"If there is magic here..."

V. | She/Her | US | Writer|

[simplelinesunfashiond]

"Forget everything you know about the main WIP I was working on," I say, as if anyone remembers after *checks notes*...3 years. Ahem. Anyway.

Don't mind me, just realized the initial spark of concept for The Singer's Prophecy is literally 20 years old and I refuse to not say something about it. Or try to actually work on it...

...as a full draft has still never been properly finished and we are on plot version *checks brain bc I am bad at notes* 9?? Maybe?? Maybe more??

[abalonetea]

!!!!! Simpline spotted in the wild!!!! Hello!!!! Also wow!!!! What a timeframe!!!!

[simplelinesunfashiond]

See, the problem is I am actually not THAT old, so I theorized it and jumped right in at age...13. And tried to force that version to work for a solid 10+ years. Then scrapped it entirely and started over with the other version. But it lost all of the...edge that edgy teen me shoved in it, and tbh it needs a little of it back.

Is outlining 2 different versions in 2 wildly different formats going to help?

Idk, I have actually never fully outlined it before somehow.

[abalonetea]

Ooooh, but that sounds really interesting! Of the two versions, which has been the most fun to outline so far? Are you going chapter-for-chapter with it or just by-the-mood?

[simplelinesunfashiond]

One version is actually based on the newest version but written for graphic novel/web comic format (daunting concept), and that has been super fun because it really cuts down in the question of "Can I throw some exposition or backstory here?" by allowing the concept of just...throwing in an image or two that cuts away from the current scene in a jarring little moment. It's a lot of "We see this. THIS CHARACTER says:..."

The other is currently mostly notes, just continuous "Then we go here. Intro of this person. Should we mention X yet? What kind of car was this supposed to be? Oh, we should finally explain Y!"

But it is an experiment in taking the current character overhauls we did for the Grown Up Me Redesigns and putting them in the original Edgy Kid Me Storyline and seeing what happens.

[simplelinesunfashiond]

"Forget everything you know about the main WIP I was working on," I say, as if anyone remembers after *checks notes*...3 years. Ahem. Anyway.

Don't mind me, just realized the initial spark of concept for The Singer's Prophecy is literally 20 years old and I refuse to not say something about it. Or try to actually work on it...

...as a full draft has still never been properly finished and we are on plot version *checks brain bc I am bad at notes* 9?? Maybe?? Maybe more??

[abalonetea]

!!!!! Simpline spotted in the wild!!!! Hello!!!! Also wow!!!! What a timeframe!!!!

[simplelinesunfashiond]

See, the problem is I am actually not THAT old, so I theorized it and jumped right in at age...13. And tried to force that version to work for a solid 10+ years. Then scrapped it entirely and started over with the other version. But it lost all of the...edge that edgy teen me shoved in it, and tbh it needs a little of it back.

Is outlining 2 different versions in 2 wildly different formats going to help?

Idk, I have actually never fully outlined it before somehow.

[simplelinesunfashiond]

"Forget everything you know about the main WIP I was working on," I say, as if anyone remembers after *checks notes*...3 years. Ahem. Anyway.

Don't mind me, just realized the initial spark of concept for The Singer's Prophecy is literally 20 years old and I refuse to not say something about it. Or try to actually work on it...

...as a full draft has still never been properly finished and we are on plot version *checks brain bc I am bad at notes* 9?? Maybe?? Maybe more??

[simplelinesunfashiond]

Question for writers bc I am honestly curious at this point:

What is the absolute STUPIDEST single thing that has somehow inspired an entire WIP?

Like, single dumb concept enters your mind and it somehow works, or a single phrase you read that put a ridiculous image in your mind that you NEEDED to do something with??

[simplelinesunfashiond]

Feels like I've been gone for like 30 years, and after lurking for a while, I have found I have like...0 idea what half of y'all are working on these days. And everything of mine has shifted so much I might have to redo basically every intro I've ever done if I wanna come back to life on here...

Anyway, if anyone sees this, feel free to catch me up on some stuff I should be looking at?

