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hey! this blog is an archive and i’ll be over at @frmaggio (aka a Main Blog Now)

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                                     PROSCIUTTO & FORMAGGIO

                                        ( written by marie & guixi )

                                               RULES / RULES 

                                                        (x , x)

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hey! this blog is an archive and i’ll be over at @frmaggio (aka a Main Blog Now)

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dami .. what happened to the bookshelf? ( halloween verse uvu )

The shelf was half off it’s hinge, the books once placed neatly were now scattered on the floor, saved only by the graces of a hardback cover, though some pages were bent and book spines snapped in half of their lesser, plastic cover cousins. 

A werecat sat delicately in the room as though he was witnessing the mess himself for the first time, mouth agape in faux surprise, and somewhere, if one’s sight was keen enough, a dead spider in the midst of the mess. Such was the scene Florentino walked in on.

“ I don’t know.. what did happen to th’ bookshelf? ” Damiano questioned, emerald hues squinting as they broke their unblinking gaze from the demon to the mess he totally and absolutely didn’t make. Someone, he felt as though that wouldn’t cut it, and his partner had a way of getting the truth out of him sooner or later.

“ Well.. ” His feline ears twitched, before lowering slightly as some semblance of guilt crossed the monster’s features. “ I was just deciding t'take a nap right on th’ armchair when I spotted something moving across th’ books. Now, I couldn’t see at th’ angle t’at I was in, because I was in my domestic form, so I t’ought I’d just.. jump up there. ”

His ears finally flattened the rest of the way, making Dami look quite miserable for himself.

“ I might’ve .. underestimated how big I still am in t’at form ‘n got a little stuck. So I started pushin’ books off and trying to get th’ spider and ended up breaking th’ shelf… ”

He trotted from the armchair over towards Tino, gently ducking his head under his chin and hiding his embarrassed, guilty face against his neck. “ – Ahh.. yer not mad at me, are you? ”

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as halloween is approaching, i’m going to have a temporary monster / supernatural verse to fit the theme. of course, form’s a perfect fit for a werecat, so if you want to interact with this verse / theme you’re more than welcome to. i’ll take any asks sent as intended for this verse between now and the end of the halloween week, so if you want canon / etc, specify.

also @aeonics come join me in this au uwu

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i can’t believe it was never said but formaggio is absolutely a himbo

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aeonics‌:

“fucking thief,” florentino snaps through his teeth, glaring daggers at the boy on the ground. “empty your pockets, i want to see.”

lip pulling in sheer contempt, one lithe hand gestures to its opposing wrist, bare of any accessory beneath a neatly pressed sleeve.  he’ll size up the boy on the ground, debating whether or not a scuffle would turn to his advantage. 

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“ Y’t’ink y’can demand anyt’ing of me? ” Damiano rebukes in turn, finding himself increasing unamused at the petite blond. He was probably double his weight, and he really thought he was going to bow down like a reprimanded dog just because he was rich?

He gives a slight grunt when the tip of his shoe dug into his side and he decided to show how much he thought his money was to him by gathering the saliva in his mouth and spitting it across the brand-named, triple digit costing footwear. Damiano’s grin was vicious, like a cat bearing it’s fangs. He would’ve proceeded to stand up had the other boy not decided to plunge into his pockets anyway.

“ -- Oi! Get off me y’prissy little bitch! ” Deciding he’d entertained this for far too long, the other’s knee held him down long enough for Florentino’s sparkling watch to peek out of confines of dirty cotton before he acted. The back of his hand aimed to strike him across his jaw, his other pushing his shoulder as he forcefully attempted to stand against his weight.

“ I gave you yer fuckin’ warning, ” Damiano snarled. He continued, shouting, irregardless of pedestrians on the street beginning to stop and pay attention to the scene of the scuffle. Both hands grabbed fistfuls of the boy’s shirt, intending to lift or at least restrain him.

 “ I betcha’ve got a million of those fuckin’ watches an’ you’d rather get yer face beat in to a pulp t’an let it go? You’re so far up your own ass t’at you can’t see shit, boy. ”

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Physique Pictorial: Vol. 16 #2 35 Cents Sept. 1967

See my gay magazine history lesson here. True shit, man!

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misc form hcs 

- whilst he is sexually attracted to both men and women, form only can really develop romantic attraction towards men. i don’t think he himself really realises this because his emotional maturity is dogshit and he barely believes he’s even capable of romantic feelings period. 

