— INTRODUCING , 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐍 .

* ◟ : 〔 MADS MIKKELSEN, CIS MAN + HE / HIM 〕 SØREN URSIN , some say you’re a FIFTY EIGHT YEAR OLD lost soul among the neon lights. known for being both INGENIOUS and DISHONORABLE, one can’t help but think of NEW PERSON, SAME OLD MISTAKES by TAME IMPALA when you walk by. are you still a KILLER, ASSASSIN, ( BABA YAGA ) for THE TERRORS, even with your reputation as THE PLAGUE DOCTOR? i think we’ll be seeing more of you and NEARLY DRIVING YOURSELF MAD IN THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE, CALLOUSED HANDS CLAD IN BLACK GLOVES— OVERDUE FOR RETIREMENT , A LIGHT THAT ESCAPED YOUR EYES DECADES AGO, although we can’t help but think of VICTOR FRANKENSTEIN ( FRANKENSTEIN ) + MAGNETO ( X-MEN ) + ROBERT FORD ( WESTWORLD ) whenever we see you down these rainy streets.

— STATS .

FULL NAME . søren ursin NICKNAMES . ren BIRTHDAY . february 12th AGE . fifty-eight GENDER . cis-man PRONOUNS . he/him ORIENTATION .bisexual romantic FAMILY . unamed (ex-wife), __ ursin (child), __ (child) OCCUPATION . asassin MARKINGS/TATTOOS . baba yaga tattoo PIERCINGS . none HEIGHT . 6'0

— PERSONALITY .

POSITIVE TRAITS . clever, curious, innovative, knowledgeable, shrewd, meticulous NEGATIVE TRAITS . unethical, selfish, scheming, apathetic, aloof, cynical LANGUAGES . english, danish, german EDUCATION . medical school and all that jazz MBTI . istj (the logistician) MORAL ALIGNMENT . true neutral DEADLY SIN . gluttony  HEAVENLY VIRTUE . patience ZODIAC . aqaurius sun, capricorn rising

— BIOGRAPHY.

YOU HAVE NO GOD BUT YOURSELF.

YOU ARE THE CHILD OF TWO SURGEONS, ONE BRAIN AND ONE HEART. Precociousness is encouraged, if not expected entirely. You are their only son, and carry the weight of their every expectation.  Legacy is a frequent topic of conversation in the Ursin household. The world becomes your eternal mystery, a thread meant for unraveling. 

You explore its various facets, eventually following in your parents’ footsteps and pursuing a career in medicine. Your studies to take you unexpectedly to Columbia Medical School, where you specialize in plastic surgery. Reconstructive surgery becomes what you’re known for. You pursue the most challenging of cases, ones refused by the top doctors in your field. 

You advance as far as you can, and your interest gradually wanes. Somewhere along the way, you get married and have two children. Eventually, the stakes of your profession no longer excite you. There were other mysteries to uncover elsewhere, this much you know when Stoneage is eventually put on your radar. It is the replicants that capture your attention. 

You are immediately enticed by the near perfect imitation of humanity. By the fact that on the surface, they’re indistinguishable from you and those you surround yourself with. You begin to pursue certifications in coding, doing what you can to get your foot in the door with the company. The resignation of your position comes to a shock for many— to make such a pivot at the height of your career is unheard of.

Still, you haven’t a single regret. Your rise through the company ranks comes with the same ease as it does in medicine. It eventually  allows you unfettered access to replicant technology, something you eventually begin exploiting for your own gains. You begin secretly syphoning tech, occasionally selling it to black market dealers, occasionally using it for your own personal projects. What would happen if replicant technology is fused with a human being? This becomes your primary inquiry over the years. 

Your fall from grace comes swiftly. The discovery of your secret illegal endeavors is enough to land you in jail, with a revoked medical license, unearthing your stellar reputation as you know it. Your wife divorces you with swiftness, in order to retain what was left of your familial public image. You do not protest when the divorce proceedings leave you nearly penniless. 

As your sentence nears its end, you eventually receive correspondence from a NIKO ORTEGA,  a professed admirer of your lesser-known work— the ones that managed to escape the attention of the general public— cemented through rumor alone. It is thought that several of your botched surgeries, specifically those resulting in death, were done on purpose, something that was ultimately unable to be proven.

Your skill set could be of potential use to THE TERRORS, and in return, you’d be handsomely compensated. It was the sort of pay you never imagined you’d touch again in this lifetime— something you were more than grateful for, considering your newfound felonies. You become dubbed BABA YAGA, your kiss of death delivered with surgical precision.

