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i cannot emphasize enough how little soccer actually happens in this fic

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Eepy Emm

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lil doodle cause that’s all I got

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🌊 A View of the Lake on AO3

"Emmrich Volkarin," says the man, extending a hand to shake. She takes it. His rings are cool against her skin, and his hair does not stir in the spring breeze that shivers the ash leaves ringing the field. “A pleasure.” — Winter yields to spring along the shores of Lake Michigan. Rook takes a break from the pressures of graduate school to attend her brother’s soccer match, and finds unlikely temptation in a parent she meets on the sidelines.

this modern AU one-shot had the working joke title of "Schrödinger's Soccer Dad" but I lost my courage I guess rip ⚽️

Snippet below the cut!

Rook notices that one particularly enthusiastic voice stands out among the chorus, as much for the poshness of the accent as the adulatory content of the words. "Marvelously done!" the voice cheers, underscored by vigorous applause. "Splendid work, Manfred!" This appears to be directed at a Leeside player with a short crop of white-blonde fuzz and skinny limbs so dreadfully akimbo Rook is worried the kid will trip over his own feet. "Well aimed!" comes the shout after the player - Manfred, she supposes, though it seems a name more fitting for a Regency era butler than a twelve year-old Chicagoan - lets loose a throw-in that twists free from his grip and flies in a wobbly arc down the field back toward his team’s own goal, and at the patent absurdity of this Rook can't help but turn to look. The voice’s owner is tall, gray-streaked and well-groomed, with an embroidered vest and a gold pin affixed to his starched collar. He has a long face sporting an old-fashioned mustache and a smooth square chin. The man is dressed for the jazz clubs in River North rather than a middle school soccer match, elegant and gray as a dove amidst pigeons, beaming with such guileless affection she feels a pang at the sight. Dr. Emmrich Volkarin. She would recognize the man even if she hadn't seen him from across the room at a few of her brother's school functions already - he is an entrepreneur, a famous one. She's peeked at his Wikipedia page more than once, in those late hours where early thesis preparation devolves into a panicked descent of professional link clicks, when the prospect of leaving behind the interminable slog of schooling and obtaining a real adult job seems like a distant dream. Oxford-educated, MD-PhD from UChicago. Distinguished Adjunct Professor at UChicago Med, and - most notably - the founder and Chief Medical Officer of HistoRIE, a company that developed a predictive model of cancer diagnosis a decade before the LLM explosion and rode that wave to great success. Resides in a magnificent mansion in Kenilworth, on the storm-gray banks of Lake Michigan. Other than the tailored clothing and the solid cuff-and-rings he wears at his hands, however, he looks like any other father, his hand shading his smiling eyes and his head slowly rotating to track his son's movement across the field. He watches his son, and Rook watches him.

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I love his hands. All the ways. The Professor really knows how to put his anatomy lessons to practical use. A personal grievance with Ficbook: this drawing didn’t make it past moderation because of its “sexual content.”

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Writing Fight Scenes

I've been asked a few times for advice on writing fight scenes, so here's a little braindump on the subject in case it's of use ⚔️🛡🤍 Tips below the cut!

⭐️ Must we?

A warning: fight scenes can be a tempting crutch to manufacture tension (I am so very guilty of this), so first decide if you really need one at all.

Ask yourself: if I remove this fight, does anything change? Are there stakes to this fight? Does this fight meaningfully affect the plot or character development?

The longer the fight, the more important these questions become. A few-sentence skim-fight to emphasize the dangers of an environment, for example, doesn't warrant the same level of inspection.

⭐️ Structure: Fight scenes are just scenes

Like any scene, I start by defining the goals. Not 'what plot is covered here', but 'how does this scene change the plot or characters? What is the tension and resolution?'

A fight scene should be structured like any other dramatic scene. To do this, I start with the goals, and work backwards to the 'tentpole' moments - the key moments that provide drama and revelation. Nearly all scenes can be structured around these moments; the rest of the scene (aka fight) is just figuring out how to make those moments shine. Like any scene, there must be stakes, and some kind of dramatic tension beyond just stabby objects and spells being thrown around. And even a short fight scene should have a beginning, middle, and end, with moments of rising and falling action.

⭐️ How much fight is enough?

IMO, the length of the scene should correspond to the amount of build-up and character development or plot revelations it contains. For a major climax I write fights that are 1-10 pages long, whereas minor illustrative fights are generally a few paragraphs. Fight scenes have a tendency to spiral, so it's helpful to envision how much you want before the characters start throwing punches 😁

⭐️ Logistics, or, Making the Barbies spar

It's helpful to quickly sketch out where folks are in a fight (particularly for multi-member fights), but do not go crazy with logistics. It's tempting to enumerate the exact 'moves' being made, but again - fight scenes are just like any other scene, and emotion and descriptive language are far more important than logistics. Think about how the conflict and the key moments make characters feel, how they strengthen or weaken the characters' position (physically or psychologically), what they reveal or force characters to confront. Use descriptive, evocative language rather than subject matter expertise for the most part; your readers are generally not experts anyways. And don't forget about dialogue!

