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bakugou-jpg · 5 years

Note

Hey there!!! I love your writing and I was wondering if you’d be up for doing a scenario with tomura or Dabi having a heavily tattooed and chubby girlfriend that’s super protective. I just think it would be cool to have either of them be super surprised that there usually docile partner gets really riled up about someone being rude to them... idk if it’s stupid feel free to ignore. Thank you!!!

I am so terribly sorry that this is so extremely late! I’ve been awfully busy with college lately so i’m slowly trying to pick up some sort of rythym but i hope you’ll enjoy! Also thank you so much for saying that, you’re very kind, love!

Dabi

With one arm rested on the bar as support his other one was resting on his s/o’s thigh. His hand was used as a support for his head while his s/o was leaning close to him while tending the wounds he had on his face and the bleeding patches of purple skin that were close to falling apart after his recent fight with the number 1 hero.

His turqoise eyes were glued on (Y/n)’s shoulder, taking in every detail of their tattoos.

“What you did was childish, all you had to do was take the big guy out and not make a whole entire show out of it by showing off. It’s time to use that head of yours ashtray that way you might actually succeed something” Shigaraki hissed while leaning against a table and glaring at the black haired male sitting at the bar.

Dabi’s head shot Shigaraki’s way and he glared at the male, ready to snarl back at him but (Y/n) was quick to stop him by grabbing his chin and turning his head towards them so they could continue what they were doing. Their eyebrows slightly knitted together as the narrowed their eyes at him.

“Stay still” They mocked.

Dabi gritted his teeth and glares at Shigaraki from the corner of his eye. “If you want the big guy out why don’t you do it your-fucking-self, huh?” He mocked, softly squeezing his s/o’s thigh. The man winced slightly when his partner started putting some new staples in his face. “..Fuck”

His s/o softly stroked his cheek and looked at him in pity. “Sorry, just squeeze my leg for support, it’ll be over soon” They said reassuringly.

“If it weren’t for me you’d still be a good for nothing, living on the streets like some sort of rat, stop complaining scar face” Shigaraki said while putting his feet on top of the nearby coffee table, his hand wrapped around a beer can while holding his pinky up.

(Y/n) furrowed their eyebrows slightly and put another staple into his cheek, Dabi immediately squeezed their thigh and gritting his teeth in response. He was about to open his mouth to talk back but his s/o shook their head. “Don’t talk back, let it rest” They whispered. The male grunted in response, rolled his eyes but still obeyed and kept his mouth sealed.

Dabi glued his eyes onto their body again and attached his hand to their under arm, tracing the lines of a black koi fish that they had tattooed there. It was a rather elegant design, not shading or anything special, just simple yet beautifully detailed line art of a japanese koi fish. He liked it, it was probably one of his favorite tattoos on them.

He exhaled and rolled his eyes, glancing at Shigaraki once more from the corner of his eye before locking eyes with the person sitting in front of him again. They smiled for a moment before putting the stapling machine down.

“You’re a pathetic bunch, Dabi. You gotta step up your fucking game because right now you’re a weak son of a bitch”

The male across the room put his pinky on the can and let it disintegrate, the ash slipping through his fingers and falling onto the ground. Shigaraki referred to it as ‘recycling’, completely misunderstanding the way it was actually done but still thinking it was an okay non-villain like thing to do because he’d prefer to personally be the reason why the world would go to shit through his actions rather than because of some pathetic thing like climate change.

“Guys stop fighting over such small matters, please” Mr compress said with a sigh, Spinner nodding in agreement.

Shigaraki stared at Dabi, who had now gotten up from his stool and was ready to burn him to crisp. His stare was cold and it didn’t hold any kind of specific strong emotion even though the male was ticked off.

Dabi clenched his fists and took a step forward. “You fucker-”

“Weak?”

A hand got placed on Dabi’s shoulder and he was pushed down onto his stool, his bewildered, confused and shocked eyes glued onto the person that used to sit in front of him but was now rolling up their sleeves and walking towards Shigaraki.

“You of all people, call him weak?? That’s quite something coming from a guy that almost fucking dies with every single mission we go on” (Y/n) hissed as their usual (E/c) eyes turned into a dark red color.

Shigaraki cocked up his eyebrow and stood up, locking eyes with them and knitting his eyebrows together.

(Y/n) clenched their fist and pushed Shigaraki into a wall. “You’ve never even gotten into a physical fight without getting shot and almost bleeding to death. I’ve had your blood spilling through my fingers more times than anyone here, and that’s a lot when Toga has a blood related quirk.” They hissed while activating their quirk, a red magic circle wrapping around their hand like a bracelet. (Y/n) placed their hand on his shoulder and Shigaraki hissed in pain.

It was as if his muscles were about to be torn apart, and he felt his shoulder screaming for release. It hurt, not too much because he knew they weren’t using full power on him since even though they were mad, they still cared about him in a sort of way.

The man was quick to wrap his hand around their wrist, his pinky hovering above their skin as a warning. Of course Shigaraki wasn’t actually going to disintegrate their arm since he had a certain good spot for the league but he still wanted to warn them.

(Y/n) removed their hand from his shoulder, his muscles immediately relaxing again, and they held their finger in front of his face. “Listen up you fucking crispy skinned, pale fucker. If you call my boyfriend weak one more time i will fucking give you an actual reason to cry out in pain you hear me?”