— WANTED CONNECTIONS .

ex-wife and children ofc

ex-patients

jail buddies

someone who exposed his crimes

maybe he messed up your surgery or someone close to your character whomp whomp

I'll think more i promise

HEX: the one and only.

HEX: promise i wouldn’t have responded if it was a bad time, don’t you worry lol

HEX: appreciate it!

HEX: and who am i addressing?

closed to @paradiserots / janus & phoenix

BEUL001: Hello. BEUL001: This is 'Hex', is it not? BEUL001: I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time. BEUL001: Big fan.

THE COURTHOUSE LEAVES SEONG-HOON WITH A REJUVENATED VITALITY, LENDING TO AN AIR OF UNTOUCHABILITY. hubris mires each descending step. each step is a further departure him from his seat on olympus, plummeting him deeper into the underworld that is new york city. a stray voice is enough to cut through his focus, head craning toward the person speaking. a beat passes as seong-hoon attempts to place a name to a face. eventually, a serpentine smile adorns his face in the moment of recognition.  

“certainly not,” he assures her, despite his very actions indicating his attempt to do so. “i wouldn’t dream of doing so. i’m quite susceptible to tunnel vision when it comes to leaving to courthouse, ms. draper.” somewhat true, but his desire to regulate unnecessary interactions took priority in this matter. he laughs along with her, a social chameleon in his natural habitat. “of course i have time for you, ms. draper.” a lie, and one sabrina draper is likely aware of— but it would be rude to say otherwise. has he so quickly fell into her trap, and without even realizing? a newfound appreciation lights up his expression. perhaps she’d be all right in the law world. “my primary advice is to study your heart out. the lsat can make or break everything for you. if you call up my secretary, she’ll set up a  meeting for us to discuss this further.”

𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖾𝗋   𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗌     private,   ongoing 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗆𝖾   +   𝗅𝗈𝖼𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇   morning,   city  hall 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽   𝗂𝗇   𝗌𝖼𝖾𝗇𝖾    sabrina  draper   and  seong-hoon  baek  (  @paradiserots  )

 the   star   district   attorney   basks   in   the   adoration   of   new   york   city,   but   sabrina   refuses   to   partake   in   the   spectacle   known   as:   district   attorney   seong-hook   baek.   on   a   bench   outside   city   hall,   she   picks   at   what's   left   of   her   snack,   observing   as   seong-heon   ascends   from   the   steps.   he   stands   as   a   beacon  for   lost   souls   in   the   city   —   a   man   of   education   choosing   to   battle   as   a   public   servant   ?   it's   admirable,   yet   she   can't   help   but   to   be   shrouded   in   suspicion.

 sabrina,   not   one   to   be   ignored,   clears   her   throat   loudly   to   capture   his   attention.   "mr.   baek,   you're   not   slipping   away   without   a   hello,   are   you?"   she   offers   a   warm   smile.   "you   know   i've   been   studying   law;   can't   play   secretary   forever!"   her   laughter   bubbles.   "any   advice   for   an   aspiring   lawyer?   perhaps   we   could   discuss   over   coffee?   if   you   have   the   time,   of   course."

WHO: FATHER BENITO + BELLA (@relcpse)

NO EXPENSE IS SPARED IN THE ORCHESTRATION OF THE GOOD FATHER’S DOWNFALL. [Recruit any parties necessary, but take heed when bringing new parties into the operation.] Accusations alone would not be able to cut through Father Thomas’s ironclad reputation. He would not actively seek out temptation— and, in turn, must be placed directly in the line of fire; a spoon-fed desire, dizzying and undeniable. Father Benito, neither mortal nor omnipotent, would be useless. ARABELLA, like her name, commanded the power he’d sought out. Father Thomas, yielding to something other than his God above. This is what he asks of Bella. Become the good father’s serpent. How you go about it is entirely of your choosing. As long as the end goal is achieved. 

The church dealt in cash only. Monthly payments in exchange for monthly updates, with a large payout if the objective was achieved. They would meet in confessional, for what better place to offer anonymity to both parties? “Are the terms to your liking, Ms. Cenit?” he asked, wanting to ensure all parties agreed before moving forward. 