(It's worth noting that this advice is highly applicable to smut as well! Focusing on emotions > logistics has been the single 'process' tool that elevated my own smut writing ❤️‍🔥)

⭐️ Spin the time and senses dials

For one of my big fight set pieces (the ATW sparring scene, iykyk) I spent a night at my friends' house watching them beat each other up with krav maga and interviewing them about how it felt. Some of the most useful insights I heard were about the sensations of the fight: the way time can slow down or speed up as a punch is thrown or a match accelerates; the way being punched in the face smells like ozone and lightning; the way a leg sweep makes you feel like you're about to tumble down a set of stairs; the way blood and sweat make it harder to hold different grips as a fight progresses.

Focus on how time is moving for your characters, and place extra emphasis on the sensations of touch and smell - the sweat, the blood, the texture of the ground (which their ass is definitely hitting at some point).

⭐️ Lingo bingo

For specific types of fighting (scimitars, hand-to-hand, double daggers, etc) it can be useful to watch a few YouTube videos to familiarize yourself with stances and moves, but again, don't go crazy with this unless the scene absolutely demands it (a training scene, an extended sparring scene). Even then, exercise restraint. If you have to Google a fun new swordplay word, your readers will too, so (unless you're providing loads of context) be wary of showing off all the cool stuff you learned from that one weird HEMA guy's whip-fighting videos. And by you, I mean me. Always.

⭐️ Vary your sentence structure; short is good

I will likely ramble about this in a more general writing post, but: variety of sentence length, complexity, and syntax is one of the most important aspects of writing. In fight scenes, you can play with making sentences shorter, choppier, or interspersing choppy cuts throughout the normal flow. Just as time feels different in a fight, the flow of words should represent that difference for the reader.

⭐️ Learn from the pros' prose

My ultimate advice for any type of writing is to find great examples and read them. Loads of them. Read fight scenes by writers who excel at them - a few personal recs would be Tamsyn Muir, Brandon Sanderson, Christopher Buehlman, and especially Jay Kristoff (Kristoff's Empire of the Vampire books are ginormous so you gotta skim to find it, but there's lots of fighting at different levels of scope - individual brawls, enormous battle set pieces - and I find these books hugely inspiring for both fighting and smut 😆). I'm always taking recs for new inspiration so if you've got your own fighting-writing favorites I'd love to hear!

Below are a few examples to illustrate a few different kinds of fight scenes. And I love learning more about others' process, so if y'all have additional thoughts or tips I'd love to hear them! 🤍

That One Big Sexy Sparring Scene (major spoilers for ATW)

Epic Climax Wizard Setpiece Fight (major spoilers for ATW)

A quick group fight that develops the plot & characters (the Paladins of Tyr vs my literal holy terror Tav, minor spoilers for ATW)

A mid-length dragon fight that represents a turning point for Emmrich's character arc (spoilers for TBTTT/Darkness at the Edge of Dawn)

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“My word, Rook, you are as relentless on the board as you are in the field. Wherever did you learn?” Vesper bristled at this, recalling her peers’ condescending tones whenever they asked how she had gained some skill without parents to guide her, money for lessons, instruments or boards or more than a closet full of robes and as much parchment as she could scrounge. “In the orphanage, when I was young. Then Professor Hezenkoss gave me a set in my first year of Vigilia. A hand-me-down. I used to play against myself.” She gave a dark smile, more for the memory than for him. “I was an excellent opponent.” Emmrich returned the smile, warmly, like a spelled mirror that reflected only light. He mirrored her at the board too, placing his bishop at g5, the perfect inverse of her actions two moves back. “Who won?” “Oh, professor.” She kept her voice light, ignoring the bishop’s threat to her knight to push a pawn two spaces forward. “There can be no victory when there are no stakes.” He moved his queensguard pawn forward one space, then paused, as if assessing that second square. Bolder, riskier. He lifted his fingers without further motion and settled back. “It’s moments like these that remind me why you are the rook, and I the mere pawn.” He chuckled at his own joke, and she found herself shaking her head with a smile at the ill fit of the metaphor. She nudged her own pawn forward, knowing his queen would dart out at the easy lure and allow her knight to threaten his most precious piece. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re a bishop at least.” “And why is that?” Queen to d4, predictable as an artificer’s clock. Her knight charged, and he retreated a single space to defend. “You’re ambitious,” she said, pushing forward the pawn on the kingside edge. “Point you in a direction and it’s all you’ll focus on. You’re bold enough to cross half the board in a single play.” His knight claimed a black pawn, her knight claimed a white. His rook leapt out to take her queen, but she wouldn’t need it; he was overly confident now, and would choose to press the advantage rather than castle in time. His king needed a rook to protect it, but he had yet to come to the realization himself. “But you see the world as black and white. Good and evil. Moral and immoral.” Her rook came out to join her knight on the hunt, his bishop retreating one square to make room for the king’s eastward flight. “With that mindset, you’re like the bishop - you only have access to half the board.” Rook back, knight forward, black bishop jumping four squares diagonal to check the white king where it huddled exposed at the edge of the fourth rank. “Trapped forever on a square of a single color.”

