#Irish Mafia

[crazyfeathers]

Au O'Faeries

Where even blood runs green

Le O'Faeries est, dans notre histoire fictive, un cabaret prestigieux situé à Germantown où Magdalena danse et travaille en tant que faerie. Tenue par la mafia irlandaise du secteur, la réputation du lieu est aussi étincelante que sulfureuse, s'y mêlent des hauts dignitaires mais aussi des individus ayant fait fortune dans la pègre de Philly.

Sur place, vous pouvez réserver la meilleure table à proximité de la scène pour ne rien manquer des spectacles de chants, de danse et d'agilité, mais vous pouvez également louer une loge d'où vous pourrez dominer les lieux sans êtres vus. Dans ce décor tout fait de velours et du vert irlandais, l'intimité est reine, et de magnifiques Faeries scintillantes dans leurs robes à sequins émeraude viendront vous servir leurs précieux nectar avec une grâce toute féérique comme si elles sortaient tout droit des contes celtes.

Prenez garde, cependant, à ne pas laisser leur irrésistible poudre de fée vous monter à la tête...

Sailing to Philadelphia - Crazyfeathers - Wattpad

🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️

[msclaritea]

SAVE ME, SOFT MASCULINITY. SAVE ME!

[alfredsonger]

True Crime | True Crime Podcasts on Youtube | True Crime Documentary In this episode of True Crime Legacy, I will talk about Frank McErlane Francis "Frank" McErlane was a Chicago gangster and second-in-command of the Saltis-McErlane Gang in the 1930s, working with Joseph Saltis in the Chicago Beer Wars. He was the one who introduced the Tommy Gun to Chicago, and was known to be a brutal hitman. McErlane was born in Chicago to an Irish-American Catholic family, with McErlane carrying a Rosary in his breast pocket. McErlane became the second-in-command to Joe Saltis, a Hungarian gangster who founded the Saltis-McErlane Gang with him, creating a powerful bootlegging empire. Frank was known to always be drinking alcohol, his face getting redder each drink. His image was that of a "butter and egg" man, and was very violent.

[msclaritea]

THE ISIS AND PALESTINIAN ISSUE

The Real Isis Project

According to esoteric Freemasonry Cunter and Ben are, quite literally, Adam and Steve (Strange)! NEWSFLASH: That inverted disaster isn't Hieros Gamos 🙄...

[g00seg1raffe]

A (comparatively) Brief Thought about Steve Harrington's Names

Lucky Stevie has full names in three different languages and they're all equally incriminating in different ways!

For context: Steve's parents meet just as the summer of '66 is ending, in a perfectly legitimate bar with absolutely no connection to organised crime in Chicago. They introduce themselves as Christopher (call me Chris, Christopher is shite) Harrington and Anita (but you, bello, can call me Tina) Martino. They are both lying.

See, America is it's own little world. Founded by desperate refugees and religious extremists, the USA is the New York of the western world - the perfect place to disappear, because no matter your sins, there's always someone weirder. And in this totally not shady bar in Chicago, these two strangers have a lot of sins.

Mr. Ciarán Ótis Marcin Ó'hArrachtáin is what some might call a terrorist. Those 'some' are, of course, all eejits who seem to be fecking delirah with the Brits treating the Irish Free State as a colony. But Ótis and Martyna didn't raise a spineless dosser, not on tales of the shite they saw in Nazi Poland. Ciarán wants to be just like his mama, so does the only thing he can at sweet sixteen and joins the IRA. It was a grand old time - until some spanner decided to start the boarder campaign, make some things go boom, then it all goes arseways and suddenly he's a wanted man. Now he's legged it all the way out to this bar in Chicago where he can find some mostly-legal work, set himself up as someone who doesn't need to check over his shoulder every five seconds - and maybe he can take a chance on this absolute ride of an Italian who's just walked in, Jaysus -

Sig.na Alessia Stefania "Pieterina" Serafini has made a name for herself as a mafiosa. Beloved, wild, ruthless granddaughter of Don Alessio - caporegime since nineteen and well on her way to consigliere - and, right now, in molti problemi with la Cosa Nostra. So much problemi that she's been effectively smuggled into the US, like that goddamn heroin shipment that started all these problemi... ah well. She just needs to lie low for a bit (a decade) with her American cousins on the less than legal side of Chicago before she can return to her cosca and the people she actually trusts not to stab her the moment she turns her back - and maybe she can have some fun with this bello, bello Irishman who's looking her way, dannazione -

So. Discussing the evolution Mr and Mrs Harrington's relationship is gonna have to wait (though I'd love to hear from you guys) - the important thing here is the family history.

