#Props and Memorabilia

[doodleholic]

Jareth’s pendant is up for auction.

[kingoftieland]

“It’s the best ingredients. The spiciest spices. All prepared with loving care! And always delivered with a friendly smile. That’s the Los Pollos Hermanos promise.” – Gus Fring, Owner and Proprietor

Los Pollos Hermanos, the fictional chicken restaurant from Breaking Bad, first appears in the show’s third season as a front organization for Gus Fring's meth operation. Many scenes inside the restaurant feature branded items such as cups, napkins, and chicken buckets – all of which I’ve been lucky enough to acquire props of over the years. Now I’ve completed the set by adding this Los Pollos Hermanos serving tray! Featuring sticker branding with the iconic “Chicken Brothers” logo, it’s perfect for holding my other screen-used items from the fast-food chain! 🍗🥤🍟

[writergeekrhw]

AWESOME AUCTION

A writer I know has organized an online auction of TV memorabilia and other cool stuff, including some amazing SIMPSONS stuff and a chance to have a character named after you in a Michael Connelly novel! He asked me if I had anything worth auctioning off, so I donated some priceless ELEMENTARY props. So if you've ever wanted to own a piece of our little murder show, now's your chance.

Highlights include: Singlesticks! Unicorn Utopia! Moriarty's letter to Watson!

Proceeds go to the Entertainment Community Fund to help support below-the-line TV and Film workers struggling because of the strike, so it's a great cause.

Check out the auction here:

[that70sshowgoldencouple]

Would you want a piece of the Forman’s living room carpet?

*NOT* from my own collection but something that pops up on eBay every once in awhile usually going for a few hundred dollars. It’s a pretty interesting piece of memorabilia!

[mikeshouts]

Officially Licensed Fallout Series Pip-Boy Die-Cast Replica: Good For Cosplay As A Desktop Clock Too

So cool! I know. I say that a lot but if it ain't cool, it will not be featured by us, right?

Follow us for more Tech Culture and Lifestyle Stuff.

[anas-moriya]

Breaking Bad Memorabilia: Gus Frings Grey Blazer in S04E10

After years of searching (and nearly giving up) for this epic blazer that Gus wore in THE moment of his life, I finally found it. I was so lucky to get my hands on a piece in excellent condition and even in my size so I can actually wear it! by HUGO BOSS Lanificio Tesse Biella, Model: Maselli6 from autumn/winter 2011 collection

Actually, I´m gonna get this signed by the man himself on the comicon2023 in Amsterdam by the man himself: Giancarlo Esposito. I hope he´ll cherish seeing this blazer again :))

[weekendviking]

Surplus to my requirements: Goblin sized Regency Coats, ex of Time Bandits 2024 props auction. Size Smol. Some ordinance holes. I've washed out the blood....

[dilf-luvr-4evr]

Actor!John Price who’s your costar in a romantic drama where you play husband and wife.

Actor!John Price who have grown close to you behind the scenes, laughing and joking on set, soon escalating to coffee outside the studio.

Actor!John Price who takes a minute to get out of a kissing scene or an intimate scene, stating he’s method acting.

Actor!John Price who still wore the wedding ring prop once filming wrapped, explaining it’s a memorabilia. His PR manager and movie promoters thought it was perfect.

Actor!John Price who is always such a gentleman with you — helping you get out of the car, up the stairs, and seamlessly fixing your wardrobe malfunctions. Though not as seamless as to not go unnoticed by fans.

Actor!John Price who keeps referring to you as my wife during interviews and everyone laughs, thinking it’s cute.

Actor!John Price who won multiple awards with you at the Oscar’s from the amazing chemistry you shared.

Actor!John Price who thanked his wife during his speech and everyone laughed again because well, he’s single.

Actor!John Price who’s gotten so many questions about whether or not you two are dating to which he entertains.

Actor!John Price who again, calls you his wife when it’s just the two of you and you laugh, saying he can drop the act. His response,

“What act?”

thank you for reading!! 🫶🏼

my masterlist

[maxwellatoms]

For the interested and curious, I’ll once again be putting some original Billy & Mandy and Evil Con Carne production artwork on eBay– probably the last of it! Starting this coming weekend (the 28th or 29th), I’ll first be posting auctions for some non-B&M stuff, like Dead Meat props and collectibles from other animated shows I didn’t work on. Then it’s on to the Grimmiverse. The goal is to drum up enough money to cover my mortgage for a few months while I try to outlast the studio drought.

It’s been… a year. I lost my job to studio cuts (but am still cool enough to get scraped by MidJourney), had a flood requiring expensive repairs, some cat emergencies, a small fire, and a dash of skin cancer. It’s all been a bit excessive, if you ask me. I’m not a person who spends much, but this has definitely been one of the more expensive years of my life. And all without an income! It’s amazing how fast things start to come apart when there’s no money holding it together.

