lavenderbardley

[lavenderbardley]

An Excerpt From A Book I One Day Hope To Write

Home.

It didn’t feel like home. 

Not with Elijah sprawled on the settee, drowning himself in blood wine straight from the bottle, gulping down the crimson liquid like it was the nectar of life; Not with Basha sitting on the plush array of rugs, pouring glass after glass of amber from a crystal decanter; Not with Avesk, standing by the balcony doors, staring out into the night, an emptied glass resting in their palm.

No, the Grande library and its little study nooks like this one didn’t feel like home, not like when they were young, tottering about and hiding secret notes in books and other hidden places. 

Even Vetomi was drinking as she stood by the hearth, the fire inside burning with the passion and excitement of a child, bobbing and dancing around the logs with anticipation. She clutched a small flask of rose gold in her hands, long nails scrapping the metal as she unscrewed the lid and took a hearty swig. 

They were drinking to forget.

She was drinking to forget the way Basha had sat on the floor in front of Elijah, like a cat at her master’s feet.

All of them were drinking to forget tomorrow.

Tomorrow, that not-so-distant promise of things to come, of a life to be lived, and soon, to be lost. 

“Say something.” Vetomi broke the silence like a pick does the ice; one strike, then waiting to watch the cracks form. 

“Something.” Elijah slurred, sloppily pouring wine into his mouth, red flowing from the corners, staining his blue beard a purplish hue. 

“Djavask Kashtonj” Vetomi cursed in her mother’s native tongue, the words shooting from her mouth like bees, sharp and jagged, erratic and quick. 

“The hell does that mean Tomi?” Elijah sloshed his drink as he sat up to face her, his eyes drifting in and out of focus. “You know I don’t speak Sanguish.”

“You are not allowed to call me that.” She bristled, raising the flask to her lips and letting the spiced bitter liquid slide over her tongue and down her throat, heating her up inside like she was swallowing sunbeams. “But seriously, are we just going to sit around and drink all night?”

“Yeah, Tomi. We are. What would you have us do?” Basha had set down her drink and was now fiddling with one of her many knives and daggers, this one serrated steel with blue gems set into the hilt. 

Vetomi set her flask on the wooden mantle and slid to the floor, exhausted yet relieved that the silence that suffocated the air had finally been broken. “I would have us make a plan.”

“A plan for what? Tomorrow’s the crowning tournament. There’s nothing to plan for.” Basha threw her dagger into the air, and it hung, suspended, just a few feet off the ground, like it was attached to a string on the ceiling. “The King is dead. A new ruler has to be chosen. That’s all there is to it.”

She turned her head to Avesk, who still stood watching the lights of the city outside. “Sorry, Avesk. I know he was your grandfather.” 

Avesk let their eyes fall on Basha for a moment and offered a small nod before returning their attention to the city. 

“Just give up already, Sajuark. You’ve been selected, for Goddess knows what reason, so why don’t you stop complaining and die with dignity.” Elijah tossed his nearly empty bottle into the hearth, almost extinguishing the fire inside. The glass bottle shattered, shards exploding, ricocheting against the stone walls of the hearth. One such shard flew out, slicing through a spot on Vetomi’s wrist, leaving a deep cut that began to bleed profusely.

She rose to her feet, and in a burst of fury, the blood inside her bloomed from her wound, growing longer and longer until a blade of her own blood stuck out of the cut on her wrist, hard as steel, sharp as obsidian, crimson in hue. She flew forward, reaching her will out towards Elijah, who until then had looked unconcerned with her advances.

His eyes widened, his veins hardening and raising under his skin. He couldn’t move. 

She held her will tightly, feeling the pulse of his veins and blood, and raised her arm, so the blade of crimson rested under his throat. She leaned in closer until her face was only inches from his, her reddish-pink eyes boring into his ice-blue ones.

“Why didn’t you stay at sea? You didn’t have to come back. You could have stayed. I WOULD HAVE if I had been away when the King died.” 

Elijah adjusted his eyes as he could not move his head. He looked her square in the face, eyes unwavering and spit. The stuff smelled like booze and was unsettlingly wet and cold as it hit her cheek. 

Thunder boomed outside, the wind picking up and knocking branches against the windows.

“You expected me to shame the house of Aztiake? My house? You’d bring shame on your house? The Sajuarks have enough shame already, don’t they?”

“Fuck you.” Vetomi dug her blade into his skin, enough to draw a thin line of blood but not enough to mortally wound. 

“Can we just drink in peace?” Basha pulled her will on Vetomi’s blade, or more precisely, she pulled on the iron within it, which moved away from Elijah’s throat.

“Of course, you’d side with him,” Vetomi grumbled, releasing her hold on Elijah’s blood and moving away back to the hearth. Her blade of blood unhardened and flowed back inside her arm, the cut closing just enough to prevent her blood from leaking out.

The four of them sat, drinks back in hand. Elijah, with a new bottle clasped between his thighs as he pulled on its cork.

Silence condensed in the air, settling down like heavy dampness, congested and thick in their lungs. 

The large clock in the corner of the room, made of metal and wood, ticked and ticked, an audible accompaniment to the feeling they were all sharing, that they were inching nearer to the end of their lives, and in truth, they were. For tomorrow was the crowning tournament, where a member of each of the 17 royal houses was chosen to compete and fight to the death to bring glory and honor to their house and become the next King of their kingdom.  

“So,” Elijah hiccupped, then bottle in hand, pointed one finger towards Vetomi, “since when were you able to control other’s blood? I thought the house of Sajuark were all healers now. Wasn’t blood command the reason your house got their bad rep?”

“I am fucking warning you!” Vetomi spat, her anger ready to boil over.

“Shut up Elijah.” Basha’s dagger floated over and whacked his head with the flat of the blade. 

“Ouch. Fuck. I was just curious. I never saw you use blood command. You must have developed it while I was away.” He sprawled dramatically on the settee, cuddling the bottle close to his chest with one arm, wine spills bleeding his white poet’s blouse. 

“Guys.” Avesk never turned their head away from the glass, but a couple of greenish grey eyes formed on the back of their hand, staring at the other three as their arm hung limp at their side. “We are going to perish tomorrow. Or maybe one of us will become King. Either way, our lives are ending.” 

Avesk’s voice was soft, melodic, and drifted on the air like a bird’s song. “Can we just…stop?”

Elijah fell silent, the drunken mockery vanishing from his face. “Ok, Av. Ok.”

Avesk’s voice had a sobering effect on everyone. Even Vetomi grew quiet, but her mind didn’t. She wasn’t ready to die. And she was even less ready for her friends to die. For Basha to die. 

A half-hour passed in silence, and she grew restless in its relentless weight. 

“Fuck this.” She murmured and stormed out of the room, slamming the heavy wooden doors behind her. She would find a way out. She would. 

At least, she hoped she would. 

[lavenderbardley]

An Excerpt From Chapter 4 Of The Oceans Of Fiji

“What makes you think I’m a Daemon?” I whispered, more to myself than anyone, but the harsh woman answered, a small smirk forming in the corner of her mouth.

“Our Goddess is fair. Her skin is pale, like the sand of the ocean floor. Her hair is golden, like the afternoon sun. Her eyes are blue, like the life-giving ocean, and she has a body of such shape and beauty, almost like that of a bottle. You are none of those things.”

My head hurt. Ached. Pounded with ferocity against my skull.

I was being told that I was a Daemon purely because of how I looked. The color of my skin, my hair, my eyes, and even the shape of my body, all of which I had little to no control over.

Was I being called ugly? Could this even be considered racism? When they were likely a different species altogether?

I could say nothing.

So, I said nothing.

[lavenderbardley]

An Excerpt From Chapter 7 of Chaos's Bedfellow

“Wow.” Tefuel swung one leg to the other side of Vira’s body so he was hovering over the man, eyes wide as he crawled forward so his face could be directly above Vira’s. “That were amazin!” 

Vira tried to scoff, but he was too tired to do much of anything. His mind was dizzy with fatigue and pain. He’d strained himself too much and used up all of his energy. He just wanted to lie there and sleep for a full day at the very least. 

“Ya really saved us.” Tefuel smirked, hands moving to grab Vira’s wrists, his fingers wrapping around them tightly. 

“Yer my hero.” He said in a shrill, mock feminine voice, sarcasm dripping from each word, even as he pulled Vira’s hands toward him, kissing his knuckles softly.

Vira didn’t have the energy to stop him. To argue. To fight the shivers that involuntarily passed over his skin. 

“Now. How should I thank such a big strong hero?” Tefuel was playing it up, mocking the words even as they slipped from his lips, his smirk spreading to a deep crescent of a smile.