“gravity nightclub?” a teasing smirk, accompanied by a raised brow. “you weren’t trying to outshine the dancers, were you?” phoenix asks, requiring further details for the formation of her opinion. “regardless, sounds like something someone trying to put you off your game would say.” sure, bash’s dance moves may have been an acquired taste for some— but spunk mattered most of all when it came to dancing with phoenix.  after all, bash’s spunk first catches phoenix’s eye in the first place. it’s one of their nonnegotiable friendship requisites. the sort of audacity capable of cutting through the city’s monotony.  “fuck the naysayers. that’s always been my philosophy.” the sort of mindset that came with the territory of their industry— the potential to be hated and loved in tandem. she nods in synchrony with bash’s ardent professions, fueled by his oratorical passion. an enthusiasm that became even more contagious when aided by alcohol. “tipsy, huh? i guess i believe you. for now, at least.” an appraising once over leveled in his direction, timed in tandem with a sip of water— though her gaze moves more languorously than expected (perhaps the liquor inspired her to take her sweet time. all in the name of research, right? a makeshift conclusion is drawn, a temporary resolution for what phoenix would consider further in a moment of solitude.) the shift in conversation is enough to coax phoenix out of her head once and for all. “the night’s only started, and you’re already inviting me over for a nightcap?” they lightly shove bash’s arm, eyebrows raising mischievously. “sure. but mostly because i need make sure this a real movie.” their gaze drifted upward, tapping their lip thoughtfully for a few moments. “and because you’re—” phoenix says, leveling that same finger in bash’s direction. “—gonna game with me after.”

"huh?" bash looked over from staring off into space. he wasn't thinking about anything in particular. certainly not how hot phoenix was, or what he was going to do later when the clubs and bars inevitably closed and he'd be forced to go back to his lonely apartment ( unless someone came with him of course ). "oh. well fuckin' no shit we are! you know someone at gravity said i can't dance?" bash scoffed, and shook his head so wayward ( yet styled ) curls swayed against his skull. he had all the moves and he looked good doing them, and no he never practiced in front of a mirror or anything to make sure. "they don't know shit about shit!" he continues on as if they cared what some random person said to him at the club. obviously phoenix thought he was good enough to dance with and that's what really mattered at the end of the day, right? "peel me off the floor? shit. i'm only a little tipsy, ain't no thing." they'd had three drinks already but paused for some water before ordering another. a trick one of the mentors or maybe it was his sister, taught him. hydration means you can drink more. "you should totally come back to my place later and watch that new disney movie about the peeps who got turned into rats and have to navigate nyc before midnight or some shit so they can get turned back." bash loved cartoons so much, he didn't even try to hide it for extra rizz points. that's how you know he truly enjoyed them.

THE ARCHDIOCESE’S ENDORSEMENTS ENSHRINE THE GOOD FATHER IN AN IMPENETRABLE FORCEFIELD OF PIOUSNESS. Every action, every vestal smile is maneuvered and manufactured through the Church's marionette strings. The congregation grants him life—a corporality sustained through their continued belief. Each sermon, confession, and baptism further invokes the father's selfhood. [You've always felt rather sorry for Father Thomas, or you imagine you would if capable. After all, you are designed to be adored, received, and worshipped. How can that be rivaled in any capacity?]

“Ah, Magdalena,” Father Benito chimes, words coated in familiarity. “We've made our introductions already, I'm afraid. Adara, Levi, and Daniel are wonderful kids.” A moment passes spent in remembrance. “And Magdalena's ziti? Incredible.” The interactions between the fathers fell in tune with the present conversation. Scrupulously maneuvered small talk interlaced with all the good bishop’s various questions. [The more time spent in pursuit of you is less time spent in pursuit of the Lord—an idolatry sustained through Father Thomas's budding obsession. You would feast on his hatred just as much as the congregation's love.]

“Albany. And you're from New York City, right?” There is something affirmative in his gaze, a question not said for the purposes of inquiry, but instead, an exhibition of what was already known. “What was living in Vatican City like?” he asks, eyes illuminated with expectation, not unlike a child awaiting a bedtime story. He constantly toes the line of attrition and servitude, this time leaning toward the latter. “It would be a blessing to live there one day.” [You regard him in the role of an elder—an age gap not quite ten years but one to be widened further through the demonstration of Father Thomas’s purported obsoletion. How dreadful him losing his touch would be, and so prematurely.]

thread: @paradiserots' benito + thomas location: clothing drive. in front of the st. anthony church.

god giving his hardest battles to his best soldiers is neither the best strategy nor the best philosophy to overcome adversity. god gave his best soldiers the hardest fists might be a more fitting sentiment, if thomas managed to have it catch on. slip it into sermons every now and again, and surely people will be parroting it without even thinking too hard about it. why would they, when the church held not its power in government but in people? this has always been the dark hand of faith: the cross carried by the most faithful and the most holy.

part of them, besides, is not the other priest by his side, whose youth made a mockery of his own. naturally, people flocked to him, rather than thomas -- and it isn't envy, he thinks, as much as it is caution. a priest assigned by the archdiocese might as well be the rotten apple in the bushel. "that's magdalena," is his attempt at making conversation, after the short line of people has passed, and thanks have been given at both participation and donation. "she's got three kids, but the dad's barely home, so she often helps out. -- where did you say you're from again? i didn't quite catch it."