Anyway, this is probably your best (and maybe final?) shot at getting your hands on some Billy & Mandy production artwork, some other original hand-drawn animation art, some fun cartoon collectibles, a few hand-crafter post apocalyptic movie props, and SUNDRIES!

Everyone loves a sundry.

When I’m going through this stuff, I end up taking a lot of photos of the art and memorabilia. Those end up on my Instagram, so check ‘em out there too. I’ll also be posting some new Halloweeny artwork there during October!

If you want the deep dive on all of the artwork (I’ll be posting some full storyboards soon) please check out the Patreon.

Demurely yours,

Maxwell

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Scorpius Malfoy and The Great Hufflepuff March

A/n: This was sitting in my drafts/ I am sick and it's all I got right now.

It had been a relatively calm morning in the Malfoy Manor.

That was, of course, until Scorpius Malfoy came marching proudly down the grand staircase—

Wearing his mother’s old Hufflepuff scarf like it was his greatest treasure.

Draco, sitting in the drawing room with a cup of tea, froze mid-sip.

You, who had been sorting through old Hogwarts memorabilia, looked up just in time to see your son parading proudly across the room, his tiny arms swinging and his little chest puffed out with importance.

“I am a HUFFLEPUFF!” Scorpius announced, his voice echoing dramatically through the manor.

Draco groaned, setting his tea down. “Oh, Merlin.”

Laughing softly, you propped your chin in your hand. “Where did you find that, love?”

Scorpius grinned, clutching the well-worn, yellow-and-black scarf like it was a royal cloak.

“In the old trunk!” he chirped. “And now it’s mine!”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “It is not yours.”

Scorpius gasps,actual betrayal...from his own father.

“MUMMY?” he turned to you, scandalized. “Is it mine?”

You having to fight back a smile tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear. "Of course sweetheart."

Scorpius cheered, immediately resuming his grand march around the drawing room.

“I AM A HUFFLEPUFF!” he declared again.

Draco sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. “For Salazar’s sake, you’re four. You don’t even have a Hogwarts letter yet.”

Scorpius ignored him entirely because, clearly, his father’s opinion was irrelevant in the presence of such Hufflepuff greatness.

Instead, he climbed onto the sofa beside you and snuggled into your side, still proudly wrapped in the scarf.

“Mummy,” he whispered, all soft and full of wonder, “do you think I’ll be a really good Hufflepuff like you?”

You melted instantly.

Pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, you then smoothed out his soft blond curls. “Oh, sweetheart, I think you’d be the best Hufflepuff ever.”

Scorpius beamed, glowing with pride.

Draco, watching this entire display of betrayal, groaned and dramatically flopped onto the couch.

“I cannot believe this,” he muttered. “I married a Hufflepuff, and now I’m raising a tiny Hufflepuff, too.”

Scorpius popped up, giggling wildly. “I LOVE YOU, PAPA!”

Draco sighed deeply, reaching over to pull his son into a reluctant hug. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, pressing a quick, secretive kiss to Scorpius’s temple. “Love you too, little badger.”

And Scorpius?

Scorpius just grinned, proudly wrapped in his mother’s old scarf, absolutely certain that he was the greatest future Hufflepuff to ever exist.

Another day, another time because of course the Malfoy Manor was never meant to be quiet when Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy was around.

Especially not today.

Because today, Scorpius had decided that he was leading a parade.

A Hogwarts Parade, to be specific.

And his uniform?

•His mother’s old Hufflepuff scarf, wrapped around his tiny shoulders like a royal cloak. (Now officially his, according to you.)

•His father’s old Slytherin scarf, which he had stolen from Draco’s study and was now flailing wildly in the air like a victory flag.

And so, off he went, marching proudly down the grand halls of Malfoy Manor, his tiny feet stomping with purpose.

“I AM A HUFFLEPUFF!” he declared.

“AND ALSO A LITTLE BIT OF A SLYTHERIN!” (flails the scarf dramatically)

“I AM VERY POWERFUL!!”

Draco, who had just entered the hallway, took one look at his son’s chaotic display and groaned.

“For Merlin’s sake,” he muttered, rubbing his temples.

You, leaning against the doorway, were absolutely beaming. “He’s very powerful, Draco,” you teased.

Scorpius paused his parade, spinning on his heel to face his father.

“PAPA,” he said, waving the Slytherin scarf wildly, “I AM A HUFFLERIN!”

Draco blinked. “A what?”

Scorpius threw his arms out. “A HUFFLERIN!” (flails both scarves aggressively) “LIKE YOU AND MUMMY TOGETHER!!”

You giggled, crossing your arms. “Well, that does make sense, love.”

Draco just stared, running a hand through his definitely-not-a-Hufflepuff hair. “That is not a thing.”

Scorpius gasped, utterly offended.

“It IS a thing, Papa!” He stomped his tiny foot, silver eyes wide with childlike righteousness. “It means I am brave AND smart AND loyal AND sneaky!”

