#but yeah man joe just cannot play in the rain for whatever reason

[cementcornfield]

another confirmation of two interceptions AND hey trey looked good! that's something!

[thiswasinevitableid]

A New Era of Gods and Monsters (Indruck)

Prompt for the 21st was: Monster Movie. Behold my old hollywood AU, featuring a title from the Bride of Frankenstein and a universe in which Transphobia doesn’t exist by the Hayes Code does. It is NSFW

February 20th, 1935.

Tinsel Town is abuzz with news that promising young director Joseph Stern is starting work on a new horror picture. The latest announcements from Kepler Studios state that it will rival the director's previous smash monster chiller “Nightmare Woods.” No news as of yet as to who will star, and who may be donning greasepaint and false fangs to play the creature. Only time will tell, but we look forward to whatever terrifying delights he has in store. Assuming, of course, that he does not run afoul of the censors. 

“Homoeroticism!” Stern tosses the warning from the Hayes office onto his desk, “that's what they sent me a warning about Ned! There wasn't even any in the picture.” 

“You know how these modesty police are, dear boy; they see depravity where there is none yet are so out of touch they do not recognize the very things they're afraid of when they are present. Now that you’ve been scolded, how do you wish to proceed?”

“In whatever way won’t get me fired. There's a fine line between the kind of censor uproar that drives publicity and the kind that the studio heads think is too risky.”

“As your producer, I support you entirely in whatever you choose. And I'm happy to apply my considerable eloquence to soothing the concerns of those who sign our paychecks.”

Stern flops down in his desk chair, staring at the almost complete script in a tidy stack. 

“If we’re going to gamble, the more big names I can get the better. I think it’s time to call in my favor from Amnesty Pictures. After that, well; if they’re going to complain about homoeroticism, we may as well give them something to really complain about.” 

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

A month later, Stern sits at a large table in the studio meeting room, the bulk of his cast already thumbing through their scripts and chatting quietly to one another. Some of them, such as Aubrey Little and Moira Redfeld, are contract players to Kepler, ones he snatched up for this picture before anyone could interfere. There are also two on loan from Amnesty,  a trade off for the time he and Ned worked their Hollywood contacts to help Mama, the studio head, raise money to fund the film that put the studio on the map. 

His own relationship with Mama’s right hand man, Barclay, who acted as their go-between in those early days, may have helped his case. 

The first player on loan is Dani Coulice, who’ll play Aubrey's dear friend and confidant who accompanies her to the house of her mysterious uncle. Dani has an understated charm on screen and, judging by the eyes she’s making at Aubrey, the two women will be able to pull off the romantic subtext he needs them to with ease.

And then there’s Indrid Cold. His first appearance in The Smiling Man drew quick comparisons to Claude Raines, Bella Lugosi and, more importantly, to the great Lon Chaney. Not only does the actor design and apply his own character make-up, he embodies his monsters and murderers in a way that leaves the audience hiding beneath their covers for days.

Stern knew the moment he and Kirby began working on the script that no one but Indrid Cold could play the titular Dr. Nacht. Now all that's missing from the table is…

“Sorry I’m late Joe. We ran long shootin the sword fight.” A southern drawl and apologetic smile announce the entrance of his other leading man. A man who's trained for years under two mentors to follow in their footsteps as swashbucklers, knights, soldiers. The man who is often described as destined to save the day, regardless of the picture. 

When you wanted a monster, you got Indrid Cold. When you wanted a hero, you hired Duck Newton. 

Which is why Stern remains surprised that Duck took this role so readily. He wants him for it, thinks he’s just the man to balance Indrid's aloof, otherworldly demeanor. But this time, his character won’t emerge triumphant. 

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

Duck cannot fuck this up. It’s a goddamn miracle Joe offered it to him at all, given that he’s never done horror before, the studio not wanting to waste him on something so strange. There was a time when Duck would have steered clear of it too, but he trusts Joe, and the rest of the cast is strong. And the leading men in these pictures are never the heroes Duck is used to; they’re scientists, good men in over their heads, soldiers carrying the mental wounds of the war. They’re something new. 

The only thing that worries him is Indrid Cold. Amnesty Pictures is known for darker, more daring fare than most studios, and Indrid always seems to be in the mix. His reputation is one of eccentric artistry, something Duck has little patience for. 

It’s been alright so far, the first weeks mainly getting costume tests and memorizing lines, and Indrid is polite but aloof. When Duck mentions this to Dani, she takes her eyes of Aubrey long enough to shrug, “He’s up in his own head a lot, he doesn’t mean anything by it.”

Today they’re shooting the arrival of his character, Henry Harper, at the lonely country estate of Dr. Edward Nacht. The doctor is Eliza’s (played by Aubrey) uncle, and she’s traveling to stay with him along with her dearest friend, Lucy (played by Dani). Henry and Eliza are ostensibly betrothed, but the script makes only the barest mention of it, putting Duck opposite Indrid and Aubrey opposite Dani in most scenes. 

Joe’s instructions are to play Harper as a classic, bland, heroic lead for the first third of the film, and he gets himself into that headspace as they take their positions.

“Now remember, Aubrey, you’re the only one who’s even little used to your uncle's mannerisms, so you should be genuinely happy to see him. Right, here we go, action!”

The trio pretends to startle at the massive mansion door shutting on its own, turning in sync to look behind themselves. 

“That’s the trouble with these old houses; they have a mind of their own.”

