in GIF form)

(I promised this gifset to @bluemoonperegrine forgetting QUITE how much of the film takes place in the dark)

[onbearfeet]

Queerwolf By Night: Queercoding, Media Literacy, and Werewolf By Night

Okay, @bluemoonperegrine got me thinking about a thing, so it's time for Media Studies And Writing Hacks With Kat. Grab your beverage of choice, and let's talk about queercoding in Werewolf By Night.

Let's start with a definition, because queercoding can sound like a conspiracy theory if you don't understand the context. In media studies, "coding" means using indirect means (usually details) to imply a state of being without explicitly stating that such a state exists. For example, if you're watching a TV show about a group of high-school friends, and one of the characters is consistently dressed in more expensive-looking clothes than the others, is more familiar with elite cultural signifiers like designer brands, and casually drops statements like, "Oh, yeah, I met him in the Hamptons last summer," then that character is being coded as wealthier than the others. Now, if a knowledgeable character SAYS, "Oh, that's Amelia, her family's rich," then it's not coding anymore. Amelia isn't wealthy-coded; she's just wealthy. Coding is only coding if the state of being is IMPLIED.

Now, why would anyone use coding when explicit statements are an option? Why can't people just say Amelia is rich? There are a number of reasons. First, maybe there isn't time or space to establish every single detail of a character through dialogue. Maybe Amelia's wealth is important to the story, but less important than the fact that she's dying of cancer, or in unrequited love with another character, or obsessed with rubber ducks. Or, second, maybe the coding is a setup for some kind of surprise or reversal. Maybe Amelia wears fancy clothes and has summered in the Hamptons, but surprise! Her parents just went to federal prison for fraud, and she's now penniless and sleeping on another character's couch, with no one mentioning it at first because it's painful for her.

And finally, there's arguably the most famous reason for using coding in media: because you literally can't be explicit about it. Let's talk about the Hays code.

The Motion Picture Production Code, widely known as the Hays code, was a set of mostly self-imposed rules restricting the content of Hollywood movies between the 1930s and the 1960s. There was effectively a censorship board in charge of approving, disapproving, and demanding changes to films. The Code arose in response to a moral panic about sex and violence in movies; studios instituted the censorship board as a preemptive measure to head off possible censorship legislation. At the time, movies were such a new art form that there were serious concerns that First Amendment free-speech protections might not apply to them, so studios came up with this self-censorship system to avoid dealing with external censorship.

And what guidelines did they choose, you may ask?

Essentially, the guidelines were the conservative Catholic values of the 1930s. Yes, Catholic specifically; the man in charge was Catholic and talked a lot about how he applied his personal values to the task. So the Code included rules like a ban on insulting or denigrating religion or its institutions, among other things. There were also restrictions on what kind of crime and violence could be displayed, sex rules so strict that even married couples couldn't be shown in the same bed (if they even sat on a bed together, they had to keep at least one foot on the floor), and you KNOW there was a ban on anything gay. It was called "perversion" in the text of the code, but it meant gay stuff. Or trans stuff. Or kink. Or women being interested in sex. You get the idea.

But there was an exception to all these rules, and it was that more "objectionable" traits were allowed for villains. After all, a film isn't endorsing murder if the murderer goes to jail at the end and everyone stands around saying, "Wow, murder sure is terrible!" Right?

Yeah, what happened in practice was that filmmakers started giving villains and monsters traits that were stereotypically associated with queerness, supposedly to heighten how eeeeeevil these characters were, but actually for any number of other reasons. Apropos of absolutely nothing, here's Peter Lorre being extremely heterosexual with a cane in The Maltese Falcon.

Now, how does this relate to WBN? Well, we all know WBN is an explicit love letter to 1930s and 1940s horror movies. If you don't believe me, here's Lon Chaney Jr. in 1940:

And here's Gael Garcia Bernal in 2022:

So let's talk about queercoding in classic Hollywood horror movies.

Obviously, confining queer material to villainous characters meant that monsters and their movies could be MUCH queerer than the rest of Hollywood's output. It also helped that horror filmmaking was full of extremely queer artists like James Whale, the openly gay director of Frankenstein. He's often brought up as an example of really obvious queercoding in horror cinema, especially in regard to his film Bride of Frankenstein, in which a young scientist is literally lured away from his impending marriage to a woman in order to create life with a VERY queercoded older man.

