WRITERS. IF YOU THINK PEOPLE DONT CARE ABOUT YOUR OCS, I DO. I CARE. I WANT TO WATCH YOUR OC EDIT. I WANT TO SEE YOUR OC ART. I WANT TO READ YOUR CHARACTER PROFILE. REBLOG THIS W/ YOUR OC STUFF AND TAG ME IN YOUR OC POSTS IF WE’RE MOOTS. I LOVE YOUR OCS‼️‼️
Sorry about my recent volatility. It's… it’s been rough, grappling with what we found from those files in the Artifice. I just... I don't really know what to say. Heart Diamonds, clandestine experiments, Project SH... The Humans at the center of things, the various governmental and criminal organizations... The portrait painted by the messages left behind in that terminal, it... it was deeply, horribly ugly. Acts of pure evil committed by those with far too much power and far too little morality in service of unclear goals. Heh, we really are one and the same.
It used to be called something else, you know. Aschimos, I mean. Back in their era, it had another name. A Human name. Vanished with them, save for whispers on the tongues of scholars and the scant records that survived past their fall. What we've learned... it's led me sympathize with Xerneas, the choice made by Life to rescind its gift. The sins of the few should not reflect upon the many...
To be added: more wips, anything else that comes to mind
Featured WIPs: project TC,
Tags: Jo writes- writing, Jo’s ocs- oc content, not my writing- reblogs of other ppls writing, Jo’s moots- reblogs of my mutuals
General updates: working on character bios and short stories when I’m bored of doing artfight refs
About the author (me): My name is Jo, I also occasionally go by LJ but not that much. I’ve been writing since I was 8 and it’s one of my biggest passions. I have a hard time holding on to one project at a time but I tend to always come back to them in cycles. It will be rare for me not to want to gush about TC, though.
Blurb: Adaeze Zanariah didn’t mean to let her father die, she didn’t mean to let a sacred tree burn either. She definitely didn’t mean to become the most important person in the rebellion.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧~𖥔☾𖤓☽𖥔~ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Updates: Finally overhauled this story and we are sticking with this! (Probably). Just remembered how much I love this story! Working on worldbuilding and character masterlists right now!
Summary: Adaeze was born to the Duke and Duchess of Aramil, Nyxeria; overwhelming debt owed by her parents made her circumstances less than ideal. At her father’s funeral she unintentionally commits treason leading to her exile. While wondering alone in foreign land, she is attacked and rescued by the leader of a rouge militia of an island she’d never heard of. This is when Adaeze learns that the visions she has could be more useful than she initially believed. These powers grant her access to The Crimson’s highest priority group, the coterie, where she is deemed “the prophet”.
Here I am, joining @agirlandherquill ‘s Writemas 21 days late, while posting it at 9pm because I cannot ever do anything on time
Anyway! Writemas day 21- the prompt I chose:
She watched the clouds swirl and dance high up in the sky, as free as the birds playing in their midst, as free as she would never be.
*song I dedicate to this piece*
Slight backstory for my entry- this scene takes place between a time skip in book one of The Crimsons, I’ve had this scene in my mind for a while but I have never actually gotten it out on a page until I read this beautiful prompt. (Entry below the cut)
Everything on the island of The Crimsons was uncanny. Dianna wasn’t able to pinpoint what it was exactly, but something about the way the salt in the air smelled, how the sky was never dull, the way nothing was ever quiet- it simply felt wrong. Dianna had hated noise before it was a constant presence in her life. Now Dianna was reduced to nothing but a moth in the sunlight, believing she was receiving all she wanted before burning alive.
The island felt like it had once been beautiful, like the trees were once dark, like the moon had once truly shone on the blue lagoon hidden in the forest, like one could once sit and enjoy the almost-silence of an autumn breeze. Something had to have changed on the island, not something evil, but something good wrong.
The large gray rock she had found in the forest’s clearing a week ago was cold and rough; it felt like home. She looked up to the sky, staring at everything and nothing, breathing too hard and not at all, she had always been fueled by conflict, she only ever made good decisions under stress-she only made any decisions under stress. She watched the clouds swirl and dance high up in the sky, as free as the birds playing in their midst, as free as she would never be.
It was rare, Dianna had heard, that a Crimson was awarded a break; she had been given two days off in a row, perhaps it was because she was talented. Or maybe it was because she had been coddled her entire life and couldn’t handle real work. They couldn’t think that about her, could they? The thought of being seen as “the ex-princess wishing to be pampered” made Dianna sick, and then it made her angry. But her muscles did ache, and her lungs burned whenever Cordellia tried to give her endurance training. Maybe Dianna was a failure, maybe she was a spoiled princess who hadn’t dealt with anything real. But at that moment, she decided that none of it mattered.
Because Dianna Sullivan could be a spoiled princess, because Dianna Sullivan didn’t exist anymore. Adaeze Zanarhria could be as strong as her people, as strong as her father, as strong as the soldiers who had saved her when she was alone on Lystean soil.
