Kayla, swimmer and writer, she/her, aroace, writers blog, uhhhhh I dunno what I'm actually doing, trying to have fun and write. I love fantasty and stuff like that, world building is fun, but I don't do things in the right order, I'll be writing then I'll be world building, then I might actually start planning, who knows; I also have a tendancy to get emotionally attatched to my characters so there may be an occasional rant here or there about that; I also love poetry so I like to include that a lot as well; feel free to ask me anything, who knows, maybe I'll know the answer one day!
We looked inside some of the posts by the-writing-avocado and here's what we found interesting.
"I don't understand!" Selene paced frantically, raking her hands through her hair. "I should- this doesn't happen!" She hissed.
Iziel shrugged, swirling his chalice of wine. "The course of love is strange."
"Shut up you old fool, you've never known love-" She spat the word- "The concept is as foreign to you as it is me."
"I've known love, and despair, and hatred." His eyes narrowed. "Love invokes many emotion, but they all share one familiar trait, no matter what, to feel them is agony in the best way. There is no stronger sensation than one drawn from love, no adoration, no grief, no betrayal-"
"Will you stop going on and on. Your a selfish, heinous, coward, and the fact that I can speak the words makes them true!" She sneered.
"It makes what you think true Selene, you truly believe you aren't in love, like you truly believe I am nothing more than a cruel monster-"
"That's because I'm not, and you are!"
Iziel sighed, glancing at the little wine in his chalice, perhaps forgoing the chalice and just stealing the bottle away would have been wiser. "You've grown attached to him them, you've not had anyone for company apart from wolves for the past three centuries, as immortal as you are you are not immune to the basic desire for contact and company, and all your toiling with him meant he's been the only person you've truly bothered to dedicate any time to."
Selene paused then, actually considering the words, and Iziel swallowed the drabs of his wine, playing the grimace off as a bi-product of the taste and not her shocking obliviousness. For someone who had spent the past three hundred years raiding his personal library for knowledge she certainly was inept at understanding basic emotional responses.
My sister is younger than me. And faster. And stronger. And angrier. We’ve lived on the farm our entire lives, it’s where we were born, it is where we will die.
Well, at least, that is what we are supposed to do. We are born to working on farms, and so that is where we are supposed to stay, just like watchmakers stick to making watches, and factory workers never change stations. The only way out is the military, as government officials collectively agreed that going to war should be a choice. But joining the military is considered selfish.
If you join the military, any children you may have, have the choice of where to go and what career to choose, but they don’t have the skill, they grew up watching you train, so they don’t know how to cook, or carry out experiments, or write a convincing argument.
So it is a choice…
But not really.
My sister hates it with the same passion I do, but no one notices I hate it, not the way they notice her. Her hatred is loud, outspoken, outrageous. She knows not the art of subtlety and she never will.
When we go to the market, the folk smile at us, they smile at her. They don’t like it either. So when they see a young fiery child shouting out their opinions they smile. Sometimes in pity, sometimes in admiration, sometimes in hope.
I know my sister is going to change the world. Authority comes past our door every other day to keep an eye on her. And every time I do the same I’ve always done. I speak, and keep speaking, until I’ve assured them my sister has done all her chores and is out running in the field like the ‘wild ragamuffin she is,’ even if she is really hiding in her room waiting for the danger to pass.
I rebel in my own subtle way, not as loud as her, I read a lot, fairy tales, fantasy novels, romance, action, and when I exhaust my imagination I pick up the textbooks and grit my way through physics, geography, and chemistry. And when I run out of books, then I barter with traders in the market for more, both my sister and I get a small allowance, and mine has always gone to books, never new shoes, or new clothes, I’m apt at borrowing and stitching fabrics together, and I can borrow my fathers shoes now, so there is no need to waste what little money I have on anything other that subtle rebellion.
I get more disapproving looks than my sister. For some reason, people welcome the term ‘change’ but never what it encompasses. Besides, subtle rebellion doesn’t have enough energy to begin a revolution. Like in chemistry, every reaction requires a certain amount of energy to begin the reaction, known as activation energy. That is why I think my sister could change the world, not because she has fewer dreams than I do, or because she is only a few brain cells short of a vegetable, but because she has the energy to begin a revolution. All by herself, her anger and her love is enough to bring the world to its knees, I only fear who she could take out on the way.
It’s happened again, whatever she’s done this time, the authorities are at the door again.
“Stay in your room.” I’d told her. “Just stay there and don’t move, don’t sneeze, don’t even breathe if you know what’s good for you.”