You nodded, fully supportive. “That’s very true, sweetheart.”

Scorpius beamed at his mother before turning back to Draco, throwing the Slytherin scarf over his shoulder in a move that was so dramatically Malfoy, it nearly brought a tear to Draco’s eye.

“DO YOU ACCEPT ME, PAPA?!” Scorpius demanded, throwing his arms wide.

Draco sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh, for—”

Then—

Scorpius’s little lip wobbled.

Draco panicked immediately.

“FINE,” he groaned, kneeling down in front of his tiny menace of a son. “Yes, Scorpius. You are a very powerful Huffle—whatever.”

Scorpius cheered, throwing both scarves in the air before leaping onto Draco’s chest in a full-body hug.

“I LOVE YOU, PAPA!”

Draco groaned dramatically, but his arms tightened around his son anyway. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, pressing a secret kiss to his blond curls. “I love you too, little menace.”

You, watching the entire scene unfold, giggled before whispering under your breath—

“Hufflerin for life.”

And Scorpius?

Scorpius grinned proudly, knowing that he had officially won the battle for house unity in Malfoy Manor.

[mariacallous]

The U.S. Naval Academy removed items from a display honoring female Jewish graduates ahead of a planned visit Tuesday from Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth.

A display case in the academy’s Jewish chapel that had previously contained a collection of photos and memorabilia from female Jewish graduates of the academy was completely emptied prior to the visit, according to photos obtained by the Military Religious Freedom Foundation.

Before the removals, the case had contained items that belonged to a number of Jewish women who graduated USNA, including a bronze star, military cap and insignias, as well as photos from USNA graduation and tours in Iraq, according to MRFF. Other displays featuring male Jewish graduates had stayed up.

“While the boys were away, we worked for victory,” read a banner held by female Jewish civilians during World War II, in the only remaining photo in the display. A piece of cardboard had also been propped up to block a placard that described “Jewish women in the Navy,” according to a photo shared by MRFF.

The items were reinstated by the academy, reportedly following the visit, and the removals raised questions about whether they were taken down following recent orders from Hegseth targeting diversity, equity and inclusion, or DEI, content.

Hegseth’s campaign against DEI in his department has led to the censorship of books in schools, Pentagon websites and classes at an Air Force boot camp.

[kingoftieland]

With a couple of $50 banknotes used on-screen in Breaking Bad already in my collection, I’m super excited to finally acquire a whole stack of cash from Walter White’s stash! These $20 bills come straight from the set of the show and are a rare find, as they still include the original labels from the prop department. 

Now to rewatch the series again to see if I can spot them… 🤑💵

[tf-kinky]

Zane was the kind of fan who lived and breathed Timothée Chalamet. His walls were plastered with posters, his phone background was a candid shot from a premiere, and his social media feeds were dedicated solely to celebrating every moment of Timothée's career. So, when Zane won a contest to meet his idol backstage at a film festival, his excitement was beyond measure.

The meeting was brief but magical. Timothée was charming, his smile disarming, and he listened intently as Zane gushed about his favorite movies. Amidst the chatter, Zane mentioned his peculiar disgust for feet, the thought of which made him cringe even in conversation. Timothée noted this with an amused smirk, his mind already concocting a plan.

Inviting Zane back to his luxurious home under the guise of showing him some exclusive memorabilia, Timothée led the unsuspecting fan into a world of opulence. The house was everything Zane imagined and more, with art, books, and personal items scattered around, each telling a story of Timothée's life.

Once inside, Timothée revealed a gadget he jokingly called his "TF ray gun," explaining it was from a sci-fi movie prop he never got to use. Zane laughed, thinking it was part of the playful banter until Timothée pointed it at him and pulled the trigger.

In an instant, Zane's world twisted and shrank. His senses were overwhelmed as he felt his body morphing, his consciousness trapped within the very fabric of a pair of blue Converse sneakers. The transformation was not just physical; Timothée had ensured that Zane's senses were heightened to an excruciating degree.

Timothée slipped his feet into the new sneakers, and immediately, Zane was engulfed by sensations he had always loathed. The dampness of sweat, the musky scent, and the oppressive warmth of Timothée's feet soaked into what was now Zane's entire being. The pain was indescribable, each step Timothée took sending waves of agony through what was left of Zane's consciousness.

For Timothée, however, it was a delightful twist of fate. He admired how the shoes looked on him, feeling a perverse satisfaction in knowing that his fan was now serving a purpose, albeit in the most twisted way imaginable. He walked around, enjoying the comfort of the sneakers, never once contemplating reversing the transformation. Instead, he relished in the silent torment of his once-admirer, now forever bound to his feet.

As days turned into weeks, Timothée wore the sneakers often, each time reveling in the power he had over Zane, whose agony was his secret amusement. Zane, now sentient fabric, was trapped in a reality where every step was a reminder of his fanatical devotion turned into an eternal nightmare.