Indrid stands at the top of the staircase, eyes uncovered for the first time since they met. Head held high, dark suit contrasting with his pale hair and sharp features, he grins at them as he descends the steps. It’s commanding and unnerving, the actor managing to convey something odd lurking beneath his veneer of gentility.

Aubrey runs to greet him, saying her lines as Dani and Duck trail behind her. He only ends up at the right mark thanks to watching Dani  from the corner of his eye; the rest of his attention is locked on Indrid. 

“This is my dear friend, Lucy Price.”

“Wonderful to meet you, any friend of my niece is welcome in these halls.” Indrid takes Dani’s and, kissing it with a friendly smile. 

“And this is Mr. Harper, my finance.” 

The smile widens as Indrid offers his hand, Duck taking it as the blocking dictates. There’s a beat where Indrid guides it upwards, as if intending to kiss it. Then he stops, shaking it instead. 

“A pleasure to have you here, Mr. Harper. It seems my niece shares her mother's fine taste in men.”

It takes him a moment to remember he’s not supposed to stand transfixed.

“I look forward to gettin to know you, doctor.”

Indrid steps back, still grinning, “if you three will follow me, I will show you to your rooms.”

“Cut!”

Christ, that was awful, he should have played that more confident, more in control-

“That was perfect Duck, just the right approach.”

“Oh, uh, thanks Joe.”

“I must admit I am pleasantly surprised.” Indrid adds. 

“How so?” Duck looks up at him.

“Simply that quipping whilst swinging a sword about does not always result in someone who can convey complex emotions on screen.”

“Now wait just a fuckin second-”

“I, ah, I was trying to be complimentary.” Indrid almost sounds like he means it. 

Duck crosses his arms, “Oh yeah? Then I guess I oughta say I’m impressed a fella who runs around covered in monster make-up most of the time can actually emote.”

“That was uncalled for.”

“You started it.”

“I did not mean to start anything!”

“Gentlemen, if we could continue with our shooting” Ned’s voice cuts in and Duck turns to see half the soundstage string to them. 

“Uh, right, sorry. Always get  little, uh, tense on the first day. Right, Indrid?”

Indrid rises n unimpressed eyebrow, “Where shall we take it from?”

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

It doesn't get better after that first day. 

Duck tries, he really does, and he can tell Indrid is doing the same. But the longer they work together, the more often they snap at one another in between scenes. 

“What were you two arguing bout now?” Aubrey says as they walk to the parking lot one evening. 

“We, uh, well he, uh, huh. I can't remember.”

She shakes her head, “Yep, that's what I thought.”

They’re  third of the way through the shoot, and it's going on ten at night, Joe trying to get as much done as he can before another picture borrows the set for two days.

Duck and Indrid are the only actors remaining, working on the scene where Henry, having agreed to help the doctor in his work, confronts him over the nature of the experiments. Once they finish this scene, they’re done, but Indrid keeps tripping over the word “indomitable.”  

When he fucks it up for the fourth time, Duck drops his head into his hands, “fuck’s sake, it ain’t that hard.”

“That’s rather rich coming from someone whose accent ought to have rendered him obsolete at the advent of talking pictures.” Indrid replies dryly. 

“Fuck you.” 

Indrid straightens up, ready with a retort, when Joe shouts for them to retake their places and try again. 

“You are meddlin with forces you don’t understand, doctor. Forces that are a mystery for a reason.”

“Do not underestimate me, Mr. Harper. Man is far more powerful, far more capable than scholars or priests would have you believe.” Indrid steps towards him, voice cool and smile detached, “we are no better than beasts if we cower in the shadows of ignorance, never daring to dream of what may be within our reach. Man was meant to question, Mr. Harper, meant to search and create. Man is indomitable.” His grin brightens not only from correctly pronouncing the word, but as part of the scene; because Duck is hesitating, won over for an instant by his speech. 

Duck shakes his head, “Dreams and questions are all well and good, but they all come to nothin if you barrel forward without a thought for the harm you might do. No, doctor, while we're here, I forbid you from such experiments. I won’t have Eliza in such danger, nor will I risk her losing her remaining family.”

Indrid cocks his head, amused, “You forbid it?” 

Duck tilts his head up to meet his eyes, “I do.”

His back slams into the laboratory counter, Indrids hands gripping it on either side of him.

“Perhaps I have been unclear, Henry. I am the master here, not you.” Slender fingers grip Duck’s lapels, tugging him nose to nose with Indrid, “you would do well to remember that.”

“Cut! Perfect, thank the lord, so we can finally get out of here.” Joe’s voice snaps Duck back into the soundstage, but Indrid hasn’t let go, is instead eyeing Duck’s face, tongue coming out to wet his lips. 

How long has Duck been breathing this hard? 

Indrid release his hold, smoothing down the front of Ducks jacket. He frowns, “You’re shaking. Are you ill?”

“N-nope.”

Unconvinced, Indrid touches his forehead, “You feel rather warm. Please tell me you are going home rather than out to paint the town?”

Duck wants to tell him to mind his own damn business. All that comes out is, “Yeah, might just straight sleep through til Sunday. You rest up too, y’hear?”

Indrid smiles, “I will do my best.”

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

“Catching up on some correspondence?”

Duck sets down his pen as Indrid sits at the lunch table across from him, “My sister moved back out to West Virginia not that long ago, and I promised I’d keep her up to date on everythin goin on out here.”

“Is she younger or older than you?”

“Younger by four years. You, uh, you got any siblin’s?”

