𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐇𝐎 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.
i could swear that was NOE MINHO that just walked past. don’t tell me you haven’t heard of the RIGHT HAND of THE D'AMICO FAMILY? they’ve been a member for 22 YEARS and apparently they’re actually LOYAL, so make sure not to forget this time. i’ve heard they’re known as THE FACADE, and i can tell you for sure that they’re ELOQUENT and OBSERVANT on a good day, but i don’t think you’d like to see them when they’re MALICIOUS and INDULGENT. rumour has it that they ARE THE BASTARD CHILD OF A FOREIGN GANG LEADER, but i don’t know if anyone has ever lived long enough to confirm it. either way, most people would use DUSTBOWL DANCE by MUMFORD & SONS to describe them, as well drowning your struggles in whiskey bubbles, scraped knees and bleeding knuckles, an apple meant to end dynasties. god only knows how they ended up here, but love them or hate them, they’re not going anywhere.
— 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝚰𝐂𝐒.
full name: noe minho
nicknames: n/a
age & birthday: 36; november 6th 1989
gender identity & pronouns: cis male; he/him
gang & role: d'amico family; the right hand
primary & secondary weapon: drop point switchblade; semi-automatic pistol
occupation ( if applicable ): n/a
born: jinju, south korea
past residence: jinju, south korea; new york, united states of america
current residence: d'amico manor in coyote's rest nevada
— 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒.
parents: mother; unknown. father; noe seungmin. step mother; kim youngmi
siblings: six half siblings; four brothers and two sisters
extended family: paternal grandparents, two paternal uncles and one paternal aunt
relationship with the family: estranged
pets: german shepherd; freya
orientations: bisexual & biromantic
relationship status: single
exes: tbd
— 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄.
face claim: lee soo hyuk
height: 6'0
build: lithe, athletic
eye colour: dark brown with lighter specks
hair colour: black
style habits: link
tattoos: d'amico crest and link
scars: multiple stab and gunshot wounds mostly in his legs
— 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀.
positive traits: eloquent, observant
negative traits: malicious, indulgent
label: the facade
aesthetics: drowning your struggles in whiskey bubbles, scraped knees and bleeding knuckles, an apple meant to end dynasties
fears: spiders
habits: picking at his nails, fiddling with rings
hobbies: drinking....murder....fun stuff
mbti type: n/a
moral alignment: neutral evil
character parallels: thomas shelby (peaky blinders), hannibal lecter (hannibal), lady macbeth (macbeth), silco (arcane), madeline usher (the fall of the house of usher), man in black (westworld), aunt polly (peaky blinders), kaz brekker (six of crows), taissa (yellowjackets), shiv roy (succession), beth harmon (the queens gambit)
— 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝚰𝐂𝐀𝐋.
disorders: alcoholism, depression, rage issues, cptsd
allergies: n/a
sleeping habits: often only sleeps five hours at night
exercise habits: daily
drug use: frequent
alcohol use: daily
smoking habits: socially
— 𝐇𝚰𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘.
minho came into the world slick with blood he would spend the rest of his life failing to wash away.
the product of a sordid affair, his existence arrived wrapped in whispers. servants lingered too long in doorways. relatives lowered their voices when he entered a room. everyone seemed desperate to answer questions no one could prove. which woman had been beautiful enough to lure seungmin-nim away from his wife? why had he kept the child? how did the lady of the house endure the sight of him without letting her fury spill over every day?
the rumours settled over minho like a second skin. he grew beneath them, small and watchful, hiding behind his nanny's skirts and chasing after his father's eye.
he learned quickly, far too quickly, that there was no place for him within the family. there was no mother waiting to comfort him. no comradery with siblings that had poison dripped into their ears. no future among his father's loyal men and women, who regarded him as a blemish on an otherwise perfect portrait. and certainly no place at his father's side, except as a living reminder of something best forgotten.
the man never struck him. never raised his voice. sometimes minho thought he would have preferred it if he had. instead, his father would take his chin between thumb and forefinger and tilt his face toward the light. "my boy," he would murmur. "my dear boy." yet whenever minho looked into his eyes, he knew with sick certainty that his father was not looking at him at all. he was looking through him. at someone else. someone long gone. and the realization always left his skin crawling.
