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furorem-yandere · 6 days ago

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i absolutely LOVE the way u wrote The Invitation!!!! ive been thinking of writing a fic of my own, and ur work was the catalyst for me to finally start 😭🙏🙏 if i may ask, what tips/recommendations would u give for writing dialogue and actions smoothly together? cuz i just cant get enough of the way u execute it SO well - from the internal monologues to the dialogues and action - I LUV ITTTTTTTTT

ahhhhhh i'm so glad you like my style! <33 sorry for not answering right away... it's hard for me to explain my processes in a way that actually explains how/why i do things this way. i hope my ensuing brick of text helps you to write your fic :)

something that i did that helped me a lot when i first started writing was be very focused on what i was trying to achieve. i'm the type of person that can write and write and write (hence why Invitation is so fucking long lol) so i had to restrict myself: every piece of dialogue is meant to either progress the plot or show something about the characters.

something kind of easy to keep things natural is just saying what you wrote out loud, specifically the dialogue. if it flows easily off the tongue, then it's going to flow easy off the page. if it's awkward to say... then it's probably awkward to read, too. listening to things like interviews, talk show podcasts, and debates can help if you need to focus on the minute details of speech like pauses, when people interrupt each other, how they listen to each other, what details they latch to, etc.

giving your character a speech pattern can be something a bit more challenging but adds a lot of depth; it's like cooking your pasta in broth instead of just water. for example: Sunshine has been living the past few years in NYC. Something east coast americans do a lot is use swears as "spacer words", particularly 'fuck'. on top of that, she's very casual but anxious in more proper settings, and has to fight to keep her cool and not dip into her anger issues. so i'll usually have her swear a lot. when she doesn't know someone well, she gets very tight lipped, gets very simple in her sentences to try not to get snappy (but she often easily gives away her mood anyways). Jack is the polar opposite. he's from a utopia, tries to make himself as approachable as possible, and has responded to his own trauma by going in the opposite direction as Sunshine: while she shuts down and fights, he tends to fawn. his dialogue is very bouncy and friendly, littered with little silly phrases. he works with kids, so he reflexively keeps his topics lighthearted, his voice calm, and looks for resolutions. he asks lots of questions to let the other person know he's very invested in their life, and has some kind of cheesy "child TV show" type of dialogue. when put together, they make a massive contrast and gives them each a noticeable flavor, so even when i drop "Sunshine said/Jack asks" you can still tell who is speaking, or who's thoughts you're listening too.

for making dialogue (internal and external) and meshing it with actions, i like to have them doing something while they talk. i get bored reading a big block of dialogue, so i'll intersperse things like this (exerpt from Invitation ch 2):

"Good morning, Sunshine!" he says cheerfully, ruffling his bedhead ridden hair as if to tame it. "Sleep okay?"

you come out with sentence purpose (greeting/setting time), follow up with an adjective, action, and then another piece of dialogue. i find it makes things personally easier to read with an more even flow to it when you sandwich the dialogue and text together.

something i'll add that i think definitely helped me too, is doing poetry, weirdly? i'm going to sound like a total hippie, but a lot of internal monologuing is all about how your character feels, and a lot of poetry is about capturing a particular feeling. being able to flex, get creative with how the character reacts physically to their emotions as well as their emotions themselves will really take your writing to the next level. a lot of times when you don't even flat out say what they're feeling and just explain around it, letting the reader figure it out for themselves, it lets the reader feel engaged and smart. so doing poetry definitely made me better at internal monologues i think, so i recommend it. if you say something like

"seeing him worry over her fighting someone else calmed her. she wanted him so badly for his kindness, then" vs "his brows knit together as he took her hand, his fingers brushing her still bleeding knuckles. she felt her fist unclench in his hand, bloodthirst washing from her by a flood of longing"

one is going to get the point across better because it's more interesting and says a lot more. this is sort of what people mean when they say "show dont tell". we see him care for her by taking her hand, and it's a tender and gentle gesture to rub someone's knuckles so it shows how he's kind of a softy. by having the bloodthirst leave in the wake of longing it gives a transition of emotion so the plot can move forward without feeling sudden and disjointed. there's action, description, and character building which will make everything feel stronger and more cohesive.

i hope all of this helps you in your writing journey!