Once Zane felt the world shrink around him, he knew he was no longer himself. The transformation was disorienting, a swirl of colors and sensations until everything settled into a nightmarish reality: he had become a pair of blue Converse sneakers.

The first assault on his senses was the smell - potent, overwhelming, an acrid, musky odor that now defined his existence. Timothée's feet slid into him, and with that, Zane felt the warmth and dampness of sweat soaking through his fabric. Each step Timothée took was like a hammer strike to Zane's consciousness; the pressure of his foot against the insole was a constant reminder of his new, horrific purpose.

Zane could taste every drop of sweat, feel every grain of dirt that had found its way inside him. It was beyond disgust; it was torture. His senses, heightened to an unbearable degree, made every sensation agonizing. The pain was not just physical; it was the soul-crushing realization that his idol, the person he had admired from afar, had turned him into this object of convenience and amusement.

Days passed, or what Zane perceived as days, for time had lost all meaning. Each step Timothée took was a reminder of Zane's eternal sentence. He could hear Timothée's laughter, see through the tiny gaps in the shoe's design, witnessing the world from an utterly demeaning perspective. Timothée wore him to events, on casual strolls, and each environment brought a different kind of torment. The heat of summer made his feet sweat more, the cold of winter made the dampness chilling.

Zane longed for relief, for escape, but there was none. He was trapped, his only interaction with the world being through Timothée's feet. His every step was a sentence without parole. Zane could feel Timothée's satisfaction, his lack of remorse, as he moved about, never once considering Zane's plight.

In moments of solitude, when Timothée would take him off, there was no respite. The air was a slight relief, but the memory of Zane's former self, the fan who would never have imagined such an end, haunted him. He was now part of Timothée's life in the most literal, yet dehumanizing way, his existence reduced to serving his feet.

As weeks turned into months, any hope of returning to his old life faded. He was no longer Zane, the fan; he was Zane, the sneakers. His identity, his dreams, his admiration, all had been transmuted into this endless, silent suffering, a grotesque parody of what he once thought was devotion. Every day was a new lesson in agony, and every step Timothée took was a further step away from any semblance of humanity Zane once knew.

[flanaganfilm]

On the Netflix "Masters of Horror" interview you and Guillermo del Toro did together, there seemed to be some reference to an off-camera discussion about a Bleak House project? Was that something you played with collaborating on?

Not a project - Guillermo has a house he calls "Bleak House" that is filled with his favorite artifacts, books, props, and memorabilia (in fact, he has more than one Bleak House now). He invited to come over and check it out. And it was pretty astonishing...

[ghostchems]

infernal - terzo x f!reader - part four

art by the amazing @piaart!!

author’s note: HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY @angellayercake!! GO TELL HER HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

so sorry for the delay on this haha. i've been wrestling with this for a while but i'm pretty happy with it now! it is about 4.4k words. part one/two/three. ao3 linky.

Terzo’s house is different at night. The lights are dim and the shadows are long, every long, creaking corridor seemingly ending in a black void. You’ve never been here this late. In fact, you can’t remember what you were just doing… why are you working late? The hardwood floor rasps beneath your shoes as you turn a corner and see him inside the room at the end of the hallway, sprawled out across a plush purple couch. Terzo immediately perks up at the sight of you, propping himself on his elbows, the usual lop-sided grin sitting handsomely on his face. You feel like you float to him and you’re suddenly standing next to the couch, hovering over him. One of his hands crawls up your waist and then loops his arm around you to pull you down on top of him. It’s much more forward than the careful dance the two of you have been doing since the couch incident. You struggle to breathe in his lap, his hands firmly planted on your waist as he leans up to level his eyes with yours.

“This is what you want, si?” He purrs, his hands snaking up your back to hold you close to him, his face an inch away from you. His paint is sharp, more sharp than usual, and he feels hot to the touch, his fingers nearly burning through your shirt. Your heart flutters and you gasp, your mouth dropping open as his stuttered breath hits your lips. “You like me. You want me. You’ve wanted me from the start, haven’t you, puffetta?” You’ve heard him growl before but not like this, not in a low hum that sends a shiver down your spine. Words fail you but you manage to nod. And nod. And nod again before his large hand grabs the back of your head, his fingers knotting in your hair. You nearly moan in anticipation, wanting and needing this so badly, his lips just about to touch yours — so close to finally tasting him.

Instead, you wake up in a cold sweat, your fingers dug into the sheets and drool on your pillow. Your panting and your cheeks are flushed but you slowly start to cool off once you rip the comforter off of you, throwing it to the ground in frustration. Mostly frustration at yourself for continuing to watch videos of your boss performing. You can’t help it. Terzo let you in. He invited you to sit beside him and take a peak into his world. The memorabilia makes sense now, the posters, the photographs, the everything.

And you want to know more.

