#so some of us (Jem) are unintelligible at times

[rotten-dan-art]

been meaning to ask, actually, are the recordings of your dnd sessions going up anywhere? would love to see (hear?) more of sid and blade

they will be!!!!! we just need one last piece to get a video with the recap so that theycan be posted publically

[aelin-queen-of-terrasen]

𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐓𝐰𝐨

full masterlist - fic masterlist

After her successful debut into the ton, Celaena Sardothein was much in demand.

The Hamel townhouse saw a constant stream of callers; many a gentlemen fawned over the charming, eligible heiress and many a visiting lady came with the intention of recruiting this new addition to their circles as a prospective bride to their own brothers and sons. Despite her determination to laugh off compliments and insults alike - or perhaps because of it - it was not long before she was declared at par with the most eligible debutantes of the season. How this distinction pleased the lady herself could not be discerned but regardless of whether or not she liked it, she was the talk of the season and invitations to exclusive events poured in. When she accepted an invite ti the Stanhope's dinner party, the rumor mill worked and it was not long before word reached Lord Fenrys Ashryver.

"This is all pointless," muttered James Galathynius to his cousin with a pinched expression on his face.

Lord Fenrys stared at him through the mirror, sprawled as he was on James' bed.

"Really, Fen," the incensed man tried, "I know how you miss my sister—we all do but I wish you would not raise your hopes again. It is simply not possible—"

"I know the last time we found a lead, it turned out to be a dead end," said Fenrys sharply, "but it's different now. I saw her. I am not so far gone in my grief that I won't recognise the girl whose portrait I see in your father's study every day, even if she has grown up quite a bit."

"She died in the fire."

"How do you know?" The familiar arguement from last week rose to the surface. "It could have been anyone! The anklet we retrieved from the little girl's body was the only evidence of her identity."

"The anklet, a man's body beside the girl's, the warehouse's distance from our estate, it was all too coincidental."

"I think our parents might have been wrong, Jem - it could have been a misunderstanding for all we know," he tried patiently, attempting to keep the frustration with his cousin out of his voice or expression. "There can be no harm in meeting her anyway, she still is the Hamel heir after all and I know you wanted an introduction; once you see her, you will know why I am so sure."

"If you insist, I will meet her," said James. "I fear you are setting yourself up for disappointment."

"I think you will be pleasantly surprised."

James regarded his cousin. "I hate to say this, Fen—"

"Then don't."

"—but it could be an impostor too. My sister had a significant inheritance, and father recently changed his will. Aelin's assets—"

"Aelin's assets, whatever they are, can be nothing compared to the Hamel fortune."

James frowned, knowing he was backed into a corner. "If we are, I should like to inquire into her background as evidence."

Evidence.

Fenrys wondered if he meant evidence against his claims or to support them but he readily agreed that it was the wisest course. Promptly, a note was sent to his solicitor to make discreet inquires about the Hamel business, the owner and his adoptive daughter. The solicitor, Mr Stone, was a competent man and it took less than two hours to provide the basic information: the Hamel's townhouse address, their rumoured income, her dowry and the stories around Miss Sardothein's 'adoption.'

"She isn't Arobynn's adoptive daughter like everyone assumed then?"

Mr Stone said, "Arobynn did adopt her, to be sure, but only on papers. Arobynn found her in the slums of London when she was but five, and persuaded the Rhunns—who have long been his dearest friends and loyal clients—to take her in. By all accounts, it looks like he took an active interest in her education but it was the Rhunns who raised her until Arobynn amassed for himself a big enough fortune, bought an estate or two in the countryside and took her in."

"How old is she now, do you know?"

"The young lady is eighteen or around, sir, though no one can be sure."

Fenrys shot a look at his cousin.

"And what can you tell us about the Rhunns, Mr Stone?" asked James.

"Nothing good, sir."

The cousins shared a look.

"Thomas Rhunn was a country gentleman until he lost his estate in gambling and like. He has been the Hamel Corporations' prime investor since it was founded some twenty years ago—that's where his fortune comes from," said he. "You will be interested in the bank records, sir, I think—he, uh, he gets an yearly sum of five thousand pounds every year from an anonymous account since 1798."

"The year they adopted Miss Sardothein?"

Neither cousin mentioned it was also the year Aelin had 'died.'

Mr Stone went on. "It is my belief, sir, that the money was for raising the young lady - the timing certainly matches - but it is not one of Arobynn's shell accounts."

