#marcello
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Mind sharing some Ezio, Ziio, Shay and Edward Hcs?
Sofia and Claudia got along like sisters (idk I think this might actually be canon).
Ezio encouraged Flavia to be spirited and curious, and sees himself in her and the way she takes care of Marcello. If Ezio had lived to see her to adulthood, he would have been protective but let her choose her own husband.
Ezio wanted to keep his Assassin activities a secret from his children. After he died, Claudia took them in and trained them herself the way their Uncle Mario did for them.
Ziio and Oiá:ner's interactions became stilted after the birth of Ratohnhaké:ton. There was no doubt that the love was there, but Oiá:ner could not quite look at her the same again, and she had to busy herself with finding someone else to groom as successor. They were finally warming up to each other again just a year or so before Ziio died.
Oiá:ner put full trust into Ratohnhaké:ton and his decision-making going forward because she didn't want to drive a wedge between herself and her grandson the way she did with Ziio. And it was the hardest thing she ever had to do.
Modern-day Ziio would have been a leader in the stand-offs against the Canadian government and localities like the Kanehsatà:ke Resistance, which her voice actor Tiio Horn was actually in. My headcanon Ziio has a lot of Tiio Horn's traits, mostly because Tiio Horn's sass that I see in her social media comes through a lot in her voice acting for Ziio.
Ratohnhaké:ton's a BEAST at lacrosse. Man moves like WATER.
Shay died peacefully in a manner similar to Ezio's -- in a garden, watching his family.
Shay most definitely was the black sheep amongst the Templars -- not just because a traitor gets no trust from any side, but because he's Irish and many other Templars were Englishmen who were racist against him. Adéwalé called him Haytham's hunting dog, but the Templars thought the same of him.
Because of this, Shay was that high-achieving Templar the others resented, because they hated the idea of being outdone by someone they felt was lesser. They kept their distance from each other, and his friends in the Order were kept in a tight circle -- Jack Weeks, Gist, and Haytham.
That's also why Cudgel was so fiercely proud of his grandfather later on too -- despite the racism, he was more Templar than any of them.
Also, Lil Cudge seems to me like that kind of guy who in modern day would insist that the Irish were slaves. He seems to me like someone who's very loyal, but but blindly so, and someone who doesn't question tradition.
Edward wanted to raise Haytham as English as possible, but he'd occasionally slip up and curse in Welsh at times. Haytham would grow up with only vague memories of the Welsh part of his heritage.
Edward was a rambunctious lil youngster who didn't need any dogs to herd the sheep. The wolves were scared of HIM lol.
Edward's relationship with Jenny haunts my dreams. What happened in the years between her and Haytham's birth. The people need to know.
I wrote a whole other word vomit post expressing my guess that he didn't want her to get involved in the Assassin world because he wanted to protect his last memory of Caroline. He believed in being honest with your child, so she knew everything about his activities. But given that Caroline had already been disowned because of him and even now that he was a new money gentleman, he was a social pariah because of his pirate past, he wanted Jenny to live a noblewoman's life -- marry a man of good social standing and be a good wife. And although she protested, he always thought he knew what was best for her.
If Jenny knew about her brother's child and ever met him, she honestly would've adored him. Such a polite, well-loved young man. She would've been relieved that he was raised right by his mother's side, away from the Kenway drama. Thank God all he had in common with her side of the family was blood, but if she could have chosen to be blood with any remaining relative of hers, it would have been him.
#jennifer scott#ezio auditore#edward kenway#ratohnhaké:ton#connor#ac connor#assassin's creed#ac3#assassin's creed 3#ac black flag#ac#ziio#kaniehtiio#haytham kenway#edward#haytham#ratohnhaketon#tiio horn#oiá:ner#oianer#shay patrick cormac#shay#shay cormac#flavia#marcello#sofia#claudia#sofia sartor#assassins creed#acii
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youtube
ITS HEREEEEEE. WINNING SMILE
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Riempire l'inverno
È un inverno caldo, come fosse al mare, nella pianura che non trova nemmeno la forza di essere umida. Nel riposo dei campi che attendono il freddo placido.
L'inverno oggi è come fosse solo la primavera che dorme.
Ma l'inverno è il sesso lento sotto le coperte, il sesso di necessità, il sesso che scalda dentro un freddo che seppur non c'è, si sente. Il freddo che è bisogno nell'istinto delle pelli nude.