he was seven when he finally asked about his mother and received an answer. his nanny peered at him over the rim of her spectacles, a gesture that never failed to puzzle him. "wherever whores go." she said. minho did not know what a whore was but he understood that asking again would earn him an answer he wanted even less.
english became the obsession of his tutors. they spoke of its importance endlessly, assuring him he would need it someday. one afternoon he snapped. told them he didn't need english because everyone already knew he would never become anything worth speaking to. the lesson ended with blood in his mouth. annoyingly, the tutors proved right.
at twelve, he found himself bundled alongside his half-siblings and shipped across an ocean to new york. work. obligations. partnerships. pacts. the adults spoke these words as though he were too young, or too stupid, to understand them. he understood perfectly.
still, he loved the city. every moment spent beyond his father's watchful gaze felt stolen and precious. whenever he could escape playing the role of dutiful spare son while his older brothers pinched and mocked and bruised him where no one would see, he wandered. there was always a suited man trailing several steps behind, a gun tucked beneath his jacket but minho ignored him.
he walked until he knew every street by memory. every alleyway. every cracked pavement stone. he learned who lived where, who always stopped at the same bodega, who drank too much at the same bar, who disappeared into back alleys with strangers once darkness fell. his father would ask about these adventures and minho would smile politely and tell him he was enjoying the sightseeing.
when exactly he decided to leave remains unclear. perhaps it was the night he watched from an upstairs balcony while his father smuggled two young women into his bedroom during his wife's absence. perhaps it was when his stepmother looked directly at him for the first time in years and visibly flinched before coldly informing him that it was improper for him to meet her gaze. perhaps it was when his eldest brother beat him bloody for receiving praise that should have belonged to someone legitimate. perhaps the decision had been made long before new york.
in the end, the moment hardly mattered. only the choice. two weeks before the family was due to return home, minho woke in the dead of night. in socked feet, he slipped through the townhouse like a ghost. he ducked guards. avoided creaking floorboards. never once looked toward the sleeping figures in his father's bedroom as he emptied every hiding place they had carefully concealed from one another. the haul was substantial. far more than he needed. he took every last bill.
then he left.
by the time he stumbled into coyote's rest, his fourteenth birthday was approaching. between new york and the desert, he'd gone wherever chance allowed. trains. bus stations. hitchhiked rides with strangers. miles and miles walked on blistered feet. he left behind a trail of petty crimes, bad decisions, broken noses, and stolen moments. teenage rebellion fuelled by too much freedom and pockets heavy with stolen money.
he had never intended to stop in coyote's rest. las vegas had simply become too dangerous to remain in, and the city seemed as good a place as any to rest for a few days. instead, it changed his life.
a party. a handful of lines. a boy trying to cheat him. a fist thrown harder than intended. a fight. then an underground railway he was never supposed to find. the details blurred together.
what remained clear was the moment he found himself pinned against cold stone, rough hands holding him down while the barrel of a gun pressed between his eyebrows. for the first time in years, he sobered completely. somehow, impossibly, he talked his way out of an execution. and into a job. into a family.
he found his footing quickly. people laughed, said he seemed born for the work and minho laughed with them. he climbed through the ranks with unsettling ease, shedding old skins as quickly as he acquired new ones. every promotion revealed another talent. he was clever when cleverness was needed. diplomatic when diplomacy served him. merciless when mercy became a liability. perfectly crafted. perfectly useful.
he was nearing thirty-four when he became the right hand following the previous holder's untimely death. the role settled naturally upon his shoulders. the d'amicos learned quickly that minho was not a man to underestimate. he was fair, most days. generous, sometimes. fiercely protective of those he considered his own. and just as ruthless when punishment was required. within the family, he was respected.
outside it, he was something more difficult to define. a contradiction. violent one moment, infuriatingly flippant the next. a man who seemed to derive genuine amusement from keeping others perpetually off-balance. someone impossible to fully read. and wherever he went, no matter how many years passed or how often he scrubbed his hands raw, there always seemed to be blood beneath his fingernails.
— 𝐅𝐔𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒.
tbd.