"So you think someone else is paying the Rhunns to raise her?"

"I am."

"Their financial situation," James wondered how he should broach this, "Do you think they might employ deceit to secure wealth or position?"

Fenrys gave him an annoyed look.

Mr Stone, thoughtfully said, "Thomas Rhunn is a clever sort of man, sir, but too lazy for something so devious and his wife—a more insipid, unintelligent creature doesn't exist. The daughter, though, she is an ambitious one like her godfather." He hesitated, but the gentlemen looked so interested, he continued. "But I—I think, from what I heard, she is devoted to her trade and quote adept at it. I could not believe her capable of deception to achieve that."

The gentlemen sincerely thanked him for the information and he departed.

Fenrys turned to him. "So?"

"So?"

"So did you see the many proofs?"

"I didn't see any proofs, Fen. So she's the same age as our Aelin and she was adopted."

"The same year as Aelin disappeared!"

James frowned. "That doesn't mean—"

"Yes, it does." Fenrys huffed, more hopeful than ever. "To quote your own words, 'tis too much of a coincidence.'"

He fell silent, eyes shut and took a deep breath. "It's too much. If she is—If she didn't die, you know what it means? Edward has been a shell of himself all these years, my father—he is, he is on his deathbed and Aedion joined the army—he is on the continent somewhere and we might never see him! All those years we lost grieving, and she might never have been dead. None of us even thought to look! If we had, If I had... perhaps she would have been found sooner? But no, I wish to see her first. I will not worry about all that until I am sure."

Fenrys placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I know it will be hard and I am sorry for the years you wasted," said he with a calm, reassuring smile, "but all is not lost. If tis really her, your father could see her and know she is alive before he passes, Edward could finally let go of his guilt and have his sister back—he might even die of happiness—and we will call Aedion back; he will come once he hears she is back. Tis not too late to fix everything and save the years we all still have left."

"If it is her."

"I hope, that is, I really hope that it's her."

"Indeed." James nodded. "I hope so too."

"You said she is here?" Lady Perrington looked faintly scandalized.

James rolled his eyes as the crowd turned to look at the doors where a tall, blonde woman stood on the arm of a red-haired man. The room broke into furious whispers.

Beside him, a lady—Mrs Evans, perhaps?—tittered with a companion. "My George said she is not even legally adopted, you know? You don't stand that close to your godfather." This was meant to be a whisper but her voice was too nasally, the words carried over the room and people shared alarmed looks as the object of this conversation walked towards them. The woman kept talking, entirely unaware, "I could never countenance the very thought that she is to inherit a trade empire. All of her dowry will not find her a suitor if she acts like a man."

Miss Sardothein stopped in front of them. "My dear Mrs Evans! I am so grateful for your concern for my marriage prospects." Both ladies tilted his head curiously. She pressed on. "You of all people will understand the importance of caution, I am certain." Her back was towards him but he heard the smile on her face as she spoke. "Is dear Mr Evans' gout any better now?"

James choked on his drink and sputtered. Fenrys winked at him from across the room.

Mrs Evans' face turned red.

Lady Perrington jumped to her friend's rescue. "Miss Sardothein, why, it is such a surprise to see you here! Lady Stanhope has certainly been," here, she pursed her lips and then, commented in a suggestive tone, "liberal in her choice of guests. Your godfather," she nodded towards that gentleman, "is in trade, I hear. Pray, what kind of trade, can you tell?" The guests had all abandoned their own conversations in favour of eavesdropping on this one. Lord Stanhope looked torn between amusement and alarm while his wife openly and unattractively gaped at the spectacle.

Miss Sardothein lifted a hand to dismiss the enquiry. "Oh, I can never talk business on social events but you may ask your husband at your leisure. Lord Perrington regularly invests in many of our ventures." Though the lady's back was turned to him, her voice was fierce.

"Such a devious creature," a familiar voice remarked.

Rowan greeted his cousin with a nod before fixing his eyes back on the drama unfolding in front of them.

Lady Perrington was looking around in search of allies among the onlookers but when no one stepped forward, she inclined her head, her face colored. "Indeed, I shall," she said and hastily excused herself.

Mrs Evans followed suit, eyes firmly on the floor and James almost felt sorry for them. Almost.

Before his apparent sister—how he scoffed at that notion—could turn, Rowan approached at her side. It was rare indeed that the dour man approached anyone first and never so readily. The novelty of that alone occupied his attention.

