Benjamin Russo
an original character based
on netflix's the punisher.
twin of billy russo.
biography
personality
mains
basics
NAME: Benjamin Russo
ALIAS(ES): Ben, Benny, Benji, B.R.
AGE: mid— to late—30s
DATE OF BIRTH: REDACTED
BIRTHPLACE: REDACTED
ORIENTATION: biromantic bisexual (closeted)
GENDER: cis male, he/him
backstory
Benjamin grew up as his brother did: in the foster care system, orphaned, tossed around from group home to group home until they were old enough to be left to survive on their own.
Billy was all he ever had, and all he ever needed. He clung to his brother with the desperation of a boy who was terrified of being alone, as though his life dependent on it — and in many ways, it did. He was younger, the one who grew up softer. . . gentler, to the outside eye — always hidden in Billy's shadow; a place Benjamin did not mind occupying. Despite the innate need to prove that he was more than just a motherless boy, that he was more than nothing —— he never wanted the spotlight. He thrived in the shadows.
But even though Benjamin tended to follow his brother everywhere, in adulthood he chose a different path: rather than joining the Marines with Billy, he stayed home and studied. Having always been an artistic soul with deep appreciation and fascination towards the slowly dying beauty of the pre—war buildings and architecture in New York, that was the career he decided to pursue. He became an architect and made a life for himself. . . a life he funded with dirty money.
He kept his public image squeaky clean — a young, hardworking father with a nice apartment and a car and not even a parking ticket to his name — but behind the scenes, his life was everything but. From laundering money to counterfeiting legal documents and occasionally funding arms and drug trafficking both domestically and internationally, Benjamin made sure the life he'd created was never boring. He rarely dirtied his own hands, preferring to stick in the shadows where he'd lived his entire life, pulling the strings of his little puppet show. . . and every night, he went home to his wife and young daughter, both of them kept in the dark about the exact details of his life.
And even after getting a divorce, Benjamin made sure the mother his daughter stayed out of harm's way.
Benjamin is a juxtaposition of gentleness and deep—rooted, blood—red anger; of the wish to believe in the goodness of humanity whilst simultaneously expecting the absolute worst. He doesn't trust people; that's a luxury he's learned he cannot afford: a lesson written on his skin in scars and cigarette burns. What he trusts is himself, his brother — and the power that money can provide. Although money itself has never been the most important thing to him — moreso, he craves the control it gives —, he's seen and felt what it's like to live without it, at the mercy of others. . . and it's safe to say, he doesn't want to go back to that if only he can help it.
Overall, Benjamin likes to think he's a good person. Maybe he's deluding himself, maybe not — but it's what he believes. He doesn't hurt anyone without a good reason and when he takes things, he makes sure he takes from those who deserve and can afford it. He doesn't burden himself with the questions of what people do with the assets he provides, though — weapons, drugs, what have you; that is out of his control and thus, none of his problem. He exists in the morally grey area: puts his family and himself first, no matter what, and considers everything else fair game.
It might not sound like it, but he does care about people. He cares, a lot — but that doesn't mean he isn't willing to sacrifice you if that's what it takes to keep those dearest to him afloat. He keeps his thoughts and feelings locked up inside, doesn't speak about them, bottles everything up. . . and as one can expect, sometimes it all gets too much, and he snaps. And when he snaps, he snaps hard.
. . .
Benjamin also has his struggles. From the trauma of his childhood still affecting his ability to trust people, his issues with abandonment that make him cling to his brother as desperately as when he was just a boy, his depression and suicidal ideation that have left his skin riddled with scars, and his inability to control himself around alcohol, and the perpetual lack of lasting relationships in his life. . . he's got a lot on his plate. But although he doesn't admit it, although his actions often spell out a clear wish for it, death scares him — the infinite emptiness and loneliness of it terrifies him because, in the end, he never truly got to grow up and leave behind that scared, lonely little boy he once was.
under construction.