#marcu morello

[thesixgunkid]

i finished the death of art again and had 2 make these to offset the sadness :/

but on the plus side this means i get to finally start mafia 2!! im still planning on live blogging it when i do start, maybe tonight or tomorrow if nothing comes up

[lornasarts]

ITS MEME TIME (MAFIA 1)

[ordinarynightmare]

These two pairs have the same vibe.

No further explanation.

[griftwoodv]

Mafia DE characters as cat pictures

Paulie

Sam

Tommy (the cat), Sarah (hooman)

Don Salieri

Ralphie

Vinnie

Sarah

Don Morello

Sergio

Luigi

[kyrylo-kot]

            ═  .·:·.✧ ── ◆── ◇ ── ✧.·:·.  ═     ❛ ─ 𝗁𝖾𝗒. 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇, 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓.                           ─ 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈𝗈, 𝒅𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒐. ❜                             ═  .·:·.✧ ── ◆── ◇ ── ✧.·:·.  ═

[naomana]

I had to see it, so do you now

@afcknnerd why did you send this to me?! 🤣💀

[morganmerylhodgepodge]

Morello Brothers

[samtrapani]

It's fucking amazing seeing y'alls making trans HCs like putting so much THOUGHT in to it. It's amazing-

And then there's me with Sergio:

God

Have you seen those hips??????

That chest????

C'mon ya can't tell me anything against that-

(I would add a pic if Tumblr let me xD)

Just look at the scene in DE where he's talking to Marcu. Ya can really see those glorious hips ✨

sergio is such a little slinky of a ferret man i love him 😤

okay but rmb how in the original games his name is sergio morello jr. and in my opinion well uhm when sergio came out and was thinking of a name, marcu proposed he use take their father's name and that was that 😤

[tommytranselo]

honest to god i could take mafia 4 being the backstory for just about anybody but salieri.  i’d take young morello i’d take young clemente i’d take young leo just do not make me play as that smug two-faced head-so-far-up-his-own-ass-it’s-a-miracle-he-can-breath motherfucker

[huh-huhyourself]

"How did you fix the car?"

"Better ask Sam."

"Why ain't you a mechanic, Sam?"

"That work's too dirty for me."

Everyone knows Morello's another ending except me. Now I've known.

It's too bad that Hanger13 simplified this mission (and others like Lucas Bertone's sub quests e.g. that Big Dick one), the car fix thing of Sammy, the mission failed scene and ending2. So I uploaded these videos about mission 16 Crème De La Crème.

Ending 1 Secceed

Ending 1 Failed

Ending 2 (Sorry I'm a bad driver...)

And idk, it just finished.

[asmallexperiment]

A little joy.

So, maybe we start by recognizing that Jonah Nilsson sounds like Michael Jackson (Quincy Jones-approved, mind you) and is a fantastic jazz-inflected keyboardist. Aron Mellergård is an unbelievable drummer, funky as hell, both technical and totally in the pocket.

As a bassist, I don't even know what to say about Henrik. He has the whole bag. He has a really expansive feel but also the Stu Hamm right/left/right ghost notes that lock everything in. And then that preposterous bass solo, where he channels Tom Morello, throws in some Gary Willis fingerstyle, and then gives you licks out of the Marcus Miller and Victor Wooten catalogs, with the double-thumbing, sweeping, and triplet hammer-ons/offs. Unbelievable.

With Cory Wong and the horns, you have this really nice, updated Quincy Jones-type sound, leaning over toward Snarky Puppy. If you aren't smiling from ear to ear when this song is over, you are wired differently than I am.

[iamcxlleigh]

MAFIA DE ୨୧ ❛ Si el trío de lost heaven perteneciera a una película sobre mafias (mi opinión) ❜ ᵎᵎ

୨୧ : tommy angelo | GOODFELLAS (1990)

dir. Martin Scorsese

Tommy Angelo, un joven proveniente de Manhattan, en la ciudad de New york. De sangre irlandesa e Italiana.