"Miss Sardothein." He bowed.

She curtsied with a smile. "Mr Whitethorn." Another man approached with a lady on his arm. "Lord Fenrys! I did not know you would be in attendance."

Lord Fenrys bowed over her hand. "I came as soon as I heard you were attending." She laughed at the gallantry—a sweet, tinkling laugh that caught his attention and he again ignored his heart's nagging— and he turned to introduce his companion. "Allow me to introduce my cousin, Mr Rowan Whitethorn of Harcomb, Doranelle and his wife, Mrs Lyria Whitethorn." Fenrys' dark eyes glinted and he smiled charmingly, letting a loose lock of hair fall on his forehead.

"I have already met Mr Whitethorn." Celaena smiled at the woman, then with a less pleasant expression towards the woman. "Mrs Whitethorn, it's a pleasure to meet you."

James had met Mrs Whitethorn barely once or twice in his life and only in passing. He had expected a genial creature, if perhaps a little reserved like her husband but she looked like a simpleton.

Though the fabric of her clothes was expensive and the stitching perfect, but the colour was dull and did no favours to her sallow complexion. Her neck remained unadorned and she wore no necklaces, bracelets or earrings, a fact made more pronounced by the tight modest bun she wore her dark hair in. By her appearance, she seemed more suited to a nunnery than to a fancy dinner party as the wife of a gentleman of rank. She exchanged curtsies and shared greetings but otherwise showed no inclination to converse and hastily excused herself as soon as was polite.

Rowan stood where he was, brooding, stiff as a board when the tradesman's daughter addressed him. "I thought you would be happy here, at least, for you detest balls but you are scowling still."

Rowan said stiffly, "I detest social events."

"Even when you don't have to dance?"

"Even then."

"I should like to hear why."

"I doubt you would understand."

"Come now, sir," said she smilingly, "Do not insult my intelligence by assuming that. Tell me and I might."

"It is not that. I—I do not—you will laugh but I hardly ever know what to say and often give offense where it is not intended." He turned to her. "You cannot have any such problem."

She arched an eyebrow in question.

He said, "You are too lively and charming, you could not possibly manage it."

"And people are too apt to forgive a pretty face in general," she agreed.

His lips twitched. "You claimed you were not a fan of convention earlier but I see you have no love for modesty either."

"For false modesty, I do not. I freely acknowledge vanity to be my chief sin." Then, she paused, "Your wife is, she is terribly shy, I think, but I hope you will not trouble yourself so much on her manner."

"I would say she is more unwilling than shy," said he with uncharacteristic openness. "I hope you were not offended."

"Oh, not at all—"

"Dear cousin," an enthusiastic voice cut through the din of polite conversation in the room, "You must stop monopolizing the lady's time. There is someone I should like to introduce her to—James. James, man, she's here, look. Allow me to present my favourite cousin, Mr James Galathynius of Graceview, Orynth."

James turned to them and bowed politely as she turned.

Then his face paled.

"Aelin." He forced a smile. "Forgive me, that is, you look exceedingly like—"

"Like five-year-old Miss Galathynius? So I've been told before," said she good humoredly.

James blinked disbelievingly. His vision blurred. Blonde hair. Ashryver eyes—that damning feature he thought Fenrys had been exaggerating about and the button nose that both, Aunt Evalin and his mother had shared. His cousin, noticing his preoccupation, engaged Miss Sardothein—nay, Aelin—into animated conversation as one thought after another crashed into his mind.

Thirteen years.

Thirteen years lost in grief and regret.

Thirteen years of seperation when they should have been searching for her.

Aelin grinned triumphantly from atop the maple tree down at her brothers, cousins and friends, dress torn and muddied. Her expression had the tiniest hint of pride as she placed herself on a sturdy branch.

"You shall fall down hurt yourself if you do not climb down, Aelin!" exclaimed Elide fretfully, twisting her muslin dress in evident distress. "And then what will we do?"

"No, no, I never shall," she insisted with a pout. "I can make this my home and you may visit me whenever you would like."

"But you cannot stay up there forever! You would feel hungry," reasoned the ever-responsible Chaol, biting his lip. Barely nine-years-old, he was the first to tattle on his friends when mishaps occured between children as they often do.

"James can bring me food," she declared haughtily, pushing one braid over her shoulder.

