#REAL PEOPLE MAFIA

[aparticularbandit]

oh so they're playing real people mafia

i see

bestie, this is not junko enoshima

i mean real people mafia is a fun concept but

[kidvoodoo]

Jeest Mafia AU, snippet under the cut 💚💙

Joost tried not to make eye contact with anyone at the airport, though the stares he received at his battered face were inevitable. How many tall, blond, bandaged, bruised and bloody men were in a hurried rush to the terminal? Odds say: not many.

‘Not that I should be thinking about odds right now’ chided his conscience, ‘that’s how I got into this mess in the first place…’

His pace didn’t falter despite the looks from the other passengers lining up in their respective lines. All of them with bags and luggage alike underarm or trailing behind them, his own, suspiciously absent.

No time to pack, clothes on his back, phone, wallet and a little vial of two small white pills. Security checkpoint nearly put an end to those, but a desperate, puppy-eyed look and his disheveled state made the officer roll her eyes and wave him through, for all she knew, or anyone knew, it was aspirin.

‘Fix more than a headache’ his inner thoughts sneered, ‘steady on Joost, for emergencies only’.

He kept his eyes on the gate numbers, briefly glancing at the destinations. Cabo, Shanghai, Johannesburg, each a far flung place he could have potentially laid low in for months, relax on some resort beach or in a high class penthouse…

But that’s not where he’s headed.

He spies the glowing gate number, the destination? Helsinki, Finland. He got the ticket the same day he got the phone call telling him to leave as fast as possible, his usually calm and monotone source had an edge of panic to their voice, Joost trashed the burner after that and shredded the last of his books and burned them. He left his apartment as the ashes were still smoldering.

Finland eh? The only clue of what was happening next was the note in the ticket envelope, hurried scrawling in broken Dutch gave him simple instructions:

Taxi to the airport, pay in cash. Get on the plane. Make sure you are in the camera view the whole time, locate the Air Marshal and watch him. Once you are off the plane, head to the pick up zone in the parking lot and look for the black limo. Tap on the driver’s side window and give the password.

“Here for Tommy’s boy” he mutters under his breath. The magic words that’ll guarantee his safety and freedom, or will land him a bullet between the brows…

Better than the alternative.

He’s on time for the early boarding and hands the Steward his ticket, eyeing the Air Marshal at the doors to the plane’s walkway. He’s given a smile and some well wishes for his flight and finally, for the first time in several days, he feels a little sliver of calm wash over him.

‘Can’t cut me up on the plane you fuckers’

He finds his seat, window view and close to the front of the plane and plops down, the ache in his joints and back starting to flare up since the adrenaline begins to wear off.

Finland…he’s uncertain exactly what is waiting for him there, he regrets not grabbing a translation booklet at the terminal kiosk but there was simply no time. His new phone is IP hidden for the time being till he can get a VPN to bounce his signal, so no using Google’s underwhelming translation system…

He thinks back to a conversation he overheard at a conference last year. The big guys were all there, each of them with a meaty bodyguard in tow and a pistol or two brandished in plain sight.

He was there on happenstance, just finishing up the numbers to hand to his boss for the last fiscal year when his curiosity got the best of him.

“Baltic’s are at it again,” his boss sneers, tapping his cigar onto the floor, “think they’ll hide behind the Nordic cunts so they don’t have to play anymore”.

“Hm.” Another well dressed older man hums in response. He’s the police liaison, a former Captain who’s been working with the mob for 40 years. “Not much to be done about it Albert, the Fins have the advantage now, I hear they’ve even brought Estonia into the fold now.”

Albert snorts, getting to his feet and giving a couple other well-dressed people a farewell wave.

“Cuz of that little shit,” he grumbles, motioning his bodyguard to get a move on. “What’s his name? Kät-something? The Union fucker.”

“Käärijä,” the former Police Captain supplies, “his Union is very bold for an upstart, cutting off the trade in the Baltic’s disrupts everything. Heard he’s in talks of making a deal with the Norwegians as well. That’s the case? Say goodbye to the big money”.

Joost tried to linger as long as possible to catch the last bit of conversation, tucking himself against the wall and listening close.

“Damn idiot, Norway doesn’t play with the new players, even if the young lady is supposedly running things over there now. He’s a fucking lunatic to think the Baltic’s will stay loyal, he’ll be done by the end of the year, mark my words-“

A dinging noise jolts him awake from his daze, the Flight Attendants are doing their safety check. The doors to the plane are closed and for the first time in weeks, months even, Joost’s tense shoulders drop with exhaustion.

He is safe. For now.