“Ah, it is really… coming along, eh?” Terzo sounds so sleepy, brushing the hair out of his eyes and gazing out of the kitchen window while his hip rests against the counter. You take a moment to look up from your laptop and out the window as well, silently taking in the improvements that have been made under your care. The grass is a lush green, a hammock underneath the only tree in the yard, now trimmed and shaped to actually resemble one. A patio with a stylish dark grey conversation set beneath a hardtop gazebo is just to the left of the window, nestled in a corner of the yard. The garden still needs some work but there are two small raised beds in the back corner, where the sun shines the most, and a few spots already reserved for jalapeno peppers at Terzo’s insistence. You turn back to look at him, unable to fight off the blush that rises to your cheeks.

“Do you like it?” There’s a lilt in your voice, lips pulling into a small smile. It makes him melt a little bit.

“Si, yes. It is much nicer than it was before…” He trails off as he slinks closer to you only to keep his gaze settled on the yard. “We must have spritz’s outside one of these nights.”

“Spritz?”

“Ehhh, it’s like rosso arancio — orangey **drink with ice cubes and, uhhhh, ah! Served in a wine glass.” His mannerisms make you smile even more. You feel like a fool and you’re sure you look like one but you can’t help it. Your dream intensified your feelings, making it nearly impossible to hide them at this point. Is it so bad? To have a crush on your weird, retired-rockstar boss?

“Oh, like in White Lotus?” You rest your chin on your hands and flutter your eyes at him. Terzo flashes a bright smile but you can see in his eyes that he has no idea what you’re talking about. Silence lingers with him hovering just above you, your eyes locked. The moment is interrupted by the buzzing of your phone. “Oh shit, the landscaper!” You grab your phone and hurry out of the kitchen and toward the backyard.

Terzo keeps his eyes on the yard, slipping his hands in his robe pockets as he waits for you to appear. You caught him off guard this morning, your dreamlike gaze and easy smile making it impossible for him to be anything other than endeared to you. He’s almost relieved for the interruption because of how close he was to breaking the tension, wanting nothing more than to shove his fingers down your throat and watch those bright eyes widen with shock. You come into view with the landscaper trailing behind you, looking over your shoulder with a smile as you use your hand to sweep across the landscape with your finger ending up pointing to some brush that needs to be cleared. Terzo has spent so much time just watching you operate and he hasn’t tired of it, which is a feat due to his relatively short attention span. In fact, he doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of it.

You’re a natural with people. You always have a cheery smile, a nice greeting and some banter to lighten things up. He’s been so shut-in, his only company either you or his own voice, that watching genuine human interaction makes him swoon hard for you. His mind drifts to the times when he used to be social and how it used to fuel him, how it used to keep him going even after his Papacy fell apart.

What fuels him now? His gaze falls to where you had been sitting and his attention is immediately captured. You left you laptop open.

Terzo has always been nosy, even during his days at the Abbey. He can’t help but allow his eyes to focus on your email inbox that you foolishly left open. How many secrets could be in your inbox? What could he find out about you through what’s there? Terzo resists. He truly does for a split second. But he just cannot help himself. He slinks into the wooden kitchen chair you are set up at and pulls his glasses out from his robe pocket. He clicks on the first thing he sees: Banana Republic and is disappointed that it is only clothes. One of the male models catches his attention, though.

His outfit, specifically. A henley and a cardigan, matched tastefully with a pair of sweatpants. Terzo wonders if this is the kind of style you like. He pulls out his phone and opens the Banana Republic website but freezes when he hears faint footsteps. Terzo scrambles out of your chair, only to settle close by, leaning against a nearby wall and pretending to be hopelessly distracted by his phone (aka, staring at cardigans).

You enter the kitchen and can’t help by eye him suspiciously, the look on his face perhaps just a bit too aloof. He keeps scrolling lazily and starts to lean backward, all too aware of your gaze. It lingers for a moment before you sit back down, knitting your brows together at the email open on your screen. Then, you see that it’s up to 50% off all items which could be combined with clearance items and you’re clicking the link, getting lost in the undeniable pull of online shopping. Terzo gives a dramatic huff and leaves the room, desperately trying to hide how tickled he is.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, unable to hide a grimace. This is silly. Today is date day. You ended up texting Dylan. How could you not? Something you’ve longed for since you were a girl was offered up to you on a silver platter. So — why aren’t you more excited? Instead, Terzo is on the mind. It feels like he’s consumed your whole life as of late, spending your days in his home working for him and now he’s seeped into your home time. You haven’t allowed yourself to fully go down the rabbit hole, sticking only with the videos he had shown you in his home despite your YouTube recommendations now being full of him but also… other videos of different singers and musicians under the same band name. Of course, you couldn’t ask despite your curiosity — it’s obviously something of a sore subject and he’s only just started opening up to you more about that time of his life. The last thing you want to do is press him on something so personal and painful to him.

But now you have to live with this knowledge.

