I’m Nora. I’m a copywriter by day and struggling writer by night. I use play-by-post RPGs to try to keep myself afloat creatively. I’m the kind of player that will squeal “behind the scenes” with my partner as we watch our characters squirm and suffer throughout their story. (I hope that made sense)
Aside from that, I live in Atlanta with my obscenely handsome husband, and our cat and dog. I enjoy drinking tea and bourbon (not together in a cocktail), gardening on my balcony, reading, and throwing people (I practice martial arts).
-I write anywhere between 200 to 800 words per post, sometimes less if we need to move the plot along.
-I enjoy plotting and scheming! As I mentioned above, I enjoy getting excited and cackling with my partner “behind the scenes.” I won’t try to give a lot away or get my partner to reveal too much but I will sometimes try to speculate for the fun of it, especially if my partner has something up their sleeve.
-I am a stronger character writer when I write female characters, but I do have a proficiency in all sorts. I typically have one or two main characters and a list of NPC’s that I use to help enrich the story for everyone involved.
-You’re going to get a lot of Spotify playlists from me and I’m not sorry ❤️
I have what the kids call a 3-3-3 rating, though I do prefer sex scenes go “fade to black.”
Plots I'd Like
-Two teachers become friends and then eventually lovers. Both are equally protective of their students and want the best for their school.
-A woman with a high powered career arrives to the childhood home of her late mother. Many townspeople who knew her mom offer to help. A mysterious yet sweet man is one of those offering to help.
-A witch (who is new to town) and a werewolf (who is a local) become allies, best friends, and then lovers in a town where witches and werewolves don’t get along.
-Something involving a police sketch artist and an empath and/or medium who reluctantly team up try to catch a killer or band of killers
I got inspired for a plot solely by the setting Nashville, Tennessee. It’s a colorful city, but it’s very tied in its country music roots and conservative background, which is kind of clashing with the new, more progressive scene that’s slowly taking over. So there would be dirty chai lattes in the early mornings. Quiet drives into the mountains. Acoustic guitars and maybe the occasional BBQ outing. Record stores.
Maybe the dude is a musician trying to make it, or maybe he already works in a studio. His roots are right in Tennessee, so he’s actually, literally rooted there. Maybe the gal is from somewhere else and a more alternative representative of the city’s new progressive ways. She’s bewildered by the state and city and she probably doesn’t care much for country music. She’s more “Paramore” than she is “Carrie Underwood”
I’d like to play the girl in this scenario. All I know is that she and her brother opened up a coffee shop.
Context: Florence is a navigator in the navy. Rather, she was, until she was kidnapped by pirates and made to be their navigator. She resists until she is given the option to free another captured navy person who has a family back home.
”Very well, you have a deal...”
Florence took in a deep breath and straightened up. She was ready to open her mouth to speak, reaffirming what he agreed to, when-
”...On one condition.”
Florence watched as he pulled out a small blade, and quirked an eyebrow as he flashed the blade to her.
She swallowed as he gripped the blade with one hand and winced when he pulled it out. Blood didn’t phase her, but she wasn’t expecting him to slice open his hand.
”You'll make a blood oath that until this task is complete you wont go disappearing on me.”
Florence slowly stood from the chair, looking up at Gerard as he offered the knife to her. She looked to the blade’s handle and then back to him, and she recounted exactly how she made her own blood oath to the navy.
It hadn’t been so formal that it was legally binding then... But now he was offering it so he’d let Elisabeth go free in exchange for her service.
”You'll have to consider the offer of freedom at any port null until it is...”
And she knew that even if she left then or later that she probably didn’t have the chance to go home anyway or join her country’s navy ever again-
“...and fight off whatever foes may ail the crew no matter what prior allegiances they may hold."
Florence drew in a deep breath and nodded.
“It’s a deal.”
Taking the blade from him, she looked again to see which of his hands he cut, and then held out the same handed palm. Her cutting was deeper than his, a little more deliberate than his, possibly indicating how serious she was.
She put the blade on the table, letting her clean hand linger on it for a second as the severity of the oath began to sting in her palm.
Leaving any apprehension she had on the solid wood, she extended her dripping hand to Gerard.