Tefuel clasped Vira’s wrists tighter, thrusting them down above his head. He leaned closer to Vira’s neck, purring in his ear, hot breath flowing over his skin as Tefuel’s mouth drew nearer to his earlobe, teeth clamping down gently on the soft flesh.

[lavenderbardley]

An Excerpt From A Book I One Day Hope To Write

A neon invitation flickers and hums in the night.

You feel the coolness of the frozen air sting your skin, washing over you as the neon sign buzzes, its vibrant greens and yellows bleeding light into the darkness.

The city is loud, a cacophony of man and machine, voices tangling helplessly within the whir and hum of electric life.

You’ve always lived this life.

You know this sound.

It vibrates in your flesh and bones, like the beating of your own heart, yet you cannot help but yearn for what is said to wait beyond this door in front of you.

The door is not large, nor is it as ornate as you’d expected it to be. You imagined something old, something elegant, made of wood with gilded details, but the door is just tall enough to fit someone about your size, and it is made of dark metal with frosted green glass so that nothing beyond it can be seen from the streets.

You adjust your coat, drawing it tighter around you as the wind whips between the buildings, amplified by the city’s design, nearly knocking you to your knees.

It’s time.

You inhale a deep, heavy breath of smog and smoke, letting it pool in your lungs, savoring with bittersweetness the city's flavor, knowing it will likely be the last breath of which you may take in your life.

You push open the door, the metal handle surprisingly warm and pleasant to the touch, welcoming even. Then, with breath held tight, eyes closed, and fingers crossed, you step over the threshold and let the door swing closed behind you.

The inside of the building is warm. Too warm to be comfortable but not too hot to drive you back out into the cold.

Besides, you’ve made up your mind.

You won’t back out now.

The floor is smooth, dark glass with electrical currents running beneath it in various colors, darting about like fish in a tank.

The walls are jet black, pure obsidian, smooth and cold, with not a single imperfection in sight.

In front of you appears to be an endless hallway, thin and claustrophobic but tall, as if the ceiling was the very top of the entire skyscraper, miles, and miles up.

You look up, wondering if there even is a ceiling up there or if it simply breaks through to the impossible sky far above the city and so out of reach.

You begin to walk forward, assuming, as one does, that what you seek will be at the end of the hallway, if there even is an end at all.

Your boots make clicking noises against the glass floor. As you wander forward, you notice the electrical currents scatter frantically whenever your foot collides with the glass, as if they are afraid of the noise…or perhaps afraid to be stepped on?

You observe open doorways, outlined in jade and gold on either side of the hallway as you pass, but you keep your head forward, eyes focused on that distant point you cannot quite make out but know must be there, somewhere far away.

You know you should not look into the rooms. You know this. You should not let your eyes wander and take in the sins that unfold within the private rooms of this place.

The gambling. The sexual favors. The mind-numbing substances that wait to be ingested, injected, or inhaled. The man who told you of this place warned you against looking into these rooms of sin, for many become trapped within them, unable to resist joining in.

You are not here for any of that. You are here for a reason, so you continue forward, feeling the walls become closer and closer on either side of you, hugging you tighter in their claustrophobic embrace.

The thinner the hall becomes, the more difficult it is to ignore those rooms, with their moans of ecstasy and cheers of exhilaration.

You close one eye, pressing a button on the side of your skull with a faint click. Your second eye, mechanical, zooms in down the hall, your vision turning blue as you search for some sort of heat signature at the end.

You detect several heat signatures, but they are faint, barely visible in the distance. You begin to sprint, boots clacking hard against the floor, the walls becoming so close that they practically rub against your shoulders as you run.

What if it forces me to turn sideways to pass? You wonder. I won’t be able to resist looking if it does…

The walls begin to rub against your body, uncomfortably hot through your clothes, despite being made of stone, and with every doorway you pass, it becomes harder to resist taking a break from the heat within the cool and sweet-smelling rooms.

It’s so…hot…maybe I should…

You slap yourself across the face as best as you can in the tight space, forcing yourself to come out of whatever trance of desire and want had overtaken you.

“No! You’re fine. Keep going.”

Too much time passes as you fight you’re way, inch by painful inch forward, refusing to turn to your side even as the friction from the walls against your body becomes almost unbearable.

But much to your relief, the walls eventually begin to retreat, slowly, inching their way farther and farther from you as you run, and soon you wonder, rather cockily, why anyone has ever failed to make it this far.

When you finally reach the end of the hallway, the walls on either side of you seem to be miles away, their rooms so far that you could not see inside of them even if you tried.

Before you is a massive doorway in the shape of a clover, outlined with the same jade and gold as the other doorways in this place. You hesitate, wondering if this is even the right door. What if this is just another temptation? What if you choose wrong?

But there is no other option as far as you can tell, so you cross your fingers, close your eyes, hold your breath, and take that step over the threshold.

When your eyes open again, you see that you are inside an enormous room, so open and large it is hard to imagine it is inside a building at all. It appears to never end, so open and dark, like a cave, but it is hot and dry like a desert.

You wonder how you know what either of those things feels like.

There is a semi-circle of a table towering above you, with nine enormous beings seated around it, each one more machine than man. Though, you would not make the mistake of calling them, men.

The instant you see them, you know they are gods. The gods of which the old man in the bar spoke of.

Dark, clear tubes snake down from the ceiling, each attaching itself to the backs of the gods. Some of them fill with neon liquid, while others run with the same electrical currents you saw back in the hallway.

At first, you can do nothing. You never believed in gods. You never believed in God, either. When the old man told you of this place, you were skeptical, but your want was more powerful than your doubt. It was worth the effort to discover if it was true, and now that you are here, you revel in the divine heat that radiates off their metal bodies.

You bow low, nearly letting your knees hit the floor as you feel the weight of the air increase, and you are forced to remain low until they are satisfied with your show of respect.

“You have come far!” Booms the voice of the being in the center. She is the largest and most commanding of all of the gods before you. A mechanical woman with two sets of arms and red electricity running through her veins. Her metal body is made of gold, shimmering from some unseen source of light. She is draped with a red and gold sari and adorned with red mechanical flowers on her skin and in her hair.

The instant you see her, you know she is Lakshmi, and you cannot turn your head from her as she speaks to you, as if the power of her voice forces your gaze to remain on her.

She is gorgeous. You think as you inhale the scent of lotus flowers and saffron.

“Why have you come? Many have sought this place to win their fortunes, partake of the flesh and machine, or to drink our wine and inhale our smoke. You have not. You ignore such things and come directly to us. Why?”

As she speaks, you cannot help but notice, behind the richness of her voice, and the pleasant lull of her accent, that there is a slight metallic sound, like coins hitting together with each word she utters.

“I have come to-“ You begin, shaking your head back and forth to refocus yourself before the goddess can distract you again, but the being sitting on her left cuts you off.

“It is obvious.” He says, and you are certain from the old man’s description, that he is Hermes.

The god holds a large glass chalice that is filled to the brim with electric blue light. He lifts the chalice and pours its contents into his mouth, neon blue shooting down his veins as he drinks deeply. His body is made of a dark, black metal, and he has mechanical wings that sprout from his ankles and head.

“Let the mortal speak.” Commands another being on her right, this one with turquoise electricity running through him and a pair of dice to match its hue, rattling as he shakes them in his hand. You are less certain, but you suspect this is Noqoilpi.

You feel intimated with such powerful beings sitting there in front of you. How could you possibly speak to them? How could you possibly hope they would listen? You find comfort in Lakshmi’s beauty but fear Noqoilpi’s grin of anticipation, as though he is a hungry predator and you are his favorite prey.

“I have come to gamble.” You whisper, afraid your voice will crack or give out, weakness bleeding from your throat.

“There is gambling back down the hall.” Laughs a goddess who eats fruits from a cornucopia placed before her, though the fruit does not bleed with juice, but rather with liquid neon which runs down her lips and stains her stola.

You think she is Fortuna.

“I do not want to gamble with money.” You insist, boldly taking a step forward and resisting the urge to run, to leave this place and return to the cold, ash-covered streets outside.

“Oh? And what do you wish to gamble with, Mortal?”

You take a deep breath and press the button in the middle of your chest, where your flesh and machinery melt perfectly into each other, and as soon as you do, a small chip extends out of your body, and you snatch it up, shivering at its loss as you raise it high above you.

The world begins to darken and blur the second it is removed. You can only last a few seconds before you are forced to replace it, back into your chest, breathing a sigh of relief as the world comes back into focus.