Everyone in the room had grown silent, staring at the two of them in shock.

Usually, (Y/n) was more laid back. They never really lashed out at anyone but the enemy and pretty much never interfered with the fights their boyfriend and their leader had but the words Shigaraki had just used had seemed to strike a core in them.

Shigaraki removed his hand from their wrist and scoffed. He pushed them away from him and grunted, walking towards the door and leaving the room to go to his bedroom.

Once the man had left, (Y/n)’s eyes turned back to their usual (e/c) color and they took a deep breath, followed by a big sigh.

“Well that certainly was exhausting..” They said under their breath as they turned around again, facing the other members of the league and walking back to the stool they once sat at.

“Damn twinkle toes, i didn’t know you could talk like that” Dabi said with a smirk, immediately leaning forward to place his hand onto their thigh again.

His s/o frowned and looked away. “..sorry i just..I know it’s something sensitive because..well you know. I’m sorry, i just got really riled up because of it and don’t want you experiencing parts of your past because of some crusty dude” They said, laughing a little at their own reference. Their hand reached out for the cloth soaked in whiskey.

Surely it wasn’t an ideal cleaning tool, but it was enough for now and all they had.

Dabi blinked a few times without saying anything. They took his hand an started cleaning some of the cuts he had there.

He had told them about his past before, about his abusive father and constantly getting told he wasn’t enough and too weak and how he ran away from home without saying goodbye to his mother and siblings..Its just that he hadn’t expected them to keep that in mind so much. In all honesty he hadn’t even really cared when Shigaraki said that, it did strike a cord in him but he didn’t immediately link the comment to that.

Without thinking twice, Dabi wrapped his hand around their wrist. They dropped the cloth and cocked up their eyebrow. “Let me tend your-” They started, a pair of rough patched lips interrupting their sentence.

Dabi placed his hand on the back of their neck and deepened the kiss, his other hand tracing up their leg and taking a hold of their hips as he squeezed their skin. A soft surprised yelp came out of their throat and they pulled away, rather embarassed that it had happened in front of everyone. “..sorry”

“Geez get a room, dude” Spinner said while throwing a 5 of heart card on the table,rolling his eyes in disgust. “We don’t need to see that shit”

(Y/n) rubbed their face and exhaled. They picked the cloth that they dropped up and laid it down on the counter. “For once keep in mind that we’re not alone” They muttered, bringing their hand up to his cheek and softly stroking the scarred material to see if it was properly taken care of.

Dabi only smirked and sighed. “You’re completely right.”. He got up and leaned down, inching closer to their neck and let his lips ghost over their soft skin. A shiver ran down their spine and they rested their hand on top of his scarred shoulder. Their face had flushed and their teeth gnawed at their lips.

They were weak for his lips against their neck, it being a very sensitive part of their body and the way his breath was sending shivers down their spine wasn’t making their situation any better. “Dabi-”

A smirk once again spread over his face, one that could compete against toga’s. The villain got up and waved them off as he walked towards the door that Shigaraki had walked through not too long ago.“Well i should go now, got lots of stuff to do ya’ know”

(Y/n)’s face had morphed into to complete utter surprise. As their brain was still progressing what had just happened, they spinned the barstool around and looked at Dabi. They blinked a few times and snapped out of their daze. “What- Where are you going? I thought you were coming to my place?”

Dabi slid his arms into his coat and nodded. “I am, just gotta pick up something first. I’ll meet ya’ there..Maybe take some painkillers beforehand, you always do that when getting those pretty pictures right?”

(Y/n) pulled up their eyebrow and wrapped their hand around the glass that was half full of vodka. “No? Well i mean yea sure i take painkillers when getting tattoos but i’m not getting any today, idiot” They mocked, throwing their head back afterwards and down the rest of their drink.

They put their glass down on the counter and looked at Mr compress, nodding towards their glass and putting a finger up with a friendly smile on their face.

Mr compress nodded and took their glass, pouring another shot into the cup.

“Oh sorry forgot to mention, but you are. I’m opening my own business, just for you. Though my designs are rather different from the rest of your tats’ since mine are temporary and purple, sometimes red. I was thinking of placing them on your neck, chest and maybe your thighs..yea definitely your thighs, that’d look lovely on you my dear” Dabi said, rather casually as if it was nothing.

Spinner rolled his eyes and leaned forward. He put down his beer can and groaned. “Dude you’re fucking disgusting”

The black haired male ignored his fellow villain’s remark and locked eyes with the (e/c) shocked once that were currently looking at him with a mixture of disgust, shock and disappointment. “We’ll discuss the price once you get home. Have a good evening everyone”

And with that, Dabi left and shut the door behind him leaving behind a very uncomfortable quiet hideout filled with villains that were currently all processing what had just happened in their own silent way.

What had happened in the past 30 minutes was a lot, with it going from Dabi coming back all bloody with parts of his scarred skin hanging lose only for his s/o to take care of him that causing Dabi and Shigaraki to argue only for (Y/n) to step in and both physically and verbally attack Shigaraki and for that to lead to this.

Quickly downing their freshly poured drink, (Y/n) sighed and grunted breaking the silence. They put their glass down and turned their body towards Mr compress.