<><><>

Roughly three hours later, he startles awake.

The voice over the intercom of the plane cabin announces in several languages that they have arrived at Helsinki Airport and will begin the landing process momentarily.

He spares a glance around the cabin out of paranoia, nothing out of the ordinary and no unwanted eyes in his direction.

Twenty minutes later and he’s heading out of the plane and into the airport terminal. The weather outside is gray and snowy, the sky a mass of colorless clouds and the sun choked somewhere behind. He shivers just looking at the weather, his cheap suit jacket will definitely not suffice.

He heads down the walkways and tried not to get too overwhelmed with the directions, mostly in Finnish but thankfully also in English.

He’s only a hundred feet from the parking lot when he feels eyes on his back. He tries subtly to peak behind and catch if he’s being followed.

Two men, both in dark blue suits and expensive leather shoes, each sporting a grim, intense expression. They have their hands in their pockets.

Joost picks up his pace, eyes focused on the automatic doors that swing open and shut.

He can hear them closing behind him, their shoes loud against the tiles. He starts to jog.

He doesn’t stop to apologize to the people he pushes past to get out of the door, ignoring the scowls and curses thrown his way. His heart is hammering in his chest, he has but a minute to locate the car before he’s dragged off and butchered in a dark corner…

A car horn blares loudly as he flinches and freezes, he had walked right out in front of a pair of high beams, his eyes don’t have time to adjust as he hurriedly runs around to look.

Black limousine, tinted windows with triple thick bulletproof glass and chrome trimming. The driver’s side window rolls down, a bald man with sunglasses and a mustache regards him blankly.

“P-please,” he stammers, eyes catching the two suited men finally breaching the threshold. “I-I’m being followed-“

“What is phrase?” The driver interrupts, not at all phased by the situation in the slightest.

“Th-the wha-oh yes yes, it’s uh…” he swallows takes a breath and speaks the words softly enough for the man to hear him.

“I’m here for Tommy’s boy.”

The door at the back of the limo clicks open, beckoning him inside.

He all but dives into the car and slams the door shut just as the two men make a dash towards the vehicle, only to stop dead in their tracks mere feet away.

Joost doesn’t have the time to take in his surroundings as he sees what has halted his stalkers. In the split second before the limo peels out with a loud screeching of tires, the window on the opposite side is down just enough to see the startled and blanched faces of the two men, who find themselves held in place by a man aiming a 45 caliber handgun at them.

Were it to fire at point blank range, one of the two men would have nearly had his torso blown open. More than a lethal shot, truly overkill at that point.

The car peels out of the lot and before he knows it, Joost is tossed back into he seat as the limo put some speedy distance between him and the danger.

A loud curse and sound of a window being rolled up. Joost finally levels his eyes behind his cracked glasses to see his savior.

Sitting across from him now with the gun held loosely in his grip is a dark haired man with pale skin. He sports a blunted bowl cut and his facial hair is trimmed and tidy. He wears a long black coat with a layered polo necked jumper and a couple silver chains around his neck. The jewelry matches his pierced ears and nose rings, the whole of his attire is expensive and modern looking.

Joost is drawn into the man’s piercing eyes, blue like his own but with an edge of silver steel, made more intimidating and entrancing by the heavy makeup that lines them.

The man is staring at him, Joost’s palms immediately start to sweat.

“I uh,”

“You are the Dutchman we take in?” The man interrupts, his voice has an hint of annoyance, Joost nods politely and holds out his hand to shake.

“Yes, I mean to say, thank you,” he tries to muster a charming smile but finds himself pinned under the man’s gaze like a deer being watched through a hunter’s scope.

“I’m sure this is a bit of trouble for you-“

“Trouble? I say it is bigger trouble for you and not me. You need a drink yes? I have gin and brandy here.” The man all but ignores whatever Joost was trying to say and busies himself with pouring a drink from a side bar containing glasses and some bottles. “Brandy since the gin is warm, I not have a lot of time to get it ready.”

Joost wants to say something, anything to this stranger but finds himself at an utter loss for words. The man looks at him expectantly, pushing the glass of amber liquor into his hands.

“There you drink that, feel better afterwards. You say you looking for Tommy’s boy? That is what he tell you to say? He think he is funny man, he gonna have to explain to me…” the man trails off, eyes now scanning and taking in Joost’s disheveled appearance. “You have injury? I have some bandage here and some other things uh,” the man stops and searches for a word. “you know, doctor supplies?”

“First aid kit?” Joost supplies.