“No. I was raised by my aunt and uncle, so I have a cousin instead. Here, I think I might have a picture.” The taller man pulls out a notebook, flipping through it, “ah, there he is.”

“Christ, if I couldn’t see the smudge up there, I’d think that was a fuckin photo.”

“Thank you.” Indrid dips his head, tucking the notebook back into his jacket pocket, “I mostly keep that on me in case I am struck by a new creature design, but it has other uses.”

“Where’s your family from?”

“Germany, originally, then the Salinas valley.”

“Told it’s real beautiful up there.”

“It has its moments, fewer now that they’ve found oil.”

“What’s your favorite?”

Indrid tells him, talks about the nearby mountains and traveling down to the coast, about hitchhiking his way to Los Angeles because he felt foolish asking for the money for a bus ticket when most of the family thought his journey was pointless.

“Sure proved them wrong.” Duck nudges his ankle playfully under the table. 

“I suppose.”

After that conversation, Duck likes his days on set even better. The chair reading “Indrid Cold'' is now next to his more often than not, the two of them running lines or talking about gardens and art between takes. They bring in a black cat--meant to be the doctor’s pet-- for several days of shooting, and Indrid laughs whenever Duck picks it up and coos over it, smile fading to a gentle, shy expression when he catches Duck looking. 

And when Joe instructs them to brush hands, or let their gaze linger too long on each other during scenes, Duck hopes they’ll have to do take after take. 

Today the set is full of excitement, as it’s the first time Indrid will appear in his full monster make-up; he’s shot two scenes in shadows, hinting at the horror of it as he takes innocent life on the moors. Now, Duck will enter the laboratory and see first hand the results of the doctor’s experiments. 

“Action!”

Duck steps into the darkened room, equipment flashing and test-tubes billowing smoke. 

“Doctor, there’s been another death in the village, and you’re the police are asking for your help. They say it’s like nothin they ever seen before.”

Heavy footfalls and the scrape of nails on metal signal Indrid’s approach, but he’s not to turn until the actor speaks. 

“Doctor, can you hear me?” He looks around, worried, then calls hesitantly, “Edward?”

“Hello, Henry.”

He turns and yells in fright, hand flying to cover his mouth. Where there once was an elegant, odd figure, now a massive nightmare looms out of the darkness. Indrid’s mouth stretches wide, curve fangs protruding from either corner, face coated in bloodied, feathered scales, and claws reaching for Duck. 

“Edward what” he staggers backward,s “what in god's name have you done?”

“What I set out to do, my dear Henry. Can you not see that?” Indrid giggles with the hysteria of a man consumed by bitter disappointment, “perhaps you should come closer.”

“Stay back, I’m warnin you-”

Indrid lunges, snarling, and Duck throws himself out of the way, hitting first the edge of something sharp and then the ground

“Fuck!” 

“Cut!”

“Oh dear, are you hurt? Here, let me help-”

Duck holds up a hand, gritting his teeth, “You stay right where you are. Fuck, christ,” the hand gripping his leg comes away spotted with blood, “what the fuck, that wasn’t in the blockin!”

“Joseph said he trusted me to improvise my movements, to maximize the tension.”

“You gotta fuckin warn me about shit like that, all my movement is backwards, meanin I can’t see where I’m goin.”

“I assumed a man who made his living fighting knew how to use his peripheral vision.”

“How bad is it?” Dewey, one of the camera men, helps Duck up as Stern approaches them. 

“Give there’s  a bloodstain on our set, enough to send him over to the medical office. I'm calling it for the night . I’ll see you both tomorrow.” Joe runs a hand through his hair, levels them both with a warning look before turning back to dismiss the crew. 

It’s not all that bad once he’s out of the torn pants and gets it cleaned off. When he gets back to the dressing room to retrieve his coat and hat, there’s a large black case, like  fisherman's tackle box. It’s what Indrid calls his toolkit, full of the tools and tricks he uses to turn himself into a monster. He once called it his most prized possession. 

Duck switches off the light, has the door halfway shut before he stops. Groaning in frustration at his own decency, he turns and grabs the box from the floor. 

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

“This had better be important” Indrid calls through the apartment door, “I must go back out for something and do not have time to waste.”

“Wouldn’t happen to be goin out for your toolkit?” Duck says dryly. 

The door flies open, revealing Indrid in a black dressing gown, face a bit pink, no doubt from scrubbing off all his monster make-up. 

“Yes.” He snatches the box away by it’s handle, hurrying over to the table and leaving Duck in the doorway, “you didn’t touch anything did you? Or show it to anyone else?” His head whips over his shoulder, red glasses slipping down his nose to reveal a hard, suspicious glare. 

“No, I didn’t touch a damn thing.” Duck steps over the threshold, shutting the door and tossing his hat onto the couch, “and you're welcome.”

Indrid inhales deeply, “I, I apologize. The tricks I developed, my techniques, my materials, practically all of it is in this box. If someone else were to get  hold of it, replicate my effects, my career would be over.”

“What are you talkin about?”

The taller man sighs, turning his back and heading into his bedroom, “I do not expect you to understand.”

Duck is ready to tear his hair out, stalks into the bedroom after him, “Fuck’s sake Indrid, do you think you’re the only fella here with the brains to understand shit?”

“That is not what I meant and you know it.”

“No, I really don’t. What do you want from me, Indrid? Most days you’re palin’ round with me, then you act like you think I’m some sheltered idiot who’s had everything handed to him.”