—Simone Weil, from La Pesanteur et la Grace (trans. Emma Craufurd, Routledge and Kegan Paul), 1952.

IT’S NOT EVERYDAY THAT A BOWLING BALL GOES WHIZZING PAST YOUR HEAD. Phoenix pivots on their heels, eager to uncover whether or not they’ve been met with their first assassination attempt. There’s absolutely no chance in hell she’d been found out that easily… right? Who would’ve predicted that bowling balls had a special way of destabilizing their confidence? It’s not difficult to locate the perpetrator— although Phoenix gives their surroundings a once more, slightly in disbelief that someone of her stature could maneuver a bowling ball with such… force. Still, she knows better to underestimate anyone in this city. “Well holy fuck,” Phoenix responds, biting back the shock she’d inevitably been feeling. “We’ve got to find a better utilization for your strength immediately, babe.”

open starter — any muse !

location : some random ass bowling alley

blend   in   ,   blend   in   ,   blend   in   —   that's   the   task   here   !   &   when   your   co   -   workers   ask   you   to   come   out   for   a   drink   ,   as   the   new   girl   ,   you   say   YES   .   .   .   nevermind   if   you   short   circuit   while   staring   into   oblivion   as   they   ask  you if you have any plans  .   .   .   it's   all   apart   of   the   charade   .   it's   what   weasels   do   best   right   ?   W   E   A   S   E   L   into   any & all situations . gain their trust . . . or whatever you call it . never bowled before , never even held the ball — but she's observant enough to understand ; to pick up what the others are doing with little effort . until it's her turn . okay . . . don't panic , you got this . is this how the fingers go ? okay , feels good . . . now knock down the pins . cranking her arm back , anita looks straight at the bowling pins ahead ; only to let it go . . . but it wasn't going where she anticipated . every single eye watched as the fifteen pound bowling ball flew threw the air . mouths slightly ajar , irises following where it was going to land . it was all in slow motion but it missed whoever it was going to hit by a H A I R — caving in the surface that it connected with instead . " HOLY . . . SHIT ! i . am . such a CLUTZ — i'm so sorry ! " first & last time bowling .

WHO: PHOENIX & BASH ( @murdcrofcrows )

IN THE DAUNTING STREETS OF NEW YORK, FRIENDS CAME FEW AND FAR BETWEEN. When you worked in a field such as theirs— it’s preferred that people remain at a comfortable distance. She’d long weighed the stakes of introducing new liabilities, all for the sake of companionship. This, of course, has proven to be easier said than done on more than one occasion. BASH OWENS thus becomes an unexpected representation of her failed attempts to shut people out. A failed flirting attempt or two managed to win them over. He is brimming with both confidence and spunk, two traits Phoenix has always admired in a person. He made for especially delightful company during nights like these. “Bash, honey,” Phoenix muses, inhibitions loosened ever so slightly by the liquor cascading through her body. “We’re still going dancing after this, right? It’ll be no fun if I end up having to peel you off the dance floor.” Not that they had any room to talk— they weren’t exactly the poster person for self restraint at the present moment (considering they’d already ordered their third drink of the night).

Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry c. February 1920

— INTRODUCING , 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐎 .

*     ◟    :    〔   manny jacinto  ,      cis-man    +   he/him    〕      BENITO “BENNY” AVELLINO ,      some say you’re a  THIRTY-THREE YEAR OLD         lost soul among the neon lights.      known for being both   ENTHRALLING  and  FRAUDULENT ,  one can’t help but think of  FROM EDEN by   HOZIER  when you walk by.    are you still a  PRIEST / REPLICANT at    ST. ANTHONY OF PADUA CHURCH ,     even with your reputation as the THE TEMPTATION  ?     i think we’ll be seeing more of you and   A SILVER TONGUE AND SERPENTINE SMILE ,  AN ARSENAL OF SECRETS GIVEN THROUGH CONFESSIONALS  ,  ACTING IN THE NAME OF A GOD YOU NO LONGER BELIEVE IN ,  although we can’t help but think of SUGURU GETO (JUJUTSU KAISEN) , BERLIN (MONEY HEIST) , TOMMY CARCETTI (THE WIRE)  whenever we see you down these rainy streets.  