Perteneciente a una familia de clase trabajadora, Angelo siempre se busco la vida en las calles haciendo trabajos de medio tiempo y cositas pequeñas para traer dinero a casa.

Desde temprana edad, Tommy admiró a los mafiosos locales que socializaban en una parada de taxis al otro lado de la calle de su casa, dado a su interés por aquel mundo logro integrarse haciendo pequeñas movidas para ellos.

Su primer arresto ocurrió a los 16 años por venta de cigarrillos ilegalmente con ayuda de un joven de su edad identificado como Paulie Lombardo, ese fue el día que Tommy estuvo oficialmente “Graduado” y de mantuvo activamente bajo el saco de la mafia.

Al crecer tuvo mucho peso para la familia “salieri” el junto a Paulie y otro de sus amigos más cercanos y figura de admiración, Sam Trapani. Hacían todo tipo de trabajos para la mafia y beneficio personal, llenando sus vidas de lujos, excesos y momentos de oro que solo estos “buenos muchachos” hubieran deseado jamás, todo al rededor de Tommy parecía ir bien, el tiempo es dinero.

La historia de Tommy Angelo fue una montaña rusa de emociones y sucesos que marcaron su vida permanente, de como la grandeza y la decadencia van de la mano constantemente.

୨୧ : sam trapani | THE GODFATHER (1972)

dir. Francis Ford Coppola

En 1945, en la ciudad New york. Sam Trapani ex marine se presenta a la boda de su hermana mientras su padre, un importante mafioso conocido como “El Padrino” escucha las solicitudes y favores que muchos amigos de la familia y socios les están suplicando cumplir.

Sam es el tercer hijo de cuatro hermanos y a pesar de que todos han logrado seguir su curso, directa o indirectamente con la familia, jamás quiso involucrarse en el mundo de la mafia o negocios turbios, no lo considera parte de su identidad como lo es su padre y su hermano mayor.

Después de un suceso desgarrador en la familia Trapani, Sam junto a sus hermanos deben tomar las riendas y hacerse cargo del del legado que formó su padre y mantener a salvo a la familia.

Sam a su pesar, ya con lo básico que conoce se somete a ponerse al frente de la familia, escalando cada vez más y ser totalmente diferente a como solía ser, a ser la figura de su padre.

Todo parece desmoronarse poco a poco, pero la última esperanza de la familia está en manos del tercer trapani, que pasa de ser un joven honrado y derecho, a ser un sanguinario y calculador Don de la mafia.

Sam nos deja ver a través de su vida, como un hombre honesto bajo la desesperación y presión por querer hacer lo correcto a costa de su familia, terminar cayendo en el agujero de las decisiones difíciles y los caminos oscuros en la vida.

୨୧ : paulie lombardo | THE IRISHMAN (2019)

dir. Martin Scorsese

En un asilo de ancianos, Paulie Lombardo, un hombre mayor de origen irlandés-americano ex combatiente de la segunda guerra mundial, nos relata su historia como asesino a sueldo de la mafia.

Todo comenzó en 1950 en Filadelfia, Lombardo trabaja como conductor de un camión de reparto sindical , donde comienza a vender algunos de los envíos de carne a un gángster local, miembro de una importante familia criminal bajo un poderoso hombre.

Después de que la empresa de entregas acusara a Lombardo de robo, un reconocido abogado del sindicato Frank Coletti consigue que el caso sea desestimado cuando se niega a nombrar a sus clientes ante el juez.

Frank le presenta a Lombardo a su jefe Ennio Salieri, líder de la familia criminal del noreste de Pensilvania. Próximamente Paulie comienza a realizar trabajos para Salieri.

Pronto, Salieri le presenta a Lombardo a Marcu Morello , jefe de la Hermandad Internacional de Teamsters , quien tiene vínculos financieros con la familia criminal del noreste de Pensilvania, de allí en más comienza una delgada línea entre libertad y lealtad con la que Paulie debe luchar.

Paulie, un hombre dañado por el pasado y sus propias acciones, nos cuenta su historia dejando en claro que no importa lo que hagas, siempre habrá un cabo suelto.