#ask #my writing #furorem speaks #the invitation #writing advice

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furorem-yandere · 15 days ago

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My other request/idea is:

A Yandere Ondolemar whose eye is caught by a maid who just started working at the keep. Shes quiet and keeps to herself but is super kind. He's often seen her darning the socks/stockings of maids/staff that are too busy to do it themselves or fixing buttons and holes in other clothing. He's seen her eat after all of the staff and keep have eaten,often only getting scraps of food because she wants to ensure no one goes hungry. He doesnt understand her kindness but loves her for it and decides shes his or something like that.

And my last idea/request is a Yandere Companions one. Like the whole of Jorrvasker is yandere for their newest member or maybe shes hired help as their usual maid is getting older and needs the help. Anyway all of the companions become obsessed w her and it can be a mix of fluff/angst/nsfw.

Anyways thanks in advance for both reading these requests and possibly for doing them! 💜💜💜

Two shot! these are fun ideas<3 I actually don't mind Ondolemar quite as much as the other Thalmor (although he's still drinking the kool-aid) but at least he's fairly respectful to the player when they interact. Ondolemar’s story is inspired by my own back issues bc tbh if anyone solved my back i would fall in love with them too LOL

this person's other request was for Ancano, but tbh i hate him sorry.... so i can't honestly do it :P but i did have a maid craving right about this time sooooo please enjoy <3

(i think i might have ideas for pt 2’s of these, so let me know if that’s something yall might want! :) the Companions can be read as platonic or romantic, but i'm sure yall know what one i prefer ;) )

Ondolemar

It takes Ondolemar an embarrassingly long time to realize that you should be his. He's seen you of course, hurrying in and out of rooms in your work clothes and apron, as unkempt as the rest of the help. You avoid his eyes and attention, which isn’t unusual for the servants here, let alone a native born in Skyrim. Truthfully, he’d only memorized your face because you were the one that had been taking care of his rooms.

Ondolemar hadn’t been adjusting the best, he was sore to admit it. Quite literally. His back ached. He’d never had to stay someplace so uncomfortable. Stone beds… the Dwemer were mad. Every step shot a pain from his heel straight up his spine to the base of his skull. It was a struggle to keep his temper from flaring with the pain, but he managed quite graciously. Ondolemar wasn’t looking forward to another night of shivering and aching. He nearly lost it though, when he turned in for the night to find his bed in disarray.

Well, perhaps disarray was harsh. It was neatly made as usual, but when he pulled back the fine fur coverings to discover this… thing underneath sent a bolt of fury through him so strong he was stunned for several seconds. Ondolemar’s instincts screamed that this was some sort of trap or trick. He hadn’t requested anything, everything else was quite in order, and yet here this thing was.

It was the same relative size and shape as the large stone bed he’d been saddled with. His magic could detect no harmful enchantment or poison, and examining it closely he could find no physical fault or ability to cause harm. For all intents and purposes, it seemed to be safe… but why was it put in his room? He hadn’t requested any changes be made. Cautiously, he pressed it. The pad was thick and woolen, squishing slightly under his fingers, and when he laid atop it his back blissfully straightened.

And the warmth… By the Eight, there was no icy grip of stone against his back. He slept soundly for the first time in days. The absence of pain in the morning made him quite ready to admit it: his back hadn’t felt this good since he arrived.

It wasn’t hard to figure out who was responsible. After all, you were the only one that had been in his room. You’d been in the middle of assisting another servant with the laundry when he’d barked his orders for you to follow him. Fear crossed your fellow servant’s face, looking between the two of you before you shook your head, following him to his room.

Drawing back his neatly made bed to reveal the woolen… thing, he gestures. “What is this?” he asks sharply. To him, the pointedly unspoken demand for an explanation was quite obvious.

But not to you, apparently. You only blinked owlishly, looking quite mystified. “A sleeping pad, sir?” you replied slowly with a concerned expression.

“Yes, but why is it here? I did not request it,” he replies impatiently, arms crossed.