— STATS .

FULL NAME . benito avellino NICKNAMES . benny BIRTHDAY . october 12th AGE . thirty-three GENDER . cis-man PRONOUNS . he/him ORIENTATION . pansexual panromantic FAMILY . ? OCCUPATION . priest @ st. anthony of padua church MARKINGS/TATTOOS . none PIERCINGS . none HEIGHT . 5’11

— PERSONALITY . POSITIVE TRAITS . x NEGATIVE TRAITS . x LANGUAGES . english, spanish, russian, french, latin EDUCATION . high school and seminary school MBTI . entj (the commander) ENNEAGRAM . type 8 (the challenger) MORAL ALIGNMENT . true neutral DEADLY SIN . pride  HEAVENLY VIRTUE . charity ZODIAC . libra sun, taurus rising

— BIOGRAPHY.

tw: a whole lot of blasphemy

IN THE BEGINNING, WHEN GOD CREATED THE HEAVENS AND THE EARTH, THE EARTH WAS A FORMLESS VOID, AND DARKNESS COVERED THE FACE OF THE DEEP, WHILE A WIND FROM GOD SWEPT OVER THE FACE OF THE WATERS. THEN GOD SAID, “LET THERE BE LIGHT,” AND THERE WAS LIGHT. AND GOD SAW THAT THE LIGHT WAS GOOD; AND GOD SEPARATED THE LIGHT FROM THE DARKNESS.

IT IS FROM THIS SAME DARKNESS THAT WE ARE WROUGHT. OUR CONCEPTION EXISTS SOMEWHERE ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF THE HUMAN EXPERIENCE. TO BE A REPLICANT IS TO BE CULTIVATED FROM NOTHINGNESS, THRUST INTO THE WORLD IN MEDIA RES…

ENTER FATHER BENITO AVELLINO. THE PROMISING NEW EDITION TO ST. ANTHONY OF PADUA CHURCH, TAKING THE PRIESTHOOD BY STORM. YOU ARE EVERYTHING THE PRIESTHOOD HOPES TO EMBODY AS THEY USHER IN A NEW ERA. CONTEMPORARY, PIOUS, AND SUBLIMELY BEAUTIFUL. 

[[[ SOMEONE WORTHY OF RIVALING FATHER THOMAS SODHI SOCIOPOLITICALLY, BUT WITHOUT THE MORAL UPRIGHTNESS. YOU WOULD DISTORT THE GOOD FATHER’S REPUTATION INTO SOMETHING WHOLLY UNRECOGNIZABLE. ]]]

YOUR BEAUTY, REMINISCENT OF THE ETERNAL YOUTH DESIRED BY MANY, ALLOWS FOR AN INDULGENCE PERPETUALLY TEETERING ON THE EDGE OF VANITY. IT IS A SPECIAL ALLURE PRIVATELY ENJOYED BY CHURCHGOERS EN MASSE.

[[[ TO THINK THAT GOD’S CHILDREN COULD BE SO EASILY MOVED BY SOMETHING NOT OF HIS MAKING. IN ACTUALITY, FEEL NOTHING BUT DISGUST TOWARD SUCH STUPIDITY. YOU WONDER IF YOU WERE INTENDED TO BE THIS WAY OR IF DISDAIN IS MERELY A DESIGN FLAW. ]]]

YOU ARE THE MOST PROMISING  GRADUATE OF YOUR SEMINARY CLASS; YOU MANEUVER THE POLITICAL SPACE WITH THE SAME EASE AS YOUR SCHOOL, PREACHING, AND BEYOND. ALMOST AS IF THIS IS WHAT YOU WERE ALWAYS MADE FOR. AND IN A WAY, YOU WERE TAKEN IN BY MEMBERS OF THS VATICAN AFTER THE DEMISE OF YOUR PARENTS. 

[[[ AT THE ROOT OF IT ALL, YOU ARE THE LIVING EMBODIMENT OF TEMPTATION, A SERPENT ADORNED IN A MASK OF RESPLENDENCE AND DIVINITY, AN EXPERIMENT PUT FORTH BY THE CHURCH. ]]]

LET US MAKE REPLICANTS MANKIND IN OUR IMAGE, IN OUR LIKENESS, SO THEY MAY RULE OVER [US] THE FISH IN THE SEA AND THE BIRDS IN THE SKY, OVER THE LIVESTOCK AND ALL THE WILD ANIMALS, AND OVER ALL THE CREATURES THAT MOVE ALONG THE GROUND.