================================================

Tina's side: Alessia Stefania "Pietrina" Serafini.

Tina's father is Vincenzo Serafini and her grandfather is Alessio Serafini. Her first name is the feminine of her paternal grandfather's name. Steve's middle names are also from them.

(In case it wasn't obvious, the Serafini family are heavily involved in the Italian mafia - potentially involved in the Ciaculli massacre in '63 - and also have ties to the American mafia.)

Tina's mother is Pietra Tedesco and her grandmother is Stefania Tedesco. Her middle name - Stefania - and her son's first name - Stefano - are from her maternal grandmother. "Pietrina" is a diminutive nickname for Pietra - they're saying she's just like her mother, and since they figured this would be easy and natural enough for Steve to remember, his agreed Italian 'cover' surname is Di Pietro.

(Pietra is the feminine of her father's Petri Tedesco - which is itself the new name chosen by the German runaway Peter Thälmann. No relation to German Communist Party Leader Ernst Thälman, no sir, nothing to see here.)

So: Stefano Alessio Vincenzo Serafini - or, when he doesn't want to advertise the mafia part - Stefano Di Pietro.

Chris' side: Ciarán Ótis Marcin Ó'hArrachtáin.

Chris' father is Ótis Ó'hArrachtáin, and his paternal grandparents Steafán and Keira Ó'hArrachtáin. He gets his first name from the masculine of his grandmother's name, his middle name from his father, and gave Steve his grandfather's name.

(Steafán and Keira worked their asses off their whole life to put their kids through school, ennabling Ótis to work at the Irish embassy in Poland, where he managed to smuggle a handful of refugees past the Nazis to Britain, of which his future wife, Hannia Marcinkiewicz, was one.)

Chris' mother is Anita Marcinkiewicz. He gets his middle name from her surname. Steve gets his Irish 'cover' surname from that.

(Anita and her son are very similar as teenagers and young adults - the same heady cocktail of jaded rage and a naïve sense of justice, motivating spiky teens in parallel shitty situations to commit near-suicidal acts of heroism, with similar results. Just what did Anita do? Nothing you can prove, of course...)

(Yes, Anita Marcinkiewicz and Anita Martino - a wild coincidence that kicks of conversation for our young lovers in Chicago. Not in any way manipulated by an omnipotent fangirl who wants her OCs to have something neat to make slightly awkward but unexpectedly wholesome small talk about over a Guinness and a Negroni in a bar in Chicago). (This is why Chris calls his wife Tina all the time when anyone else would get shot if she's feeling anything less than saccharine.)

So: Steofán Ciarán Ótis Ó'hArrachtáin - or, when he'd rather avoid any connection to the wanted terrorist - Steofán Ó Máirtín.

================================================

Of course, as half Irish and half Italian - or, well, 1/8 German, 2/8 Polish, 2/8 Irish and 3/8 Italian but who's counting. Aside from me -

The point is, he's Catholic as fuck. He can be non-practicing and still Catholic (bc fuckboi), he can lose his faith and still be Catholic (bc interdimensional hell monsters), he can be an atheist (bc Irish) and still be Catholic, ok - he is Italian and Irish, there's no cure.

So, yeah, he's definitely been christened. And sure, you can old give any old name to the government (fuck them anyways) as long as it suits your purposes. But your christening name is the one that God knows you by, okay, you don't want to lie to the priest and end up with the wrong name tag when you get to heaven (or if, I guess).

What I'm saying is the paperwork says Steven Otis Harrington, but some poor Father/Reverendo gets hit with Stefano Stiofán Alessio Ciarán Vincenzo Ótis Serafini Ó'hArrachtáin. Good fucking luck!

[waltheruwu]

Tommy with silver fox hair sheesshh 🥶🥶

Ok I'm ready for new PB new series sheessshh

[jat-a-fan-of-stuff]

LISTENING TO EP 36 OF OUAW

The accents are great man. They are so funny. THEY DO THEM SO WELL !!!!