Looking much more nervous now, you responded quickly, “No sir, but you-” You cut yourself off, cheeks reddening curiously.

“Go on,” he encourages dryly.

Avoiding his gaze, you wrung your fingers before hesitantly meeting them. “I do not wish to seem impolite, sir, but you seemed rather… unwell.”

Furrowing his brows, he could not keep the scowl from his lips, or his eyes from yours. “How so?”

You bit your lip; one white tooth sinking into soft, snowberry red flesh. “You were walking rather stiffly for the past few days, I only mean, and…” You pause again to shift in place before continuing, voice tight, “...you seemed to be in pain.” Ondolemar feels his cheeks flush, hoping his hood and the dim lighting hides this from you, but perhaps not because your expression softens and you continue with a gentle tone that makes him shiver. “The stone beds take some getting used to, if one is not accustomed to them. Sheep’s wool makes a fine pad and is much more soothing, especially if one is prone to the cold. I… heard someone say that Summerset is much warmer than Skyrim.” You laugh quietly, but he hears it loud and echoing in his ears like a small bird in a mineshaft. “Then again… most places are warmer than Skyrim.”

“Hm,” he hums, unwilling to show his own amusement. His eyes drop from yours, trailing down your cheek like a tear to your neck, where a leather cord caught his eye. Lip curling, his tone goes cold. “What is that around your neck? Show it to me. Now!”

You do so calmly, tugging the amulet free. His hand darts forward, catching the charm in his hand and pulling you forward by the neck like a leashed animal. Ondolemar hears your breath catch in restrained surprise and he pauses before tugging a little less sharply as he opens his palm. A brass lily bloomed in his hand around milky cat’s eye, jade green beads and metal leaves leading up to your delicate neck. “You worship Dibella?” he asks thoughtlessly, watching your throat bob as you swallow.

“Yes, sir,” you reply. Was it his imagination, or did you sound a bit breathy? Ondolemar’s golden eyes lifted to your face. The fear hadn’t quite abandoned you, at least not yet, but there was a calm to you that was like a balm on his temper.

“Not… Talos?” Ondolemar drags his tone, drawling slightly in his accent.

“No, sir,” you reply firmly. “I have always found Dibella’s guidance to be most helpful.”

“Have you now?” he replies idly, rubbing his thumb against the centermost gem, watching your eyes gleam just as brightly.

“Yes, sir.”

“...You’re quite proper… and you speak well, for a common woman of menfolk,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. The goddess of beauty was suiting worship for you. For a non-Mer, you were quite lovely with delicate features that belied the strength of working a laborious job. There was a softness to your face beneath the stony calm that relaxed his shoulders, your presence somehow soothing. Perhaps with a thorough bath and your own clothes cleaned you would be fine company in this dour dungeon of a place. Retracing memories, Ondolemar had almost always seen you helping others with their work, an even softer look on your face then.

“I’ve decided,” Ondolemar began, hand tightening on your necklace as he looks down at you, his shadow spilling across your face like a patch of midnight, “You’ll be my personal maid from now on while I’m here. Your assistance will prove most useful while I must… integrate… with the locals. I’ve seen you before.” If it were possible, your eyes widen even more and a sort of hunger swells up in his stomach at the sight of your vulnerability. “Always helping others… Your talents are wasted on such mindless work. You’ll be put to much better use in my hands.”

You startle out of his hands like a skittish bird, eyes wide with traces of fear where there had been kindness. “Sir…?”

His lips turned, not in a frown this time, but in a smile that made you shiver. “Surely you aren’t opposed to assisting me? It’s important work that I do, after all, and I could use someone of your knowledge.”

For a moment, Ondolemar thought you might protest. He’d hate to get aggressive now, but thankfully, you demure and settle, bowing your head to him. “Of course, sir. It would be an honor to assist you.”

Triumph flashes through him like a bolt of lightning. Sharp teeth flash in his smile as he tells you, “Yes. It would.”