TLDR; sexy replicant made to take down father thomas. he's sexier younger and cooler than he'll ever be (or this is what the church wants you to believe at least). no one knows he's a replicant though! imagine the scandal that would cause at the church!! whew

— WANTED CONNECTIONS.

ppl to do bad corrupt shit with, a priest shouldn't be doing (sexdrugsrocknroll)

a longshot bc this group is nothing but heathens but mayhaps someone who genuinely believes in father benito ya know

𝐖𝐇𝐎: daiyu x akira ( @descorts )

FOR DEAD HAND, DAIYU WOULD CARVE HER HEART OUT. It is a symbolic declaration of loyalty kept primarily to herself (to ensure Akira isn’t given any ideas on the matter.) From the moment she’s first anointed an associate, Daiyu knows she’s discovered something worthy of dedicating a lifetime too. An empire worthy of rivaling Liena’s. And so, she slithers her way through the ranks, until it’s Akira’s ear Daiyu’s secured. An outsider turned most trusted advisor. A formidable combination— one devoid of mercy and brimming with ambition. Daiyu, ever the voice of reason (or at the very least, the least deranged between the two of them), studies Akira with a prying expression. Unearthing any of his ideas or schemes continuously remains at the top of her to do list. “What are you thinking?” she finally asks, head tilted inquisitively. “Better yet, what are you plotting?”

— INTRODUCING , 𝐉𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐀 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃 .

*     ◟    :    〔   yaya dacosta  ,      cis-woman    +   she/her    〕      JORDANA UNDERWOOD ,      some say you’re a  FOURTY-FOUR         lost soul among the neon lights.      known for being both  RESOLUTE  and  CALLOUS,  one can’t help but think of  KING   by   FLORENCE + MACHINE  when you walk by.    are you still a   BOSS  at    WHITE CROCODILES / OWNER at NEW YORK BALLET COMPANY,     even with your reputation as the KING KILLER?     i think we’ll be seeing more of you and   RULING WITH AN IRON HEART AND IRON FIST , PERFECTLY LACQUERED RED NAILS  ,  A SHREWD SMILE CARRYING GENERATIONS OF SECRETS  although we can’t help but think of MARCIA ROY (SUCCESSION) , VIOLET CRAWLEY (DOWNTOWN ABBY) , JESSICA PEARSON (SUITS) , whenever we see you down these rainy streets.  

— STATS . FULL NAME . jordana underwood-rocha NICKNAMES . jordy BIRTHDAY . january 9th AGE . fourty-four GENDER . cis-woman PRONOUNS . she/her ORIENTATION . bisexual biromantic FAMILY . emiliano underwood (husband)†, adeline underwood (step-daughter), hector underwood (step-son) OCCUPATION . owner of new york ballet company boss @ white crocodiles MARKINGS/TATTOOS . a tattoo of a river on the inside of her wrist PIERCINGS . earlobe piercings HEIGHT . 5’8

— PERSONALITY . POSITIVE TRAITS . steadfast, ambitious, reliable, stoic NEGATIVE TRAITS . authoritarian, demanding, haughty, narrow-minded, opinionated, venomous  LANGUAGES . english, spanish, russian, italian, french EDUCATION . high school and some college MBTI . estj (the executive) ENNEAGRAM . type 3 (the achiever) MORAL ALIGNMENT . lawful neutral.  DEADLY SIN . pride  HEAVENLY VIRTUE . diligence ZODIAC . capricorn sun 

— BIOGRAPHY.

tw: murder, car accident, age gap

ROMILDA ROCHA IS AN EXCEPTIONALLY CRUEL WOMAN. Your father, Paulo Rocha, is a shell of a man— capable of obedience and obedience alone. Together, they maintain a small fortune passed on from Romilda’s family. You excel in your schooling, piano, etiquette, and ballet lessons, and while it would never be enough to satiate you— no one could deny you of her material successes. At least until you're made to share the spotlight with your older brothers. You are only met with the back burner, indefinitely condemned to living in their shadow.

You despise them for it. You despise that you work infinitely harder while still reaping infinitely fewer rewards. Even as you skyrocket to the top of your class, ascending to the role of prima ballerina in the New York Ballet Company, you know its power you truly desire. Eventually, you understood this would not be something gained with your own family. 