Look at these proud new dads.

And lest you think this is an outlier, let me introduce you to Dracula's Daughter, aka the Carmilla adaptation with no lesbian overtones, no sirree:

Yeah, queercoding is absolutely A Thing in classic Hollywood horror. It's part of why horror movies are as much of A Thing in gay culture as they are.

The Hays Code went away in the 1960s, partly due to the fact that Code compliance was SUPPOSED to be the one true path to wide distribution and profit, and yet the genderbending comedy Some Like It Hot made piles of money despite not being even CLOSE to Code-approved.

But 30 years is long enough to develop an entire cinematic language, and the legacy of the Hays Code lives on in things like queercoded Disney villains.

Now, let's talk about Werewolf By Night. A movie made under conditions not dissimilar to those of the Hays code in that Disney, for all its vaunting of First Gay Characters, absolutely refuses to put those characters in anything with wide distribution in such a way that they can't be edited out for Singapore.

So if your choices are 1) No Gay Stuff, 2) Easily Deleted Gay Stuff, and 3) Gobs and Gobs of Queercoding That Can't Be Removed, and you're making a retro black-and-white horror movie, you may find that option three makes the best, and queerest, movie. The cinematic language is all there for you, and you know at least some of your audience will pick up what you're putting down. And at this point, it's practically a genre expectation.

Now, I want to be clear about something: coding of any kind is, by its very nature, subject to interpretation. If we say something is queercoded, we are NOT saying that it's explicitly queer or that no heterosexual explanation exists or whatever. That's not how coding works. Queer theory and queercoding are a lens through which to look at a work. Sometimes queercoding is even unintentional; it's baked into so much American media by now that tropes like queer-coded villains sometimes happen not for particularly queer reasons but because an actor decided he wanted to sound like the villain in his favorite black-and-white movie. When I say WBN has queercoding, that is ALL I'm saying--that the coding is there. (And yes, I do realize this is the piss-on-the-poor website. Sigh.)

Queercoding is also not queerbaiting; the latter is where a piece of media deliberately builds up the expectation of expressly queer content and then refuses to deliver, often while mocking queer fans who fell for it. (Looking at you, Sherlock and Supernatural.) Queercoding may be used for queerbaiting, but the terms are not synonymous. Because WBN makes no queer promises (no romantic promises at all, really), it cannot be said to be queerbaiting.

So with all that in mind, let's look at coding in Werewolf By Night. And because he's the protagonist and everyone's favorite woobie, we'll start with Jack.

Look at this man. Enjoy him.

He will be the subject of Part Two.

[ipsl0re]

Continuing on from this ask from @bluemoonperegrine, my creative process for my fics;

Now, about 97% of the fanfic I’ve written belongs to a single series (that dominated the last 3 years of my life. In a good way). So this will explain the differences in my process between a standalone 700-word story and a 170,000 word series, when it comes to the prep. There is a little difference in writing, but that’s mainly just how I often write the start and end of the chapter at the same time, rather than in order like normal.

As a universal rule, I start with characters I want to see, and a situation to put them in:- that I haven’t seen before. My preference is for underserved niches- the stories where if I don’t write it, no-one else probably will. This is captured as a short sentence that summarises what I want to write. Now it diverges.

For shorter stories, this can launch straight off. Grab the prompt, get to the meat. For longer series, I have a start and a very vague end: for example, “the characters do something dangerous and now fully trust each other” was the ending of Private Investigations at first. Then, chapter by chapter, with at least a 10-chapter buffer, I make a summary of the chapter’s events- filling in later ones as I think of it & write the chapters before.

Actually writing? I do it at night: alone, often in bed, with the right music for the fic and the tone, sometimes with tea. Get the prompt, and just… expand it? Starting with fairly vague writing, I fill in the events with simple descriptions and slot dialogue between- that’s far more final, and often just empty quotation marks until I know what they say.

The first pass always leaves gaps, where I’m not sure quite what’ll happen, or how- but this is 30% of the process

The next 60% is jumping back and forth, running through the chapter from beginning to end filling out missing parts and detailing what isn’t. It also allows me to continually scrutinise and catch typos- since I’ve read the skeleton (with differing levels of additions) in full probably at least 5 times, even for shorter stories.