[simplelinesunfashiond]

Sooo other than everything being in a Complete State for a while now, would anyone believe that I have additionally postponed reapparing here because I have been overhauling literally everything I have ever worked on and don't even know where to begin on reintroducing myself and my mess of now-virtually-wordcountless works?

I have no idea what the end result of these things will be. I do not even know what format they will be. Novel? Graphic novel? Some weird hybrid? Episodic/scheduled chapter releases? No idea.

But I have concluded that this doesn't actually, like, STOP me from just writing it out in random prose bursts, and then claiming it was advanced outlining or something if it isn't usable later.

In the meantime, I do not know what half of y'all are up to these days, so if you want to start me off easy, you are invited to recommend me your favorite thing you're working on right now, and if you want, your favorite thing someone else is working on.

I may not always be the most responsive, partly bc I keep atrocious hours due to my boring human job, but I will see it! And be happy it was shared! I promise!

In the meantime, I'll be crying in the corner figuring out what to re-introduce and how to update basically everything on here because of all the changes holy shit half of the graphics don't even line up right anymore, these people don't even all look the same why am I like this...

[simplelinesunfashiond]

So, like. I'm not actually gone forever. Just lurking in the background while everything goes crazy, figuring out what to do, like a house spider hiding behind a disco ball at a party.

[drabbleitout]

*points at @simplelinesunfashiond*

Her fault

[simplelinesunfashiond]

If this is to be my punishment...Then maybe I am a criminal.

And I am not sorry!

On the contrary, I must INCREASE the fuckery!

[drabbleitout]

Dang y’all, I can’t post any writing because everything I’ve been working on is spoilers….

[simplelinesunfashiond]

Mood. But like. Everything I'm writing has been *other people's* spoilers lol.

[drabbleitout]

A little reassurance for @simplelinesunfashiond because Kuebrich works too hard taking care of all the kids.

Quinn made one last perimeter check for the night, making sure the arsenal was locked down and that the guards made it to shift. Only after the barracks seemed in order did he decide to turn in.

The commons was dark, empty except for the one fool still awake. Their candle was nearly burned out, slumped over the leather bound book, folders and papers spread out over the wooden table. Quinn shook his head, watching for a moment to confirm what he knew was true.

Kuebrich looked as though he had half melted onto the table, head on an outstretched arm that had, no doubt, been supporting him before sleep took over. His mug was empty, not enough to keep him going after days of paranoia after that assassin made it inside the walls. It had been the scouts, led by Kuebrich, that tracked them down. 

Quinn began gathering up the papers, reports from guards and scouts, stacking them neatly and moving the candle aside. If he woke Kuebrich now, he’d merely go back to work. A curse as much as a strength. Kuebrich gave everything he had to Anglia, as if he didn’t believe the world was ending. Out of all of Becker’s Thegns, and probably all of Anglia, Kuebrich was the best at what he did.

Quinn shucked his thick patrol jacket, carefully draping it over Kuebrich. He shifted, smearing his face into his arm causing his glasses to ride up his brow. Minding hairs that had escaped his bun, Quinn slipped the spectacles off, folding to sit atop the gathered paperwork.

“Rest up, ya bastart. Ya’ve done enough.” He huffed the candle out before heading for his quarters.

[simplelinesunfashiond]

The writer's equivalent of this sign.

Your windows are safe for now...

[drabbleitout]

Last Line Tag Game

I was tagged (forever ago) by @loopyhoopywrites in this great post I’ve been working on *side projects* but here’s a bit from TLL

“How is Kuebrich?” Becker asked. With a scowl, Quinn pulled himself out the driver window, pointing to the back of the line. Becker turned, spotting the Thegn, bandaged and haggard as he walked from truck to truck, passing water buckets. “You’ve got to be swiving me.”

“Wouldn’t listen –ta anyone. I told him to stay an’ rest, I did, but he wouldn’t have it.”

Tagging: @abalonetea, @danger-writes, @donovyn–nox, @novaemlynlewis, and anyone else who feels up for it. (As always, don’t feel like you have to)

[simplelinesunfashiond]

...Can...Can I like...Can I just adopt Kuebrich? I know he's, like, a grown-ass man, but...This is illegal...