"Vieni vicina", le sussurra, "che riempiamo l'inverno". E intanto la penetra, duro e caldo, mentre la adagia, la dispone, ne dispone.
Perchè è cosi che fa Marcello, mentre le piega le gambe indietro e le guarda il sesso schiudersi, quasi prolassato nelle carni per il desiderio. Pregusta, le sbircia nell'umore viscido, prima di farla cagna, tenendoselo in mano, guardone di loro stessi.
Scopano, forma sublime d'amore, insulti e baci, fluidi, mischiati, basta e ancora, avvinghiati, caldi, si riempiono di sesso e di tutto il resto che li scalda nel cigolare ritmico del giaciglio.
L'inverno è fatto per rendere il sesso ancora più necessità. E si guardano, consapevoli dell'odore di cui si stanno riempiendo, mentre ancora non fa freddo attendono pazienti e sfiniti.
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Mimì @ Rodolfo: I love resting my head on your chest and hearing your heart beat as I drift off to sleep.
Musetta @ Marcello: I recorded you snoring so you can hear how fucking loud it is.
#source: twitter#opera#opera shitpost#opera shitposts#incorrect opera quotes#la bohème#la boheme#puccini#giacomo puccini#mimì#mimi#rodolfo#musetta#marcello#posting here bc incorrectoperaquotes blog seems currently inactive#i know this meme is old but who cares
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Been feeling nostalgic and have been playing Dragon Quest VIII again on the 3DS and I noticed something about Marcello: He totally looks like Tom Hiddleston and because of that, I can’t resist making memes about it. So, without further ado:
Angelo as a kid: My Mummy and Daddy died and I have no where to go 🥺 I’m an orphan with nothing to my name now 😭😭 Btw my name is Angelo—
Marcello:
#dragon quest#dragon quest 8#dqviii#dq8#dragon quest viii#dq8 angelo#dq8 marcello#angelo#marcello#square enix#dragon quest viii spoilers#dragon quest 8 spoilers#spoilers#tw parent death
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Bonnie and Marcello in a car
Bonnie and Marcello sitting in their car, ordering McDeebles. A B-side of Dilemma from Hazy River!
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Short-Lived Silence
There was no point in trying to sleep. It only made the eventual scare worse.
Marcello going through sound torture 🎉
Contains: Sleep deprivation, surveillance, noise torture, overstimulation, captivity, team whump, trans whumpee
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They were watching him. It wasn’t a secret. There was a camera mounted on the wall, flashing its little red indicator light every few seconds.
Marcello laid on his back in bed, staring up at the dirty ceiling with unfocused, half lidded eyes.They had him in a filthy, miserable cell, with one window to the outside that had been sealed with plaster to keep him from seeing out. No real way to tell how much time had passed–even so, he knew he hadn’t had any meaningful rest in days.
They had started out blasting 80’s rock on repeat–that was fine, it was predictable. It had been loud enough to hurt, sure, but he knew the songs as they came up. He could deal with it.
Then they moved on to radio shows, bright and cheery and obnoxious. If he was lucky they’d be in English, maybe Spanish, but they cycled through. Most of the time it was Italian, blasting loud enough to vibrate through the walls.
This time it was different. Every ten or twenty minutes from what he could guess, a single loud bell tone would sound through the cell block. It would ring out in one sudden high-pitched chime, before fading back out into silence.
It was the worst one yet. The silence was incredible, when it lasted. He could rest, actually close his eyes and drift off to sleep for a moment, but each time he’d be startled awake by the sound of the bell tearing through the speakers.
There was no point in trying to sleep. It only made the eventual scare worse. It made him jump every time, sounding off each time he felt himself starting to drift off against his will, and every time it was worse. He couldn’t tell if they were adjusting the volume, or the frequency, or if each one felt somehow even more intense than the last.
Sometimes they didn’t even have to play it. He had started flinching in the silence, every time he dozed off a little too much. He was always waiting for it, always anticipating it.
He looked over to the camera on the wall. It was still trained on him. Normally it would fill him with defiance, make him determined to not give them the reactions they wanted, but he knew that wouldn’t matter here. They were making a lab rat out of him, it didn’t matter how he reacted.