The gods look to each other and to Lakshmi, who takes in their gazes and, after a brief pause, nods her approval. “If you wish to gamble your soul, I’ll have you escorted to the right room and-“

“No!” You shout, waving your hands in front of you.

“You insolent mortal!” booms a god, who has the head of a bird with metal feathers and a long thin beak. He pounds his fist on the table and extends his scepter to hold you in its own curved beak.

“Calm yourself, Thoth,” Lakshmi says, staring down at you curiously.

Am I going to die now? You think, closing your eyes and waiting for punishment.

“Continue.” Lakshmi insists, inhaling red electric smoke from her hookah and releasing it back out into the air. It tastes of acid and shocks the inside of your nose as you breathe it in reverently.

“I wish to gamble with you. The gods. For my soul.” You say with as much confidence as you can muster. It is hard, but you manage to get your voice to carry across the vast room.

“Why would you want to do that?” Asks a God, Nezha, you presume, who appears younger, almost adolescent, with three heads, three sets of arms, and a red fire that seems to burn along his veins. “What are you hoping to win?”

You close your eyes, breathing slowly, letting the scents of the gods and the room mix in your lungs.

“I want a boon.” You say simply. “A wish.”

There is outrage amongst the gods. They vocalize, the sounds of machines and metal warring as they argue and discuss loudly.

“And why should we agree?” barked one god.

“Such a deal would be foolish.” Exclaimed another.

“One soul in exchange for a boon from the gods?”

You smile, lengthening your spine as you straighten to your fullest height and puff your chest out with as much confidence as you can manage.

“Are you afraid you will lose?” You ask, savoring the quiet that overtakes the room as each god grows silent and turns their gazes to rest on you.

Your heart skips a beat, and you wait, unsure how the response will go.

“We are not afraid,” Lakshmi answers, the electricity behind her eyes lighting up as she smiles, and you get the feeling you’ve fallen into her trap, as though this had been her idea all along. “But what sort of wager is that? How can it be equal in value?”

You smile, too, remembering the words of the old man in the bar and hoping they are true.

“I know you cannot refuse a wager. You may try and dissuade me, but you cannot say no.”

“And who told you this?” Lakshmi asks, taking another drag of smoke into her lungs.

“I wouldn’t say, even if I knew his name.” You raise your hand, small and timid, against the sheer enormity of the gods, “So what do you say? Do we have a wager?”

The goddess considers for a moment. Every eye is trained on her, looking for approval, but you know it is all an act. None of them can stand it. They cannot help but take the wager, it’s in their nature, and they know they’ll win. They always do.

The goddess grins, the corners of her mouth traveling up her cheeks with satisfaction as she reaches her giant hand, elegant and golden, down to shake yours, her hot metallic skin meeting your gloved hand, taking it between her thumb and forefinger, and shaking gently like you are a figurine she doesn’t want to break.

“It is a wager, then.” She answers, “But I get to set the terms. It’s only fair since the stakes are so uneven.”

You nod, though you are sure that is not entirely true. Perhaps in terms of value, side by side, the stakes are not equal, but in terms of worth, depending on what an individual has to bet with, a mortal being has nothing more valuable than their own soul.

“What are your terms?” You ask as she releases your hand, and you check beneath the glove to see if the machinery has been damaged by her grip.

Lakshmi leans back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other and sucking another drag of smoke in thoughtful consideration, two of her arms coming to rest beneath her chin.

Another act. The old man told you exactly what would happen and what the terms always are.

“You will play nines games, one for each of us here. Each god will pick a game of their choice for you to play.”

You nod. “And how many of these must I win?” You ask predictably.

"All of them." She laughs. It is a beautiful sound, and all of the gods join her.

“All nine of them?” you ask, and wince as their laughter grows until its sounds like a factory, whistling, grinding, metallic whirring, all of this coupled with rich, exotic laughter.

“You’re first game shall be decided by Gefion.” Lakshmi announces, gesturing one of her hands towards a goddess sitting on the outermost left of the table, nearest to where you stand.

The goddess, whose veins run with electric green and whose metallic body appears almost white, stands up from the table, and you see her at her full height, enormously tall and curvaceous beneath her green hangerok.

“Why am I to be first?” She demands, anger edging her tone. There are bells tied to her ankles, and they chime with each movement, but they do not sound like normal bells. You think perhaps they sound more like the ringing of a slot machine.

“Silence!” Lakshmi commands, and Gefion returns to her chair.

“You will return in three days’ time. Then the first game shall begin.”

You bow low again, but this time fighting the pressure that builds upon you, not falling so low as before. Then you rise, and turn to leave, a mixture of relief and dread soaking into your skin.

“OH! “calls Lakshmi before you can make it through the doorway, “And If you should fail to be here before us in three days’ time…you forfeit the game.” She nods at the hallway you entered, reminding you of the dangers lurking within its many sinful rooms.

“As you wish.” You say, trying to keep your composure as you exit the room, but the second you hit the hall, you begin to sprint, both eyes closed as you race for the door.

It does not take nearly as long to leave as it did to enter, and you are at the door in no time, so frantic to escape that you forget to hold your breath or perform any of the other acts of superstition you were taught.

The cold air hits you like an invisible wall, and you welcome the return of smog, metal, and ash into your lungs.

You’re back in the city. You’re back home.

It all sinks in at once.

You made a wager with the gods. You bet your own soul like it was a simple poker chip. No mortal has ever won such a bet, and yet you didn’t even hesitate.

You glance at the glowing sign outside the building, neon green and yellow. You didn’t think about it before. You’d passed this sign twice daily on your way to and from work. Just another casino among so many.

But the sign feels different now that you look at it again.

“Lady Luck’s Casino.” It reads, and you laugh at the irony.

[lavenderbardley]

An Excerpt From Chapter 6 of Chaos's Bedfellow

Vira expected to feel nothing as he fell into the lake, it was just open sky after all, but when he hit the surface, it gave slightly, the way water does, before he fell below it. For a moment, he was weightless, floating in a coldness that reminded him of the lap pool back at the Order’s workout facility. But unlike in the pool, there was no heaviness on his skin, no pressure building, and no wetness surrounding his body. 

He drifted beneath the surface, watching as the world above him, the world he had fallen from, disappeared into a blank grey.

Then he was falling. 

It was like gravity had thrown a lasso around him, yanking him down with its full force into the endlessness below. 

His heart leaped into his throat, pounding with fear and exhilaration as he plummeted. He felt the sensation of a massive carnival ride, exciting to the mind but terrifying to the body that does not know it is safe.

The farther he fell, the more he could see the underside of the lake, which looked nothing like a lake anymore. Instead, it was a giant circle of grey, ringed in shimmering turquoise electricity.

Vira twisted his body in the air, struggling to turn himself over so that he was facing down, his eyes searching the never-ending void of blues, pinks, and purples for some small blur of red. The sky was beautiful, though he hated to admit it, looking as though it leaped free from a painting, all of its clouds so fluffy and whimsical, bathed in pastel colors.

[lavenderbardley]

An excerpt from Chaper 3 of "The Oceans of Fiji"

Before the woman could pull me to my feet, I saw her large round eyes widen considerably in fear. She pushed me down onto the hull floor, throwing her body on top of me just as I felt the waves begin to violently rock the vessel.

I peered past the woman’s shoulder, looking up to see a shape roughly the size of a large shark fly overhead, water cascading off its body as it arched above us. As it came down, it hit a corner of the boat, rocking the vessel forcefully, and nearly knocking both of us overboard. 

The woman’s hands clenched the sides of the hull, pale-knuckled, her body blocking me from falling over the side as the vessel rocked. My body banged against her several times as gravity took me for a ride, but she remained still, focused, her jaw clenched tightly, muscles flexed and straining as she kept her hold of the sides. 

I’d only managed to get a short glimpse of the creature, but it was unlike anything I’d ever watched in a nature documentary. Even shark week felt like a joke in comparison to it. 

When it first came overhead, it was the color of the ocean, dark blue, appearing to be made out of water, but then it changed, shifting to match the color of the sky, even mimicking the stars as it became nearly invisible. I’ve heard of animals with camouflage abilities, but this was on another level.

“What the hell?!” I gasped, my heart racing as the boat began to settle. The woman’s face was uncomfortably close to mine, her breath washing over me, hot and smelling of fish and something earthy. 

My breathing hitched momentarily as my gaze met her impossibly dark eyes. “W-what the hell was that thing?”