“I need 7 more of those shots”

Tomura Shigaraki

The league was currently off the radar, hiding ever since the big event that involved the death of Overhaul and also their very beloved member Magne.

Spinner sighed and sunk further down in his chair. “I miss her. Its..different without her around” He said, taking another sip of his beer before throwing it behind him something which made (Y/n) groan.

They walked towards the empty beer can and picked it up. Crossing their arms and looking at Spinner. “We all do.. Wherever she currently is, i’m sure she found somewhat peace instead of living in this hell.”

They walked towards Shigaraki and gently slid a hand over his shoulder, handing the man the beer can only for him to disintegrate with a single touch of his fingers. The male watched the remains whirl to the ground and gather in a small pile.

“We’ll just have to stay low for awhile..” Shigaraki said, his fingers latching onto his own throat and rubbing the already damaged skin once more to calm down the agitating itch on his neck. He couldn’t even rememember for how long his skin had felt that way, all Shigaraki knew was that it had been there for as long as he could remember and that it would never stop.

(Y/n) glanced over to his neck and their eyebrows scrunched together just slightly. They reached their hand out to Shigaraki’s and guided it away from his neck, preventing him from irritating his skin any further than it already was, only for the man to get ticked off and send a glare their way. On the other side of the room there was some shuffling, something which caught their attention.

“This is fucking bullshit..”

The scarred man threw a still half full can of beer against the wall, its contents spilling onto the ground. He got up, his body slightly swaying hinting to the fact that he might of have been intoxicated. "Every fucking time. Every single fucking time you..“ He pointed his finger at Shigaraki who was starring daggers into his skull.

”..fuck it up for all of us. I’m fucking done, with this bullshit. Serving your fucking ass as if you’re some kind of god while you’re really just some useless piece of shit" The man slurred while making his way towards Shigaraki.

Spinner rolled his eyes and got up from his stool, grabbing Dabi’s shoulder and holding him back. “Bro, you’re a mess stop i- Fuck!” The scaled man yelped out in pain and held his, now burned, hand close against his arm. Toga glanced over Spinner’s shoulder and watched the scene unfold, mr compress examining his hand to see how bad the burn had been.

Shigaraki brushed (Y/n)’s hand of his shoulder and he got up, ready to throw hands at the drunk male that was currently approaching him. “Watch your tongue, scarface.” He said while rolling up his sleeves, his fingers spreading.

Dabi grinned, his hand opening with a small blue flame emitting from his palm. “Watch your own ass, your crusty fucke-” “Quit it!”

A hand yanked Shigaraki back, pushing him back onto the stool he once sat at and the same one pushed Dabi back a few steps which almost made him stumble over his own feet. (Y/n) switched their glare between Dabi and Shigaraki, but mostly looking at Dabi, and bawled their fists.

“Instead of acting like fucking 13 year olds learn to put up with each other’s arses cause you’ll be stuck with each other for quite some time and i simply refuse to act like an elementary school teacher all the goddamn time you hear me?!” They spat out, making everyone grow quiet.

Shigaraki only looked at Dabi with pure disgust in his eyes, wanting nothing to disintegrate that smug look off of his face and disintegrate the remains of whatever was left of him after that. Of course it was just a thought, something he wouldn’t actually do..for now.

(Y/n) let out a frustrated sigh and shook their head slightly.

“The only child here is that boytoy of yours, doll. Unlike him i’m a man, one that could please you in ways he wishes he could.” Dabi said, his shit eating grin once again present on his face. His turqouise eyes were locked onto their body, taking in every detail of it.

Twice nervously watched the scene unfold and tugged at his mask. “Dabi cut it out they’ll kill you. Continue doing so”

Shigaraki gritted his teeth, his blood boiling with rage. He could’ve choked Dabi with his bare hands, not caring if he would’ve killed him doing so, yet the reassuring hands of his s/o wrapped around his worked like a candle snuffer that turned his rage into a small dim ember. When his eyes locked with theirs, his heart felt at ease although he might of have not been showing it from the outside.

“Its okay, twice. I know better than to react to satisfy that shit faced fucker by reacting to him.” They said, reaching for the glass of whiskey that stood behind Shigaraki. They took a quick sip and breathed out, taking in the bitter taste of the alcohol hitting their taste buds.

Dabi only snickered and dug his hands into his pockets. “Can’t you see they’re using you? That they’re really just scared of you, therefore hiding behind the title of your lover?” He slurred once again. Dabi shook his head and turned on his heel, walking towards the door.

“That boyfriend of yours is only capable of caring for his own power, he’ll never be able to truly care for you” Dabi scoffed. He snatched a beer bottle out of Twice’s hand and brought it up to his patched mouth.

A piercing pain suddenly shot through his body, his body panicking at first for not being able to detect its cause at first. His lungs felt like as if they were squeezing all of the oxygen out by themselves, his mouth gasping for air. His throat rejected the beer he had just swallowed and he coughed it up, choking on the remains that were left in his throat. It felt as if all of the staples on his body were about to rip through the rest of his skin and let the loose patches of skin detach from his body. “Y-yo..Y-you b-bitc-”

“Tomura is ten times more of a man than you’ll ever be. Not in a million years would i let you come even come near my body. You, Dabi, are a fucking disgusting scarred piece of shit that i wouldn’t want to be found dead with in a million years.”