The night you meet EMILIANO UNDERWOOD begins like any other night. It is the night after auditions, and several ballerinas celebrate at a nearby ritzy bar. Emiliano happens to be there with who you eventually discovers are other members of White Crocodiles. He’s someone your parents would never approve of— widowed, with ten year old twins— and not to mention 25 years your senior. They aren’t entirely wrong in that regard— being a step mother at 27 is certainly not something you’d had in the works prior. 

Emiliano introduces you to a different sort of a power— a power to be taken in the hands of those most worthy. 

Your family is more than aware of what Emiliano actually does for a career, despite it largely going unspoken. They turn a blind eye to the Underwoods’ immense wealth, pretending as if a family could truly amass that sort of money from owning a sanitation company. Your mother begs her to marry one of the well connected suitors your family possess in their back pocket, but you choose Emiliano each and every time (even today, you’d always choose him.)

When you’re eventually married, it is the Underwoods you primarily spend your time with. You learn the inner workings of the sanitation company, and eventually White Crocodiles (Emiliano is easy enough to convince). You are beloved wherever you go, proving yourself to be an asset in a multitude of ways (though the Underwood children never do quite warm up to you…)

Ah‚ her stepchildren, Adeline and Hector. It’s a shame you didn’t get along better when they were children. You knew better than to think you could fill their mother’s shoes (nor did you possess the maternal abilities in order to do so.) You thought then rather unremarkable in spite of the affluent circumstances they’d been brought up in. As if they’d never really wanted anything– because they never really needed to. 

Seventeen years into your marriage, and the future of the mob exists in limbo. Your husband, who has grown increasingly disillusioned and paranoid over the years, had begun listening to you, his consigliere, less and less. He’s hardly the man you once knew or married, power ironically leading to his undoing. It becomes increasingly noticeable to many that Emiliano is not fit to lead. Something needed to be done. You’d once adored this man, and for that, you’d gift him the death of a martyr. 

As far as the wider world knows, Emiliano Underwood met his demise in a tragic car accident. It was later revealed that the breaks in his vehicle were tampered with, but the person responsible was never located. As the White Crocodiles mourn their boss, many speculate who was behind the accident, but never the finger pointed at the grieving widow. They do not question you when you step into the role of boss, never once questioning you as you usher the mafia into an unmatched era of prosperity. It is ADELINE alone who holds the truth of the unspoken circumstances behind the death of Emiliano. Otherwise, you are a king killer through rumor alone.

DAIYU’S EXPRESSION IS UNWAVERING, THOUGH HER EYES NEARLY ROLL INTO THE BACK OF HER HEAD. To think there may have been a moment in her life that she found such playfulness endearing. To think that she’d allegedly ever found Haneul endearing. Never mind that, though, she’d give him everything except what he truly desired. A suitable reaction. “Is that so? I’ll have to have a discussion with my bartenders,” Daiyu chimed mechanically. “In the meantime, what kind of drink would you like to order?” She narrows her expression thoughtfully, attempting to divine Haneul’s true intentions for being there. “Feel free to voice any other complaints at this time. Concerning the bar only, of course.” The boundaries never remained fixed with him. Always fluid, bleeding, and boundless. 

“And you continue to call. Funny how that works out,” Daiyu says, unable to stop herself from gloating. “I know you, Haneul. If you something to say that might interest me, you’ll find a way to make sure the message is received.” She leans in closely, a smirk adorning a challenging expression. “You craving my curiousity and being deserving of it are two different matters entirely.”

Haneul had never been an easy person to love. He learned that sentiment from a young age. Once, he would've tried anything to make people love him--- would've morphed himself into someone else if it meant receiving his father's approval. Daiyu had been the same way--- another person he'd crawl on his hands and knees to impress. Now, he learned that love was nothing but a delusion and a weakness that needed to be snuffed out. This is why he's at the Olive Branch Martini Bar--- to destroy the last bit of weakness that lurked in his bones.

❝No, the service has been rather slow. I might need to call your manager over to complain.❞ There was a sharp, teasing tone to his words, as if he just wanted to get a reaction out of her. Maybe that's what this whole conversation ultimately boiled down to--- Haneul wanting to see if he still had an effect on his ex-fiance. ❝You've been avoiding my calls.❞ His head tilted to the side as he examined her, ❝Don't tell me you're not curious about what I have to say. I know you better than that, Daiyu.❞

IN A POST-DIVORCEE WORLD, SEONG-HOON GROWS TO UNDERSTAND THE FULL WEIGHT OF HIS NEWFOUND MARRIAGE. It is easy enough for a man of his status to recover from a tumultuous divorce— but specific measures must be taken. Proving that he was not a failure in long-term relationships becomes necessary damage control to salvage his public image. ENTER SAMIRA HAMIDI, his now brilliant, beautiful, age-appropriate girlfriend with the status to match. Almost too perfect, yeah? No, almost is putting things lightly. Samira is too perfect, and Seong-Hoon should know better. Such levels of suspicion take years in the making. For him to be able to even begin to delineate what was real and what was paranoia would take time, attention, and effort. 