! 𝐈̶̲𝐈̶̲𝐈̶̲ !

‹ 15. 09. 2022 ›

credits for : @iamcxlleigh

Espero les haya gustado, lo escribí segura de mi opinión y ojalá logren ver lo mismo que yo, siento que si estos chicos pertenecieran a una película de mafias, serían esas, ESAS, por favor deben verlas. La trilogía del padrino y Goodfellas están disponibles en hbo max y the irishman en netflix.♡

Lamento cualquier tipo de error gramático u ortográfico. 🙇🏻‍♀️

[themanhattanbeat]

Love Rocks NYC 2024 at the Beacon Theatre

March 7, 2024

by Everynight Charley Crespo

Dave Grohl of the Foo Fighters, the Black Keys, Hozier, Nile Rodgers & Chic, Tom Morello of Rage against the Machine, Don Felder of the Eagles, Bettye LaVette, Joss Stone, Allison Russell, Emily King, Marcus King, Lucius, Larkin Poe, Trombone Shorty, Luke Spiller of the Struts, Quinn Sullivan, and Bernie Williams were among the musicians that helped this year’s Love Rocks NYC concert raise $3.8 million for a New York City-based charity, God’s Love We Deliver.

more ....

[jeremy-styron]

Album Review Tom Morello: The Atlas Underground (Oct. 12, 2018) Rating: 70/100 I'm not going to be as harsh on this record as some reviewers have been. Some of the beat styles featured on The Atlas Underground were done and done better by artists like Aphex Twin 30 years ago, and the other digital effects that masquerade as music ruined potentially good tracks like How Long, Battle Sirens, Vigilante Nocturno and Lead Poisoning and weighed down the whole. That said, beyond the first track, Rabbit's Revenge was a killer tune, and while Every Step That I Take is not my cup of tea, it has a good chorus melody. The same can be said for We Don't Need You. Find Another Way with Marcus Mumford and Lucky One with K.Flay might be the best pure songs on the record, and I like the flow and style of Leikeli47 on Roadrunner. I had never heard her before, but she gives me Tupac vibes in how she delivers the lyrics. As for Tom Morello, many of his riffs and pedal sounds don't really add anything new to the equation, and it feels like we've heard all of this before, even though nothing is wrong with any of it. But he has a certain familiar style, and he sticks to it here. Fans of Rage Against the Machine and Audioslave, almost to the person I bet, prefer just straightaway rock without all the digital mumbojumbo that pervades much of this record and drags down the rest of it. It is possible that he is, as some have claimed, shamelessly pandering, but being familiar with Rage's music and his contributions to it, Morello doesn't seem like the pandering type, so I'll give him the benefit of the doubt and conjecture that Morella attempted to bridge a musical gap - admittedly, with mixed results - across generations. Whatever the case, fans of his earlier two bands can find some elements that they like in this record if they give it a chance. (I edited this for space. A link to all my reviews is in the bio.) #music #musicreview #musicreviewer #newmusic #newmusicfriday #tommorello #alt #altrock #alternative #alternativerock #album #albumreview #record #recordreview #indie #indierock #rock #rockreview (at Philadelphia, Pennsylvania) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cj0qCwMOCkx/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[thehoneyjournal]

Legend Lore #13 Destruction of Glowing Ember

Your vision darkens, then quickly clears, revealing a collection of about a dozen or so small but well made huts, with woven wooden walls and thatch roofs. Men and women, primarily dragon born but with a few other races sprinkled in, are rushing to and fro, calling to one another in Draconic and Common, heading into the houses, where you can hear latches being locked and windows being boarded. Turning, you see a rag tag group of about 40 soldiers traipsing across a field, trampling plants under their boots without any regard.

           The village has fallen silent as the first soldiers reach the outskirts of the town, and then inexplicably stop, milling about and sitting down, chatting amiably, some laughing at jokes. All of them have naked weapons in their hands or near them, but their body language is relaxed. Their eyes, however, are alive, darting from building to building, searching for something. A slight half elven man pushes his way through the group, emerging into the sunlight, holding a plain sheathed katana at his side. His voice, though quiet, carries, and is layered with an obvious edge of menace.