[lavenderbardley]

Ideas for Fatal Flaws

@everything.writing on IG

I should stop saying I had a busy weekend because that is every weekend and now I identify as a busy person. Even without sports, now I have Nano to worry about in addition to beta reading and my grades. But anyway, here’s a post that I’m sure will help a lot of you.

• Extreme envy or jealousy

• Gluttony or selfishness

• Pride and unable to accept criticism

• Unable to control anger

• Compulsive liar

• Arrogant

• Bigoted against any group

• Tactless/Impolite

• Childish

• Overly competitive

• Disloyal

• Loyal to a fault

• Extremely fearful

• Extremely indecisive

• Manipulative

• Cowardly

• Stubborn

• Addiction

• Naïve

This was a little bit of a rushed post as I tried to sandwich it in between calculus homework and beta reading, but I found a lot of interesting information. I think I’ll use some of these flaws for my characters too! Please leave a list of fatal flaws I’ve missed in the comment, and have a good day/afternoon/night!

[lavenderbardley]

"“Come on.” Vira swung his legs back and placed his knees onto the branch behind him so that he could crawl forward closer to the man that shrunk away from his approach. “You said it turned you on, didn’t you?”

He inched forward slowly, predatorily, a smile creeping across his face as he moved in closer, his breath coming in thick waves over Tefuel’s skin, smelling of mint but also, ever so slightly, of chaos.  

Vira’s face hovered just a few inches above Tefuel’s, his smile widening to a crescent. It looked wrong on the orderly man, someone who smiled so rarely and never fully, never with teeth in it.

Tefuel kept leaning back, but Vira closed the distance just as quickly, a low growl in the back of his throat. 

“I think ya’ve been poisoned, Vira.” Tefuel swallowed as the man’s lips came closer and closer until they almost brushed against his own.

“I…uh…” Tefuel leaned back even further, his hands fumbling behind him, searching for a handhold to keep him balanced. In his haste to avoid the giant’s pursuit, his hands missed the branch behind him, causing him to topple backward and off the side, falling down towards the lake below.

“Fuck!” He shouted as he tried to grab for the vine, but it slipped through his fingers. He plummeted, falling beneath the surface of the endless sky without so much as a splash.

Vira was still for a moment, then he shook his head back and forth, his muscles convulsing violently as his mind returned to a state closer to normal. The adrenaline drained out of him in an instant, leaving him with panicked thoughts and a chest tight and swollen with embarrassment.

“What…just happened?”"

-An excerpt from Chapter 5 of Chaos's Bedfellow

[lavenderbardley]

Cannibal Pizza Party

Diiiiiiiiing Dooooooooong!

“Pizza’s here!” Calls the collective voice of many girls who sit in the room. Each announces with this declaration that they do not intend to get up and answer the door themselves.

“Why don’t you get it Billie?” Devona calls from her spot on the worn leather loveseat, where she’s perched like a feline, ready to pounce.

Bileam, known to her friends and family as Billie, rises from her spot on the floor. She brushes the dust and debris from her scandalously short skirt before ambling to the door. She smooths a stray piece of hair behind her ear, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she reaches for the doorknob.

The sounds of the living room waft through the hallway. Billie can hear the distant drone of the TV, where some newswoman talks about the recent attacks in a robotic monotone.

“Don’t forget to give him a huuuuuge tip Billie!” Diane calls in a sing-songy voice that somehow sounds like a tone-deaf bird.

Of course, Billie knows what she means, though she is unsure if she can do it. The other girls are much more confident than her, but she knows she cannot back out of it. It is her turn, after all.

A sharp knock sounds at the door, pounding in a quick and irritated fashion. Whoever is standing outside is tired of waiting for one of them to open the door. Billie throws open the dinky front door and is stricken dumb by the image of a handsome pizza delivery boy-No! Man…definitely a man.

“Did you order three large veggie pizzas with extra cheese?” asks the man in a dull and uninterested tone that says he’s been on shift for a while.

The air is overtaken by the savory smells of baked bread and melted cheese. It should leave her drooling and hungry, but it doesn't. The smell appalls her, but she tries to keep a straight face so he does not notice.

“Yes, that was us.” She eyes Annabeth, who has moved to be seen from the entryway. Billie notes the slight nod of her chin before proceeding. “The truth is things have been hard for us lately. We don’t have a lot of money and-” She bats her eyelashes and bites her lip, selling herself for everything she is worth. She can taste the warm metallic flavor of her own blood as she bites down a little too hard, praying he cannot tell.

“I was wondering if me and my friends could pay you another way?” She grips her plaid skirt with her hands, bunching it up as if it were a nervous habit. She knows he will notice her bright lingerie under it soon. She watches his eyes dart down and then away, repeating this sequence several times before he swallows, turning his head away from Billie altogether.

“Well. Gee miss.” He runs a hand over his head, smoothing down any cowlicks and unruly pieces. “I’m not supposed to do things like that. I-“

Annabeth materializes behind Billie. She rests her hands on Billie's arms and nestles her head between her neck and shoulder. Her warmth is both inviting and terrifying.

“Ooooh is that sooooo.” She laments, her face taking on a pouting quality that always gets men hot for her. Billie had to admit that she was probably the most beautiful girl in the world with her soft, smooth, almond-colored skin and gorgeous shimmery black hair. She smells like cardamom, nutmeg, and all things spicy and sweet.

Billie watches as the man visibly gulps, like a cartoon character, which might have been comical under different circumstances.

“You see, it’s just a dozen or so of us girls in there, and we soooo would love to pay you back. If you know what I mean.” Annabeth winks, sliding out to circle around the man, coming up behind him. She towers over him, bending down to plant kisses along his neck. Her breath washes over his skin like a warm mist. “I know we could make it worth your while,” she purrs.

Billie averts her gaze. Each of the girls has their own method of seduction. Billie took a more shy and passive approach, but Annabeth was hands-on. She wasn’t sure if she should be admiring Annabeth for this, but secretly she did. Annabeth got what she wanted, and she had enough confidence to take it if need be.

“Well. I guess this one time, it wouldn’t be so bad.” The man says, following the seductively gorgeous Annabeth inside. In the living room, he finds a menagerie of girls of different ages, styles, and cliques.

They all get up from their spots on the couch and loveseats, on the armrests, on the floor, and move towards the man, engulfing him in a sea of hormones and lust before leading him into the bedroom.

Only Billie and Annabeth stand alone in the emptied living room now.

“These recent attacks have made many people afraid to travel in these neighborhoods.” Says the newswoman in the newfound silence of the room.

“Are you joining us?” asks Annabeth, reaching for the doorknob.

“I-”

“You know you want to. Why should you fight it?” She smiles in a way that is both motherly and predatory, and Billie wonders how she manages to be both so effortlessly.

Billie glances at the coffee table, where the discarded veggie pizzas lie, unwanted. “I’ll be in in a sec. I just feel a little queasy.”

“Is it the pizza?” Annabeth grimaces, showing her own distaste for the smell.

“Yeah. That’s it.”

Annabeth strolls over to the table, picks up the pizzas, and walks out the front door to throw them in the outside garbage. “There,” she says with a tone of finality.

“Seems like a waste,” Billie mumbles to herself.

“I wasn’t going to eat it. And I know you weren’t either.” She opens the bedroom door. “Just don’t take too long.” She says with a wink and closes the door behind her, silencing the noises of ecstasy within.

Billie leans against the back of the couch, wondering how she came to be here. How her life has become what it is.

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

It all started about a year ago when Billie moved with her family to this strange town.

She had gone into the new school year a junior, completely isolated from her peers who were already in well-established cliques. It was difficult for anyone to move to a new school, but it was harder for Billie because of…well…who she was.

Iblis Public Highschool was by far the strangest place she had ever been to. Not because of the school itself, it was pretty standard for a public high school, but because of the mysterious cult that was rumored to have been founded by some of its students.

It seemed like it was just another one of those dumb fake satanic cults that kids start so they can feel edgy and cool. They never do much, and most rituals are uninspired and based on Hollywood stereotypes rather than actual satanic texts and sources. But what made this particular cult different was that it only invited females to join and did not discriminate by age, race, sexual orientation, clique, or popularity.

The girls participating varied from the most preppy stereotypical cheerleader to the most outcasted nerd.

Billie had never had an interest in cults or any of that edgy, mysterious bullshit that most teenagers seemed to like at some point or another.

Still, she was thrilled when she received an invitation to join because the cult only invited girls. It meant that the cult recognized her as one of them, a girl, which meant a lot since most people in town used the wrong pronouns for her, and many insisted that she was a boy.

When she received that letter in her locker, delicately decorated with red lace and elegant loopy writing, she nearly wept. Every one of the girls in the cult always referred to her in the way she wanted, making her feel like she belonged.