- he never really corrected people if they called him straight or gay, because he doesn’t even come across the term “bisexual” until his la squadra days. he only really mentions that he ‘likes both’ when questioned.

-he’s assured in his masculinity in a way that’s kinda hilariously progressive for 2001, as he doesn’t consider stereotypical feminine products (makeup, lingerie, etc) to be anything but what they are, not separated in ‘men’ and ‘women’ stuff or feel emasculated by wearing/applying such things. in modern verses / modern standards, he doesn’t consider himself gender non-conforming for this, but has on occasion challenged gender stereotypes.

- when he’s heavily burnt and scarred as a result of canon, postverse form’s self esteem and confidence in his appearance basically shatters to zero. he finds it very difficult to shake off the insecurity when a lot of people would stare at his injuries on the street. 

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aeonics‌:

Keep Reading

He takes that word as a holy decree and thus Formaggio remains where he was -- perfectly slotted against his partner’s body in such a way he couldn’t help but think it was made for one another. Those thoughts were for romantics and dreamers and he’d left those days behind in the wake of a thousand broken hearts. Yet still, it persisted as the singular lucid thought in the haze of a warm, fuzzy glow.

Even taken out of any context that he said he spared no thought to, Prosciutto meant more to him than any of those one off hook-ups and week-long relationships. He had always been his friend first and foremost before any of this .. whatever ‘ this ’ was .. started. The tension that was always primal energy, lust or greed or sometimes indulgently both reaching a whirlwind of a climax. 

He begrudgingly accepted this time was just different. In a way he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Yet here he was, contemplating one singular question that plagued his mind. Should he cross that threshold, tell him something that they could never forget happened, or pretend it never did? Cement it as the growing thing it was?

Formaggio’s lips ceased their mindless affectionate against his neck, stilling for a moment, chasing and stealing the feelings he’s sure he’s never felt in thirty odd years. He simply lays like that, silent; basking, nothing but the quietened draw and exhale of breath to fill the din.

Slowly, he lifted from the space, enough that his sweat-ridden face was inches apart from Prosciutto’s own. Half-lid emerald hues searched it, balanced between scrutiny and untold, hidden-away fondness.

“ Damiano. ” he finally and quietly says, released on the end of his breath like he’d been holding it as he crossed the point of no return. “ ... my real name is Damiano. ”

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aeonics‌:

there’s something fleeting in the idle rhythm of dami’s thumb against his hand, and it pulls his attention for the briefest moment away from the tv display. azure eyes scrutinize the point of contact as if they could hope to identify what has their owner simultaneously comforted and mildly concerned– and florentino pushes it off to another day.

he’s never been fond of damiano’s ‘job’, even as the very thing that drove him to the emergency ward to receive care at the tail end of a shift that should’ve ended peacefully and quietly.

pursed lips don’t bother parting around the hum welling in the back of his throat, holding back any commentary until he’s filtered through the first scoff that comes to mind: of course they won’t play fair.  awfully pessimistic, he supposes, but he’s never been the one gazing through rose-tinted glass.

disquiet follows in the sardonic wake of a baited sigh, lacing his every nerve with a tension he’s certain damiano can feel even in all its subtlety, a brace for the inevitable, the disaster, whenever it may fall. he forces himself to relax, but the tightness in his jaw says he’s failed as much as the cold tint to his voice.

“ .. i don’t blame you.”   he’ll shut his eyes to the dim light of the room to narrow his focus on the many possible outcomes.  “when is this happening?”

Damiano falls silent once again, letting the question posed by the other set an uncomfortable pressure. His idle caress halted, his grip stilled and he prepared himself for the fallout to come. He should’ve told Florentino sooner, really, but he knew how much the man tirelessly worried over him. His ideas and methods of trying to get him to worry less never seemed to work as intended, though.

“ Next week.. ” he tentatively states, as though his words were a slow crawl, trying to navigate around a danger or threat. He doesn’t look at Tino then, eyes glued to the white noise the television produced. “ Th’ date was pushed forward by a month. ”

To which he was, of course, only informing of this development now. Tense sighs exhaled to ease some of the tension, body sinking further into the plush security of the couch and in the arms of his partner, praying as though it would swallow him whole, and he wouldn’t have to fight against what was essentially a death match.