           “Citizens of Fire to Stone- our client has made it perfectly clear that your land is required for his purposes. You have been offered money and serviceable terms twice now. I have come to ask you for a third time to vacate your homes and move onwards. There will not be a fourth time.”

           The man turns, seemingly dismissing the town from his thoughts, laughing at a quiet joke that seems to be thrown out from the group of soldiers. About an hour passes, and you can see the soldiers growing ever more restless, their eyes growing hungry, their jokes growing more bloody and dark, several of them shifting weight from foot to foot with anticipation.

As you turn to look back at the town, however, a figure stands in the middle of the road, wreathed in the morning mist, draped in a beautiful blue and white kimono. In his left hand, undrawn, is a katana with a jet black sheath that seems to almost drink in the morning light. Approaching more closely, you can see elegant runes in Elvish scrolled across the sheath. The hilt is wrapped in dark grey shark skin for a better grip and the dragonborn holds it with practiced ease.

           You recognize this blade, for it’s been described to you by Zanatile, and you briefly feel a cold shock move through you as realize that this dragonborn is wielding the sword. The dragonborn’s eyes close briefly, and he takes a deep breath, his nostrils flaring, a brief gout of cold vapor emerging as he exhales and opens his deep blue eyes. He has a trim but muscular form, clearly one who trains often, and from his grip, and the deep ingrained sweat stains on the hilt of the katana, takes great pleasure in doing so. He has a higher voice, but quite melodic, as he calls out to the group of soldiers, all of whom are silently facing him.

           “I’m very sorry to have kept you waiting! We have discussed your proposal at length, and would like to talk terms now with you, that you may accurately deliver our intentions to your employer.”

           After saying this, the dragon born kneels in the dust of the road, laying his katana in front of him, and bowing his head, seeming to slip into a meditative state. The group of soldiers look at each other for a few moments, seemingly non plussed, before the half elven man, who you know at this point to be the modern day Black Blade, pushes his way back to the front of the group.

           “My friend, have the terms not already been discussed and worked out? We have delivered a requirement, and we now require a simple yes or no response. There is no need for diplomats or negotiations, as this can be resolved quite simply with one of two ways. Either you, and your families, can leave, or we will burn your homes to the ground and put everyone of you to the sword, so this entire island understands what happens to those who defy Marcus Morellos.”

           There is a brief pause, then the dragonborn’s voice comes forth once more, mist still swirling about him in the morning air. There is no trace of fear or waver in his voice.

           “I wish to avoid wounding or killing your men wherever possible, good sir. If you send them amongst these homes en masse, as would be most effective, many of them will die or need medical attention, even if you should succeed. I propose this instead- send your best warrior to face me. If I should lose, we will leave, and you may do as you wish with this land. If I win, you may send another soldier. If I defeat all of you, you will leave.”

           The Black Blade grins, his eyes hardening.

           “You’re an honorable man, I can tell. You must be Zander. We’ve been warned that you are quite the swordsman. Still, even one man cannot stand against forty trained soldiers. I accept your terms.”

           A thin human man walks over to the Black Blade’s side, quietly turning to face away from the samurai and speaking to him briefly.

           “Sir, that sword is radiating evocation magic. Are you sure you wish to do this? I thought you were going to wait until our report before you did anything further.”

           The Black Blade looks at him with disdain.

           “I was, and you took too long. I have patience enough for your rituals when there is no other path forward, but I very much would like to see what this blade can do. I’ve only ever heard the stories.” (He steps forward, raising his voice once more.) “Very well, we agree to your terms. Our fighter will meet you where you kneel.”

           He turns back to the group, surveying them briefly.  “Orgash? Time to eat.”

           A massive half orc with a double bladed battle axe steps forward, grunting. He trudges towards the kneeling dragonborn, before a sudden hand on his arm stops him. The Black Blade raises his hand to the group.

           “Anyone who defeats this man, shall earn their full ranking within the guild, and be groomed as my successor. To the victor go the spoils. As it is in war, so it shall be here.”