James grinned. "And whyever should I? You never do anything for me. I will let you starve a little perhaps. It may teach you a lesson."

"May the devil take you!"

Edward, ever the polite elder brother, reprimanded, "Aelin! That is not the language we may use." He was alarmed when her eyes teared up. "I am sorry, Aelin, love, will you not please come down?"

Aelin sniffed. "You are being mean and I will never talk to you."

"But will you not calm down before our father sees you? You would be punished." He frowned when the little rascal stuck her tongue out. He added, "If you come down, I will convince father to give Mrs Norris a leave for today."

"You promise?"

Edward nodded. "A gentleman's word."

She nodded uncertainly, then looked down and whimpered. "I can't."

Edward groaned, prompting the others to snicker at his expense. He extended his hands towards the tree.

"Climb down," he said, "James or I will catch you if you fall."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "How do I know he won't let me fall?"

"You are our little sister, Aelin," Edward said resolutely, extending his hands further as James did the same. "He will never let you hurt, I promise."

"A gentleman's word?" This time, her bright eye were trained on James.

He nodded. "A gentleman's word."

But had he not broken his promise? She ended up in a tradesman's family so far from home while everyone thought her dead. A five-year-old alone in the streets of London with no family whatsoever, thought he with growing unease. How terrified she must have been! He turned towards her now.

Her eyes had always been bright and her disposition lively but it was all tempered with a quiet dignified sort of grace. She looked beautiful now, the roundness in her face gone and her sharp features accentuating that inner fire.

His little sister.

As impulsive and easy to provoke as ever and every inch the little terror he remembered, down to the sneaky smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. He blinked the tears back into his eyes.

"You would not object, would you, James?" asked Fenrys.

He startled. "Huh?"

"Miss Sardothein here expressed her interest in chess and I thought to invite her for her a game tomorrow in your house." He raised an eyebroe. "Unless you have any prior obligations?"

He did have prior obligations but he would cancel them all. "I would be pleased to have you there."

Rowan frowned, looking between the three of them as if he was missing something. "Is that not... nevermind, but perhaps you should consider bringing your mother along, Miss Sardothein, for propriety's sake?" James cursed the man for his caution. A private visit would be an ideal time to reveal all to her but not if she brought someone along.

Thankfully, she dismissed the idea herself. "I will see if I can get papa to come along but I am a tradesman's daughter, far too involved in the business myself. I am certain my reputation will not suffer for it, unless you mind." Both he and Fenrys assured her that they would not mind at all and James reiterated how sincerely pleased he would be to have her there.

"We will see how pleased you are when I make you eat your dust, Mr Galathynius," she teased with a grin.

James grinned back. "I wouldn't be so sure."

Dear Edward,

I know we are not in the habit of exchanging correspondence as brothers ought but I hope you will forgive me for the presumption. Certain events of note have taken place here recently, such that it necessitated that you be informed immediately. I have a shocking good news to impart:

Our dearest Aelin did not die in the warehouse fire. She is very much alive and well.

By some stroke of luck, cousin Fenrys came across her at a ball and you will be shocked to hear she is the sole heir to the Arobynn Hamel, currently known as Miss Sardothein. He insisted she was our cousin since his first meeting, though I refused to believe him but I met her today and there can be no doubt to her identity. Fenrys invited her to a chess match in the evening tomorrow, where we plan to disclose everything to her. Father has not been informed yet.

Make haste to London, brother.

Yours,

James

Edward Galathynius, the Viscount Milton sat in his armchair, stunned.

He had been the last person to see Aelin. He had stupidly left her alone on the estate grounds that awful day. He remembered his father's panic, his mother's disinterest and his little brother's distress. He had been thirteen years old, back home from Eton for the duration of the summer. He envied James who could look at their childhood—her childhood—with the rose-coloured veil of forgetfulness. James was four when she was born. He would not remember her first steps, her first words, the nights she spent in his bed when she escaped the nursery, her favourite haunts and mischiefs. James would be able to look at their time together without being wrecked with agony because of his grief, the guilt for his blunder, the irrational desire to have her back. James would not dream up variations of that cursed day repeatedly over the years.

"Aelin! Aelin, love, slow down, no, not there, yes, gods, Aelin!" Edward shouted behind her. "Your frock! You look wild—no, stop that, Mrs Norris will faint of horror if you are any more muddied."