Context: Robin is kidnapped for a drama school hazing ritual where she has to cold read Shakespeare’s “Coriolanus” in front of strangers, in her pajamas, outdoors and in the cold.
Fortunately for her, she knows this part and this play very well.
Unfortunately for her, the Aufidius to her Coriolanus is a hot dude she tried to hit on at a bar (who rejected her).
EXTRA unfortunate is that she didn’t know who is was until he got super close, because she’s as blind as a bat without her glasses.
Finally, her partner had it so much better. He had admittedly picked a unique way to go with it. His Aufidius was more curious than he was incensed. This Aufidius-Oh.
Oh. Robin’s silver eyes went wide as Aufidius stepped in to appraise Coriolanus. She stepped back, but she recovered her from her stumble.
Oh, Robin’s Aufidius was *Hot Hipster.*
Coriolanus: “Prepare thy brow to frown: know'st thou me yet?”
Aufidius: “I know thee not: thy name?”
Robin had smiled anxiously, but her smile transformed into a wry grimace. As she looked down to her pages, she let the gasp of air charge the coals burning aglow inside her lungs and pressed her lips tightly together. Coriolanus was there to die, and he wasn’t entirely without hesitation when in the face of his self-ascribed death... But he had already been crumbling. The same coals in his chest ignited into flames and he shouted:
“My name is Cacius Martius-“
Robin stepped back to Aufidius, and Coriolanus held out his hands with his forearms up, as if the confession would bring chains to his wrists.
“-who hath done to thee particularly and to all the Volsces great hurt and mischief—“ (As if Aufidius needed to be reminded.) “-thereto witness may my surname, Coriolanus: the painful service, the extreme dangers and the drops of blood shed for my thankless country are requited but with that surname-“ Robin’s voice broke with surname, as if the word were unholy. It was intentional; Coriolanus’s eyes were rife with tears of frustration and resignation. He had been angry, but anger was a secondary emotion. He was breaking and full of shame, now. “-good memory, and witness of the malice and displeasure which thou shouldn bear me: only that name remains;”
“The cruelty and envy of the people, permitted by our dastard nobles, who have all forsook me, hath devour'd the rest; and suffer'd me by the voice of slaves to be whoop’d out of Rome.” Coriolanus has gestured behind him, in the direction of Rome itself, as he had been cast from Rome well before the age where angels were expelled from Heaven.
“Now this extremity-“ Robin gestured to Coriolanus’s noble vessel as she took a quick glance at her lines “-hath brought me to thy hearth; not out of hope—mistake me not—to save my life, for if I had fear'd death, of all the men i' the world I would have 'voided thee, but in mere spite-“ Coriolanus swallowed for air to continue. “-To be full quit of those my banishers, stand I before thee here.”
Coriolanus stepped in swiftly and grabbed the lapel of Aufidius’s “robe.” Robin knew this part well, so she barely needed the guidance.
“Then if thou hast a heart of wreak in thee-“ The one thing that kept Coriolanus from falling on his knees was the grip that he had on Aufidius. He now clung to him like he was a angel of mercy, rather than an enemy to strangle. “-wilt revenge thine own particular wrongs and stop those maims of shame seen through thy country, speed thee straight, and make my misery serve thy turn:-”
Coriolanus fell to his knees, with his hands barely grasping the fabric he had been holding.
“-so use it that my revengeful services may prove as benefits to thee, for I will fight against my canker'd country-“ Coriolanus wasn’t sobbing yet, but his breath did betray him. “-with the spleen of all the under fiends. But if so be thou darest not this and that to prove more fortunes thou'rt tired, then, in a word, I also am longer to live most weary, and present-“
Coriolanus grabbed the fabric around his neck and gently tugged to reveal his neck and collar bone. Robin didn’t tear the fabric of her bralette, but she did reveal her clavicle.
“-my throat to thee and to thy ancient malice; which not to cut would show thee but a fool, since I have ever follow'd thee with hate, drawn tuns of blood out of thy country's breast, And cannot live but to thy shame, unless it be to do thee service.”
With this last plea, Coriolanus begged for his well-deserved fate, and he was truly at Aufidius’s mercy.
-I’m Hufflepuff and of House Mormont.
-Buy me a cup of tea and tell me I’m pretty.