It had started out small. Sleepovers, coffee dates, and the occasional night in the woods circling a bonfire and chanting about their Goddess Khosteus, the devourer, dressed in their silly red robes.

You know, girl stuff.

To Billie, the whole thing seemed kind of stupid and silly. She didn’t think they were worshipping a real Goddess or doing anything that mattered. It was just a quirky way to pass the time and feel important.

That was, until about a month after she joined. It was on the night of the new moon when Annabeth, the eldest of the group, and the official leader, insisted Khosteus was most powerful. Per usual, the girls gathered in the woods, dressed in crimson velvet robes, ready to begin their monthly ritual.

Billie was a little late due to her parents going out for the night and asking her to stay home while they were gone. She had to wait until they left to sneak out and join her fellow cult members in the woods, tugging on her own red robe as she raced across town.

When she arrived at the circle of stones they had set up, she noticed the fire in the middle was already lit and burning brightly, a large cast iron pot hung on a tripod heating over the flames. There was an intoxicating smell, a strong, savory, almost gamey smell like they had killed and cooked a wild boar.

She quickly joined the formation, forming the missing link of the circle of girls. Near the middle, facing the pot, was Annabeth, holding an old worn leather book with its yellowed pages, thin and crinkly like wax paper. She was reading out one of the passages in a deep, toady voice. Billie imagined she would have a sore throat later because of it.

“Oh, great devourer Khosteus! The Goddess who devours the Gods! Call us unto your purpose; make our bellies an extension of yours as we feast tonight!” She bellowed into the still night. She then grabbed a stack of wooden bowls from a flat rock near the fire. She filled each one, handing it to her second in command, Devona, who then passed it to her left, who then passed it to her left, and so on, until each person in the circle and Annabeth in the middle had a bowl of the strange stew.

The food looked unappetizing, with very little vegetable matter and large chunks of meat floating in the reddish stock, like half of the liquid had been replaced with blood. Billie had been a vegetarian for three years, and her stomach churned at the idea of consuming animal flesh, but she didn’t want to lose her place in the cult and her newfound friends with it.

She leaned over to the girl on her right, Diane, and asked, “What kind of meat is this?”

Diane merely smiled and ignored the question saying, “Don’t worry, it’s very symbolic. You’ll like it.”

“Let us eat the flesh of man! And thereby, may Khosteus eat of man too! Through our stomachs, may she be full! Through our tongues, may she taste the delights of flesh! Through our noses, may she smell the wonders of this feast! And thereby bless us!” Annabeth chanted, stopping after each sentence for the rest to repeat.

Then they lifted their bowls to the moonless sky, brought them to their lips, and ate.

Billie’s tongue exploded with rich, savory flavor as she consumed the stew. The meat was a little gamey but had the texture of soft, tender beef with a hint of sweetness. After eating, she wondered how she had ever managed to go vegetarian with such excellent meat in the world. Although the talk of eating the flesh of man scared her a little, she remembered Diane saying that the meal was symbolic. They were probably eating some great beast like a deer or a boar and calling it the flesh of man, like Jesus called the bread his body and the wine his blood.

She devoured the entire bowl, scraping desperately at the sides with her spoon as if she could extract the trace amounts that had soaked into the wood. She was incredibly disappointed when Annabeth did not offer them seconds.

It wasn’t until a couple of days later that Billie noticed the difference in her body. Her skin was softer, more supple, and had become void of any blemishes or dirty pores. Her hair was shinier, glinting a honey blonde that seemed to turn golden when hit just right by light, and was full of such volume and shape. Upon looking in the mirror, she thought she was looking more feminine than normal, and this pleased her greatly. On top of that, she felt full of energy and bounced her way through school that day, feeling happier than she ever had. She was pleased to see the boys were looking at her differently. Before, they had looked with disgust or disproval of who she was, but now they couldn’t hide their sudden interest in her enticing new form.

A week or so after that, the hunger set in. Nothing she ate would satiate it, and she could not think of anything but that stew they had eaten during the ritual.

She found Annabeth outside the school after classes that day and begged her to tell her what was in the stew they had eaten.

“I keep daydreaming about that night. I find myself sooo hungry, but nothing I eat will make it stop! I even dreamed about that stew last night. You have to give me the recipe! What kind of meat was that anyways?”

“Oh! You didn’t know? I’m so sorry I thought I made It very clear.” Annabeth placed a hand on her cheek. She looked genuinely concerned.

“Huh?”

“Why, it’s the flesh of man! I was pretty sure that was part of the ritual hymn.”

“Yeah, I get that it was symbolic of human flesh, but like what animal was it really?”

Annabeth furrowed her eyebrows and gave Billie a look like she had just asked who George Washington was or something else equally ignorant. “No. The meat was human. Don’t you remember hearing about Preda? The guy who went missing from school last week?”

“Yeah…” Billie hesitated as the truth began to sprout in her mind, its vines unfurling throughout her body in tingles, growing the dark fruits of fear inside her stomach which ached with hunger and dread.

“Well, that’s who we ate! Preda! I’m afraid you can’t copy the recipe entirely, Preda was a rare treat, I must admit. Not too much fat, but the muscles weren’t too tough either. The perfect meat. Oh, you should have seen the marbling!”

Billie pulled Annabeth quickly and a little violently behind the dumpsters, checking to make sure no couples were making out back there before whisper screaming, “You’re saying we actually ate someone?! Like an actual person?!”

Annabeth waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “You don’t have to worry. We only eat men. And it’s purely ritualistic and very safe! Me and Devona prepare the meat ourselves!”

Billie wanted to throw up. Her stomach was churning with a mixture of hungry desire and disgust. On the one hand, she felt happy knowing she was seen as a girl and wasn’t lumped in with men in Annabeth’s eyes. On the other hand, despite knowing herself to be a woman in her heart and soul, she couldn’t shake the sort of defensive kinship she felt with her birth sex, hearing the girl speak of men in such a way. “This is wrong! We can’t just-“

“Billie.” Annabeth towered over her like a tree does a shrub and reached a hand down to place it on her cheek. “We are in service of the lady Khosteus, and she has blessed us for our tribute. Blessed you.” She stroked the girl’s face with her hand. Such warm and steady hands they were.

“How soft your skin has become. It’s no coincidence. It’s the meat. It’s the blessing.” She reached for Billie’s hair, running her fingers through it. So smooth and shiny, like honey spun into silken threads. “And your hair. How lovely you look now, Billie. I know you love it. It makes you feel happy, doesn’t it? What is the world going to miss a few men here and there?”

Billie shuddered with every touch, but her stomach was in such pain. The hunger didn’t feel like hunger anymore. It felt like a fire burning and singeing her inside out like her stomach acid was dissolving her insides.

“I can see you’re craving.” Annabeth sympathized, rubbing circles into the girl’s back with a gentle hand and reaching into her purse with the other. She pulled out a small pink thermos and handed it over like a mother would hand a child their lunch. Such a normal gesture. Such a kind and loving gesture. “This is all I have left over. But in a few weeks, we’ll be holding another ritual. So, you need not fear.”

She offered a smile that seemed so genuine that Billie couldn’t help but think, She really loves me. She is so kind. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this is…ok.

And that was that.

After that day, Billie was a full-fledged member.

It had started out as a purely ritualistic activity, occurring only on the new moon each month. The girls would find a victim, someone who both seemed to be appetizing and had little friends or family to really notice their absence, and then they would kill him, butcher up his body into meat in Devona’s shed, and eat his remains in honor of the devourer Goddess.

It turned out that many of the girls in the cult were a lot older than they let on. Some were not even really students at school, just loitering around. Diane was 27, yet still looked like she was in high school, Devona was 31, and Annabeth, the eldest of the group, was 36. None of the girls looked like they were aging, and they all shared perfect complexions, perfect shapely hair, and an overall glow that left them desired by many.

Billie couldn’t deny how much she loved her own transformation. Her body which had seemed to fight her for so much of her life, was finally starting to change into something she wanted, something she felt comfortable in, and men were taking notice. It would have been great if not for the fact that the cult looked down upon men and thought them only useful for two things, the first of which made Billie blush and hide her face, and the second was food.

It wasn’t long, however, before the hunger became an addiction. Many of the girls, including Billie, began to be unable to stomach normal foods, finding the smell and taste of them repulsive. It made home life very difficult for those living with their parents. The school counselor was called on several occasions by worried parents about anorexia concerns.