Their red eyes were glowing with nothing but rage, their hand up in the air while it emitted a red glowing light that connected to Dabi’s body.

Everyone in the room grew dead quiet, the only sound being Dabi’s suffering. Even Shigaraki grew quiet and was rather shocked. Surely he had seen his s/o use this kind of power before whenever they were in a fight, but they were usually the peacemaker and never the one to snap back. And this..was definitely not what he had expected they’d be capable of.

When Dabi really started choking on his beer, (Y/n) blinked a few times and let their eyes return to their normal (e/c) color. The red light between their hand and Dabi disappeared and Dabi immediately gasped for air, coughing violently afterwards.

“You’re fucking insane, guess that’s why you two pyschos were get it on so much. Jesus fucking christ” He rubbed his throat and groaned loudly, walking towards the entrance and leaving the room, a silence falling over the room again.

(Y/n) sighed and rubbed their temples, a small headache coming up as a side effect of their quirk. They walked towards the stool that was positioned next to Shigaraki’s and took a seat, leaning onto the bar and cupping their face in between their hands.

“Damn it..” They hissed, their hands violently rubbing their temples now that the headache got worse. A small chuckle left their mouth and they side-eyed Shigaraki. “You know, maybe if i went to UA instead of choosing this path maybe they would’ve taught me how to prevent these” They said, waiting for a reaction only to get none.

Shigaraki only sighed and turned his stool to the bar, scooting his stool just a little closer to theirs. He reached into his pocket and grabbed a small package out of it, laying a small platic bag with about a dozen of light purple pills in front of them.

Pulling up their eyebrow, (Y/n) grabbed the package and examined it. “What’s this? Drugs?” They asked, only for Shigaraki to scoff.

“I’m not a drug dealer..Its a quirk side effect inhibtor, for your headaches” He muttered, clear enough for them to hear.

Smiling, (Y/n) put their hand on top of his and squeezed it softly. “Thank you” They whispered.

Shigaraki sighed, a very faint and rare smile tugging at the edge of his lips. He raised his hand and put it on top of their head, with his pinky up. No words needed to be said, for they already knew how Shigaraki spoke in actions.

They leaned closer to him, their lips parting slightly as they whispered something into his ear something which was only loud enough for him to hear

“Love you too, Tomura”

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #mha #dabi x reader #dabi #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki #shigaraki x reader #anime #fanfiction #admin noëlle #dutch mod

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godsandvillainsrpg-blog · 7 years

Photo

Congratulations, EMILY! You have been accepted as NOELLE DUBOIS.

Note from Admin Jade: Damn, our Noelle applicants certainly brought their A-game, and this decision didn’t come easily. In the end, though, Emily, your application consisted of everything I could’ve hoped to see in Noelle personified. She’s a woman of many weapons — her gun, her chameleon tongue, and her body, and you showed me just how she uses every one of those to her advantage. You painted such a beautiful picture of her journey, of the way the traumas of her past have shaped her into the weapon of a girl she is today. I adore the way you characterized her distinction between victim and survivor, how she forces herself to become something stronger every day — and of course, just how important her revenge is to her. She doesn’t simply want to kill them — that would be letting them off too easy. She wants to make them feel the same pain she felt before they meet the same fate Camille did — the ultimate poetic justice, and you did such a beautiful job of showing me the lengths she’s willing to go to in order to realize that vengeance. Your FC change to Eiza Gonzalez has been approved, and I’m thrilled to welcome you and Noelle to the dash!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Emily

Age: 20

Preferred Pronouns: she/her

Timezone: GMT.

Activity Level: On a scale from 1 to 10, I would put myself at a solid 6. I’m in my final year of uni but i don’t have a part time job or much of a social life, so most of my evenings will be spent on tumblr, probably rping. I’ve found that I can’t work past 6pm because my brain begins to die, so I’ll be all yours until I sleep after that!

Triggers: REMOVED

Anything Else? I’ve talked to Jade about this and I was wondering if it’s possible to change her fc to Eiza Gonzalez? I adore Nina – but she reminds me a little too much of the horrible flashbacks of TVD rps and I have to say, she has sort of been ruined for me.

Also, just to say that Noelle is my first choice, with Caterina as my second!

IN CHARACTER

Desired Character:

Noelle Dubois.

Noelle (also Noëlle) is a feminine given name. It is an English form of the French name Noëlle, which is a feminine form of the name Noël meaning “Christmas” in French. Ironically, Noelle wasn’t even born in December. She also grew up hating Christmas – but came to tolerate it as an adult. Dubois Name Meaning. French and English (Norman and Huguenot): topographic name for someone who lived in a wood. She wears her surname as a badge of pride, a proof she overcame the circumstances of childhood and prospered into someone – and something – else entirely.

Her name was picked out as an afterthought. She didn’t even get a middle one, her parents wanting the process to be over as quickly as possible. With parents who paid little attention to their children, why on earth would they care about their name? Some parents spent hours, days, even weeks, leafing through books trying to pick the one. Because they love their children. Because they want to know, when they kiss their child goodnight, or read their report card – that they did it right, all from the very beginning. Noelle was not given that treatment. Noelle, much like her sister Camille, was named for the maternity nurse who delivered the child. It was an easy, simple solution.