-----------------------------------------------------

The Companions

The Companions having a new maid was hardly big news. The fact that she was a pretty young thing with a mysterious past that spent her days making the beds of the most respected warriors in Whiterun might have had a few tongues wagging, but it wasn’t something that got people talking. Even if there had, it was what happened afterward that had stilled everyone in the Hold’s tongue with silent knowing.

You had blown in from Eastmarch, though you wouldn’t say exactly where. A twitchy thing that the Companions first regarded with their usual brusque demeanor. They playfully shoved, flaunted their bloodied knuckles, and unapologetically showed off their scars, raising their voices in the rough but cheerful manner they typically did. Perhaps they even played it up a little. You would have to get used to this if you would want to stay with them.

Kodlak and Aela were the only two who had figured you out quite quickly. Vilkas could tell there was something the matter, though his mind had gone to hostilities, and the two had to reassure him that, although they would not tell secrets that weren’t theirs to keep, it wasn’t anything nefarious. After that, he only kept a passive eye on you. Farkas thought your constant anxiety was the fresh nerves of a new job, a new place, a new home. In an effort to soothe, he made himself cheerful company, and did not seem to mind when you flinched away from his hand or his loudly spoken words. Any business that wasn’t Skjor’s was disregarded. So long as you did your job, you could stay, even if you were a nervous little rabbit of a thing and walked with a slight limp.

You’d finally stopped flinching so much. Your hands didn’t shake quite so much anymore and you had begun to recognize the usual sound of rabble and fighting that would happen in the mead hall. You’d even started to offer your services as a healer, your magicka leaving them warm deep in their bones. It had taken a bit for Skjor and Kodlak to realize that while Aela and Farkas ran hotheaded, they were picking more fights than usual just so that they could be fussed over by a pretty young lady. Skjor had them cleaning the outhouses for weeks, and had them go to the Temple of Kynareth to get them to stop squabbling like pups over a bone.

Of course, right as you were beginning to settle was when it happened.

Some dark-eyed wretch had come through the gates one day while you’d been out picking up the usual deliveries with Vilkas when it happened. The moment you had caught a glimpse of the grinning man your smile dropped into abject terror, hiding behind the Companion and shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm. When the man’s hand gripped your bicep, Vilkas nearly broke his wrist pulling it off, utterly confused by the barked claim that you were his wife. Shaking your head, you had tearfully run back to the mead hall, weaving through bodies in a panic until you’d made it to your room, locking the door.

Farkas had broken open the door in well-meaning force, confused at the sight of an empty room. It was only for the gift of his enhanced hearing that he heard your muffled sobs coming from behind the locked door of your wardrobe, where you had tucked yourself behind all you could in an effort to hide and put space between you and the man claiming to be your husband.

Aela had been the one to coax you out, though not for the men’s lack of trying. The twins’ worried cries for you to come out went unanswered, and Skjor’s barks of well-meaning but tactless reassurance were met with equal silence. Kodlak only got sobbed apologies; Aela though had knocked each fear you voiced away as easily as she blocked a newblood’s blows in a spar without you having to say a word. When you emerged from your room, hand clasped with Aela’s with her arm around your shoulder to a room full of worried warriors, you’d burst into tears again, full of regret and promises to leave and take your trouble with you.

“Lass, it’s not a boast to say we’re the strongest warriors in the Hold. Whatever trouble just walked through that gate, we’ll take care of it. I think I speak for everyone here when I say things have changed for the better around here since you’ve come to us,” Kodlak had told you with as much stern kindness as he could muster after settling you down in a room with a working door.

Your story was not uncommon, but no less heartbreaking for them all to hear.

Your former husband (you would no longer claim him, no ring on your finger to prove it) had been kind to you once, but it did not take long before things began to take a turn for the worse. Soft words turned hard, his hands that cupped turning to grasping claws and fists. The first time he laid hands on you, he apologized, but then those apologies turned to blame, and then those turned to sneering amusement at your pained cries and fearful eyes.

Vilkas asked how long you had stayed with him, but you would not say, looking ashamed. He didn’t ask again, only pressed his side to yours in comfort.