The bell sounded again, and again he flinched from the sound. He found the strength to move, rolling over to fold his pillow around the back of his head to cover his ears. He couldn’t relax again, he couldn’t let them catch him off guard again. He screwed his eyes shut and curled in on himself. He tried to focus on his breathing–if he could just count the breaths between each toll…
The bell sounded again, and Marcello was ripped out of the sleep he’d unwillingly fallen into. He rolled over again, crying out in frustration and hurling his pillow over his head towards the camera on the wall.
He stayed sitting up long enough to watch the pillow fall to the floor–and to see the camera knocked sideways, aimed slightly more towards the wall now. He couldn’t tell if he was still in frame, but he figured it was safe to assume he was.
He laid back down and rolled over to face the wall, pulling his thin blanket up to his face. It was silent again. Frustration burned in his chest, and hot tears plucked at his eyes. He kept his back to the rest of the room.
He just had to wait. The others would come to rescue him, eventually, surely, hopefully.
Until then, he’d stay in bed, fighting the temptation of sleep and hiding his tears from the camera’s blinking light.
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I WANT. TO SEE. RYDER MISSING AND THE TEAM GETTING HIM BACK. Pleaseeeee please I wanna see Ryder have to acknowledge that he's loved
HERE YOU GO!!! Hypothermia round TWO!!! And also the drabble that made me realize how inconvenient it can be to have a character who's name is a noun.
Anyway here you go muah muah
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Contains: Hypothermia, Guns, Near Death Experience, Kidnapping, Rescue
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Snow sunk through Ryder’s clothes as it melted, freezing water biting at his skin in the bitter cold. He’d be willing to talk now, if they asked. Or he’d at least be willing to tell half-truths to buy himself more time. But with the way things were going, they knew that already.
Snow clouds closed in overhead, ice froze on his eyelashes and along the ropes that bound his hands together. He curled in on himself, looking up to the guards who’d been sent to bring him here. They were leaning against their car, smoking, talking. They weren’t even looking at him. They weren’t interested in any more of his red herrings.
This wasn’t an interrogation anymore; it was a murder.
Cars passed faintly overhead. He could hear each one driving slowly over the snowy roads. If they were still trying to interrogate him, and not just going for a clean death, this would be very effective. The cruel reminder that he was mere yards away from safety and too weak to reach it would be a decent tactic.
He shivered. The chill had long since sunk into his bones. He felt tired, he felt weak. There was a sliver of a chance someone would see him, or an officer would pull over to talk to the guards, but he wasn’t counting on it. He’d close his eyes soon, and he wouldn’t wake up. The snow would cover him for the next few weeks, but in the spring they’d find his body. They’d cover it up in the news, or they wouldn’t. Either way, it didn’t matter; he wouldn’t see his team again.
That was okay. He’d kept them safe.
He stared forward at his bound hands. His wrists were bruised and red from the ropes. He flexed his fingers a bit, trying to keep some blood moving. He felt like he was trying to buy time, but really he just didn’t want his hands to freeze while he was alive to feel it.
Snowflakes started to fall, thick and heavy. Ryder closed his eyes.
Somewhere in the distance he could hear tires screeching to halt.
He could hear shouting, arguing, a car door slamming.
A gunshot rang out, terrifyingly close, and his eyes snapped open again. The shouting was closer now, coming from the men on the bank above him. He couldn’t think to cower, to make himself smaller or hide, but a second gunshot sounded and he found a way. He curled in on himself, covering his head as best he could with bound arms.
“I found him!” Someone shouted from above, “God, he- he might be dead! Someone come help me!”
Foggy voices filled the air. He could hear muffled panicked chatter following the sound of boots sliding down the snowy bank.
Someone had him by the shoulders. They lifted him up, settling him into a second pair of arms.
“Ryder.” Snow’s voice faded in through the fog. They sounded frantic and far away. “Open your eyes, look at me.”
“Mhmn…” He felt tired, he could barely manage to open his mouth to speak. He leaned into the feeling of a warm hand against his forehead. “Sn..w..?”
“God, he’s freezing.” Snow’s free hand cupped Ryder’s face for a moment, their hand pressed to his forehead again. “Sam, get him to the van.”
Ryder felt himself pulled back into someone’s arms. They were sturdy, soft, strong… They held him close. He could hear Snow’s voice, distant again, giving out stern orders. He opened his eyes for a moment, Sam was a warm blur of vague shapes and soft golden hair. He dropped his head into his chest and closed his eyes again.