“Because you have” Indrids hands could be conducting  symphony for how much they move s he continues, “you had mentors, people who told you from a young age that you had a place in this business, who carved out roles for you and handed down their skills, their legacies. I had nothing, I had to make my way based on skill and luck alone.”

“Were the fuck do you get off assumin that sort thing bout me? At lest you got some fuckin say in the way your career went. Minerva had it all planned out for me, hell, at the start I fought hard to do somethin other than those hero parts.”

The anger on Indrid’s face flickers, “Why did you stop?”

 “Because I didn’t wanna end up with nothin! As you keep pointin out” he steps towards Indrid, jabbing a finger into his chest, “my kind are a dime a dozen in this town.”

“Which means you can get any part you choose! You are the kind of man everyone loves. God help me if horror ever falls from favor, I will be back in dust of the farmland in an instant.” 

Duck growls at the sorry ploy for sympathy, “Bullshit, you’re better on camera than anyone in this town.”

“That doesn’t matter! For goodness sake, Duck look at me!” He gestures wildly at his face, “without my monsters, without horror, I'm nothing. Amnesty might try to help me, but they’d soon find that unless they can be terrified of me, audiences have no use for Indrid Cold.” Resignation tinges his voice, and it kicks Duck’s anger out from under him. 

“Indrid, that ain’t true-”

“-No, it is very true”

“-will you let me fuckin finish?” Duck reaches for him, not certain what he means to do.

“I have no desire to-” Indrid moves his arm to push Duck’s away, and puts too much force behind it, losing his footing on the hardwood floor and falling backwards onto the bed. In attempting to recover his balance, one leg kicks out, knocking Duck forward. He catches himself with one knee on the mattress and his hands on either side of Indrid, pulling abruptly down on the dressing gown. When it opens, they both go still. 

“You, uh, why ain't you wearin anythin under this?”

“I was not aware I need to follow a dress code in my own blasted house.” Indrid manages through grit teeth, face turned resolutely away from Duck. He follows the angle of his jaw down the line of his neck, the noticeable points of collarbone, ribs, and hips beneath tan, sun-hungry skin making him think of fine china or rare plants, the kind you cultivate for years in hopes of seeing something no one else could ever dream of. 

“Would you kindly stop staring?” Indrid murmurs.

“Why?” Duck drags his gaze away from his body just as Indrid levels him with an exhausted frown.

“Fine, go ahead and get your fill so you can--in excruciating detail--tell anyone who is interested that I look just as strange without clothes as I do in them.”

“Is that really what you think I’m doin?”

“I have a hard time believing there could be...another..” He trails off s Duck leans down, cupping his cheek and bringing his other leg up to straddle him. 

“You sure about that belief?” He bumps their noses together. 

“I'm starting to have my doubts.” 

Duck snickers, carefully bringing their lips together. Indrid hums, wrapping his arms round Duck and running his hands along his back up into his hair. He’s kissed plenty of times, on and off screen, but Indrid is earnest and hesitant all at once, as if Duck is giving him a gift he’s not sure he deserves. He’s also wonderfully responsive, twitching and arching whenever Duck touches him, licking and nipping at his lips, begging to be let inside. Duck opens them, sighs when Indrid teases their tongues together. 

When he sits up, Indrids hands draw across his bare chest, concerned. 

“Don’t worry, darlin , I ain’t goin far.” He slides off the bed, sinking to his knees between Indrid’s legs s he pulls off his jacket, “Just seems to me you need someone to show just how fuckin handsome you are.”

“Are you oh-so-graciously volunteering?” Indrid’s smile is plain in his voice. 

He pushes up his sleeves, “Yep.”

Indrid’s cock is soft when he wraps his fingers around it, stroking up gradually to rub the head with his thumb. Licking along the underside turns Indrid’s so “ohs” into a full-throated moan. 

“That’s more like it, darlin.” Duck kisses up and down the shaft , slipping a hand lower to gently toy with his balls, “get hard for me.”

“Wh-what” Indrid gulps down a breath, “what makes you think you are in charge here?”

In lieu of an answer, he takes the head of is cock into his mouth, sucking hard, not letting up until pre-cum seeps along his tongue. Indrid’s hands cling to the edge of the bed, the room filling with high gasps and the odd squeak when Duck zig-zags his nails along his inner thigh. 

He pulls off, wiping away the string of spit trailing from his lips. Laps intermittently at his slit as he speaks, hoping his voice is coming across husky rather than desperate, “Well, sugar, what do you say? Gonna let me call the shots?”

“I s-say” One hand wavers in the air, about to stroke his hair, and Duck dips to the side, bumping his head into his palm in tacit permission. 

“I say a man on his, his knees giving orders is presumptuous.”

“Ah!Fuck” Duck groans as Indrid tugs his hair, forcing him to sit up straight.

“And I’d say his mouth could be put to an even better use.”

Duck scrambles onto the bed, kissing Indrid furiously as soon as he reaches him, the pale-haired man rolling them over and tangling them both in the top blanket with their feet still hanging off the bed. 

“Did I say you could stop paying attention to my cock? OOhhnnnn, yes, yes” he hooks a leg over Ducks thigh, pumping into the shorter man’s fist, “perfect, god, everything about you is, is just right.”

“I ain’t the only one.” Duck aims for his lips, ends up kissing his cheek, when he buries his face into his neck with a whine.

“It’s true. You think I go to my knees for any old fella?”

“Mphhm” Indrid’s glasses dig into his shoulder.

“You think I’d be doin this” he speeds up his hand, “if that face of yours didn’t make me wanna do things in front of those cameras that’d make the devil blush.”