[hurlumerlu]

Was going to make a 3 will be free "guy who is a femme fatale and lady who is a noir detective" joke but then I realized it's more of a "guy who is a femme fatale and girl who is a femme fatale and guy who is a femme fatale (wide eyed ingenue deluxe edition)" type of situation.

[katie-n0-1]

whats your top favourite things

Ok so like

1. THE GODFATHER(kinda a lot of mafia stuff but not the types that like do “daddy alpha mafia boss”)

2.reverend Swanson

And

3. Irish history(gotta stay with the roots)

[msclaritea]

"OPPENHEIMER’ wins Best Film, Best Director, Best Actor, Best Supporting Actor, Best Cast, Best Screenplay, Best Cinematography, Best Score, Best Sound Design and Best Editing at the Critics Association of Central Florida (CACF) Awards."

Take a closer look at the members of the Critics Association of Central Florida: YouTubers, WordPress Bloggers and PRIDE members. Such a paradox in homophobic Florida that the entire film community falls under one particular demographic.

[lockerandom]

So, Oda said that Robin's real world ethnicity would be Russian. What would we think of an Romani actress for her?

[troublewithvampires]

//made this joke with my partner cal and i need to share it here

sal was the diversity hire in nickels' gang. not because of his queerness tho. because he was irish.

[sharry-arry-odd]

The voice that came over the phone was unrecognizable with hate and passion. "You fucking bastard," Woltz screamed. "I'll have you all in jail for a hundred years. I'll spend every penny I have to get you. I'll get that Johnny Fontane's balls cut off, do you hear me you guinea fuck?" Hagen said kindly, "I'm German-Irish." There was a long pause and then a click of the phone being hung up.

The Godfather, by Mario Puzo

[caffiend-queen]

😄😄😄😄Don't forget beloved, we can only blame the Irish mob for so much😄😄😄😄

Oh yes, my darling! The next story will focus on the handsome and mysterious Irishman Patrick, and we'll have a fresh new scapegoat! Maybe a cartel... the Italian Mafia? Maybe the Chinese Triad? No one is safe.

[kissmeau]

Roman was part of the Russian Committee for State Security (KGB). He had a high rank inside the special forces Vympel, which focused on espionage and counter-espionage domestically and internationally. Due to his knowledge of the Japanese language, he was sent to constant undercover missions within the Yakuza.

And he was also a cold man with an ambition for money and power. He became a double agent. One of high regard among Japanese gangsters, working closely with Russia and never lifting the slightest suspicion... And vice-versa. He had one of the highest ranks on the Vympel unit.

Roman's behavior was always calm, mannered, polite, and intelligent. Wherever he walked, he had an aura of dominion that fooled everyone into thinking he was the most loyal dog for both organizations. Roman fell for the feeling of glory and status. He was fascinated with the compliments, climbing the ladder with fake charisma, and betraying each and all of his comrades for his sake.

Roman's ambitions weren't driven by any other desire than self-supremacy. He didn't have any ideals; hence he didn't care for any social movement, so resolute among the population of Russia's political scene of the 20th century.

Roman only cared about money and about being the most recognized commander. Of course, this concept was built in his head. He didn't care for medals but to achieve his personal goals. Roman wanted to see how far he could take it before one of the organizations he belonged to noticed. He thrived on his disguise of a reputable man.

He married at 30 years old to a plastic artist. He loved her deeply and genuinely. However, it was still hidden from her that he was a double agent; to his wife's eyes, he only worked for the KGB. But Roman never felt he had a double life with her. Inessa, and Marina —wife and daughter— had the real Roman: devoted, caring, intelligent, strong, yet sensitive, with an appreciation for arts and an accepting mind of different realities.

In 1991, the KGB dissolved. Roman was fifty-five years old, and it has been quite a blessing. He had been thinking of retirement, too. He was more centered, less ruthless, thinking of having a boy with his wife, although the biological clock was ticking for both. Love and age had made him more tactful towards himself.

But, as the KGB was going through investigations and the Yakuzas were losing territories, an invisible tightrope was rolling around Roman's neck. With his guard down, thinking of the lovely future ahead, he didn't sense the danger approaching him. He didn't move any pieces on the board game he had so diligently built for more than 40 years, so the pieces played for him, revealing all his tricks.