[for-fuchs-sake]

long story but @simplelinesunfashiond has this adorable lady & this dude over here has been waiting TEN FRIGGIN YEARS for a redemption 

looking @ you @drabbleitout HES A GOOD GUY OK! & a hottie

Eva belongs to @simplelinesunfashiond & Lexikon belongs to @drabbleitout​

Keep reading

[simplelinesunfashiond]

...I...I just. Gah! Yes!

They're such cute little nightmares, I can't even!!!

I love...so much...I just...

😭

[simplelinesunfashiond]

True writer solidarity is 2 people shipping their prettiest murder gremlins together.

I don't make the rules. You know I'm right.

[drabbleitout]

@simplelinesunfashiond and @for-fuchs-sake are the reasons we can’t have nice things villains

[simplelinesunfashiond]

[drabbleitout]

Of course I had to scribble something after @simplelinesunfashiond drabbled this! Like, this duo is too powerful to exist in the same universe.

(Eva belongs to @simplelinesunfashiond, Lexikon is my b*stard son)

For those who can't read my kindergarten handwriting: "A little fox-kit told me you may be the best swordsman in this icebox... care for a wager?"

[simplelinesunfashiond]

Ah, so now we see what it takes to get this man to agree to do something fun for once! And people think Anderson never taught her anything...

This is about the equivalent of me right now (and possibly Eva internally, not that anyone would know it under the Little General facade...)

[simplelinesunfashiond]

A short piece inspired by a discussion with @drabbleitout because I can simply never resist introducing my own characters to those from others' work. No names, but if one stares very hard, this might be a crossover.

“Ah! It’s a draw, then!” she said, vibrant and theatrical in the pronouncement. “I suppose that means neither of us wins.” Her blade returned to her belt in a quick sweep. She paused a moment, and carefully removed one soft leather glove before extending her hand to her opponent.  She hadn’t done that for the others, though if he was surprised that her interest was in checking the material that covered his own hands, he managed not to show it. Her voice dropped to an almost secretive tone, something that wouldn’t carry back inside to be overheard by patrons. “These are nice. I only know of one place you might get finer ones, if you were interested.”

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

She sat in the silence of the room, whatever sort of office it might have been, running gloved fingers meticulously over the pristine steel of her rapier, checking for any invisible imperfection she may have missed.

“You’re not supposed to be in here.”

“Am I not, Sir?” she asked, her tone sweet and soft. “I didn’t see any signs to keep out.” He hesitated, about to respond, and then corrected himself. She smiled, the small gesture shifting the strips of gauze and linen that covered her eyes. “That was in poor taste, Sir, I apologize. I will go, if that’s what you wish.”

“I refuse to believe you wandered in here by accident,” he said, stern but not unkind.

“And it is your prerogative to refuse it,” she answered, with no further explanation of her presence.

“Did you let anyone know you’d be here?”

“What sort of fool do you take me for?” she asked. “The sort who needs her brother to protect her? You know better than that, I should think.”

“You can hold your own face to face in a fair fight with one of our own,” he said, somewhat sharper now. “There are far worse things than us out there.”

“Worse than you? Are you certain?” She received no more than a sharp exhale, and not an amused one. She slid her rapier back into its place. “I’ve only come to offer a gift, and then I’ll be gone.”

A box, a small one, with a scrap of satin ribbon tied around it.

“Your brother’s work?” he asked her.

“My own. I doubt he would offer any gifts, seeing as he doesn’t trust you.” She rose from the seat she’d taken, cautiously stepping back the way she remembered coming in.

“Why wouldn’t he trust me?” He sounded sincerely curious, no hint of a joke in it, as if he truly expected her to believe him harmless.

“Because he has met people like us before, Sir.”

She found her way back to the door, and paused there, mentally retracing her steps and bracing herself against the cold she would find outside.

“That match you challenged me to,” he said, like the beginning of a question, though he left the end a secret.

“It was a tie. You owe me nothing for it,” she answered.

“You threw it, though. You could’ve won.”