           The half orc’s eyes light with greed and anticipation, and he eagerly walks to the center of the road, standing in front of the dragon born man, who has risen to his feet, dusting his knees off. The blue scaled man’s quiet words are audible only to your ethereal form and the half orc.

           “I’m sorry for any pain I inflict upon you. If I can avoid killing you, I will.”

The half orc snorts, rolling his eyes, and raises the axe off his shoulder. “Less talk, more fighting.”

The dragonborn inclines his head and does not draw his blade. The half orc cocks his head, and with a blur of speed, grunts, swinging the axe with enough force to cleave the man in two.

Effortlessly, without any great speed, the dragonborn sways to the side, the axe missing him by a good six inches. He takes two quick steps- one back, and one to the side, and does not draw his sword.

The soldiers begin to cheer, and the half orc grins, standing up to his full height, before bringing the axe around in a brutal horizontal slice. The dragonborn ducks, the axe missing him by a whisker, and takes another step to the side.

“Coward!”

“Stand and fight, lily liver!”

“Are all dragonborn as timid as you?”

           The insults continue to fly, but they may as well be stones thrown against a mountain. The blue scaled samurai’s posture never changes, his eyes never waver, constantly scanning, reading, and reacting to the half orc warrior’s brutal swings. You can hear him counting after each stroke of the axe.

           “Four.”

           A bit later.

           “Twenty-Five.”

           Minutes have passed. The half orc is covered in sweat, breathing hard, his arms just beginning to shake. The Dragonborn’s posture, expression, and focus have not budged. His sword remains in its scabbard.

           After thirty minutes, the dragonborn is covered in a thin layer of sweat. His breathing has increased, but his mouth remains shut, save for when his clipped, light voice speaks the count.

           “Forty-seven.”

           The half orc is gasping, the axe head trailing in the dust, his posture collapsing inwards, his eyes dull, unfocused, humiliated.

           “Fifty-one.”

           On this strike, the half orc stumble, falling to the ground, the dust swirling around him. The dragonborn turns, holding the sheathed katana loosely in his left hand. His voice, barely any trace of fatigue in it, rings out, louder this time.

           “Do you yield?”

           The half orc, head down, gives a short, sharp nod. His low voice growls out.

           “I cannot best you, star blade. I yield.”

           The dragonborn nods, stepping back lightly out of reach.

           “Go then. Return to your soldiers.”

           The half orc stumbles to his feet, drunkenly making his way back towards the now silent group of ronin. The Black Blade stands, his face a mask, revealing nothing, but you can see his mind turning over the problem. As the half orc returns to the group, shoulders heaving, you hear the half elven man quietly say to the soldier next to him- “Half rations for Orgash on the way home. No excuse for moving that slowly. And increase his training with lighter weapons during that time.”

           So saying, he steps forward, placing a thumb on the hilt of his sword, and begins to walk forward. Eventually he stands, maybe twenty feet from the dragonborn, and unfathomable look on his face. Eventually he speaks, his voice low, an unexpected hitch in it.

           “Are you one of us? One of the children from the village.”

           The dragonborn raises his head from where he kneels on the ground, a confused look coming over his face.

           “What village? What do you mean?”

           Immediately the Black Blade’s face closes off, the vulnerability disappearing. His next words are low, angry, and concerned.

           “What are you then?”

           The Dragonborn rises to his feet- you notice his face is far more concerned than it was with the half orc, as though he has noticed something.

           “I’m just a man, defending his home.”

           The Black Blade shakes his head, gritting his teeth, a rising fury eclipsing every other emotion on his normally taciturn face.

           “Just a man. Do you think me a fool? Think back: have we met before?”

           A look of dawning comprehension followed by complete horror comes over the dragonborn’s face. His voice wavers.

           “No. The odds are too great. This isn’t possible.”

           The Black Blade shakes his head, his eyes never leaving the taller blue scaled man’s.