You try to push the thought from the forefront of you mind, instead focusing on yourself in the mirror again. A black shift dress hugs your figure and you have your red scarf, your favorite scarf, loose around your neck. How are you supposed to dress for this occasion? A date after work? It’s impossible to put together an appropriate outfit for both. But also — who are you kidding? The idea of Terzo seeing you in a dress has you anxious in more ways than one. No one needs an excuse to wear a dress but for some reason you feel guilty. Guilty that this dress isn’t for him. Maybe… a little bit disappointed, too. But you should give Dylan a shot, right?

“Right?” Oh, you are anxious.

Something catches your eye in your mirror, your gaze slowly trailing toward it. Your red scarf. You hum in thought for a moment and then turn to snatch it off your dresser, quickly looping it around your neck. Immediate relief washes over you, something about the scarf soothing your nerves. Could be because it makes you think of the way warm knuckles brushed along your cool neck. A shiver runs down your spine and your cheeks flush from the thought. Fuck. You have to pull yourself together. Time to focus on work, on getting shit done to distract yourself from… well everything.

Meanwhile, Terzo is having a similar time looking at himself in disbelief. It’s the most put together he’s tried to be since his days as Papa. He sits on the edge of his bed, one hand on each knee, his toes tapping on the ground in front of him. The amount of thought that has gone into this outfit is silly, even though he basically bought exactly what the model was wearing. Now his thoughts have turned to how should he be sitting when you arrive? See? It’s silly*.* He almost ashamed of how **you’ve wormed your way into his cold, broken heart **when **that was not his plan. You’re supposed to be obsessed with him, waiting on him hand and foot while kissing the ground he walks on. Instead he’s fallen for you. How embarrassing. But how could it have been avoided?

Terzo rests his palms on either side of his bed as he leans back and spreads his legs, sharp eyes examining his position for a beat. Too forward? An amused grin flickers across his face at the thought of you reacting to him like this. Definitely too forward. He tilts his head and adjusts himself with care, back straightening out and he crosses his legs. Closer but not quite. Terzo stares at his own reflection, admiring his paint for the day. Every time he sees himself he wonders why he still applies it everyday. Perhaps it’s a comfort thing, makes him feel like he’s important again. Like he’s Papa.

He wonders if he’ll ever hear you call him that.

Terzo takes a deep breath and exhales with a rumble, his eyes falling shut. You would do anything he asked, wouldn’t you? His mouth splits into a grin as he runs his slender fingers through his hair. Eyes open slowly, gaze focusing on his reflection. Strands of hair had fallen into his face and his head overall looking stylishly unkempt. More giggles.

Perfect.

Some mornings it’s like you blink and you’re at Terzo’s home. Not this morning. You are hyper aware of every stoplight, every Dunkin Donuts as your commute drags out to the second. Too much alone time with your overactive brain plotting out kind of every situation where something could go wrong with the date or work today and coming up with attack plan after attack plan to fix the issue. Not fun. After what feels like an eternity, you pull through the eerie wrought iron gate and travel down the long, tree lined driveway. Tension fills your chest as you come to a slow stop. It’s just one weird day that you have to get through.

You got this.

Terzo is already in the foyer by the time you walk through the door which is unlike him, usually spending most mornings in bed or somewhere else dark and comfy until he can no longer tolerate his caffeine withdrawal headache. He’s balancing his coffee cup on his thigh, one hand resting behind his head while the other scrolls through his phone. Your feet come to a stop, blinking a few times to ensure what you’re seeing is real, having never seen him this clothed before*.* He’s still in sweatpants but they taper down to his ankles and he’s wearing a pair of moccasins, his hair expertly tousled and reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He’s wearing a white henley that is artfully unbuttoned to expose his thick chest hair and a cozy navy blue cardigan draped over his slinky shoulders. Only his eyes are painted — giving you the chance to finally see his bare face, smooth olive skin wrinkled with age. You stare at him silently. He looks like he’s come directly out of a magazine. Terzo head tilts to face you, his eyes still focused on his phone until they unhurriedly drag away from the screen to settle on you.

“Ammazza…” The word is an impassioned whisper. He’s stunned, eyes wide as he looks over your figure with such a deliberate slowness it makes your cheeks burn. Dark eyes settle on your scarf, a smirk tugging on his lips, then his gaze flickers to meet yours. He rises from his seat, one hand clumsily snatching his coffee from his lap to stop himself from spilling, trying to hide his clumsiness with a cough. “Buongiorno mio toppolino… eh, you are wearing a dress?”

“I am. You’re wearing a cardigan.”

“I am.” Terzo purrs and slinks closer to you as he slips his phone into his cardigan pocket. His clumsiness is now replaced by that irresistible lazy swagger you are so familiar with. He lets his eyes wander again, tilting his head while regarding you. You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest but it’s impossible to hide the blush that creeps up your cheeks. “I do not think I can let you start work without a dance, not when you are wearing such a beautiful dress, puffetta.” There’s an undeniable heat in his words. It’s too early for this.