“What would you like to call your child?” Her parents paused, a small shift of the shoulders folding into a shrug. “Well, what’s your name?” And that was that.

As such, Noelle never really cared much about her name. For the first few years of her life, it was thrown as an insult, a shout or scream – always something that gave cause for her to flinch, rather than smile. The only one who said her name with any tenderness or softness was her sister. She was the only one who ever really cared. To Noelle, a name mattered little. She didn’t care whether she liked it or not. The only time she ever cared was when her name was uttered in conjunction with her sister; Camille and Noelle. That made her feel more at ease. That made her more secure. Now, it just makes her sad.

She could have changed her name. She had so many chances. There was the time the sleezy strip owner asked what she should be called, eventually throwing Cherry her way (for her lipstick, apparently). When she went to the Giordano’s, they asked if she wanted to reinvent herself – and to pick a new name alongside it. She always said no. It was never on her part, it was never for the sake of vanity, or even identity (because the Noelle who first bore that name was a hell of a lot different than the one who ended up with it) but because of her sister. Because of Camille and Noelle. Because they were a team – and because they had worn those names through thick and thin, in dark and in light. To change that would be to alter their relationship. And Noelle wasn’t scared of anything in this world – except that. So she kept it. But now, no one says Camille and Noelle. Because there’s no more Camille. And where, oh where, is the justice in that?

Describe this character in your own words:

There are some, in this world, who would argue that there is no distinction between survivors and victims. To them, Noelle would laugh – and simply point at herself. She’s a survivor. It’s a badge she wears with pride, a label she fully embodies. To be a survivor to have gone through hell and come out stronger on the other side. To be a survivor, is to be better than all of that. She has never – and will never – be a victim. She despises that word. She despises its connotations. That she somehow wasn’t good enough, that the world won. In the war between Noelle and the world, she’s had the upper-hand for quite some time now.

(Watch out, you better keep score on her new war, it’s sure to be one to watch).

Noelle is a girl who is battle ready, not weary – and relishes in the triumph from a fight, having been at war, in one way or another, for most of her life. There’s always been a fight in front of her – and as a child, she soon learnt to sink her teeth in and stand the flames when she was set alight. The first fight was against the world, raging against a concept bigger than herself, or indeed, bigger than her parents – those who inflicted primary misery and abuse upon her. Her first fight was a victory against those forces which conspired to keep her down and to tear at what made her whole. Many, she knows, would have fallen prey. They would have given up, submissively bowing their head and allowed themselves to be consumed. Not her. And that’s where the distinction between survivor and victim lies. No, Noelle was not a person who allowed herself to be devoured. She, herself, was hungry – and her appetite would prove to be the stronger one.

Of course, if you want to go into battle – you must have weapons at your disposal. As a child, all she had was the sheer force of her mind – to make steel and iron out of skin and bone, to be tough and sharp and strong. It was her armour. And although armour isn’t a weapon as much, it protected her. It sealed her away. It kept her from the rest of the world – at arm’s length, where it could not touch. The only one allowed in behind such enforcements was Camille – and that was because they fought the war side by side.

Now, her weapons are sharp in different ways. She wasn’t very old when she learnt that her body was a weapon too – that she could use it to gain the upper hand in the world, that what had always been a site of bruising and abuse could, in turn, become her salvation. It was the streets that first made her see that her body could be useful – that standing a certain way would encourage the leering man to buy her a coffee, or that she could sweet talk her way into food (the words had been bitter in her mouth. She had never been sweet – and after that, she never would be). But it wasn’t until the club that she learnt her body could be lethal. Her beauty was not weakness. Her beauty was her emancipation. Her beauty could control. All those silly men thought they were in command. They thought that because they slid dollars towards her, they could own her. But in truth, Noelle owned them. At the club, she became a darker creature, possessed by a childlike rage and a determination that made sure that life would never steal from her again. The club owner might have been a blip on that radar – a shocking reality that you are never flying quite high enough, but it was one she needed. Noelle has always been an individual who very much values – and is – free. She likes being free to make her own choices – to feel as if she has agency in her life. A long time ago, she freed herself (with the help of Camille) – and now, she can never go back. She needs that freedom, that power, that control, to reassure herself – in a sense, to make reality make sense itself.

For, in one word, Noelle is powerful. She has always had the potential to be, but it wasn’t until she began playing the Giordano’s game, gun in her hand, that she truly learnt what it was to wield power – to be in possession of the ability to steal life from someone else. It was nearly intoxicating – and it made her heart spin. She’s not a psychopath, smeared with blood – but she can’t help but admit that there is a part of her that loves this. When out on a mission, she is the one in control. When out on a mission, she can forget about the past – instead, she embraces herself. That was the true Giordano lesson. All they did was teach her to aim. Everything else was always inside of her – all on her own. Her game is to manipulate. Sensual and deadly, she has learnt to take from the world before it can strike back at her. These men she causes to fall at her feet are nothing compared to her – and boy, doesn’t she know it. Her primal weapon is her beauty – and it serves her well. This time, however, the world is very much at her beck and call – and she likes to think she can master it. There is a rage about her, barely contained within her cavity. Killing gave her an outlet for her beautiful inferno. Now, however, it’s not enough.

