roxxiactuallywrites

[roxxiactuallywrites]

Oh the wish for people to analyze every detail in your novel and talk about why it's genius

[roxxiactuallywrites]

[roxxiactuallywrites]

Where Are The Yellow Flowers (WIP)

WATYF is a magical realism mystery-ish sort of existential philosophical novel surrounding a cult.

There's no easy way to explain the plot and trust me I've tried but I have no idea how to blurb it.

So I'll just say:

A few thousand deaths, a cult, and Orphelia.

That's very weird because for the main part of the story, Orphelia isn't even the center of attention. But of course that's intentional muahaha just wait.

Some Characters

Orphelia: Dreamy, soft, delusional, and has a terribly traumatic past. Also burned down a house 👍

Pearl: RnB Jazz singer, assertive, slight anger issues. May or may not have killed people

Clove: Actually normal! Aspiring detective, sarcastic, very chill artist. Has not committed any crimes!

I would've given Pearl and Clove traumatic and very much sad backstories but I saved it for the antagonist.

Lucifer: Does not appear for half the novel. He made that name for himself. Dramatic and talks like he's from a long long time ago (he is). Just a poor man who wants to piece things back together

Be sad for the antagonist.

[roxxiactuallywrites]

Thank you SO MUCH I need this

Insults (Fantasy Edition)

They're as useful as a wet blanket in the middle of winter

I could talk to my horse and have a better conversation

She did love her family, but she'd rather have an ocean between her and them.

He was the kind of man to stumble across rational thought quite by accident and dismiss it as absurd

'Quite frankly, I'd rather eat Hemlock.'

I know the gods do not exist, because if they did, they would've struck you down by now.

Well, you're clearly got some troll ancestry.

That's probably the wisest thing you've ever said and yet still you are wrong.

Do you just sit there all day and hope some sort of sentient through floats in your direction

She was tolerable. From a distance.

They were often wrong but never in doubt.

[roxxiactuallywrites]

I DON'T KNOW HOW TO PLAY THIS GAME

Thanku for tagging @deanwax

1. 3 ships: WHY ARE THESE QUESTIONS SO HARD. I love couples and ships but I'm dont ship anybody currently

2. First ever ship: What I said above, also I have a terrible memory

3. Last song: You First - Paramore

4. Last Movie: Barbieee

5. Currently reading: I sort of gave up on Master and Margarita so I'm doing Picture Of Dorian Gray now

6. Currently watching: N o t h I n g. Any suggestions?

Currently consuming: nothing 😭 I wish I was consuming spicy foods though

Currently craving: Omg I didn't even notice this question. I want SPICY UNDERWATER SEA PLANT THING.

Tagging literally everybody????? Idk any of you yett ( even though I think that's the point )

[roxxiactuallywrites]

A Dagger or a Knife

There I see a soft light casted by the moon,

Between the crumbled pillars, a reminder of our fallen cities, shattered hearts and untreatable wounds.

Laugh I must have done, when I wandered through the halls,

For it reminded me of old days, of when our rule was tall, and of course, of you.

You once carried me to bed,

Kissed my head and said:

Goodnight, love, but I was asleep then.

I heard your hush, your delicate words, and how I wanted to wish you a good night, too, but it's okay.

A goodnight can never be late.

So I smile, for you must have forgotten too,

What ghost remembers?

What spirit relives his doom?

I must be mad to believe that you, who braved a dagger to your throat and in doing so, colored our floors crimson, would wish to recall the agony that took you too soon.

Yet I hear your voice, a simple, silent tune.

The one we used to sing, and you plucked violin strings,

The same violin which I left at your tomb

I must be mad, I am mad.

For I see you in my reflection everywhere I go.

You ask me: why had I not taken the dagger from your hands?

Forgive me great spirit, even I could not understand!

My poor love had to suffer for my crimes

Had I been able to rewind time, I would stay. I would be loyal, I promise!

But God punishes me rightfully so and I cannot bear anymore, my lies,

My life at once in one hand,

One last cup of honey, one more time and I stand

And I sigh.

And I choose between a dagger or a knife.

Goodnight

[roxxiactuallywrites]

Intro??

Helloo, I guess I should make an introduction because apparently that's what you do.

I'm Roxalina, but you can call me Roxxi or just Rox.

Some things I love to do:

- Singing, Music, Composition...

- Drama, Musicals, Acting...

- Writing, poetry, books...