The formal monthly rituals turned into biweekly and then into casual weekly gorgings. They would gather each week at one of the older members’ apartments or houses and order takeout for delivery. Some weeks it was pizza. Some weeks it was Chinese. They tried to diversify as best as possible, trying not to “overfish the waters” of one particular restaurant.

The girls would purposefully meet in different places, so they wouldn’t draw suspicion to a specific neighborhood. They always ordered for the house next door, knowing the neighbor would answer and say they had not ordered anything. Then the delivery man would check the other houses next to it before going home to see if there had been a mistype in the address. This was a great way to keep suspicion off them because if the police talked to the restaurant about the attacks, the receipt would direct them to a different house or apartment.

It seemed the devouring was no longer about their Goddess. It was now simply a primal need, an addiction that would not lessen its hold on the girls.

Despite the wonderful things this new habit of consumption had instilled in Billie and the other girl’s lives, she had started to notice that there were drawbacks. When she had first entered the covenant of the devourer and had first partaken in the flesh of man, her hunger was manageable, and she was able to last the month in between rituals. But very soon, as they consumed more and more, forgetting about their Goddess, she noticed she could scarce suffer a day without some sort of meat or blood of man. Her hunger was incredible, like a sponge that had been introduced to more and more water, expanding to reaches not thought possible.

Right after feeding, she would feel that glow and that rush of energy she enjoyed, but now, soon after, she would find an equally strong wave of nausea and fatigue take hold of her. Once, during a longer stretch of time between feedings, due to the police beginning to take notice of the trends, she had found her hair falling out in sizable clumps.

Was this punishment from Khosteus? Was she angered because they had forgotten their devotion to her? Billie had never supposed she was even real. Now she wondered If they had been cursed.

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

“If you know anything about these recent attacks on delivery men or have seen anything suspicious in one of the listed neighborhoods, please call the number below,” says the newswoman, shaking Billie back to the present.

She hears screaming, muffled, and panicked from the bedroom, and she knows they are already digging in. No butchering and preparing of the meat these days. The hunger was too strong for anyone to wait.

She glances around, making sure none of the girls are left in the room, and quickly enters the number from the Television into her phone and backs out onto the front stoop.

“NC DPS. How can I help you?”

“I’d like to report suspicious activity, I think it has to do with the attacks they’re talking about on TV. Having to do with delivery men?”

“Alright,” says the voice, obviously interested. Shifting can be heard on their end, making it clear they are getting ready to take notes.

“I saw a delivery person, male, get dragged into one of the apartments on Anderson Street. Bubsy village apartments. Apartment 1667. I’m not sure if it was anything…”

“Alright, thank you for the information. I will be sending someone over right away. get somewhere safe if you aren’t already.”

“Alright, ma’am,” Billie says, putting the phone back in her jacket pocket before going back inside.

They can’t keep living like this. She knows they might not live at all if they stop. But still.

She brushes a few stray tears from her cheeks and dabs gently under her eyes before putting on her best poker face. She opens the bedroom door, where she can see a modern art piece painted with red over the canvass of the room, blood soaking into the bedsheets and carpet. The girls are hunched over what remains of the body, pieces of flesh in their crimson hands, their teeth gnawing on bones.

“What took you so long?” Asks one of the girls, her mouth full of flesh, blood gushing out of the corners of her mouth with each bite.

“I just needed some air.” She lies, closing the door and taking her place among the others. She grabs a piece of meat and smears the blood over her face and hands. She shutters, but the hunger wins out, and she begins to devour it, tears mixing with the blood and flesh as sirens can be heard softly, getting louder, in the background.

[lavenderbardley]

How to write ✨trans characters✨

lots of cis writers like to say “I can’t write trans/non binary characters because i’m not trans/non binary myself.”

well i'm trans and i can happily say thats bullshit

here are some tips to help you write 'proper' trans characters

1. being trans is not someone’s only personality trait, they are human beings with interests, likes, dislikes etc just like anyone else

2. are they already out as trans? if yes, for how long have they been out?

to who are they out? are they openly trans? only to friends? family? how do others feel about them being trans?

if they’re not out yet, you can write a ‘coming out scene’, but please, have trans people read it to tell you whether its good or not, and listen to any advice they give

If they’ve only been out for a month or less, then its possible for other characters to slip up and accidentally call them by the wrong pronouns from time to time, in this case, have the character slipping up correct themselves and move on

3. are they gender passing or not?

if yes, cool! you dont have to worry about others misgendering them (unless its on purpose)

if not, then you can have a character(s) accidentally misgender them, and your trans character can either correct them or remain silent

4. they dont have to outright state they’re trans during the story

if you want to imply they’re trans; you can hint at surgery they had / the scars from surgery, maybe they wear a binder, they could recall an encounter with a transphobe, perhaps crack some trans jokes

5. not every trans person has gender dysphoria, if you don't know how to write a character with gender dysphoria, don't give them it

lots of trans people don't experience gender dysphoria and that doesn't make them any less valid, so not giving your trans character it is perfectly fine and good representation for those people

6. not every trans person has/wants to have surgery, and not every trans person wears a binder

if they do wear a binder however, do some research so you at least have a basic understanding of it before giving your character one

thats all i can think of rn, but my main tip is: if you’re not sure whether you wrote a trans character correctly or not, have a trans person read it

plenty of trans people are more then willing to beta read for you, trust me

as long as you don't make every single trans character you write 'uwu smol helpless bean cutie who needs protection smooch smooch' you're good

And if that's the type of character you like to write, then also make the cis characters that way

[lavenderbardley]

Hey Summer! Do you have any tips on writing Jewish characters?

I do! Keep in mind that I'm a conservative-jewish American teenage girl so my experiences are certainly not universal or all-encompassing for every Jew (since every experience is different) but this is basic stuff that should help.

Naming your character:

Traditionally, babies are named after dead relatives. If you want to look for names, you can add that in as a detail. Keep in mind that being named after a relative doesn't necessarily mean you take the exact name; I was named after my great grandmother, and our names just have the same first letters.

Many Jewish names are Hebrew or Yiddish. They might come from the Torah (Adam or Moshe or Sara or Leah). You can Google Israeli or Hebrew names and their meanings, but common ones are Miriam, Aviva, Aliza, Noah (Noa for a girl), Nathan (or Natan), Ezra.

Please do not give your Jewish character the last name "Goldstein". While the name certainly exists and is common enough, it's become enough of a stereotype.

Last names can be difficult to navigate. Many Jews changed their last names to sound less Jewish when they came to the US or during world war ll but typically you can look up common Jewish last names and find what you want from the list.

Different types of Jews:

There are a lot of different kinds of Jews. Typically, we're divided into three basic categories: orthodox, conservative, and reform.

Orthodox are the strictest. There’s different kinds of Orthodox Jews, with ultra-Orthodox, the Jews typically portrayed in media, with the long beards, top hats, etc, and there’s modern Orthodox, who are more modern and have newer style clothes, modern culture, etc. If you're planning on writing an Orthodox character, there are a lot of different sections within that. Ultra-Orthodox will marry other Orthodox people and likely have as many kids as possible. They're very strict and the women dont participate in much modern culture; I don't know much about modern orthodox or their day to day lives, so I'm not an accurate source of how one would portray them. I’d ask an actual Orthodox person for this!

Conservative people prefer old traditions, but are flexible. They are a range from going to synagogue every week to only going on important holidays. Conservative people tend to keep kosher but not all do, and they do shabbat but not all will keep it. There are conservative women rabbis, but this was more recent. They're pretty okay with women but some more old style Jews will not approve of bat mitzvahs and such.

Reform Jews are the most relaxed about the Torah and most laws. There are less who keep kosher, services are shorter, they're more accepting of women and other people, more likely to marry out of the religion.

Conservative and reform are more integrated with regular life, and so are modern orthodox do a degree. If you want more detail about any of these, you can ask!

There are different types of Jews outside of the level of observance as well! Jews can be Ashkenazi or Sephardic (which are the main ones I’ve seen) or other lineages (which are smaller but still important) including the Eastern, Ethiopian, and Yemenite communities as well as others! These depend on what place your ancsestors came from. Different lineages might have different ways of chanting Torah, preparing food, interpreting Torah and laws, or vague rules, but many people are a mixture of the two depending on what traditions they prefer and who their teacher/family is. Unless your character is religious, they probably won’t make a huge distinction.

Traditions and holidays:

All Jewish holidays begin and end at night.

This includes Shabbat, which begins Friday night and ends Saturday night. Shabbat is a relaxation day. More observant Jews will abstain from any work or spending money, and avoid technology, which includes phones, ovens, cars, and electricity. Orthodox typically will leave their lights on and cook their food before Shabbat begins. Conservative will vary in observance and might drive but not spend money or just light candles and ignore the rest. Reform usually don't worry about it beyond lighting candles and maybe going to synagogue, but again, it will vary.