In this new war, Noelle intends to use all of her weapons at her disposal, no matter what they might be. This opponent knows her inside and out – and she needs to be better than them if she is to win.

A long time ago, she learnt how to steel her heart, hiding it far far away – where no one might peek. This too, has always served her well – to keep them guessing, keep them on their toes, to let them think she’s nothing more than black rage. The truth, is, she isn’t. Yes, she’s angry – nearly always exhaustingly angry, but it’s because she cares – and she’s not sure how else to channel all these intense emotions, never having developed the adequate mechanisms as a child. In secret, she is highly emotional charged, currently hiding away an inner sadness cast by Camille’s death. She’ll let tears fall upon Stavros’s shoulder – but they are the tears of crocodiles. It’s not real. What is real is far more bloody. What is real was only made for the eyes of one person – and that person is six feet under.

She’s always been an incredibly untrusting person, scarred by the lessons gone past, determined to let no one but Camille into her heart. She learnt, early on, that whenever she took someone in – they could come to screw her over, reminders of her parents. So it was easier not to bother. Not to fucking try. The Giordano’s proved the exception to the rule – and look where that led her. Once she lets you in, once she lets you see the real her – it’s for life, which is probably why what happened with the Giordano’s hurt so fucking much. They made a fool of her – they made fools of them both – and now it’s time to pay. She’s learnt her lesson now – and knows herself to be acutely alone in the world. Now, she will remove herself from its grasp – where no one can control or hurt her. It’s a lonely place to be, but Noelle has never been one to throw a pity party about her circumstances. She just gets on with the job at hand.

At her core, Noelle is a survivor. The meaning of that word has changed many times over the years – and she has no doubt, it will change again. But where other things have changed – that has remained her constant, the label wrapped around her, central to her identity. She has no problems with changing or alteration – always having moulded herself to what was needed, to what would carry her through. The latest form of survivor is to play the weeping damsel, the wolf who will wear a sheep skin to survive. It’s a lie – and each night, as Stavros slumbers next to her, she is living a lie. Always a girl who wore her anger on her face, to swallow it down is a challenge – but for Camille, it’s one she will rise above. In a sense, she is a living, breathing work of fiction right now – the person they want her to be, the person they will never see coming. But she hasn’t changed – and she has no damn intention of doing so now, not when her skills have been needed more than ever. What you see is never the same for two people – and she’s the only one who knows what truly lies underneath.

What are this character’s motives?

POWER & CONTROL: In short, Noelle wants agency. She wants to have the ability to make her own choices. She wants to control the world around her – instead of allowing it to control her. Acutely aware of that disempowerment both as a child and then again when she was cohered into sex, she was determined to make sure it never happened to her again. She wanted to be a creature that no one could control – not even fate itself. She wanted to be a creature larger than this world, a woman radiating supremacy, using a lethal combination of her body and the gun in her hand to make it happen. She wanted to rob the world before it robbed her. And the only way to ensure that was to ensure she had the power, that she could make the choices – and that she would never be forced to do anything she didn’t want to do again.

As a teenager, she had ran away – fleeing to free herself from the shackles of abuse. As a young woman, she watched her sister shoot down the man who turned her body into a commodity, something to be exploited, rather than a site of empowerment, which it has always been. Now, it was her turn. The world would never make a fool of her again – and she would use whatever means it took to get there. This grabbling, desperate, desire for control plays out in a way that suits the world she lives in. She’s lethal because she’s seen the other side. She can kill because the alternate future is worse. She will do all this and more, because through the Giordano’s, she received her life’s wish. Freedom – and the empowerment that came with it.

Noelle’s motivations stem directly from the scars of childhood days gone past. Power and control are the cornerstones of what she wants – purely because she knows what it is to live without them. She needs to control her circumstances – and by extension the world around her – because she never wants to feel like a victim. She knows what it is to delude yourself into an illusion of power and have it stolen from you. And once you know something, you can never erase that feeling from your core.

REVENGE & RETRIBUTION: These days, her desire for power and control manifests in more than one way. Yes, it’s revenge for the death of her sister that she wants, but this stems directly from her need to have control – for not to be taken as a fool by the world. Or in this case, the Giordanos. They caused her death – and now, they will pay. She isn’t the girl who allowed herself to be forced into sex. She will not let them take what she holds dear – not without giving them hell for it. Blinded by both bitterness and grief, Noelle intends to tear down the whole system. She will take away in terms of value what they took from her. She will take their most precious thing – this whole game itself. Just a few short weeks ago, she was a willing player. The politics mostly went above her head, but she had to admit, there was an addicting thrill to it – a battlefield through which to empower herself. But now, she’s disgusted. She can see nothing more than her sister’s dead body and act only through heightened anger. She will have her revenge. Although a fiery creature, she knows how to survive. She’s used to bending herself to their expectations – surviving when the world presses down on her. So she won’t fly off the handle. She won’t try and take a gun to their heads – where’s the fun in that? No. Her revenge is far more calculated. Her revenge is targeted. And one day, she will watch as the light dies in their eyes – and they know what it means to grieve. Vengeance will be hers – and it will be her name on their lips.