Aelin stepped into one mud puddle after another. She sent dirt flying back at her proper, dignified elder brother who pinched his nose in distaste. "Now we are both muddied," said she, grinning over her shoulder. "You can tell her that we didn't see the mud and both slipped."

"And lie to her?" He looked horrified.

Aelin tilted her head, fussing over her hair matted with mud. "Is it a lie if we do it for the greater good?"

"The greater good?"

Aelin nodded, pleased with herself. "Of not letting her faint. She is so thin, I sometimes fear a strong gust of wind will blow her away."

She ran further, bursting into giggles every few minutes and by now, had both of them looking no less than two street urchins. He tried to be stern with her but it was awfully hard to remain angry at someone so determined not to pay attention to a word. He knew better than to scold her, lest she summon her tears. That never failed to make him comply with whatever she asked.

"Aelin, there's a hole there, be careful. Stop running, will you—Aelin!" It was too late.

Her right hand gripped her ankle while the other was on her mouth in a poor attempt to stifle her sob.

Edward frowned as she whimpered in pain. "I told you not to run, no, no, don't cry, darling, it will be fine. I shall call for someone." They had been out on the grounds for a while now and the manor house was far away. She was too heavy for him to carry so far and he did not want to hurt her further.

He patted her cheek affectionately. "There, now, you are a brave girl, and I need you to wait right here. I will run back to the manor and bring help, yes?"

She promised she would not and he hurried back to the house.

The rest of the day remained hazy in his memories. He had arrived back at the spot with his father, a growing sense of dread in the pit of his stomach to find her gone. Search parties were organised and the merchants, locals and servants were all on alert for the beloved little spitfire. Day faded into night, then night into dawn when an express rider came with a letter from the magistrate and his father left the house in haste. He had chanced a look at his father's letter, his concern for her too great to worry about the impropriety of reading another's letter without permission. The contents read:

Dear sir,

I am afraid I have sad tidings to depart. One of the warehouses outside the town had caught fire the previous night and two lives were lost as far as we can determine. The first—a grown man, in his thirties or forties, has been determined as a local thief—and the second, a little girl, perhaps five or six years old. Her identity has not been confirmed but we retrieved a silver anklet among the remains. I beg for your assistance in identifying the girl's family. Do come as soon as you can.

Yours

Sir Arthur Renard

His heart pounded too loud in his ears. He felt hot and cold at once. He knew why only one ankle was retrieved from the corpse, because he had the other. It had fallen off her leg earlier that day and he had retrieved it with the intention to fix the loose lock on it.

His knees buckled.

"What happened?" James asked.

Edward shook his head, about to tell him not to worry. His words choked up in his throat and he excused himself from company, pale and ashen, his head throbbing. He ran up the stairs to his room, dismissed his valet for the night and slumped onto bed. The same bed he had shared with her on nights when she was spooked by thunder or some horror story Fenrys had related to her earlier that day.

Edward had left her there alone.

He buried his face in the pillow and wept.

Rhoe withdrew into himself after the funeral. Edward found comfort back at university, where no one or nothing would remind him of his loss, where he could avoid his guilt and pain.

Then mother died.

The summer visits to family became rarer and rarer. Father never insisted, retiring into his library, the one place where her presence was most patent and he was all too happy to remain where he was. The distance increased after he left university. His father preferred James' company, who was lively and good-humored and as James preferred the society to be found in London, they made the townhouse their home while Edward ran their country estates.

But now,

She is very much alive and well. His heart would not be satisfied.

He ordered for his horse to be saddled and riding gear prepared. The best of the family suites were to be prepared and aired out. She was alive and well, and soon, she would be back home.

Feeling happier than he had in months, Edward Galathynius spurred his horse onwards, fast as he could, to London.

I know I was supposed to update Cinders first but my brain insisted on rebelling and this is what happened. I will update that one soon tho, and I think you'll like it. 💖

tags:

@thesirenwashere // @courtofjurdan //@little-crow-corvere // @the-dark-swan // @queenofgreenbriar // @clockworkgraystairs // @julemmaes // @mymultiversee // @queen-of-glass // @strangely-constructed-soul // @mijaldraws // @http-itsrebecca // @aesthetics-11 // @lord-douglas-the-third // @flowersinvegas // @aelinchocolatelover // @cool-ish-nerd // @faerie-queen-fireheart // @sad-book-whore // @hizqueen4life // @the-gods-killer // @booknerdproblems // @annejulianneh111 // @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln // @b00kworm // @mysweetvillain // @curlyredqueen06 // @moondancer-204 // @thesurielships // @witchling-leonor // @ladywitchling // @amren-courtofdreams // @ifinallygavein //@jlinez // @faequeenaelin // @df3ndyr // @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato // @superspiritfestival // @xx-fiona-xx // @stardelia // @maastrash // @miihlovesnoone // @sanakapoor // @abookishfreak // @ireallyshouldsleeprn // @morganofthewildfire // @bellamyblakru // @theilliumbluebell10 // @jesstargaryenqueen // @woollycat22

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged.