“ I know y’can’t be seen to be in t’ere, ” Damiano murmurs, fully aware of Tino’s career. Not wanting to be it’s blight or downfall was one of the many reasons he had yet to visit him in his office or the hospital he worked at, as though his mere presence would get the surgeon in trouble.

“ -- But.. I t’ink I’d feel a lot safer knowin’ you were, just.. just in case. ”

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schismania‌:

      ‘Rough’  wasn’t the word he’d use to describe how devastated and heart-broken he was, followed by a numbness that he couldn’t get rid of to this day. He could still remember the two of them fucking on the bed he shared with his girlfriend, followed by the scent of tobacco coming from the cigarette that he pressed against his lips as he stared at what he had done. 

        Anasui almost wanted to laugh when the other made his comment. Was murder ever the ’right thing’ ?  He did not gain anything from it, not even momentary satisfaction. The only lost cause that there was, was himself. Despite his experience, he could not give up on the idea that one day, he could be loved just as much as he could. This guy’s words wouldn’t discourage him, not when he firmly believed that only love could save his bastard soul. 

        He didn’t understand it. Not many could, and it became evident with what was said next. Genuine confusion was shown when he directed his stare at the other inmate. Both of his brows knitting together with a mild tilt of his head as he questions. “—Balls…? I didn’t have anywhere to go. There’s nothin’ out there for me. “ It was never a choice to be free.

“ Man, you’re what.. early to mid twenties? ” he guessed, eyes squinting as he sized the other male up. Formaggio figured that he was older than him, but other than that, he didn’t have much of an estimate to place Anasui at. It wasn’t too important for him to know exactly, but it made his point. “ -- And t’at’s your attitude? ”

He sighed lightly. “ T’ere’s always gonna be somet’ing out there, better than what you’re gonna find in here. Now, I ain’t th’ type t’try to convince those that are already too far gone into believing in a magical life outside of prison, but I feel like yer throwin’ away yer life here. ”

Wishing that he had pockets to shove his hands in, he ended up crossing his arms loosely in front of his chest, neutral rather than defensive. 

“ Don’t let yerself be stopped by one chick. There’s plenty of hearts out there that might’ve even been better than her, but you’re certainly not gonna be findin’ her here, in prison. Probably late advice for you now, but y’know. Y’can either be king of the sandbox here, or king of the entire fuckin’ world. Do you get me? ” 

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morteesigarette‌:

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Formaggio clicked his tongue in disapproval, the bite to his neck was a good start and drew a humble noise from the pit of his throat, but not enough to get him shaking. He made sure to let Prosciutto know as much, grin remaining.

“ Y’gonna need a little more than t’at if you want t’wrestle control from me, ” he mocked, rewarding him with a deliciously torturous roll of his hips, the friction making him briefly bite his lip before he released it for an airy laugh. “ Tryn’a get bossy wit’ me isn’t gonna work. Do you t’ink I’m some blushin’ virgin? Y'need to use more than your stern voice. ”

Still, he leaned back a little, his smirk returning as he set the lube bottle aside and shifted off of his lap to kneel on the bed, throwing Prosciutto a look over his shoulder.

“ But .. alright. I’ll humour you, seeing as y’wanna be my dirty little slut. ” he teased. Admittedly, it’d been a while before the last time he let someone play with him, especially one he was so casually dominating. He was having so much fun proving how ill prepared Prosciutto had been to handle him, though Formaggio didn’t think it was impossible.

He reached back, lifting his hips somewhat and pulling his cheek aside to expose himself, encouraging him on. “ -- Go on then, lap me up, baby. ”

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medicomorte‌:

     There’s something that piques his interest in what the other chooses to say, and that was the implication that he earned enough to waste his money on films that were not worth it. It leads to make Cioccolata wonder what exactly each member of his team did when their services weren’t used. Did they have that sort of freedom like himself? No, that couldn’t be… If it were true what this man said, surely this place wouldn’t look like shit.

        Only a hums leaves him in response, not entirely convinced or satisfied with the answer he was given, but it wasn’t his place to pry. He could easily get that sort of information elsewhere, but that wasn’t the reason for his surprise visit. Cioccolata was, in all honesty, bored of doing nothing other than following the routine. Even he lost the joy and thrill that came with murder, regardless of the different methods that he used for their execution. What he needed was something or someone to inspire him—to awake his excitement and passion for what he did. He thought one of the members of such a troublesome team could help him with that. After all, he deeply enjoyed chopping one of their members into pieces.