“Ah yes yes! That is it,” the man grins and digs around a bit before huffing in annoyance and opening the little sliding window to the driver’s compartment. He asks for something in Finnish and the bald man replies. Information gathered, he opens a compartment and fishes out a nondescript black case.

“Okei here it is. Let me see your hand, you have blood on your palm.” He does? Joost was in such a mad dash to get away from the goons who had jumped him back in the Netherlands he didn’t have time to take stock of his injuries. He holds out his hand timidly and the man yanks it none too gently to inspect.

“No stitches I think,” he hums, grabbing supplies to clean and patch the gash on Joost’s palm.

The man’s grip is firm and steady, there is warm radiating from beneath the leather gloves he wears.

“You are Mr. Klein eh?” The man says absentmindedly as he cleans the wound. “I hear you screw your boss out two million euros, not bad.” The man smirks, eyes flickering up to Joost’s face. “I like someone who disrupts the status quo. When Tommy say you in trouble, I had to do something about it. Would be a waste for you ending up in concrete.”

Joost cringes a little at the mention of his dilemma, taking a long gulp of his drink and reveling in the burn.

“I don’t know about disruption, I just did what I thought was right is all. Didn’t think it would go this far…” he wishes he could be more proud, he did take a chunk of money from the hands of the worst men in Europe. Now, he’s a marked man, possibly forever.

The dark haired man seems to sense his discomfort and finishes dressing his hand, grabbing a gauze patch and passing it over.

“What is done is done, you think it is bad thing now, but you make a big move, and now you have a big advantage for the war that is coming.”

Joost finishes placing the gauze over the gash on his cheek, looking at the man puzzlingly.

“What war? And what advantage are you talking about?”

The man leans back against his seat and smiles, his sharp canines peak over his lips and his expression is one of amusement and vicious excitement.

“The war between the Union and the Old Men, tear down their ruined kingdom and make our own. The advantage? That’s easy,”

The man chuckles darkly.

“You have Käärijä in your corner now.”

[fifteenloove]

MATTEO BERRETTINI WON COMEBACK PLAYER OF THE YEAR FORZA🇮🇹

[theposhperyton]

All evidence suggests yes

[tsukiyo-7]

I love how the JoJo fandom is more concerned about Giorno being 15 and Mista 19 rendering their ship pRoBLeMatiC rathen than the fact that THEY'RE LITERALLY IN THE MAFIA??? GIORNO IS A MAFIA BOSS AND MISTA HIS HITMAN??? THE WHOLE PLOT OF VENTO AUREO IS THE BUCCI GANG CLIMBING RANKS BY KILLING PEOPLE????

[akikos-tribble-army]

Mori should have more anatomy models in his office. He's a doctor, where is the random skeleton in the corner? The eye model on the desk? The heart on the shelf? The half open body where the organs always fall out when you look at it? The skull where everyone wants to ask if it is real, bc dude is a mafia boss, you never know?

[seri-tonin]

The thing about tachigin is that it doesn't really seem like it's all that deep at first but then u really think about it and it's like.... oughhhh

[sillystringsimpsons]

So, fun fact, at some point along the timeline of the Good Ones, Frankie's vision starts to go and he ends up needing glasses.

Spoiler alert, Johnny loves them. Like, really loves them. Wink.

Also first official drawing of Cora Mezzasalma, Frankie's in AU adopted sister!!! I hope to refine her appearance gradually and draw her a bit more :)

interactions are hugely appreciated <3

[airenyah]

for the past year and a half (ish), whenever i watch this scene:

i am reminded that pat's dad shows up with long hair here bc i he couldn't cut it bc he was shooting another series at the time and then every time that i remember that, i also remember that mafia the series (my beloved) aired shortly after bad buddy and that leo put was also in that show and that mafia the series likely is the reason why pat's dad randomly has long hair in ep6

[bookmark-extraordinaire]

I recently had a conversation with a friend that made me realise that (maybe) people might not know that the Italian mafia still exists and actively operates all over Italy. Like, the general international public has this old-timey idea of the mafia that stops at the 1950s, with Al Capone, seedy bars, car chases with tommy guns etc. etc. or at least that seems to be the case for the people who don’t live in Europe, or otherwise close to Italy.

So, I made this poll. DISCLAIMER: this poll is NOT so i could judge people in any way. I can’t really fault anyone for not knowing about a problem so tied to Italian soil and culture, I was just curious.

NOTE: I’m not making a distinction between the actual Mafia, Camorra, Ndrangheta etc. etc. just pretend that all Italian organized crime is one big thing for the sake of this poll.