[beclynn-herondale]

Carstairs siblings.

( for my fic I am writing called the next gen of shadowhunters and downworlders) ( Mina Carstairs and the world belong to Cassandra Clare)

Name: Wilhelmina Yiqiang Ke Carstairs.

Age: 19

Nickname/s: Mina, Min Min, Mina Mine, Silly Melon, Little Mina by jem and family and friends. Badass warrior woman by some. Terrifying Carstairs by some. The Future of Women by Charlie Herondale, The Beautiful Mina Carstairs by Charlie Herondale. Babe by Charlie Herondale

Parabatai: Charlie Herondale

Gender: female

Sexuality: Heterosexual/Bi curious

Personality: She is sarcastic at times and serious at others, She can be Reckless which makes her and her parabatai and dangerous combination sometimes, she isn't afraid to say what she thinks whatever it may be. She is a free flower some say. She isn't afraid to stand up for what she believes in or the people she cares about and loves. She will show Affection to those she loves and cares for, she will angst out with her parabatai. She can be Calm as well and Is very kind and loving. Though often fears her powers seeing how they are demonic. And she can be Hateful towards herself for her demonic powers. Even though Charlie, her Mom and Dad and others Assure her there is nothing wrong with her powers and that her half brother James Herondale once felt the same about his. With Charlie she feels comfortable her Parabatai was her best friend and more, but also had powers even if they are angelic but she is still not like the other shadowhunters. She loves to read with Charlie and Charlie often falls asleep on Mina's lap or shoulder she Cherishes these moments with her Parabatai. She is the kind of person you want to have on your side in a battle, she is smart and is talented. She is Quite at times and Is Extremely supportive of the ones she loves and care about. She has a sword and she's not afraid to use it. She can see Ghosts including her half siblings who she often Talks with nobody but Charlie and her Siblings know about this though. She loves her Parabatai so much it hurts sometimes everyone Thinks her Parabatai to be Unintelligent or A Bimbo as the modern age would call it but She knows her Parabatai and will Fight those Fuc***s if she has to. Her Father Jem Carstairs often says her and Charlie's relationship reminds him of His and His Parabatai's Will Herondale relationship, she has to admit that's one of the best compliments she could receive to live up to even a fragment of what her father was and is. She cares for her siblings like a second mom, She wants to travel all kinds of Places and learn as much as she can. And she knows who she would travel with it would be Charlie and Charlie's Girlfriend Marisa Helen Rosales-kingson-Blackthorn or as they call her Mari, and Mina's Boyfriend Max Lightwood-Bane the best People for Traveling Mina thinks. Mina can seem like she's overconfident but she's not she just knows what she can do and is capable of. She will talk with her uncle Will aka Will Herondale and he will make her laugh and cheer her up, and will tell her she is a very special girl who has amazing parents who is proud of, and loves with all he has.

Physical description: Mina has Dark Grey eyes and long unruly Black Hair, she is pale like her Mother and has the Slender features of her Father but has her Mother's Chin, she may be slender but is strong and has muscle. She is skilled in the ways of fighting and hand to hand combat basically she can kick your ass but won't unless you push her to. She is very beautiful. She has a kind looking face. She has Almond shaped eyes that are sharp. She is said to be Muscular as well not extremely but she has muscle. She usually wears Jean's and tshirts. She'll wear suits and blouses. She wears shorts and tank tops. She wears sneakers and combat boots and shadowhunter gear. She loves to wear pjs. She loves leather jackets and hoodies. She also has a necklace that belonged to Cordelia Carstairs and she holds it dear. It has a Sapphire in it with. Ruby and has a gold Chain.