The line of no return had been crossed the night your ankle had snapped in his hand when you were trying to fight yourself free of his demands, lying there in pain as he forced himself on you. You’d been lying there, trying to send your mind far away from the pain between your legs and the break in your bones when you remembered visiting Whiterun as a child. You’d grown up hearing stories of the Companions like any other child of Skyrim, and had thought that perhaps it could be a place of safety, if only you could stay inside with them.

The Circle had listened, hearts stirred and each laying a comforting hand against your feverish body as you recounted taking the horse and riding it all the way to the southern part of the Pale before selling it and doubling back to Whiterun, determined to throw him off your trail.�� You’d had family in the Pale that he’d known about, and hoped it would throw him off the scent.

It had all made an unfortunate amount of sense. The way you reacted wasn’t natural, not for a woman who openly admitted she had never seen combat. You never explained your abilities in restoration magic, or potions that restored strength and brought ease to the strongest of pains. Your kindness, your soft way of speaking to each of them that soothed even the most battle-hardened warriors that walked these halls, the great care you took of each and every one of them, going out of your way to not only do such an excellent job at your work but also provide companionship of your own only proved that you belonged to be there just as much as they did. It softened them, and now none, not even the gruff and typically frigid Skjor, wanted to see you go.

The reason for your sudden appearance and odd behaviors became obvious. The flinching at loud noises, when hands were raised to pat your head, or the bark of your name. The sudden stillness you’d take at the screech of metal against metal, like a rabbit under the eyes of a fox. The way you sat close to a doorway, constantly looking eyes roving the way old soldiers did when they’d come home from the Great War.

And so, after you had been sent to bed, a plan was devised, spoken over a stone basin under the forge in cold words that belied bloodthirst. There wasn’t much glory in an unfair fight of multiple warriors killing a single man, but there was honor in slaying a defenseless woman’s monster that had stalked her from across the country.

The next morning, a letter had been taken to the man claiming to be your husband. The courier was unfamiliar to him, though who had sent it had obviously known he would be staying at the Bannered Mare. The letter was in your hand, claiming you were being held against your will by the Companions. You plead for your husband’s forgiveness, begging him to meet you outside the Hold’s walls under the cover of night, when you wouldn’t be followed. The only news that was known to the people of Whiterun was that Hulda had heard the man boasting about how his stupid wife had finally come to her senses.

The morning after that, the guards found his corpse in the grasses, feasted on by carrion birds. Wolves, they said, had torn the man apart and scattered his limbs about the plains. It did not appear to be a quick death.

No one would accuse the Companions of the murder; after all, none of the guards had seen any of them leave the Hold that night. In fact, none of them had been seen at all after they had all returned to Jorrvaskr. They all told the same story: that they had returned to the mead hall for drinking and sparring, fussing over their fearful maid, each taking their turn to stay at her side and wipe her tears away. They were really all quite worried about you, after all, with a brute like that claiming to be your husband.

You never asked them how they had done it, but the night after your late husband’s death, they had all seemed in high spirits, encouraging you out into the sun. When you’d seen the body being taken into the Hall of the Dead, none of them would say anything on the matter, only that it was, “Done and over with.”

They’d each become more protective, a member of the Circle with you every time you went outside the halls of Jorrvaskr, never mind the walls of the Hold. Your Companion of the day was a sought after position that was held with pride, and it wasn’t uncommon for skirmishes to break out over your attention. Word spread of the Companion’s companion, lovely as a mountain flower and sweet as honey, who tended their wounds diligently. If someone walked into the mead hall during meals, they’d see you in the lap of one of any one of the Circle. And soon, with your confidence restored without a shadow hanging over you, you opened up even more and would charm the newbloods, encouraging them with gentle words of wisdom and kindness.

And so the death was written off as an accident, but no one paying attention had forgotten the incident. Every now and then though, you’d catch the eye of someone on the street, or a visitor from outside the Hold. Although no one would speak about the man torn apart by wolves outside the walls who had threatened the beloved of the Companions, they didn’t need to. The wolfish snarls guarding you with predatory selfishness were enough to repel even the most diligent suitor.

#ask #my writing #yandere #skyrim x reader #odolemar x reader #the companions x reader

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