(If this part isn’t going anywhere, I just write a different chapter, procrastinate until it clicks, or sleep. The second option is the most common.)

That final 10% is the proofread. Reading through it once, making sure it has all the events and descriptions that I want it to (which is to say, making sure the story is final) and then doing that again after pasting it into the ao3 text editor- this time to check for typos, pacing, and formatting. I can’t stop and start with this process, so it’s just focusing on it for an hour or so and getting through.

Then, if I don’t have one ready, it’s time to write the ending note and publish.

I hope this was informative, since it was definitely too long.

[grabyoursaintsandpray]

Crack fic - Too many beds

This isn't the strangest thing I've ever written but it's definitely up there.

The blame for this is because of a ruined trope prompt of 'Too many beds' and being egged on by @bluemoonperegrine who suggested what if they were trapped in a haunted IKEA, it made me laugh and while not haunted I absolutely ran with the IKEA prompt.

This was entirely written on the notes in my phone (which has no spell check) while in the back of someone's car over the course of an hour because I couldn't shake the idea. So excuse any typos or grammar.

Read on for an accurate layout of IKEA (I feel like I lived in there a few years ago when I moved house, this brought back bad memories honestly)

Did I mention crack fic? 1600 words of crack. This isn't making it onto AO3 😅

🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️

It seemed easy and that should have been the first clue really she thought. Her and Jack had been chasing a witch and they had tailed them to IKEA of all places.

It was closed for the night but the witch had unlocked the doors and turned the lights on so they followed her in.

"Why would she come here?" Elsa questioned to herself but she saw Jack shrug beside her.

She'd definitely chased bad guys through scarier places than this, it would be a walk in the park and maybe she'd get some ideas for her bedroom while she was at it.

They prowled through the living room layouts but the witch was nowhere to be seen.

Strange she thought to herself as she crouched to look underneath a fake mahogany table just in case.

"Elsa!" Jack called excitedly and she turned to see him holding up a purple throw pillow "This would really set off the colour of the walls"

She blinked blankly at him, had he been reading housekeeping magazines without her noticing?

She checked under more tables and behind sofa's to no avail all the while Jack kept up a constant stream of chatter about things he liked.

"This rug would look great in the hall" He called as she angrily slammed a drawer shut in frustration.

Nothing in the workspace area, though there was a desk she thought she might come back for at a later date and Jack helpfully span around on a multitude of computer chairs.

By the time they'd made it into the kitchen setups she'd kind of forgotten why they were even here. That was soon brought to the forefront of her mind as she narrowly avoided a chopping board to the head.

"Shit!" She yelled as she ducked just in time, the wooden board slamming into a row of taps behind her.

"You'll never take me alive!" The witch screamed popping up from behind a marble counter, cutlery floating around her head.

Jack was busy opening and closing a cabinet door so didn't spot the danger, she grabbed his arm and yanked him to safety just as knives and forks clattered around them.

There was one last smash of glass before Elsa deemed it safe to stand back up, Jack was looking forlornly at the shards on the floor and didn't join her.

"I really liked that caffetier" he told her dejected before he too stood.

The witch was standing in the arch leading to the next area cackling wildly "I'm more powerful than you can even imagine" she pointed at them menacingly then fled.

Weird but what about this wasn't honestly.

Elsa made to follow with Jack trailing behind when she heard rattling and then a horrid scraping sound. Almost in slow motion she turned in time to see a kitchen drawer squealing along the linoleum towards them.

"What the" but she didn't get time to finish her sentence as it leaped towards her head like a cat.

She yelped in surprise as she weaved and it clattered to the ground in front before scuffing it's way in a circle almost like it had turned to look at her, before it moved with shocking speed towards her ankles.

"Jack little help?" she asked wondering if he could see what was happening while she kicked the sentient wood away from her.

"Busy!" He called back and she glanced at him to see he was holding a toaster at arms length while the power cord attempted to wrap around his neck like a python. Alright then, he really was busy.

In her distraction the drawer had gotten closer and she felt it ram into her kneecap "Son of a bitch!" Right that was it, now she was pissed.

With a shout of fury, she jumped landing inside the drawer and causing the flimsy chipboard to crack beneath her weight. Wasting no time she began stomping the stupid thing to death, until it was just chunks of material and dust.