Name: Jonah Alastair Carstairs ( I will add a Chinese name as well once I do research. )

Age: 15

Nickname/s: Jone, Jonah love, baby boy, sweet Jonah by family and jem and tessa, Jo Jo by Mina, Jone Bug by Charlie don't question this Charlie has interesting mind. My Precious Twin by Cecy Carstairs, (might add on later)

Parabatai: Future Parabatai Vivanne Blackthorn-Panhellow

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Pansexual

Personality: he is sweet and quiet, he is often described as all that is good, he is loved by almost everyone who meets him. He is kind and will often those who are in need. He has deep respect for his older siblings and hopes to be as great as them he says, Even though he is great in his own ways. He cam be curious and adventurous. He is extremely loving and will hug you if you're having a hard time, he loves books and instruments. He also plays the violin very well like his father and enjoys the same books as his mother. He has a little crush on Charlie Herondale his big sisters Parabatai but he finds Tessa Maryse Herondale Clary and Jace's Second daughter one of the most beautiful people has ever seen, the poor boy is conflicted by the beauty of the herondales. He often talks to his half brother James Herondale who is a Ghost and Asks for advice, in which James replies with just because I married Cordelia Carstairs doesn't mean I know how or why she choosed me. I didn't deserve the kindness she always gave me. And Jonah gets more confused. And so he asks his other half sibling Lucie Herondale who is also a Ghost and she says follow your heart little Joan and never let them tell you what your heart holds. And he starts to cry because he's an emotional babe ok. And will cry at the littlest things a affectionate moment between someone or dog commercials where they are asking for dogs to he adopted, and yes he does ask Tessa and Jem if they Can get a Dog and they end up getting a Corgi who they name Gabe after years of asking their parents. Jonah sneaks Gabe into bed with him because the dog is extremely snuggly and loves his family very much. And when they visit the Herondale Family who have a golden retriever named Em Em , they bring Gabe so he can play with her and you can find Tessa Herondale and Jonah Carstairs playing with the Dogs with dorky smiles on their Faces. Something Jonah loves is how he's one of the only people who cam make Tes as he calls her laugh unconditional it makes him feel strange but happy. He doesn't know what the feeling is but he doesn't care as long as he can hold onto their friendship it's enough.

Physical description: he has light brown hair and Dark eyes like his Father, he is slender but strong, he looks like his mama in the face except like his father around the eyes. He is tall for his age but some say he may just grow fast and stop early, although seeing as how his parents are tall they expect him to be tall. He and his twin sister Cecy look almost identical except she has black hair and blue eyes. He may be skinny but he has muscle as well. He is often described as beautiful and very handsome. He has one of the kindest faces. His eyes are filled with kindness and lovingness. His smile is beautiful. He has think lips. And almond shaped eyes that are sharp. He has hands of a musician, they are slim and long, and look delicate. He often wears Jean's and tshirts. He will dress up In suits if he has to. He wears sneakers and combat boots. He usually likes tshirts with sayings on them or vintage tshirts and music band tshirts. He likes to wear ripped Jean's usually black or grey but will wear blue. He likes jackets and hoodies. He wears a bracelet that belonged to Lucie Herondale as a way to carry his half sister with him even when though she is dead and is a ghost but she can't always be with him so he carries it with him. It is silver with emeralds in it, it is beautiful.

Cecily Jessie Carstairs ( again I will add a Chinese name to her when I find one )

Age: 15

Nickname/s: Cecy, Little Fighter, Wild Child, Baby Girl, Little Girl with a big Heart, by family and friends. Ce Ce by Charlie, a force to be reckoned with by Charlie. Old Soul. Twin of Mine by her twin Jonah Carstairs.

Parabatai: Becky Lightwood.