- Roleplay, Fun Dress Ups...

- LIVE

My Favourites:

Book: The Angel's Game By Carlos Ruiz Zafon (if only I could read that for the first time again)

Music: Ashnikko, Adrian Von Ziegler, Lovejoy, Agnes Obel... (Oh how the genres don't mix like at all)

Movie/Show: Arcane (Where is season two.)

Things: Medieval Fantasy Stuff and Mini Foods (LOVE)

Current WIP:

Where Are The Yellow Flowers (over the rainbow)

Progress: Progressing

Y e a h that's me in a few short sentences. Anyways, interact with me or something (is that what you're supposed to say)!! I'd love some writer mutuals ok BYE

[roxxiactuallywrites]

NO WAY

I actually finished the first chapter for my new WIP

(After a while tbh but you know)

I found inspiration and thought of the most amazing ending that I'm proud of.

I found MOTIVATION

I AM HAPPY.

Today is a good writing day.

[roxxiactuallywrites]

Who calls for the gentleman,

who sits by the tree.

Hung by a rope of apologies to thee.

Until he is no more,

they do not bat an eye.

They do not pause on the path by.

Who calls for the gentleman,

Who holds a withered rose.

Too long had passed, Time corrodes.

Within the gentleman holds the seven seas.

Greatness for nothing, an empty trophy.

And one day we hope, one day finally.

The rope would be cut, and he strides free.

[roxxiactuallywrites]

Excerpt From My WIP

Didn't go over and edit it completely so may have mistakes.

But any who. Enjoy ig : )

Orphelia once dreamed that she would leap over those fences. She dreamed of an escape from her prison, where she would roam free on neverending lands. Orphelia would find her prince on the other side of the mountain, take his hands, and gallop towards the gates of paradise. The paradise where trees are blue and skies are green.

He told her his name was Azar. He told her that he was soon to become king. Soon to step onto the pedestal that watched over all of us. To her, he was a dream. How could there be such a perfect boy? Sweet eyes of thunder. A sweet, sweet smile that softened the rain. A drop of his song comes ripple of joy. Such beautiful song he has. Such beautiful voice. The boy was a figure of the unicorn. And she, was his princess.

Orphelia sat on the withered tree. Delicately shrunk into a shadow of what it used to be. She touched the leaves without a rustle, careful not to make a sound. She tried to reach for the flowers, the ones that glistened blue, pink, and white. They kissed her face the summer before. Using her face like a canvas, coloring the grey. But all that was left on her face today was the ashes of the past. Oh well.

“Orphelia!” a thousand voices sang at once. Not a thousand voices actually, but her mother, who had somehow managed her way atop the tree.

“Too dangerous, Mother! You have to step down,” Orphelia warned. Her heart would ache to see anything happen to Mother, especially during these glorious days. But even with all her pleading, Mother didn’t seem to budge. Mother never does. What she says is what is done, even if it was, as Father says, “Stupid.” Oh well.

“It is time for bed Orphelia,” her voice stern. “You don’t want the ghouls to catch you.” Mother growled at her in a playful manner. Orphelia giggled.

“What if the ghoul looked like Azar?” Orphelia twinkled, eyes staring into faraway lands.

“Then you’d be dead.” Mother took her hands, helping her down from the tree. Orphelia’s dress once white, now dyed in gray ash and dirt. Falling delicately from the hems, decorating her shoes like glitter. Orphelia held on Mother’s hands, just at the fingertips. Feet buried in the grass, she stepped away from that withered tree. In front, a glamourous mansion of gold and diamonds stood. Shaped like the flowers you only see on mars. This was the castle built for her. In her royal name and her highest honor. This was Orphelia’s home.

A soft honey sweet guided her towards the entrance, sharp touches of sour here and there. Orphelia imagined that she was in her dreamland, turning the clanging of the hotel gates into a jingling of bells. Faint, spring bells. At times, the walls of her home blinked gray. She’d think she was hallucinating. She’d think that the paint was peeling away. A click, the twinkling of keys. After that came the cold wind, and a smell of antiseptic. No, it was a flowering odor. The pleasant one.

Orphelia’s eyes burned. Her mind blurred. She felt a hand lead her into a room. Carpeted and cool. She felt it pick her up, and she purred in the arms of Mother. She felt herself sink into a clouded fluff, covered in a layer of silk. She didn’t know then, but she had already drifted into sleep. It was still day.