           “They aren’t, and you know it. Imagine my surprise, when Zander, the Star-Blade of Dancing Flame, is out here in the countryside with a farm! You were the talk of the city. I knew you’d remember meeting me- I was just a boy, but you were my idol. And now, here we are, 80 years later, and you haven’t aged a day… Why is that, I wonder? Perhaps some elvish heritage, or maybe something more…. Celestial?”

           Zander’s face is pale, his eyes darting around. The Black Blade continues, his voice tinged with a sickening blend of anger and relish at the dragonborn’s discomfort.

           “What would cause a man to leave wealth, and fame, and power, and come to live in the middle of nowhere? Was it freedom? Peace? Or perhaps… love?”

           On the last, you hear a faint sigh, and watch as Zander smoothly, firmly, draws a sword made of a metal so black you can’t see the edge. It gleams in the late morning air, and you swear you hear a faint hiss from it, like a snake about to be stepped on.

           “Touched a nerve then, did I? Fine. I’ve always wanted to cross blades with one of your kind, so let’s do this!”

           On the last word, he leaps forward, covering the twenty feet in a single, massive leap, flying forward with a howl, the katana singing from the scabbard, which he discards to the side.

           Zander raises the sword, blocking the savage blow, and you watch as he staggers slightly but noticeably before regaining his balance and dropping into a stance with the black katana held in front of him.

           They make several passes at each other- Zander is clearly the better swordsman but appears troubled. Even despite this, after 5 or 6 brutal salvos of blows, the Black Blade is winded, while Zander is merely breathing hard.

           Finally, Zander swings, a two-handed chop that, even though the Black Blade intercepts and blocks, cleaves the Black Blade’s katana in two, driving him to his knees. The man brings one knee up, panting, and looks up at Zander, who pauses. You realize that Zander’s eyes are a jet, polished black, like his eyes have been replaced by volcanic marbles.

           “Finish it then. What are you waiting for?”

           Zander continues to pause. You realize his hands are flexing, relaxing, rhythmically, like he’s fighting himself. He doesn’t say anything. The Black Blade spits on the ground.

           “You’re pathetic. All that power, and you just… sit there. Ah well. Maybe it’s time that sword had a new owner. I just needed to buy a little time.”

           And an arrow sprouts from Zander’s chest as he brings the sword back to strike.

           He stumbles back, looking down at it with an expression of almost amused bewilderment, before another eight or nine arrows slam into his arms, legs, and chest, most of them clustered about the stomach and chest. You turn, noticing the ronin crossbowmen who have snuck alongside the village street, using the houses for cover.

           Zander grunts, dropping to one knee as the Black Blade rises to his feet, casting aside the broken katana. He leans forward, plucking the intact katana from Zander’s hand, admiring it in the light before suddenly his head seizes, and he screams. You watch as his hand clenches on the hilt of the sword, unable to release it, before he stops seizing and stands there, panting, looking at the blade, a somewhat crazed smile flitting across it. He turns back to Zander.

           “He told me what you are, godling. A shame your story ends here. With this, I can be the man I’ve always wanted to be.”

           And the blade arcs across Zander’s neck, his head rolling to a stop in the dust at the Black Blade’s feet.

           The black steel ripples like water, moving visibly in the light of the day, and as you watch black flames begin to slowly burn along it’s length. The Black Blade begins to laugh, a free, crazed, unhinged laugh, and swings the sword in an arc, casting a jet of black flames in a cone before the sword, immolating and setting on fire several houses. You begin to hear screams.

           “Take anything that you want, men. Go have some fun!”

           The soldiers sprint through the streets, setting more fires, grabbing valuables, and pulling townspeople from their homes, slaughtering them in the streets. Something is wrong with them- they’re completely crazed, fighting with reckless abandon.

           You watch as one of them ducks into a house that is fully aflame and emerges with a wrapped bundle in his arms. You glide over and hear him talking to it as the house behind them collapses in a shower of sparks and wood.

           “Hush now. Shhhh, child. I know. There will be time to grieve, but now’s not the time. Keep quiet and I’ll get you out. Just gotta figure out how…”

           The voice trails off as the man disappears behind a nearby house, and your vision fades to black before you wake up back on the ship.