[doll-elvis]

Red West: “I knew the guys who were hassling Elvis, they were on the football squad. The guys who were giving Elvis a hard time were not really bad guys, just a bit noisy and stuff. But when I saw Elvis’s face, it just triggered something inside of me. I mean we were just kids and they weren't gonna kill him or anything, but there was that look of real fear on his face. He was looking like a frightened little animal and I just couldn’t stand seeing it. When you're very poor, you tend to let everyone look after their own troubles, but that face of Elvis’s, I can see it to this day. And I saw that face like that many times later, and it always had the same effect on me. It just churned something up inside of me. It’s a child’s face and it asks for help… and somehow, you know, that year, 1952, put me in a role of Elvis’s protector. It’s a job I took on readily and I had a lot of fun doing it and a lot of heartbreak. Sometimes he was like a damned spoiled child who needed to be spanked, and other times he was just so helpless and needing of help it was like he was your own child. And even now, I still feel it’s my job, even if I never see him again…”

excerpt from “Elvis: What Happened?” By Red and Sonny West, along with Dave Hebler

[thegreenleavesofspringinsunlight]

By the way.

You know what Quigley Down Under, Leverage, and Sons of the Star all have in common?

They're all fix-it fics of real life.

They're not superhero stories. They're not fighting made-up monsters. They, each and every one, look the world's darkness - real, tangible darkness, one we all have perceived, however dimly, real life darkness - in the face and they go, "Yeah. But what if there was someone larger than life who could fight it."

Quigley can shoot better than anyone else in the world. The team pulls off impossible cons. Max Way is six foot six and bulletproof. Because that's what they need to impact their worlds. Our world. The real world. And maybe they don't fix everything. They can't. But one more baby saved, one more murderer dead, one more client getting their money back, one more child set free, one more girl saved from poverty, one more soul saved by Christ's blood. One little thing a tiny bit better, and the vindication to go with it.

They're fix-it fics of real life.

[tarotmantic]

i will never justify why i like deh bc i don’t have to actually. i can just like it no qualifier needed

[mdemn]

thinking abt joe’s sister having a pin-up girl tattoo on her bicep and frankie blushes every time she sees it and she asks her why she’d ever get something like that and joe’s sister is like “well, if you’d be my model, then i’d have you like this, doll.” and frankie gets so so flustered and joe’s sister smiles at her and watches the way frankie covers her face and turns all the way away from her

[radiopixelctive]

i have no idea if someone still remembers this AU,

but i really hope there is people who did at least read the wiki about it recently

psst check under the cut ⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️

yep! i decided to re-do some of the pages of the official HELP_tale comic!

because i love this AU ok????

i would even try to re-do the whole thing and even add an unofficial continuation for it buuut uhh i dunnooo first of all it will take a real while AND I MEAN IT and second of all idk if the creator of this AU will let me do this but im kinda nnervouss to askk uhm

ANYWAYS

some scrapped/unused stuff

that's all, folks

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

1929 — Carlo sends one last letter to his family in Sicily, writing about Xaviero's death. He asks them not to write any more

Who are we to each other? Strangers from different worlds? Or maybe we're just random victims of spontaneous impulses? Do you know how hard it is — to pull the trigger? This world is so good the second before it explodes.

cont.d: Through the anxious twilight, the smoke of cigarettes, Reflected in the mirror by the nervous flame of a candle. I'm sitting at the table — there's a gun on it I'm playing a game for strong men

I'm laughing at myself — I'm drawing a mustache, You don't know what I'm like for sure

You don't know how serious this is going to be. I have two hours until dawn And one more unresolved question:

Who are we to each other? Strangers from different worlds? Or maybe we're just random victims of spontaneous impulses? Do you know how hard it is — to pull the trigger? This world is so good the second before it explodes.

You lost your shadow yesterday by accident, And today it's not you, it's her visiting me We'll play a little game here in the dark.

The gun, me and the shadow, try to understand I, alas, don't know how serious it was, Your shadow, unfortunately, cannot answer To this simple question:

Who are we to each other? Strangers from different worlds? Or maybe we're just random victims of spontaneous impulses? Do you know how hard it is — to pull the trigger? This world is so good the second before it explodes.

We'll punish each other with the ultimate measure of despair, To erase this evening from our memories. There's only one bullet. Don't feel bad. I'm spinning a drum and that bullet is mine

And now I know for sure how serious it all is 'Cause silence is also the answer To my ridiculous question

*** Late at night. Through all the commas finally got to the point. Address. Mail. Don't worry, I'll never dedicate another line to you. Quiet. Sounds. Sounds rarely reach me at night. The letters dance. I write and never expect a reply.

I love without needing an answer.