It was the Yakuzas who went after him, chasing his wife and daughter on a deadly road. The car tailgated on a cliff. It fell and exploded, creating a two days fire in the woods. There were no remains of bodies, just a melted car, and a sapphire covered in ashes, which confirmed Roman's worst nightmare.

Through his grievances, he believed it had all been a terrible accident. Nevertheless, on the night of the funeral, sitting by his family's grave in their mansion's backyard, he was ambushed by the Japanese. He had no strength to fight back; he let them have whatever they wanted. He was hit with the reality that he had brought death upon his loved ones, and he was more than deserving of punishment. Even if the punishment meant nothing to him. Compared to what he was experiencing, the Yakuza's revenge was leisure. He wished to be killed, but he didn't get that. It's not part of their rituals; it's not how they carry revenge in their inner organization culture.

Roman woke up without an eye, and all his bank accounts in Seychelles were empty. He still had money in Trinidad and Tobago and his properties. But it was the end for him. The ambitions that drove him in the past were mere squandering. And the love? The love was all gone.

Unable to end his life, Roman, dressed with anger and sorrow, left Russia and went to Ireland, where he lived in solitude for three years. Until a stubborn boy begged for training at his doorstep.

[ryanthedemiboy]

Look. There are a few things in life that bring every human together. Food is one of them, and providing food for others is another.

You might be up to your eyes in some absurd bs, but if you cook sometimes, and someone asks you for food, shit, yeah, i'll make you some food!

It's not only a break from the bs, but it reminds you of the world outside your little sphere, and it lets you care for someone.

Humans are social creatures, okay?

Wait wait you can't just drop that off and not elaborate. What do you mean is there a mafia presence in Wales?? Please spill, what things did you notice??

Okay so bearing in mind that I have ADHD and Chronic Terrible Observational Skills:

I am in Cardiff

For a concert I am attending solo

Doors open at 5

4:15 ish I go 'hmm I should eat something'

Cardiff is - unsurprisingly, being tiny and yet home to FOUR concert venues - Very Busy

Find McDonald's

McDonald's is very full. I recall my last concert related McDick's experience, and promptly bounce

Directly across the street

Is an Italian restaurant

It looks closed but fuckit maybe I can beg for like. Bread or some shit

Go over

Am immediately pounced upon by the hitherto unnoticed chain-smoking woman hanging out by the door mostly hidden by a potted ficus(?)

"I was wondering if you were open and if-" "yes yes we are open what would you like?" (strongish Italian accent)

Inside restaurant is Deserted

Explain that I'm sort of in a rush, am assured it's fine

Order chicken milanese which is generally a pasta dish with a breaded chicken component

Am led to seat nearish the front and promptly provided with a pint of coke in a glass tankard

Am then provided with a front row seat to an absolutely incomprehensible series of people entering and exiting (and in one case walking directly into) the door to what I can only presume is the kitchen

Starting with the guy who had been sitting at a table chain-smoking over a pile of papers

I counted at least three people exiting at least twice without actually entering in between

Am finally brought food

It is a breaded, butterflied chicken breast approximately the size of my face and a small pile of pasta approximately the size of my fist

It is all delicious

Chain-smoking papers man reappears, now wearing a chef's apron labcoat thing

Go up to pay, chain-smoking ficus lady is now having a very loud argument in a language I did not recognise but was not Italian Welsh English French russian Gaelic or Spanish

She sees me, says, and I quote 'ah little girl lost, one moment' and promptly hangs up

I am 27 and only nominally female

I am not remotely lost

She charges me for the pint of coke but not the food

I try to point out that she hasn't charged me for the food

'do you want to pay for the food?'

'.... Not if I don't have to?'

'good'

I leave. The door is now full of half a dozen very tall very Italian men and one absolutely adorable cocker spaniel

I ask if I can pet the dog (I have my priorities straight okay)

I am allowed to pet the dog. The dog and I are now best friends

The dog lead holder asks me in extremely accented but impeccably correct English if I had enjoyed the food

'yeah it was great!'

Everyone laughs a bit

I smile and pet the dog and realise I'm now late for the concert and hurry off

I see a post on Tumblr about mob fronts and several connections are made in my brain all at once