“Mmhpmm”  Indrid clings to him like lichen yet refuses to look up. 

Duck stills his hand, “I ain’t startin up again unless you answer me, sugar.”

Indrid raises his head halfway, five o’clock shadow pricking Duck’s cheek.

“Duck Newton, I do believe you are telling the truth. You think I am handsome.” Shyness lurks just beneath the teasing, so Duck tenderly brushes his fingers along Indrid’s face.

“That I do.”

He raises up enough to bring them nose to nose, “And I think you put all other matinee idols to shame with only your smile.”

“Indrid.” It’s his turn to blush, and he only grows redder when Indrid guides his hand off his cock and to his lips to kiss it. 

“I have an idea. As much as these” he releases his hand to snap his suspenders, “flatter that broad chest of yours, they and your pants need to come off.”

As Duck exiles his clothes and shoes to the floor, Indrid lays with his head on a pillow, steadily stroking his cock. Staring at that sight adds a good minute to his undressing, but Duck doesn’t give a damn. 

When he goes to straddle Indrid’s hips, the other man shakes his head, “Nono, up here.” He pats the pillow on either side of his head. 

“Shit yeah, been wanting to fuck that stunnin face for weeks.”

Indrid’s face is beet-colored by the time Duck brackets it with his knees. 

“S-so have eye”

“Aw, sugar, you gettin tongue tiIIIIedfuck.” His palms thwack into the wall as Indrid circles it along his folds. 

“What was that about tongues?” His smirk is just visible between Duck’s thighs. 

“That if you don’t keep usin yours like that, you’re gonna see a grown man cry with need.”

“We cannot have that.’

“FUuuuuck, fuck.” He wiggles his hips to help Indrid get the right angle, unsure if he can ask for more pressure.

“You, you can put more weight down if you need.” 

He grinds down, moaning when Indrid’s lips part further to give his tongue more room to work. The moan is echoed below him, muffled though it may be, as one of Indrid’s hands disappears from view. A moment later, he bucks, gasping and laving his tongue along Duck’s dick. 

“Shit, right there, keep goin right there.”

Indrid curves and flicks his tongue along the sensitive skin, hums of pleasure mingling with the messy sound of his hand flying up and down his cock. When he closes his lips around his dick Duck yelps, hunches forward to rest his head on the wall as he sucks him off, pressure spiking deliciously whenever he moans or strokes himself harder. Indrid cums with a whimper, sticky hands landing on Duck’s ass to urge him on as he ruts into his mouth.

“That’s it sugar, fuck, you’re amazin, feels so fuckin good oh fuck, fuck, Indrid, fuckin christ.” He rolls his hips harder and faster until the friction makes the orgasm burst through him. He just manages to lift himself off and collapse on the bed rather than Indrid's neck. 

“Did, do you hear a, uh, a crack?”

Red glasses, a split across the right lens, appear in front of him. 

“Aw fuck” he giggles, “didn’t know I was goin that hard. Lemme buy you a new pair?”

“I have several spares, on account of my own occasionally absent mindedness” Indrid is up on his side, grinning down at him, face still shiny with slick, “and I am taking that as a testament to my skill. Perhaps I should wear them with pride to the set tomorrow.”

“Please don’t” Duck laughs harder, “fuck, can you imagine the look on Joe’s face”

Indrid is laughing too now, “They are not part of my costume, it would not affect the shoot. Save the part where the reminder of how you looked just now, flushed and ecstatic above me, would make it rather hard to focus.”

Duck shifts onto his side, nestling up against him, “you’re a real sweet talker, you know that?”

“You have that effect on me.” He feels him inhale more deeply, fingers toying with Duck’s hair, “would, ah, would you like to spend the night? I believe you are not needed tomorrow, and I am only needed in the evening.”

“I’d love to” Duck nudges him onto his back to better cuddle across his chest, “got no interest in sleepin alone any time soon.”

“Do, ah, do you mean you wish to, ah, to-”

“Yeah, I do. I wanna see what it’s like to have the finest man in the city on my arm. Assumin he wants the same thing.”

“You do not think I am snobbish and strange?”

“Not anymore than you think I’m spoiled and had it easy.”

Indrid kisses the top of his head, “Then I think this could be the start of something wonderful.”

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

Stern looks up from the script as his two leading men walk onto the set, arms linked and whispering to one another, each smiling wider than Laurel Canyon. He turns back to his notes. 

“About fucking time.”

[racingtoaredlight]

RTARL’s 2020 NFL Season Week 10 Extravapalooza

This week’s NFL slate features 5 early games and 6 late games, and allow me to add my voice to the chorus of those asking “Why can’t it be like this EVERY week?” Is it really THAT necessary to try to herd viewers to whatever game Romo or Aikman are calling? Honestly, I hope this is one of the first issues tackled by the incoming Biden administration. If nothing else, a more even game dispersal would make for a more visually symmetrical Extravapalooza, which is a good enough reason for change in and of itself, if you ask me.

My picks are in BOLD, and the lines come to us courtesy of our friends at Vegas Insider. I use the “VI Consensus” line, which is the line that occurs most frequently across Vegas Insider’s list of sportsbooks. Your sportsbook of choice may offer a different number, and if you’d like my opinion on said number A) you are insane, and B) leave a comment below and I’ll try to answer at some point before things kickoff today.