CAMILLE: Even in death, Camille is a major motivational drive in her life – and she always has been. Her entire life, Noelle was the one following her big sister, the two of them against the world. As the older sibling, Camille lead – and she was barely one step behind, never struggling to keep up. Without Camille, Noelle would not be the woman she is today. Without Camille, she might not have believed she deserved more. Without Camille, she might have given into her circumstances – instead of hardening her heart and making it clear she would take more, if the world would not give her its dues. She’s always drawn strength from her sister – a steady rock even in the worst of times. Always a team, at each other’s side, Noelle made her home in Camille – the only person she could truly count as family. Now, without her, Noelle feels lost. The hard won stability in her life has been snatched away, replaced instead by a burning desire to tear down the world. It is the love she has – and the life they have led together – for her sister that drives her towards her ambitious goal of tearing down the entire game. It’s the knowledge that Camille deserved more that drives her to do what she wants to do. They always told each other that – that the world owed them. Eventually, they took what was owed them – or so they thought. Instead, the world ripped Camille away, too early, too soon – leaving her all alone. And like when Camille shot the mob owner who forced her to prostitute herself, Noelle will punish those who are deserving.

EMOTIONS: It’s strange, that such a sharp woman should be driven her emotions. But she always has. They have always been there – deep in her marrow, hidden from the light. What’s more, she’s always been able to control them – used to hiding away half of her soul, to slipping on a mask, which is why she’s so lethal. She may not let people know it, but she feels everything – acutely deeply. She’s simply learnt not to let that influence her actions, or indeed, who she is, tucking it away for only Camille to find. Few people know this, but she loves deeply – and once you’ve gotten her love, it’s for life. That’s why she’s so angry. Because she allowed the Giordano’s in. She came to love them – and they betrayed her. With her emotions in a heightened state at the moment, swollen anger, grief and guilt, she intends to let them drive her forward into action. She is the living embodiment of rage – and it will take her far.

What potential plots do you foresee for this character?

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Would you be open to this character’s death?

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PARA SAMPLE

They say that when someone you love dies, a piece of you dies too. That was true. As her sister had passed into the world beyond, Noelle’s heart had gone with her. Now, it was nowhere to be found.

That was fine. The Grim Reaper could keep it – she wouldn’t need it for what came next.

At first, it hadn’t just been her heart that was absent – it had been her very soul. Every thought, every will, every anything she had ever felt – it had vanished overnight. It had been snatched the moment she was snatched, lying in a cold room – stripped naked. Now, it lay six feet under a gravestone simply entitled Camille. The pair of them had ceased to be a Dubois the moment they escaped their pit of a home. Their parents had ceased to claim any entitlement over them the moment they went to school with their bellies emptied, or huddled close at night – escaping their druggy friends whose hands always pinched a little too tight. Their parents had given them life, but then they had thrown them to it, allowing it to rub them raw. They didn’t get to own them. Nobody did.

Only she, out of all the souls in the world, could claim to call her sister her own. For only she had been there from the beginning to the bitter end. For only she had seen her laugh and cry. For only she had seen her fall and rise – and how she had looked the very first time she took a life. Camille only belonged to her – because no one else understood what this absence felt like. No one else understood what it was like to have a piece of yourself torn away, to have to swallow your grief and make nice with your enemies. No one else understood what it was like to look them in the eye, memorise the details of their black funeral garb and thank them for coming. No one had ever understood what it was like to be her. And the only one who could, the only one who had, was gone.

It was funny, the way they said that, gone. As if dressing it up was going to make it any more delicate. At least it was better than passed away. God, Noelle had wanted to reach down and rip out Vita’s throat when she had muttered that, in all her crocodile sympathy. “Such a shame about Camille’s passing. She really was a lovely girl.” Passing. What a fucking crock of shit. Camille hadn’t passed. She had been cut down. She had been torn away. She had been murdered. And Noelle, meeting Vita squarely in the eyes, knew exactly who was at fault. And she wasn’t about to give them a free pass for it either.

By the end of her sister’s funeral, the insufferable sadness had been replaced by something else. An insufferable rage. Inside, there was a fire that no water could quench. Inside, there was a burning desire to see justice done – to tear down and rip apart the fabric of reality in which they lived. For Camille’s death was no passing. It was no coincidence or accident. It was a direct manifestation from the games they both played. From the world the Giordano’s had inducted them into. How foolish they had been, two girls on the run, tempted by the idea of stability, by the idea of power, by the idea of earning what was owed. How silly she had been, to even think that they could have had it all. To think that the Giordano’s, in their fucked up family unit, could have ever cared. How stupid she had been not to see that she and Camille had never been anything other than pawns. And as anyone who has ever played chess before knows, the pawns are always the first to be sacrificed. That game was over. For Noelle had begun one of her own – and in this one, she wasn’t going to play by their rules. She was going to tear up the entire chessboard, rain hell down on their heads and look them in the eye as they watched their entire world fall apart.

That night, embracing them all as they said a weepy goodbye, her fingers inched close to her knife. It would have been swift and easy, to steal their lives as they stole her sisters. Perhaps it even would have been satisfying, to watch the light fade from their eyes as she had done so so many times before. (That sensation never lost its appeal, her victory never dimmed). But it wouldn’t have been just. Their lives weren’t the things they held most dear. Their games were. So if she was going to snatch the light of their life, their hearts and their souls – she would have to swallow her rage and wear the mask of a placated doe.