          Cioccolata continues to look through the set of DVDs, carelessly throwing them over his shoulder after inspecting them. Such a waste of resources for the camera to fail when showing the body—some amateur work even using fake bodies or clips and disguising it with a filter to hide the obvious alteration of the product. Cioccolata knew because he had seen them before, and every time, he ended up disappointed.

            A sigh leaves him, and the doctor turns on his heel to face Formaggio once more, whilst placing a hand on his hip. “——I sell high-quality movies. No glitches, no turning the camera away and miss something. My partner, Secco…” Free hand moves to pet his head as if he was a dog rather than a person. “——He captures every angle with precision. Unfortunately, I’ve been suffering from a lack of inspiration and I’d like to hear some ideas. Amuse me, and I will give you a copy before it even hits the market. You can do that, right?”

Formaggio hissed out something under his breath in response to the doctor’s careless treatment of his property. Probably the only thing that worked in his shitty apartment was the TV, CD player and the toilet. He quickly made short movements -- wary of the dog-like human on guard -- to grab at the DVDs before they hit the ground. No doubt the flimsy casing, sometimes even just plastic jewel cases, barely served as a protective layer.

“ I don’t know, is it gonna be some sort of fuckin’ bullshit irony? ” he mutters, arms half-full of the thrown DVDs. He set them down near by his feet, within some indiscriminate pile of junk and trash that vaguely held some sense of organisation, if one threw every meaning and sense of the word out.

“ Y’know -- I tell ya th’ idea and my reward is ‘ making it onto film’ ? ” Formaggio clicked his tongue disapprovingly. He might’ve found that hilarious himself if he wasn’t the candidate lining up for the almost quite literal chopping board. 

He’d rather just buy the movies from him outright than play his game, but he figured that he wouldn’t be all too willing to sell to him if he didn’t play ball. Then again, this was assuming he could even afford his prices and for once, Formaggio wasn’t keen on offering alternative ways of payment.

“ Fine. I want t’ see someone or feral animals just rip someone to pieces and yeah -- no turning the camera away! Zoom in on t’at shit, on th’ -- th’ tendons and whatever ripping. ” he expressed. “ Y’already got a dog right there, why not let yer camera man have a bit of star time? He looks like he got teeth t’at can rip right t’rough. Not th’ most original idea, but damn gruesome, don’tcha t’ink? ”

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aeonics‌:

he’ll reluctantly venture away from the blanket draped over their slouched figures to grasp at the remote, all room-temperature plastic, with only bored contemplation reflected in his gaze.

there’s nothing on, but florentino skims the guide anyway, lamenting the late hour’s quiet in the gentle roll of his eyes and the pressed line of his mouth.

he’s never been a subtle person, at least, not when it came to questions. he’s grown fond enough of damiano, he knows, to detect hesitation when he hears it, to register the other’s little shift as reluctance, to rest his head on his shoulder until his honey-blonde’s probably gotten in his face to entice an explanation.

one pale hand, decidedly warmed to room temperature, turns to lace its fingers with damiano’s and give a squeeze for good measure.  “something bothering you?”

Gaze downcast, his prompt at first only draws out a sad sort of smile onto his lips. It was impossible to hide anything from Florentino, he simply knew him too well when he was hiding something crucial or not. He angled his head to be able to look at him without disturbing his place at his shoulder, caressing the back of their laced hands with his thumb.

“.. a few t’ings, ” Damiano tells, lids drawn low enough that his lashes grace his cheek for a moment, an exhale following suit. “ -- t’is upcoming match .. it’s.. a little more organised than to my liking.. ”

Lips pressed into a thin line, he always struggled with his words, finding it hard even to the point he was embracing his boyfriend that he couldn’t quite fully explain the circumstances of his lifestyle. It had been drilled into him, certainly at a young age, what not to say.

But for Tino, he persevered, he deserved to know what worried him.

“  .. what I mean is .. I’m representing th’ owners of the ring. Y’know, Passione. ” He clicked his tongue. “ .. and my match is between a rival gang challengin’ t’em. I’ve just got a bad feeling they’re not gonna be playing fair when it comes to match time. ”