EARLY GAMES

Houston Texans at Cleveland Browns (-4)

Much like Cleveland’s last home game (a 16-6 Week 8 loss to the Raiders), this game is going to be played in extremely shitty conditions, with strong winds and rain expected. The Browns were TERRIBLE offensively in that Raiders game, but this week they’re getting both studly RB Nick Chubb and G Wyatt Teller back, which should be huge for their run game. Facing the Texans’ worst-in-the-league rush defense won’t hurt either. The wind is likely to rob us of the majesty provided by DeShaun Watson-to-Will Fuller bombs, which is a real bummer both for us as viewers and for the Texans as a football team attempting to win games.

Washington Football Team at Detroit Lions (-3)

The Football Team has a pretty good pass defense as it is, and this week they get a somewhat scuffling Matthew Stafford leading a Kenny Golladay-less Lions offense. If the Detroit braintrust were smart, they’d run the ball a bunch and D’Andre Swift would get the bulk of these carries. The Detroit braintrust is not smart. Alex Smith is starting this game for Washington and I hope he makes it through without getting his leg pulverized into ham salad.

Jacksonville Jaguars at Green Bay Packers (-13.5)

Here we have another game expected to impacted by high winds and precipitation. Fun! I’m putting my faith in Mother Nature and Jacksonville’s very decent run game conspiring to keep this one within 2 TDs. The fact that Green Bay’s best defensive player, CB Jaire Alexander, is unlikely to play certainly helps.

Philadelphia Eagles (-4) at New York Giants

The Eagles are getting RB Miles Sanders, DT Malik Jackson and LT Jason Peters back from injury for this one, and they might also get RT Lane Johnson back. This is after getting good-looking rookie WR Jalen Reagor and TE Dallas Goedert back recently. Philadelphia is getting healthy, and it really seems like they should pull away from their truly horrific division mates as the season winds down.

Tampa Bay Buccaneers (-6) at Carolina Panthers

Man, Tampa Bay got their asses WHOOPED by New Orleans last week. Does that mean they were extra motivated in practice this week and they’ll be super fired up to redeem themselves with a big win on Sunday, or was their performance an on-field manifestation of a locker room beset by strife and disharmony beginning a downward spiral that will last the rest of the season and cause everyone involved in the team’s various splashy roster moves to regret their choices? It’s probably the former, but the latter would be immensely entertaining for me, personally. 

LATE GAMES

Buffalo Bills at Arizona Cardinals (-2.5)

I don’t want to say that Arizona’s defense is good, because they really aren’t, BUT they do have a bunch of ball-hawking, risk-taking guys in their secondary that are likely salivating at the thought of snagging one of Josh Allen’s patented “Fuck it, I’m goin’ deep!” attempts. I’d like the Bills’ chances a whole lot more if their defense was playing anywhere near the level they were at the previous couple of seasons, but for whatever reason they’ve been thoroughly average at best here in 2020. This game has so many wildly entertaining ingredients that I can’t imagine it being a dud regardless of which way it goes.

Denver Broncos at Las Vegas Raiders (-3.5)

The Broncos have been plagued by slow starts this season, and have found themselves down double-digits at halftime in 5 of their last 7 games. The Raiders are seemingly built explicitly to play with a lead, so if it happens here they should be able to grind the injury-riddled Denver defense into dust with RB Josh Jacobs as the game clock, as well as the life of anyone watching, dispassionately bleeds away.

Seattle Seahawks at Los Angeles Rams (-2.5)

The Rams are 5-3, but their wins have come against the 4 NFC East teams and the Bears. They are true bumslayers. On top of that, it genuinely appears that Jared Goff cannot make any decisions on the field without Sean McVay barking them into his helmet, which is truly hilarious. Fortunately for Goff, McVay, and the Rams, this week they get to run it up against a Seattle team missing the top 3 CBs from its already cataclysmically shitty defense. Russell Wilson, D.K, Metcalf, and Tyler Lockett are great, but the L.A. defense is no joke and I think they’ll be able to prevent Russ from cooking enough to feed everyone. That analogy doesn’t even make sense, let’s just move on.

Los Angeles Chargers at Miami Dolphins (-1.5)

Oh hell yeah, we’ve got ourselves quite the sexy young QB matchup here. The Fins are smoking hot right now, having won 4 in a row and 5 of their last 6, and it’s long past time for me to move them from  “Frisky” to “Actually Good” in my personal Power Rankings. The Chargers will have G Trai Turner on the field for the first time since Week 2, and T Bryan Bulaga appears to be good to go after leaving last week’s game with an injury. This will be very helpful for QB Justin Herbert, imo, especially against Miami’s 8th-ranked pass defense (according to Football Outsiders). Common sense says that Miami should be the pick, but my desire to see Herbert actually WIN one of the rollercoaster games his team constantly finds themselves in has commandeered this selection. This game will be a good place to park your eyeballs.

San Francisco 49ers at New Orleans Saints (-9.5)

I’m trying not to overreact to a single game, but I can’t get past how thoroughly the Saints wrecked the Buccaneers last week. In particular, their defense was GREAT. If they’re gonna start locking teams up anywhere near that completely on a consistent basis, all of a sudden they’re firmly in the mix to win it all. I think they keep things rolling defensively against a Niners offense missing its top 2 RBs, its All-World TE, and its #1 WR, all with a backup QB at the helm.

Cincinnati Bengals at Pittsburgh Steelers (-7)

I’m picking the Bengals based on nothing more than the Steelers’ insistence on keeping practically every game close. For as good as Pittsburgh is, the only blowout win they have this season is a 38-7 beatdown of the Browns. They’ve allowed teams like the Giants, Broncos, and most recently the Garrett Gilbert-led Cowboys to hang around for a full 60 minutes, so I don’t see why my man Joe Burrow can’t keep his squad in it til the end.