Vengeance would be hers. As would control.

And she would swallow all the hells to satisfy her own.

In this case, hell had its own name. Stavros.

He who held the keys to the kingdom was the individual she held responsible for Camille’s death. He who had been one of the first faces she had ever seen, he who raised her up. He who pressed a gun in his hand and who smiled at her poison. He who had commended her techniques – and then fell for them himself. Even men who held themselves in the highest esteems, who considered themselves lethal, could be brought down by something as simple as a pair of legs, a certain tone of voice and a body that spoke for itself. Take a man to bed – and you will expose him. And in doing so, bring all those little secrets to the light of day.

It had been pitifully easy. A few well-placed tears, touches that lingered longer than usual, a faux confession. His mind had willed her to become the girl in need of his care, the vulnerability to his masculinity. Effortlessly, she had delivered. Catching sight of herself in a mirror, she had to remark, she looked beautiful when she cried. The climax had come one bitter night – he half-drunk with whiskey she had carefully placed in his hand, she the vixen who pressed her body close – letting her aura soak into him. “Noelle…” he had begun, his voice torn between pushing her away and drawing her in closer. “I want you. I need you.” Such sweet lies from such poisonous lips. The deal had been struck. Every kiss was a dagger to her heart. Every fake orgasm was a betrayal. But with each touch, each word, each fuck, she asserted her dominance – she drew him in closer to her web, making herself indispensable. He would not do without her. She would become his addiction, his enthralling mistress – impossible to resist, impossible to suspect. The ruse had worked. He had become hers.

Before she destroyed the game all together, she would play one last time.

“You look practically delicious in my shirt.”

I know. Half buttoned and sat with her legs slightly parted, she painted herself as one of Da Vinci’s demons, an intoxicating drug you couldn’t get enough of. It was, after all, one of her specialities. Only this time, she wouldn’t be delivering the sweet kiss of death before dawn came.

“I have half a mind to rip it off of you.”

She cocks her head and lets her tongue run over her lips, leaning forward – closer. Her tricks are crafted well enough to appear real. As they should be – with all the practice she’s had. As a child, the woman she is now would have existed beyond belief – a near stranger through the window of the past. But she’s proud. The world threw all it could at her – and she shot back every time. She took all that weakness and used it to make her strong. She used their assumptions as weapons. She used their pressure points to draw blood. And she smiled whilst doing it. There’s a smirk painted on her face now and as she speaks, it’s like velvet manifesting. “So why don’t you?”

For emphasis – she undoes another button.

Moving to study his reaction, she can see excitement and desire inflame in his eyes, one hand reaching out to snatch what’s on offer. Never for a moment does he consider that it’s fake. Never for a moment does he look directly into her soul – and see the snake she plays him as. Good, he wouldn’t like what he saw. “Business calls – and I could never keep the Giordano’s waiting.” Their name is like a sour lemon, his loyalty to them laughable. Is he really so blind?

She already knows this. He’s foolish enough to write it all down in a diary.

Inching towards him, she’s close enough to have the heat of her breath ripple against his chest and twist his spine. Close enough to touch. Close enough to devour. Oh, silly boy, don’t you know she’s the one doing the devouring? “Oh? What are you doing for them now?” The innocence appears facetious on her – but she’s compelling enough to pull it off.

“Just the usual. Business meetings – orders, clients, admin. Your assignments aren’t pulled out of thin air, you know. Your weapons aren’t either.”

That didn’t save Camille. Even at the thought of her sister, in connection with this monster, is enough to stir the purest of anger inside of her. It isn’t so easily swallowed – but she forces it down, nothing more than a flash appearing in her eyes. Open me up, she muses, and all you will find is a burning fire. It wasn’t always like that. Once, there was space for more. Once, she had a heart. But that feels like a lifetime ago. And what’s the point of having a heart if there’s no one worthy enough to give it to?

“I’ll be here. Exactly the way you left me.” Teasing him in a tone that could only be described as intimate (he think he’s seeing more, he thinks her boundaries have been eroded), she curls her lips into a smile that doesn’t light up her eyes.

“In that case, I’ll hurry back.”

Reaching in, he steals a kiss from her before he parts – his breath poison to toxic lips. She wants nothing more to than erase him – to shower and wash him away, to erode every presence he has left upon her body. There are times when the things she does disgusts her. But she does it for love. She does it for the memory of Camille – the sister whose image fades a little more each time she conjures it in her mind. She does it because it’s the only thing that will satisfy the infernal rage inside of her. She does it because she made a promise to herself, a long time ago, to never be a victim.

The door slams as he leaves – and a familiar silence descends upon her. Relived, she stands up, immediately tearing off his shirt. She’d rather walk around topless than with any sign of him upon her body, any sign that he could have claimed her. Immediately, her hands seize his MacBook, carelessly left out on the bed. What a fool. What a fucking fool.

“Okay Stavros – let’s see what you really get up to.”

EXTRAS

Mockblog: X

Extended/Additional Connections: X

Personality Analysis: X

Headcanons: X

#accepted #accepted: noelle

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