Chapter 9: in which Rook plays a game, but the outcome remains uncertain.

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why is writing so great & fun but editing is like the interminable Origins segment in the Fade where I've passed through the same hideous room nine times and I keep dying in these Backrooms-ass hallways and I'll never escape alive and I guess I'm a mouse forever now, k

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one week without playing Veilguard and my Emmrich starts to sound like BG3 Gale who's just looted a Wand of Exclamation Points

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🥹 This is incredible, thank you @kirain for this lovely piece!! I'm honored 💖

tbh I feel a lot of impostor syndrome around my art, and lately haven't been making much of it at all, so (in addition to being a beautifully written delight!) this is also a great reminder for me to keep trying & sharing things with this wonderful fandom 💚💫

Part thirty-one of my appreciation project.

@stormwifewrites A fic based on their wonderful art piece here. Thank you for feeding the fandom!

The piano's voice flowed through the room like a river of moonlight, its soft, soothing tones caressing the walls of the quiet parlour. Skadi sat poised, her fingers dancing gracefully across the ivory keys, her thick brown hair cascading over her shoulders. Her eyes, one blue and one violet, shimmered in the sunrise, catching the emotion in the notes.

It had been too long since she'd let herself play freely—too long since she'd let herself enjoy it.

Behind her, Emmrich stepped through the doorway, halting the moment the music reached his ears. He said nothing, not wishing to shatter the sweet serenity. The melody was delicate and playful, like two lovers frolicking through a grove—full of bliss that mirrored Skadi's spirit.

His chest rose gradually with a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, and he closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him, like a tide—smoothing every restless corner of his soul. Only when the final note lingered, like the remnants of a kiss, did he speak—his voice warm and reverent.

"You're so talented, darling."

Skadi gasped and spun around, colour rushing to her cheeks. "Emmrich! I—I didn't know you were there."

He threw up his hands in apology. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to startle you. I just... didn't want to interrupt."

"It... it's all right," she tittered, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I just haven't played for anyone in a while."

Emmrich stepped closer, still entranced. "If you're comfortable with it, I'd be honoured to hear you play again."

Skadi flinched, her fingers hovering above the keys. Yet the invitation in his voice—the gentle encouragement—quelled her hesitation. She wanted to give him this gift, for, unbeknownst to him, he was her inspiration: the very reason her spark had rekindled after years of despair.

Slowly, she smiled. "All right."

The music began anew, drifting from her hands like a whispered secret.

"Lovely," Emmrich murmured.

He rocked behind her, listening, basking in the chorus. He knew this song. It brought back faded memories—his mother's calming lullabies in their modest home, her voice like dusk and velvet. Something stirred inside him, unbidden but welcome.

And before he knew it, he was singing.

His voice was deep and clear, rich with feeling. It wrapped around the piano's notes like a ribbon of gold, weaving warmth and harmony through the air. Skadi's fingers paused as she glanced back at him, eyes wide in surprise.

He immediately stopped. "Oh—darling, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to distract you."

She shook her head quickly, breathless with wonder. "No. Please... keep going."

He smiled and leaned over her, one hand bracing against the piano's upper panel, the other briefly touching hers. When she looked up, she met his gaze with the same smile, awaiting his response.

"If you insist," he teased.

"I do."

"Then I shall join you."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

She returned to the keys, and the song resumed. This time, it was no longer a solo—it was something shared. His voice and her playing twined together, a duet born of love and unspoken understanding. The room seemed to grow brighter, fuller, echoing with music that came from two hearts rather than one.

And when the last note faded into silence, it left a hush that neither wanted to break.

"Thank you," Emmrich said softly, reaching out to take her hand. "For playing for me."

He helped her up from the bench, fingers laced with hers as he drew her closer. One arm circled her waist, pulling her against his chest and holding her tightly, as if worried she might disappear.

"And thank you." Skadi lifted her hands to his face, cupping his cheeks with a tenderness that stole his breath. "For singing for me."

Their eyes locked, each filled with awe and desire. Then, their lips met in a kiss, moving together in perfect rhythm—a crescendo of devotion that settled like the last note of a song they composed together.

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whatever, go my undead horde 👉👉👉👉

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Based on the dialogue where Johanna asks Emmlich if she can wear the crown and he says Absolutely Not, and this meme

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Forgot to post these here too, “BEST HUGS” series Round 2🤍✨

(with a bonus hug with my Rook)

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💯 brb off to write thanatophobic agoraphobic stoner recluse Emmrich falling in love with his weed dealer Rook

This is the smallest stupidest piece of discourse and we're blessed to have so little in this fandom but BUT

"Emmrich wouldn't smoke or do drugs because he's afraid of death."

Do you...think people who smoke or do drugs want to die?

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it's a little sad that if you don’t posting anything for a few days and the views drop ...hmm... a thousand times? Here's another WIP. I'm not sure what to do with the colors yet, but I already love it.

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it's a little sad that if you don’t posting anything for a few days and the views drop ...hmm... a thousand times? Here's another WIP. I'm not sure what to do with the colors yet, but I already love it.