Normally she listens. Not today though. I was talking my way around them, winning them over, getting them to leave. She’d helped a seamstress escape on the back of a wagon to a neighbouring city. If they were caught, they’d be killed for breaking the law.
She came down the stairs screaming, accusing them of corruption and wickedness.
The world seems to stop, she is digging both our graves, and I bite my tongue. Anger rolls over me in waves. I will be prosecuted for lying, and she for her reckless defiance. I hate watching her fight, and so I do not when they slam me into the doorframe and pin my hands behind my back. I do not speak to her at all on the journey to the prison.
What will mum and dad think?
“Emma?” Her voice is quiet, we sit in opposing cells.
I don’t bother looking.
“Please, I’m sorry.”
The glare I give her could have murdered, she knows why I am against her loud rebellion.
“Natalia Farley, you are to come with us for questioning.”
It isn’t even five minutes later she is snapping again and I know that her apology is empty. She is younger than me, but she will die before I do.
When I am called in for questioning, I know what to say, it is practiced, it is always practiced.
“I only wanted to protect my sister! She’s so young and brash, I don’t think she knows what she says half the time.” I hang my head in my hands and look up with faux sincerity. “I never meant to be deceitful, only protect my sister!” I’ll get off with a slap on the wrist and a week of community service if I’m unfortunate, she will not.
Survival, not selfish.
I am not selfish for choosing not to join her in damnation.
I am not selfish for choosing to let her face that alone.
When I am escorted back to my cell, she knows. This time, she does not look at me. She acts as if choosing my own safety is betrayal, but we cannot all be as reckless as her, that is why I think she will be the one to start a revolution. She is one of a kind. She is everything I no longer am. She is going to change the world.
Because someone might as well!? And look at this. Look. At. This.
Does this look right to you??
These are just the last three fics I wrote. I appreciate the likes, believe me I do, but you have to understand. Likes do nothing for content creators. It’s the reblogs. Because that’s how you find shit on your dashboard. Through reblogs. Not likes. This isn’t twitter or tiktok or instagram. This is a website that’s run by the reblog system.
Reblogging helps content creators put their stuff out there. Why do you think so many people stopped writing fanfic and creating beautiful fanart and edits? It’s because they put in hours of work and don’t get nearly enough notes for their masterpieces. Yes we do this because we enjoy it but like...some validation won’t hurt. A boost of confidence here and there might be all someone needs to finish whatever thing they started and left.
What working at a law firm is like (or things that happened during my first week)
You know the stereotype of lawyers being addicted to caffeine? It's so true that the abuse the coffee machines here have to endure is borderline comical.
One of the partners, wearing headphones, just moonwalked out of the elevator while eating Cheetos out of the bag.
Imagine being the person who writes and proof-reads terms & conditions...
"The client wants to do this." - "But that's wildly illegal." - "Yep!" - "So what do I do?" - *eyeroll* "Come up with a way to do it that is legal."
Eating a semi-frozen egg and ham baguette and complaining about the poor preparation the uni gives you for dealing with real life cases.
"Wanna come to the meeting? It's probably going to last all day and we're just going to yell at each other."
When I was younger I wanted to work at a law firm because I really just wanted to be Kalinda Sharma. As I got older I realised that real life doesn't quite work like that. That is until I was assigned a task that makes all of my Kalinda dreams come true. Now where's that shovel because I need to dig up some dirt!"
"These goddamn- I'm sorry, pardon my language. Anyway, those fucking government agencies..."
I don’t know who needs to hear this, but Valentine’s Day is a day for love. Not strictly a day for couples. You can celebrate love without having a partner, because romantic love isn’t the only love that exists. You can have love for your family, for your friends, for your pets, for yourself. For whatever you want, honestly. I had been dreading the holiday because I didn’t have anyone to spend it with until I realized it was still a day I could participate in. It’s not exclusive to anyone. In fact, I plan on using it to be extra kind to myself, since sometimes I’m not. I’m going to practice self love on Valentine’s Day to make up for the times I haven’t. I am the most consistent thing in my life. My body does what it can to keep me alive. I deserve to treat it well. I deserve love, too, whether I’m in a relationship or not. I want some flowers, so I’ll be getting some. I want some hibachi, so I’ll be getting some. I want a nice bubble bath, so I’ll be taking one. You don’t have to be “in love” with someone else to celebrate; you can use it as an opportunity to show love to yourself.
TIL that Steve Jobs was so good at applying his reality distortion field to convincing employees not to quit, that the original Macintosh motherboard designer planned to just walk into Steve’s office and pee on his desk before he’d have the opportunity to convince him not to quit.