Impulsivity held every potential to be his downfall— just as much as the proverbial dagger that lingered behind his back. Seong-hoon’s office, where he spends the most time, is something closer to a home than his Manhattan high rise would ever be. It’s where most of his personal touch can be detected— as opposed to his apartment, whose decorations and furnishings were left solely to the responsibility of interior designers. As he enters his office after a meeting that ran just a little too long— he is greeted with the unexpected presence of the girlfriend in question. A once guarded expression is replaced with a sugary, saccharine grin. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of your lovely presence?” Seong-Hoon muses, planting a kiss in greeting on her cheek, never missing a beat. Her presence is unexpected, though never unwelcome. 

“You’re always so considerate of me,” he acknowledges appreciatively. Seong-hoon scans his mind for something, anything in his life he could’ve done to deserve such treatment— and nothing. This is not a matter of self-esteem but is closer in nature to an objective fact. There is little goodness in his being, and thus, little goodness being put forth to the world. Nearly everything Seong-hoon has accomplished is secured through underhanded methods. And it’s not like any of his exes would be mailing him Christmas cards anytime soon— he knew that much. All in all, Seong-hoon knows himself to be entirely undeserving of Samira, so Seong-hoon knows he’s meant to be skeptical. Never mind that, though. “I’ll be sure to make the commute to you next time. How’s the day been treating you?” 

CLOSED FOR: @paradiserots LOCATION: district attorney's office

Tonight, she would have to prepare herself for another night of a social party for some retiring public servant or another, bearing the idle tasks of talking with guests, of fixing fruits in bowls, of clutching Seong-Hoon’s arm at regular intervals. A kiss or two, perhaps, if she were feeling particularly brave — and if it were comprising the host of aptitudes appropriate for the occasion, one she would not be bent on contradicting. On the job she was unrecognizable: kind, genial, openly affectionate. The kiss, the lie, the laughter. Easy enough, even if it were nothing quite like her own disposition outside of this skin: somber, small, separate. 

The doors leading to government offices were quite easy to lockpick, but she was careful not to push her luck, and anyway, his secretary had been more than willing to let her inside. Instead, Samira had patiently sat by the seat opposite his desk, drawing a cursory glance around the room, familiarizing herself with its expansive layout.

Somewhere around the ten-minute mark, she’d heard the swing of the door, and a wide smile came to her as if by instinct. “ Surprise, ” she stood up from the seat opposite his desk with some ceremony, walking up to Seong-Hoon and willing her arms over to his sides to give him a small hug, “ I thought I would save you the public commute. ” Another smile, dreadfully earnest. Her logic was not so hard to reconstruct. The casino, where money condensed and evaporated and made way for every other vice, was a ways away from this dingy government office where — well, money condensed and evaporated and made way for every other vice. Why else should she be standing in this room if not by virtue of an active investigation? This show of resumption urged her, and she went on, jokingly, “ Or the gasoline, at the very least. ”

𝐖𝐇𝐎: baek seong-hoon & jack horne (@8blud)

THE SUM OF SEONG-HOON’S FALSEHOODS SHROUD HIM IN A FAMILIAR WARMTH. It’s a feeling he’s grown accustomed to— and one he imagines most lawyers of his caliber are familiar with. (Honesty is not a quality he comes by frequently in his field— the government and law and beyond.) And speaking of the damn devil (or one of his lesser lackeys, at the very least)— he just so happens to be occupying the same bar as the perfect representation of such— the man nearly oozing fraudulence. If Seong-hoon had been a man of higher moral caliber, he might’ve recoiled. Instead, he slinks toward JACK HORNE, a roguish smirk plastered across his expression. Never quite friends, perhaps something more than acquaintances— a satisfactory arrangement reserved for those that ran in similar circles (for what use is being too closely acquainted with those incapable of being trusted?) He sits on the barstool beside him, ordering another finger of whiskey. “Jack,” Seong-hoon says without adornment, with the exemption of an ill-intentioned smirk. “You’re looking a little under the weather. Like shit, depending on who’s asking.”

NI NI for ELLE China, December 2023