“Yes.” No hesitation in the answer, only turning back with a small smile, pleased with the insight. “But we both know there’s more to strategy than just winning.” He hummed something akin to agreement, though it didn’t sound certain. Skeptical, perhaps, of her motive. “Though if you insist, you may repay me by showing me out of this wretched icebox of a place, and that will settle it.”

“And what do I owe you for the gift?”

She brightened back to the excitable girl she’d been hedging bets on fencing matches. “Why, it’s a gift, Sir! Of course, you owe me nothing!”

[drabbleitout]

skdgjnskjdgn if this is who I think it is —I love this!! She’s so crafty and witty, and I bust out laughing at the line “I didn’t see any signs” But omg I love! So much snark! The repartee! The aplomb!

[simplelinesunfashiond]

Yes, it is what you think it is. I just suspect that the princess of quick words and quicker blades, patron saint of lying about why she's hiding her scars, who doesn't need to be able to see you to give you a Look(tm) that makes you fear for your life, would in fact be rather fond of him.

AKA, Little General Eva Lourandera has a soft spot for Lexikon and his very nice gloves.

[simplelinesunfashiond]

A short piece inspired by a discussion with @drabbleitout because I can simply never resist introducing my own characters to those from others' work. No names, but if one stares very hard, this might be a crossover.

“Ah! It’s a draw, then!” she said, vibrant and theatrical in the pronouncement. “I suppose that means neither of us wins.” Her blade returned to her belt in a quick sweep. She paused a moment, and carefully removed one soft leather glove before extending her hand to her opponent.  She hadn’t done that for the others, though if he was surprised that her interest was in checking the material that covered his own hands, he managed not to show it. Her voice dropped to an almost secretive tone, something that wouldn’t carry back inside to be overheard by patrons. “These are nice. I only know of one place you might get finer ones, if you were interested.”

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

She sat in the silence of the room, whatever sort of office it might have been, running gloved fingers meticulously over the pristine steel of her rapier, checking for any invisible imperfection she may have missed.

“You’re not supposed to be in here.”

“Am I not, Sir?” she asked, her tone sweet and soft. “I didn’t see any signs to keep out.” He hesitated, about to respond, and then corrected himself. She smiled, the small gesture shifting the strips of gauze and linen that covered her eyes. “That was in poor taste, Sir, I apologize. I will go, if that’s what you wish.”

“I refuse to believe you wandered in here by accident,” he said, stern but not unkind.

“And it is your prerogative to refuse it,” she answered, with no further explanation of her presence.

“Did you let anyone know you’d be here?”

“What sort of fool do you take me for?” she asked. “The sort who needs her brother to protect her? You know better than that, I should think.”

“You can hold your own face to face in a fair fight with one of our own,” he said, somewhat sharper now. “There are far worse things than us out there.”

“Worse than you? Are you certain?” She received no more than a sharp exhale, and not an amused one. She slid her rapier back into its place. “I’ve only come to offer a gift, and then I’ll be gone.”

A box, a small one, with a scrap of satin ribbon tied around it.

“Your brother’s work?” he asked her.

“My own. I doubt he would offer any gifts, seeing as he doesn’t trust you.” She rose from the seat she’d taken, cautiously stepping back the way she remembered coming in.

“Why wouldn’t he trust me?” He sounded sincerely curious, no hint of a joke in it, as if he truly expected her to believe him harmless.

“Because he has met people like us before, Sir.”

She found her way back to the door, and paused there, mentally retracing her steps and bracing herself against the cold she would find outside.

“That match you challenged me to,” he said, like the beginning of a question, though he left the end a secret.

“It was a tie. You owe me nothing for it,” she answered.

“You threw it, though. You could’ve won.”

“Yes.” No hesitation in the answer, only turning back with a small smile, pleased with the insight. “But we both know there’s more to strategy than just winning.” He hummed something akin to agreement, though it didn’t sound certain. Skeptical, perhaps, of her motive. “Though if you insist, you may repay me by showing me out of this wretched icebox of a place, and that will settle it.”

“And what do I owe you for the gift?”

She brightened back to the excitable girl she’d been hedging bets on fencing matches. “Why, it’s a gift, Sir! Of course, you owe me nothing!”