When he opened his eyes he was in the back of the van. His clothes were dry, and he was laying under a blanket on a nest fashioned out of the other’s coats. Marcello sat on the floor beside him, holding a plastic water bottle between two of those instant-heat packets you use to warm your hands on cold days. He didn’t seem to notice Ryder was awake. Snow was on his opposite side, sitting with their back against the seat in front of them.
Ryder tried to speak, but all that came out was a weary groan. Snow and Marcello immediately looked over to him, snapping into action at the sight of him starting to stir.
“Don’t talk,” Snow whispered, “save your strength. Marcello, lift his head.”
“Right.” Marcello said. He passed the water bottle to Snow, and gently slid his arm under Ryder’s shoulders. Ryder didn’t expect to be so limp in Marcello’s arms, but there was little he could do beside muttering a quiet thanks as he was lifted.
“Shh.” Snow pressed the bottle to his lips. The water was pleasantly warm, and he realized in that moment just how deep the chill in his bones had settled.
“S-s.. Where– Sa…” Ryder stammered as soon as he could manage.
“Sam’s in the front seat.” Marcello answered, lowering Ryder back down onto his nest of jackets.
“Kr–s…” He continued.
“Kris is driving. We’re all here. Stop talking.” There was none of the usual bite to his words, none of his usual edge. It was just a soft, level command. Marcello took one of the heat packets and pressed it gently to Ryder’s cheek. He smiled as Ryder pressed further into it.
He didn’t think he’d ever seen Marcello look so soft.
Ryder smiled weakly back at Marcello, and then looked past him to the van’s window. He could see the streetlights passing by with the reflections of the cars beside them. People were passing them on the freeway; Kris was driving slowly. That was unlike her.
The snow fell heavily past the van. He could see the way it’d started to gather on the trees outside. He settled into the warmth of Marcello’s hand against his cheek, moving a weak hand to rest on Marcello’s knee as he watched the world outside. It was still daylight out.
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hi
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La Notte Movie Posters
#Marcello Mastroianni#movie#classics#La Notte#michelangelo antonioni#Antonioni#Clàssic#Classic Movie#Marcello#Mastroianni#Nostàlgia#Pòster#Poster#Film Posterleri#Afiş#Jeanne Moreau
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Ok I just made this for no reason
#art#dave and bambi#fnf dnb#dave and bambi golden apple#fnf dave and bambi#vs dave and bambi#dave fnf#daves fun algebra class#digital art#artists on tumblr#marcellos funhouse#Marcello#bamdy draws#fnf david#dave and bambi david#bbieal baldi#baldis basics#baldimore#education and learning#basically basics#bbieal#Algebra dave#tristan dnb#tristan#Eyebaus#Make fanart of me all you want :33#I hate ppl blocking me so I can block them back :33
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Another silly opera poll.
The stage directions of La Bohéme's libretto are detailed, and as Rodolfo mourns over Mimí's body at the end of the opera, each of the other characters has their specific expression of grief described. As written, Musetta runs to the foot of the bed and lets out a cry of anguish, then falls to her knees in tears, while Marcello turns his back to the audience, sobbing.
But not many modern productions follow those stage directions. In about 80% to 90% of the productions I've seen, both filmed and in person, Marcello and Musetta turn to each other, sadly embrace, and are clasped in each other's arms as the curtain falls.
The appeal of that choice is obvious. It makes it explicit that the two of them are back together as a couple. Without that embrace, there are hints that they'll get back together (Marcello acknowledges Musetta's goodness, holds her hand, and calls her "my Musetta"), but it's not overt. Making it overt at the end ties up their storyline in a cathartic way, and it adds some consolation to the ending: Rodolfo has lost Mimí, but at least the other two lovers have reunited.
Yet that wasn't what the librettists wrote. Maybe they didn't want to be explicit about whether Marcello and Musetta will get back together or not. They don't end up together in the original novel, after all: Musetta eventually marries someone else. And maybe they shouldn't get back together together. Their fiery romance was fun, but it was no model of relationship health. But even if we do assume they get back together in the opera, just hinting at it rather than giving them a full-blown embrace is obviously a subtler and less sentimental choice.
Fellow opera buffs: which do you prefer?
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providing uncle marcie content again. hello
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