Your Jewish character will most likely celebrate Yom Kippur and Rosh Hashanah, which take place during early autumn.

Yom Kippur: you go to synagogue for hours the morning after it begins. You fast (no food, water, gum, etc) from erev (the night of) Yom kippur and break the fast the following night. This is typically a fun party with friends. No work or school during this time, but some people let their kids go to school.

Rosh Hashanah: the Jewish new year! You skip work to go to synagogue the morning of, and you eat apples and honey and other sweet things to hope for a sweet coming year

Pesach (Passover) occurs around April or may and is an important holiday. It lasts eight days and no risen foods may be eaten during that time. The first night (and sometimes the second) there's a Seder with family and/or friends.

Hanukkah is not important but it's fun! Children like it because there's food and games

Yom Ha’atzmaut: Israeli Independence Day! Israelis obviously celebrate this more than American Jews, and celebrations differ; some don’t observe this at all, but a lot of synagogues hold a party or families will have Israeli foods for dinner. You don’t have to support Israel’s actions to eat the food.

Yom HaShoah: Holocaust remebrance day

There are a lot of other holidays during the year of varying importance! You can ask if you have questions!

Things to avoid:

I mentioned this before: don’t name your Jew [firstname] Goldstein. There are other good names for you to try!

Do not make your Jewish character: any sort of demon or demonic formed creature, unnaturally greedy or money-hoarding (there are levels to this one), oily/greasy, having a large nose, having horns or another trait associated with demons, a vampire (for drinking blood reasons), some sort of goblin, explicitly stated to be untrustworthy (especially in regards to business or banking), etc. If you’re worried that something might be iffy, you can ask!

Characters can be greedy without being stereotypical, and they can be ambitious just like anyone else. Jewish characters can definitely be villains, but there are degrees of what kind of villains they should be. Do they steal children? Are they slimy or manipulative? Do they have horns, red skin, or tails? Do they automatically hate Arabs or Palestinians? 

These are the most prevalent stereotypes out there. You can ask if you have any more questions

Extra:

When a member of the community dies, the family might hold Shiva, which is a seven day period where the family is provided food, help, company from friends and the community. The family shouldn’t have to cook or work too hard while they’re in mourning; this is a somber occasion, but it’s a chance for the family to be reminded they’re not alone. People will have normal conversations and give the family their condolences. Typical foods brought are brisket, fruit, veggie platters, kugel, bagels, and other long-lasting, easy to prepare dishes.

Common Jewish foods include kugel (sweet or savory noodles in a dish), blintzes (similar to crepes), knishes (filled dough, like baked dumplings), latkes (fried potato pancakes), shakshuka (eggs cooked in tomato sauce), and others. A huge part of Jewish culture is the food, and there are different ones for most holidays!

Brisses or baby namings are affairs for the whole community! The parents invite their friends and hold a party and announce the baby’s name (and gender, sometimes, although these aren’t typically gender reveals).

Bar/bat/bnei mitzvot are important ceremonies. A 13 y/old boy (or 12.5-13 y/old girl) will read Torah first time and lead at least part of the service. They get their tallis, become a full member of the community (a Jewish adult), receive gifts from the community, and typically hold a luncheon after. The service is on Saturday morning, but many will have Friday night services as well, and an afterparty that Saturday night

Feel free to add on/correct something if you’re Jewish or ask questions if you’re not! My inbox is always open!

[lavenderbardley]

Writing Asexual Spectrum Characters

By a gray ace who occasionally writes for funsies.

I get the feeling people think writing an asexual spectrum (acespec) character is easy. Easier than writing a straight-up asexual character. After all, many people under the ace spectrum can feel sexual attraction. Plenty are cool with being in a sexual relationship. So, just have the character mention they’re gray ace, or an asexual who enjoys sex, and leave it at that.

I’m not discouraging any allos from writing acespec characters, quite the opposite! But there’s a reason acespecs who do feel sexual attraction, or do want sex, still call themselves some flavor of ace. There are certain things gray aces go through that an allo might be unaware of. Like, the experience of feeling sexual attraction.

An allosexual character (adult ones anyway) tends to view sexual attraction as this natural thing that just occurs. They seem to be used to it, even though there’s usually a Big Deal about it being made in the story. But that Big Deal is moreso related to the character they’re sexually attracted to. And the situation that puts them in with that character. The fact they’re experiencing sexual attraction itself though, isn’t a Big Deal.

Most acespecs don’t work like that. An acespec experiences it rarely, weakly, or under specific circumstances.

An acespec who experiences sexual attraction rarely, is going to make sexual attraction itself a Big Deal. Since it’s so rare, it’s very off putting. It confuses the shit out of us. We don’t know what to do. We don’t know what’s okay and what’s not okay. What’s “normal” and what’s not. We are lost at sea! If this acespec character is one who experiences it rarely, the experience of feeling sexual attraction itself is going to be a Big Deal. Not to say the Big Deal isn’t also the situation that attraction puts the character in. But we’ve got a Big Deal on top of an already Big Deal and you’re gonna be drowning in conflict!

It’s likely to be a similar case to acespecs who only experience it under certain circumstances. Demisexuals, for example. For the most part, demisexuals function as asexual until they develop a special bond for a person and then BAM! They get smacked in the face with a big ol’ heaping pile of sexual attraction. They are also lost at sea, depending on how often they experience sexual attraction.

Acespecs who experience sexual attraction weakly, are going to have a hard time knowing if they’re even experiencing sexual attraction. They tend to question if what they’re feeling is sexual attraction or not. (And most the time, it’s probably not.) Maybe their libido went off while looking at a person, and now they’re trying to conjure up sexy thoughts to figure out if that was sexual attraction. Or maybe their libido did nothing, but they had a sexy thought about the person, and are wondering if that counts as sexual attraction. Maybe they actually know it was sexual attraction, but they just didn’t feel it strong enough to feel any innate desire to act upon it. Basically, this character is highly unlikely to get into any conflict involving the character of desire without some kind of outside intervention from other characters. (One exception might be to get closer to the character to figure out what kind of attraction they’re feeling.)

As for aces who don’t feel sexual attraction but still have sex? They might experience stuff like aesthetic, sensual, and/or romantic attraction. They’ll most likely have a preference towards having sex with someone they feel some attraction to. But they won’t feel sexual attraction for the person. They’ll likely have sex with the person because they’re turned on in general, or want to know what’s like, or they want to make them happy. Just, any reason that doesn’t involve actual sexual attraction towards the person. They’re not going to feel a need to dramatically rip the other person’s clothes off and start going at it then and there. They’ll just go along with things as they happen. They’re more likely to focus on whether they’re doing things right, or on how good the actions feel. They might think about how their partner is aesthetically attractive. Or that they’re in love with them or whatever. They may dig the emotional intimacy they’re getting out of it. If they’re easily distracted, they might start thinking of completely unrelated things. But they’re unlikely to think of how much they want to fuck their partner in particular. 

We also share similar problems to strict asexuals. Even though some of us do experience sexual attraction, there’s the matter of finding someone we’re even sexually attracted to! Or, sexually attracted enough to even pursue the feelings, or share that feeling with our partners. We’re less likely to initiate sex. We’re more likely to be content going without. There’s always exceptions though, especially if the ace has a high libido. Outside of relationships, people can be dismissive of our orientations. Some might think we have a problem that needs to be “fixed,” while others might think we’re being a bunch of special snowflakes and are actually just “normal.” Some of us grew up feeling “broken” until we discovered the ace spectrum. Some of us didn’t realize we were experiencing attraction differently than allos. Some of us didn’t even realize sexual attraction was a thing. 

So, all of that is worth keeping in mind as you go on to develop your acespec character and any situations you throw them in where their experiences as an acespec affects things. You’ll find that it’ll make a more interesting story than simply slapping an acespec label on an otherwise allo character.

Good luck! 💜

[lavenderbardley]

Writing immortals and age differences within relationships

When I was a teen, there were far too many books featuring characters that were hundreds of year old and dating teens. 

It still happens. But we’ve come to a point where many people agree this isn’t great. There’s a huge debate when it comes to age differences in media, but teenagers are generally too young to be dating immortals. 

A lot of these stories justify the age difference with the immortal having the body of a teen. Now, if they have the mind of a teen I can kind of see it, however then there’s the problem of, why even bother having them be hundreds of years old if that’s not going to play a role at all in their character? 