“It’s too early for this, Terzo.” You huff as you avert his eyes, a desperate attempt to not fall under his spell.

“Come now… I don’t want to pull the “boss” card but, eh…?” He sets his coffee down on the table as his other arm brazenly snakes around your waist. Your face is fully red now and your brain is in a deep state of fart but you manage to move with him. This is the exact opposite of what you wanted for today but you find your stress slipping away to focus on the warmth of his fingers from having held his mug of coffee. He guides your hand to his chest then slips his bare hand along your other arm until he laces his fingers in yours and raises them to lead the way. Terzo is taller than you, not by much but he still looms over you, those piercing eyes never leaving yours. He starts to slowly sway to imaginary music as your cheeks burn, your chest impossibly warm but you start to loosen up, especially as his movements grow more fluid. “There is always time for a little dance, eh?” Terzo leans in close enough that you can feel his warm breath on your lips then rests his cheek against your temple with a hum.

And you thought cuddling on the couch was intimate. You feel every inhale and exhale, his humming gradually growing stronger in your ear. His cool lips and warm breath giving you goosebumps. Cirice. You recognize it from your be various videos you’ve watched but bite your tongue and enjoy him. This may not be a stage in front of thousands of people but it definitely feels like a demonstration of some kind. Or he could just be pushing the boundary like the creeper he is and you’re eating. it. up. The last time you slow danced was at your senior prom with your date who was on probation — unbeknownst to you at the time he asked you. Somehow this is far less awkward than that. His arm around your waist starts to shift upward, his large hand pressing up your back. He lifts his head but is still only a breath away, his smile lines deep as his gaze meets yours. Your heart stirs in your chest, air caught in your lungs but before you get swept up in the moment he changes the tone.

Terzo starts singing, more energetic and loud as he leads you from the foyer into the den. You nearly trip over yourself when he twirls you, picking up the pace to be more jaunty, more goofy. But even with the fun movements you are extremely aware of his hand on the small of your back, fingertips pressing against you every so often. He’s smiling so wide that it makes it hard for you to hold it together. All of your worries about the day are gone, though — replaced by being completely entranced by him. You know just how special this song is to him, the moments he had on stage with fans, holding their hands and kissing their knuckles. And now he has you in his arms.

“I am going to dip you now.”

“You’re going to wha--?!” You squeal as he dips you, your hand frantically gripping onto his shoulder. He doesn’t drop you though, instead pulling you back to your feet with his toned arms curling around your back. You stop breathing, your chests touching and a strand of his hair brushing against your forehead from how close the two of you are.

“Mm… you are a good dance partner, you know? Easy to lead.” Is he trying to kill you today? Terzo gives you some space but still sways with you, the dance feeling more like… more like standing very close to one another waiting for something to happen. “You spoiled me today with wearing this dress.”

And a punch to your gut. Extreme guilt builds inside you and you can’t stop the distress from being all over your face.

“Oh…oh, puffetta, I am sorry, am I making you uncomfortable or—?” You cut him off with a sigh and take a step away from him, your eyes closing to give yourself time to collect your feelings while his arms fall from around you.

“No, I’m sorry. Ugh, this is so weird. I’m… I have a date after work today. So that’s what the dress is for.” There is no air in your lungs. Everything is so strained. “But you… this…” A flutter in your chest. “I like it. I’m… sorry this dress isn’t for you.” Do you even need to be apologizing? The answer would be no if it was anyone else other than him.

His face is stone cold, so different than the joy that had radiated from him just moments ago. The smile is gone and his brows are furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. You think you’re going to, ummm, die? All you can do is stare back at him, eyes incredibly wide and worry etched across your face. What is he thinking? Why is he taking so long?

One of Terzo’s hands lunges forward and grabs you by the back of your neck, his thumb pressed hard right below your ear. A surprised yelp, grasping for his sleeve and his shirt as his grip on you only tightens. His lips crush against your mouth, tongue forcing it’s way inside. He tastes like spiced coffee. The kiss is ferocious, you feel like you’re disappearing into it, mind blank but fingers digging into the fabric of his cardigan. Terzo’s teeth graze your bottom lip as he pulls away, a fiery look in his eyes.

“Do not forget who you belong too.” A low, vicious growl with bared teeth, pointed fangs glistening in the morning light. He uses his strength to push you down to your knees by your neck, your legs now trembling beneath. Speechless, you can’t look away from him now. Silence stretches between you. And then… he leaves and doesn’t spare you another glance.

You think you are broken. There’s an ache, a primal ache between your legs that burns hotter than you’ve ever felt before. Your skin is on fire, your cheeks burning and numb. What the fuck? He kissed you. Your boss kissed you and then spoke to you as if you are his possession. And it makes you want him more than ever before.

How are you going to be able to think about anything else?

Lucky for you, Terzo is MIA for the rest of the day.