She heard Jack yell in pain and had no time to revel in besting kitchen furniture as she ran over to help him. She swiped a thankfully inanimate frying pan from a display and like a cricketer going up to bat, took an almighty swing and sent the toaster flying across the room.

"Thanks" Jack croaked, rubbing at his reddened neck.

She nodded before sprinting to the next room, dreading what new horror awaited her.

She let out a sigh of relief as she realised they'd made it to the bedroom section, beds were far less scary than knives.

The witch was easy to spot on account of her still cackling manically but on seeing them she waved her arms around and Elsa heard more ominous banging and scraping.

"Oh give me a break" she grumbled as the witch darted away and her path was blocked by an angry bunk bed. Elsa had no idea how she knew it was angry, it was more of a feeling.

It moved with a grace that belied it's sheer size and she was struck with the realisation that this hitting them would hurt a hell of a lot more than a toaster.

She made a mad dash towards it and climbed onto the bottom bunk, trying to scramble through the gap and to the other side. She hadn't thought about sentient mattresses but soon did as she felt it moving below her, the side tilting up to stop her escape.

She managed to get through even as she felt it enclose around her ankle but with a swift tug she pulled it free landing onto the floor with a thump.

She sprang to her feet, looking around wildly for Jack.

"Up here" he called to her and she found him holding to the top of a sturdy oak wardrobe for dear life, two single beds banging into either side.

There wasn't much time to stare as she felt something collide with the back of her knees causing her to fall backwards onto something soft. Silk sheets soon started to try and mummify her body as the mattress undulated beneath her.

She tipped herself forward, taking joy in ripping the silk that gripped her. She'd never understood the urge to use it, it was so slippery to try and sleep on.

It was a short-lived victory as she eyed more beds and loose mattresses getting closer. Outrunning the one on her heels she quickly scrambled up to join Jack using a doorknob as a foothold, thankful that this bit of furniture wasn't currently alive.

She watched heart sinking as more and more beds came from all around the room, circling their lone wardrobe like a pack of wolves. The ones closest banging into it and causing it to rock, it would tip over sooner rather than later and she dreaded to think what would happen when it did.

"There's too many beds!" Jack yelled voice tinged with terror.

He was right, she knew it but she couldn't face this being their last stand. Maybe she could buy him some time so at least one of them could make it out of here alive.

"Jack you have to run, I'll distract them"

"What? No, we go together or not at all" he told her shaking his head in denial.

"We'll never make it, this way you have a chance" When he looked about to object again, she shoved him backwards with a palm on his chest "Go Jack!" She told him firmly as she leapt down from the wardrobe they were clinging to before he could change her mind.

A queen size bed was there to catch her fall and the others quickly gathered around her like hungry lions.

She watched as the corners of the fitted sheet started to curl in towards her and Jack looked down at her sadly before she saw him leap to freedom behind the distracted beds "I love you" she muttered while tears tracked down her face.

As the mattress folded over like a clam trapping her within its depths, she screamed and flailed her arms in sheer fright.

Suddenly she was awake, in the dark and on her back looking at the bed that she had just flung herself out of. Her throat hurt so she must have been screaming in her sleep.

"Elsa?" Jack queried sleepily before his head appeared over her side of the mattress "Are you okay? Why are you on the floor?"

She stood up and god her arse ached so she'd most likely landed funny and no doubt it would be bruised in the morning, there was something to look forward to.

"I'm fine, just a bad dream" She told him before sliding back into bed, his arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer.

"I'll keep hold so you don't fall out again" He mumbled already starting to fall back to sleep. She smiled a tiny heartfelt grin, he was such a sap.

As she settled down heart slowing back to normal, her dream came back to her in flashes. A strange consequence of spending so many weekends furniture shopping in between monster hunting as they redecorated the manor together.

"Jack?" She began softly and he hmmed quietly "I don't think we should buy any more furniture from IKEA"

"M'okay" He agreed easily and she knew she'd have more of a fight on her hands tomorrow when she'd have to explain further because for some reason Jack loved the place, her dream self hadn't imagined his enthusiasm but for now it was enough to put her mind at ease.

She still eyed the mattress with a touch of suspicion before sleep claimed her once more.