Personally I avoid them, kind of. 

Here’s the thing, in my own books there is a variety of species with very different life expectancy-s, some are immortal, others live for hundreds of years, some have the normal average human lifespan. 

So how do relationships work? Scratch that, how do healthy relationships work? 

Because we are allowed to write problematic relationships as long as we don’t fantasize them. 

Well, I use the life-long method of, it depends. 

Because a five year age different is not the same when talking 15 to 20 and 30 to 35. The same goes for immortality, a two hundred year age gap is completely unacceptable for an eighteen-year-old and two-hundred-and-eighteen-year-old. 

But what about a forty-year-old and two-hundred- and-forty-year-old? I allow it. Because the thing is, yes, this a complicated and layered relationship, but these are two consenting and understanding adults. It’s important there be communication about the different experiences and this relationships won’t be simple, but there’s no abuse happening here. 

A forty-year-old is capable of understanding what they’re getting into. 

The immortal character is also capable of understand their human partner won’t be around forever. 

For there me, there isn’t a number of years that makes an age gap acceptable or not. For me the youngest characters needs to be fully developed mentally, and there needs to be healthy communication. 

That isn’t to say I don’t have characters who are seven-hundred years old and refuse to date anybody under the age of five-hundred, but in their case it’s not a matter of morality, it’s about preferences. 

This character has experienced a life very different to that of a human or any other short life span species, and explaining that type of life can be difficult, hard work. They prefer to date people who share similar experiences. 

I have a variety of characters with a variety of relationship preferences and their own personal rules. But this is how I handle age-gaps.

I hope you found this interesting and I would love to hear if you have a different opinion! 

If you want to check out my books, free to read stories or other social medias you can check out my author website. I also have a discord for my book series where I’m open to talk about writing, publishing and books in general so if you’d like to reach out me join my discord!

My third book will be going into beta reading soon so if that something you’re interesting in, stay tuned! 

Have fun writing!

[lavenderbardley]

Writing a Novella: What It Is and What You Can Do With It

When you sit down to write a story, sometimes it’s longer than you imagined. Sometimes you get halfway through a WIP and realize it isn’t long enough to be a novel.

That’s okay! That means you have a novella on your hands.

What Is a Novella?

Novellas exist in the world between short stories and novels. Like with the world of novels, there’s no concrete word count for them, but they average between 17,000 and 50,000 words. (Those numbers are based on contests and other places you can submit them.)

What Makes Novellas Different from Short Stories?

You can submit short stories basically everywhere, as long as they meet the submission guidelines of journals, magazines, publishers, etc. 

Novellas are too long for literary journals and magazines. They would take up half—if not all—of the issue, which isn’t great for publications wanting to provide readers with a variety of content. It also consumes any ad space in each issue and would essentially prevent the publication from making any money from that printing.

As far as story structure, novellas are most similar to short stories. The next section clarifies that a bit more.

What Makes Novellas Different from Novels?

Novels have a few features that necessitate their length (60-100,000+ words):

Numerous conflicts

A cast of characters

A longform plot that can speed up or slow down in pace

A traditional structure (chapters, the “mountain” plot outline, potentially additional books in a saga)

Novellas are longer stories, but they have different features that require the shorter length (17,000-50,000 words):

A singular conflict

A handful of characters, but mostly less than three

A quick pace

Untraditional structures (they may have a few chapters or none at all; they could have unique sentence structuring; they could have abstract formatting that changes with each chapter)

Examples of Novellas You Can Read Right Now

You may have already read a few novellas and don’t even know it. Check out a few of these examples at your local library to get a feel for the outline and structure of a novella:

Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka

Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck

Never Mind by Edward St. Aubyn

Such Small Hands by Andrés Barba

Sula by Toni Morrison

The Passion by Jeanette Winterson

Mapping the Interior by Stephen Graham Jones

The Orange Eats Creeps by Grace Krilanovich

These novellas sometimes align with traditional novel structures and others break all the rules with elegance and expertise. The more modern stories toward the end of the list are especially inspiring for writers who want to defy the rules of writing.

Where Can You Submit a Novella?

Many literary agents only accept novel-length manuscripts outside of children’s books. If you want to write a novella, try looking for publishing opportunities in places that specifically request them, like:

AGNI

A Public Space

Fairlight Books

The Fantasist

GigaNotoSaurus

Narrative

New England Review

Worldweaver Press

You can find other publishers, journals, and contests in updated posts like these:

33 Publishers and Journals Seeking Novellas

Where to Publish Your Novella

Best Novella Book Publishing Companies

-----

Novellas deserve to be published and read just like any novel or short story. Write something you love and use these resources to get it out in the world. Your opportunities are endless—you just have to find publishers seeking the same type of material you’re writing.

[lavenderbardley]

007. first draft | (download now)

First Draft is a story outlining template meant to help with planning your next big writing project or your next NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). I know, as of posting this, there's less than a week to spare before NaNoWriMo '22, but I hope this finds the right people in time, and that it can be helpful! I LOVED making this template and adore the imagery/colours, but I would love to see how people customize this to fit their own projects! This template is FREE, so PLEASE consider reblogging so that fellow NaNo'ers can find it!!

INCLUDED This is a semi-in-depth template with 6 unique Landscape-Format pages. • Synopsis/Intro. • NaNoWriMo Word Count Calendar. (The calendar is set for November 2022, but with some table know-how you could edit it for whatever month you need!) • Character/Worldbuilding Descriptions. • Notes. • Chapter Outlines. • A Timeline of Events. There are detailed instructions on how to edit the timeline yourself, but you can also delete the page if you want.

HOW TO USE/EDIT • When you gain access to the doc, use “File > Make a Copy” • Do NOT remove the credit/links on the pages. • To replace images, click on each image separately and select "Replace Image." • The colour palette can be entirely customized, as it's all just highlights. • There are instructions on how to duplicate pages and how to use the Timeline page.

ETC . . . • Feel free to contact me if you have questions or need help! • I sometimes stream the creation process of these templates on Twitch and would love if you dropped by! • Likes are lovely, but reblogs go far here, so please consider sharing! • Find more info in my pinned post or about page!

[lavenderbardley]

Quick guide to “Show not tell”

We’re always told to do more showing and less telling in our work, but rarely told what that means. What exactly should you show and what should you tell? Really, the rule is simple - show us things that are important to your story, and tell us those that aren’t pivotal.

Telling isn’t always the worst thing you could possibly do, but you should know when to do it. Sometimes, trying to show absolutely everything in your story can get exhausting to the reader, and you might be in danger of losing the point you were trying to get across. 

Make sure when you show us something, it’s of importance to your overall story!

[lavenderbardley]

Non-writing activities that actually help your writing

To get better at writing, you have to write. Yes… But what about the times when you genuinely don’t feel like it?

First of all, it’s alright! It’s not the end of the world! You’re not a failed writer if you have a down day. But if you really feel like doing something that pushes your writing along, but isn’t actually writing, here are some things you can do! →

📚 Planning out your next chapter When in doubt, plot it out. Sometimes you might simply be stuck because you don’t have a clear path forward. A simple outline of all the major beats in your next chapter can really put things into perspective.

📚 Writing an impromptu scene Every writer goes off and fantasizes about a scene in their novel that isn’t actually part of the plan. Treat it as if it was a fanfic of your own novel and give it a shot! Writing it as fanfiction takes the pressure off, and might just get your creative juices flowing again.

📚Reading a similar book for research This is a  super helpful and fun way of doing research for your book. Dig out similar books in the genre and get reading. A great way to get book recommendations is to speak to some bookish people and tell them a little bit about the story you’re writing. Often, they can have great recommendations of a similar book vibe that could help you along.

📚 Actually research For whatever type of book you’re writing, you’re going to have to do some research. Whether it’s describing architecture in a fantasy world, or making sure your facts are correct in a historical setting, research is a crucial part of writing. Perhaps if your creative side of the brain isn’t feeling up to it right now, your logical one might be of us and help you gather some facts to make your writing more authentic.

📚 Edit or rewrite previous chapters If you have the need to work on your project, but can't bring yourself to write some more, work with what’s already there. It’s inevitable that some of the chapters you wrote, you aren’t entirely happy with. This might be the time to try something new - open that chapter side by side with a fresh document and rewrite it by changing one integral part of it.

📚 Think on it Yes, we all fantasize about our projects and our characters. But how often do you actually stop and truly think about your story as a whole? How often do you try to figure out that plothole before saying you’ll leave it for later? It might help to meditate for a bit, clear your head of distracting thoughts and focus on the problem in your writing that you need to solve.