You work as if he is standing over you, watching your every move. You don’t want to disappoint him, not now. Not after he kissed you. But the date. Dylan. Oh, Dylan. Caught in the middle of something there is no way he will ever understand. You hover in your text chat with him a few times with intent to cancel on him… but you can’t. He’s the one who got away, the one who you pined for like an idiot throughout half your life. This date could close that book. Or it could be the prologue. You won’t know unless you follow through.

The end of the day rolls around and you can’t help but pause in the foyer on your way out. Your chest tightens. Such a pleasant start to the day only to spiral out of control. You’re almost happy he kissed you before you were able to tell him that your date was picking you up from his house. The front porch creaks beneath your feet, the rotting wood the focus of your work today. Dylan is already there, leaning against his car and he gives you a big wave. You smile and wave back, light on your feet as you head toward him.

“Ma che cazzo…?” Terzo stares in disbelief, watching from his bedroom window as your date opens the passenger side door for you. Rage boils up within him, his hands clutching at the hem of his cardigan. A ceiling light POPS! behind him, green electricity illuminates the room but only for a second. Flames light up the bottom of the curtains, slowly eating away at them until they are completely engulfed. He’s too angry to care. The shy smile you gave your date eats him up inside, churning his stomach and making his nerves spark. The car fades from view and he unleashes an anguished scream as his hands seemingly grow claws, tearing and ripping the cardigan he had so carefully styled that morning. He doesn’t stop until he’s shirtless and surrounded by shreds of fabric. A sloppy wave of his hand somehow extinguishes the flames, leaving him in his room in the dark.

The nerve of you. To flirt, to giggle, to flutter your beautiful, delicate eyelashes at him while entertaining the idea of another man in your mind. A whore for attention, aren’t you? Pain in his chest. He shouldn’t call you a whore. You don’t deserve that. But it hurts, puffetta. Is it because he slacked off? Or that he had gone soft on you? Terzo groans as he sits on his bed, lasting less than a second before he flops onto the mattress and sinks into the mess of covers. He has been too soft, fucking twirling you around the foyer like a lovesick puppy. A romantic at heart always, eh? It was worth it — seeing you smile and blush gives him life, a reason to wake up the next morning because he has nothing else to do. You’ve made this shithole the Ministry saddled him with into a place that actually makes him feel at home. So… maybe he could be somewhat lenient with your punishment.

Electricity crackles in his bones. He is going to spend the rest of the night here, he thinks, casting a glance at his ancient alarm clock. 5:30pm. What else could possibly get him out of bed at this point? Terzo huffs and swings one of his legs over his body to lazily roll over, dragging the covers along with him to successfully burrito himself with a scoff. Another instance in which someone stole the spotlight from him. At least this time it isn’t his decrepit father. He breaks into a wild chuckle.

That would be fucked.

[scftmen]

STORM : for both muses to find shelter from a severe storm. / gabriel & path to redemption

a comprehensive list of scenarios

"You just love following me around, don't you? ' think I've got a story for you." At least, that's what Gabriel figured it was about. A western Australian accent already drawing it's own level of intrigue compared to other locals. Manhattan was the smallest geographically, and the likelihood of meeting an Australian seemed, ..slim.

For whatever reason, the stranger kept asking him prodding questions. The cultural shift between here and Australia couldn't have been more black to white, sure he'd been here for several months but the drifter continued to find being abrasive not a natural reaction. The questions weren't aggressive or threatening in nature, just, curious.

Before words would start to get more firm, a drop of water hit the brow.. once.. twice, then on the scalp, the arms and jacket. "Oh fuck me dead mate- you gotta be joking??" Worn boots tread the ground faster, every intention to find reprieve rather than stand and get soaked.

Company didn't seem deterred at all by the shift in weather. In fact, the strange man kept pace with him. "You must be really gods-damned curious!" Bobbing and weaving among others along a broad sidewalk, he is breaking into a light jog to beat the downpour. Both men pass open stores and restaurants, clearly the drifter had a destination in mind.

Normally someone this insistent would cause fear, but for some reason didn't trigger his. As the rain really started to come down and the distant sound of thunder, he stops at an abandoned building and pulls open some damaged fencing to crawl under it. Gabriel doesn't help unexpected company, he just moves quickly before being spotted.

Crawling inside a window that was braced closed, Gabriel's limbs soon disappear inside the building. Sure enough, here came the other man. Lips purse in disbelief, but the window is then placed back in position and very gently had theater memorabilia with some weight placed on it from the other side to give it the same appearance of it being intact from the outside. He moves into theater 'room 1' and sits in one of the chairs with a sigh. Heavy rain pelts the roof while his stomach on the other hand, growled. Absolutely could have been mistaken for a fart, but the drifter doesn't seem to care either way.

With one of the doors to theater one propped open, it allowed some low level light, otherwise it would be too pitch black to see anything. "I tell ya what- since you are a curious little joey, you get me something to eat, and I'll answer your prodding questions, got anything on you?"