SNF: Baltimore Ravens (-7) at New England Patriots

I have visions of Baltimore racing out to a lead early and Cam Newton and the Pats offense trying to play catch-up against a good defense for the bulk of the game. It’s not a pleasant thing to think about and I don’t enjoy it. I think that’s what’s gonna happen, though. New England hilariously has 17 players listed as Questionable headed into this one. We might get N’Keal Harry back, though!!!

MNF: Minnesota Vikings (-3) at Chicago Bears

Man, this is a tough one. One one hand, inexplicably getting trounced by a team that’s lost 3 in a row and will be without its starting RB and possibly its #1 WR would be an extremely Vikings thing to do. On the other hand, the Bears are currently being quarterbacked by a man whose play drove Troy Aikman to the brink of homicidal insanity a week ago. I guess I’ll go with the team who can complete forward passes at a reasonable clip, but I don’t feel that great about it. A fun wrinkle to this game is that due to the aforementioned absence of Chicago’s primary ball-carrier, Cordarrelle Patterson is expected to get extended work out of the backfield as a runner. This may really only be exciting for myself and Soused, as we’re longtime Cordarrelle fanboys. WE WILL BE VINDICATED.

Last Week’s Record: 4-9 (Shit!)

Season Record: 58-63-4

[himbowelsh]

“I’m calling it. We are lost in the woods.” + luztoye (im in love with the way you write those two)

grim grinning prompts (NO LONGER ACCEPTING)

AN: ahh, thank you cutie, i’m in love with this ship!

Every cell of Joe’s body is screaming that this is a horrible idea. The problem isn’t that he’s reckless, or stupid, or ignorant to the dangers involved in sneaking off into the woods alone at night... if he’s being honest, he just can’t make himself care.It’s hard to worry about anything else when he’s got Luz’s hand in his, dragging him along like a rider would lead a stubborn horse. Luz is a distraction all in himself. He is overpowering, all-encompassing. Sometimes Joe’s convinced he’s the most exasperating person he’s ever met.

He’s the most entertaining, the most resilient, and has one of the best hearts of anyone Joe’s ever met.

People tend to assume that Luz annoys him -- and a lot of times, yeah, he does. The thing is, Joe knows exactly what type of person Luz is, past the surface layer of wisecracks and silly voices. Perhaps that’s why he finds himself playing along, every single time. It’s very difficult not to dance to Luz’s beat, but Joe’s always been good at keeping himself from being pulled into other people’s orbits. With Luz, however, he finds that he doesn’t mind.Joe would probably do whatever Luz asked him to. He’s convincing, and adventurous; saying yes to him never seems as bad of an idea as it probably is... until it’s too late.As of right now, being dragged through the woods by a very determined Luz, that moment still hasn’t quite hit. Joe can feel it gnawing at the back of his mind. They shouldn’t have left the rest of the group; they shouldn’t have snuck into the woods at night; this is how horror movies happen, and how the stupid people die first. Right now, he and Luz are being the exact type of people who he’d be screaming at through a TV screen, and Joe knows it.For a second, turning back seems like the only rational thing to do — and then another sharp yank from Luz jerks him out of his wariness. Yeah, this is probably an awful idea, but who the hell cares?They came out here for a reason, after all, and no one has ever called Joe Toye a coward. He’s not going to backtrack because of some invisible threat in the woods when Luz is very present, in front of him, right now.Luz finally stops in the middle of a grove of trees, and releases Joe’s hand. Slowly, he turns to face him; an impish grin lights him up, the only thing brighter than the moon in this otherwise dark forest. Joe looks at him and feels a current of electricity twine around them both like greedy, starving hands.“It’s official,” Luz declares. “I’m calling it. We are lost in the woods.”“Whose fault is that?” Joe demands, taking a step close. Luz’s eyes sparkle.“Well, ya know, you could lay the blame wherever you want, but I think it really comes down on whoever decided camping out in these parts was a great idea, or maybe the idiot who decided to sneak away in the first place —“Joe rolls his eyes and reaches out, seizing George by the collar of his shirt. The other man’s words cut off in a short “urk”, but he doesn’t protest. Rather than straining, he sinks into Joe’s chest like he was craving this contact all along. Now that it’s finally here, he could not look more pleased with himself.

”You’re fuckin’ ridiculous,” Joe tells him, and ducks his head to kiss him.

There’s no protest from Luz; he’s getting exactly what he wants. As soon as Joe offers him a taste, he goes after the entire prize with fervor. He presses himself against Joe, kissing hard and gripping harder, until they are both breathing heavily and clutching each other like they are the only things on earth.

”Aah, Luz,” Joe hisses, tree bark digging into his back. “God --”

Luz detaches himself from Joe’s neck, looking as debauched as he does wicked. “Am I really hearing a complaint right now?”

”Come on,” Joe hisses, and they both know what he’s really saying. Don’t stop. Never stop. As long as it’s you, I don’t care where we are or what we’re doing. I could stay like this forever.They’re so lost in each other that even Joe, whose reflexes are sharp on a bad day, isn’t paying attention to their surroundings. He can not focus on the crackle of dried leaves beneath their feet when Luz’s mouth is attacking his. He cannot worry about the ever-present feeling of being watched when they are surrounded by darkness, and it is the one thing concealing the hand steadily inching up the back of his shirt.

He isn’t paying attention to anything except Luz, Luz, Luz.

Not until the noise.

It’s not the sort of noise you’d expect to hear in the woods, or one that can be explained away. It’s not the cracking of branches, or the whistle of the wind; it’s not the low groan that slips past Luz’s lips as Joe’s fingers dig into his back. It is a roar, the sort no animal could make -- a steady rumble that starts deep from the bushes behind them and embeds itself inside of Joe’s bones.

It lasts for three seconds, then stops. The world goes silent once more.

For a second, neither one of them move. They are both in disbelief, too caught up in uncertainty to process what actually happened. Then Joe pulls back, slowly turning so that Luz is against the tree, while he’s standing in front of him.

“Joe?” Luz’s fingers dig into his shoulders, hard enough to bruise. His eyes are wide; his skin looks translucent in the moonlight. “What was that?”Joe remains silent for a second, straining to her another sound, before he replies, “I dunno.”They both know what it sounded like, but neither wants to say it. Neither of them want to say “did that sound like a fucking chainsaw to you?” because saying it out loud makes it real, and let’s just say neither of them are prepared to face that.

It wasn’t a chainsaw, Joe tells himself firmly, even as every muscle in his body tenses up. It was a bird; a deer; a freaking bear, whatever the hell lives in these woods. It was not, by any realm of possibility, some maniac with a giant weapon lurking in the shadows.

Their breaths are heavy and rasping in the night air. Luz’s eyes are impossibly large, gaping up at him for answers Joe does not have. Joe can feel his heart pounding like a drum, hard enough to burst out of his chest.

“Joe,” Luz says again, and his voice is small. Joe’s fingers tighten around his shoulders.

That’s when he sees it.

A figure lumbers out of the shadows, faster than anything that size should be able to move. He is bulky, bigger than Joe with just as much muscle -- but the most alarming thing about him is the massive chainsaw he holds, which glints in the light when he moves.

Joe curses out loud and shoves Luz back. He hears him hit the tree hard behind him, but all his attention is focused on the maniac lumbering towards them.

He should have listened to the goddamn horror movies.

Logic says he should run away. Logic says the only sensible thing to do is to haul ass, if they want to avoid becoming the next skin suits in some crazy fucker’s collection. Logic has very little sway over Joe when he’s good and pissed off -- and nothing makes him see red faster than someone threatening the people he cares about. Especially George Luz.

Logic says you should not tackle the guy holding a chainsaw, but fuck logic.

They both go down, the chainsaw screaming all the way. Joe is on top of the dude, throwing punches into any vulnerable area he can reach. The chainsaw shrieks near his neck, not drawing nearer but definitely too close for comfort. Joe twists the man’s arm, hoping to force the weapon from his hands.

It doesn’t work -- the guy recovers fast enough to land his own punch to Joe’s face, sending him reeling back. He has just enough time to see the chainsaw swing before he ducks to avoid it -- but a blinding pain catches him in the shoulder all the same.

Joe hollers, falling back. This is the only thing that keeps the saw from severing his arm. As he hits the ground there is a sickening noise, and the agony that blinds him is enough to make him howl again. His arm is still on, but only just --and now the guy with the chainsaw is charging towards him.

The guy’s wearing a fucking football helmet, Joe thinks deliriously. This is the worst knockoff Friday the Thirteenth they’ve ever made.

He tries to stagger to his feet, but the blood loss makes him dizzy. He overbalances, a noise like a wounded animal escaping him as he hits the dirt once more. His leg comes out to try and catch the maniac in the knee, but he falls short. The chainsaw raises, glinting in the moonlight.

Then suddenly another howl echoes through the forest -- deranged, terrifying, like a thousand rabid monkeys descending all at once -- and Luz flings himself onto the maniac’s back.

What happens next is so chaotic that Joe’s distraught brain can barely process it, let alone believe it. Luz rains a volley of blows upon their attacker’s rock-solid back and shoulders, but the only place they have any effect are his neck. The man thrashes, trying to throw him off, but Luz is on him and won’t let go. A sold punch to the throat sends the chainsaw falling to the ground, and that’s when Luz gets him in a chokehold.

It’s over in a solid twenty seconds. A body that big needs air, and when it can’t get it...

As the maniac collapses to the ground, Luz falls off of him. He’s breathing hard, but still has the presence of mind to kick the chainsaw out of his reach. Their attacker looks like a massive fallen tree on the forest floor. He does not move, even when Luz leaps over him to get to Joe’s side.

“Jesus, are you okay? Joe, talk to me, buddy, come on --”

“My fucking arm,” is all Joe can say; then, after a beat, “Did you just fucking choke him out?”

“You’re damn right I did,” Luz replies, and flashes that grin -- the one that drives Joe crazy, the one he would do anything for, the one that made him fall in love with George Luz in the first place.

That grin is the last thing Joe sees before he passes out.

(”And that,” finishes Luz, “is why you gotta take those horror movies seriously. You might learn something one of these days?”

“Like what?” Guarnere snorts. “That you’re a fuckin’ liar? That didn’t happen.”

“Or did it?” Luz shoots back, fixing Guarnere with an intense stare. When Guarnere looks over at Joe -- alive and in one piece in his own bed, where he’s been struggling to hide his smirk throughout Luz’s story -- he gets only a raised eyebrow. Suddenly, he’s not so sure.

“Alright. You are the horror movie stereotypes,” he retorts, and that’s the end of the argument.)