Sexuality: Bisexual

Personality: She is stubborn and is not the type to back down, she teases the people she's close with but it's her way of showing affection. She is kind, and Always does the Right Thing. She loves deeply and fiercely. She often reminds men and boys that girls and women are strong as well and can kick ass. She is skilled in fighting for her age but has put countless hours into training to achieve it. Her and her Parabatai Sophie Lightwood are a great team and have an amazing friendship, they have a close bond which Cecy cherishes. Whenever she needs someone to lean on Sophie is there, and if Sophie needs someone Cecy is there. She loves the herondales they are some of her best friends. She is also friends with the blackthorn children and the Rosales-Kingson-Blackthorn family and one in particular is someone she is interested in, his name is Andrew Rosales-kingson-Blackthorn and he is lovely she says and she teases him of course. She is sarcastic and she is when times are awkward and need a little lighting up. When she smiles it lights up a room but very few get to see that smile that lights things up. She likes to find beauty in the imperfections and is often the one who tells others they are beautiful because they are them and no one can be like them or have their beauty. She enjoys talks with her namesake Cecily Herondale who is a ghost and they often talk about how similar Cecy is to Cecily and that Cecy will do amazing things. She talks with uncle Will as well, they often make sarcastic remarks together and talk about books and music, and how beautiful Jem playing the violin is, yes cecy loves hearing her father play the violin and says it's one of the most beautiful sounds she's ever heard. She has a close relationship with her Mama and Dad but hangs with her Dad a lot. Jem taught Cecy to play the Violin at a young age cause she begged him to. She loves to Visit and watch Clary Herondale cause she loves painting and Clary taught her how to and she must admit Clary is like an Aunt to Cecy and she loves visiting her. She also loves to visit uncle Julian and he has taught her stuff to, the funny thing is Clary and Julian never minded the other teaching her stuff they always respected each and even took tips from each and fangirled over art together. Cecy loves anything art and to read books and fill her head with information. She loves her older siblings who she calls the meme team, Kit always includes her and Mina as well they are amazing and she can't explain how much she loves them. And her twin Jonah of course who she loves more then anything.

Physical description: She has long Black hair and Blue Eyes, she has Jem's high cheekbones and slender features and looks like her mama around the chin and eyes, she is tall for her age like her twin. She is beautiful and has a sweet but kinda blank looking face. She is Slim and lean but strong. She has a scar on her arm from a deep cut she got as a little child, she loves the scar though it reminds her of who she is, that she is a strong girl who can overcome and be a badass shadowhunter. She has slight freckles along her face. She wears her hair in ponytails and braids often and on special occasions will wear it down. She often wears Jean's and Leggings, Tshirts and Tank Tops, she loves Sneakers and Combat Boots, she Wears a necklace that detects when demons are around that magnus had made for her similar to the one Isabelle Lightwood had and passed down to her daughter Sophie Lightwood. It has a black chain with a Amethyst in it. She holds the necklace dear. Magnus is someone she looks up to and very much enjoys his company.

Name: Gabe Carstairs the corgi

Age: 2 years.

Nickname/s: gabby, gab gab, GG, sweetheart, sweet boy.

Gender: male.

He is like most corgi's on the looks and his personality is very energetic and sweet and he is snuggling and loves his family. He is protective of his family. And will try to cheer them up when they are upset.

( thank you to @daisyherxndale for all the help with the characters)

[reddielibrary]

Burn away the winter’s cold

Secret Santa: Monse | @jem-carstairs-is-perfection

Gift for: Katie | @kaspbrak-eddie

Special Message: Merry Christmas from your Secret Santa! I hope you like your gift, I loved writing it! Enjoy some snuggling boys!

Word count: 2,889

Richie knew there was someone trying to wake him up. He could hear their voice through the haze of sleep and could feel them nudging his arm. Deep down he knew it wasn’t time to wake up and he turned around in the bed, hoping that was enough to discourage whoever was trying to get him to open his eyes.

It wasn’t.

“Richie. Hey, Richie, wake up.”

His sleep addled brain recognized Eddie’s voice and he wondered why on earth was Eds trying to wake him up in the middle of the night. He tried to ask him that, but his question came out like an unintelligible mumble.

Eddie ignored it. “Wake up, Rich.”

“Go away, Eds.” Richie groaned, covering his head with his blanket, trying to block Eddie out. He was tired, damn it and he wanted to sleep.

Eddie huffed, but his nudging only turned more insistent. Richie sighed into the pillow, it was clear that Eddie wasn’t going to leave him alone.

He was gathering the strength to open his eyes, when he felt cold fingers sneak under the blanket and press against the back of his neck.

“Goddamnit!” He cried, trying to get away from Eddie’s fingers and opening his eyes to glare at his friend. “What the hell, Eds?”

“I’m sorry.” He said, but he didn’t sound sorry at all. “I’ve been trying to wake you up for ten minutes.”

“Why are you waking me up in the first place? It’s-” He unlocked his phone and squinted at the numbers on the screen. “One in the fucking morning.”

Eddie sighed, “The space heater in my room stopped working.”

“What do you mean, stopped working?” Richie asked, stretching his arms and letting out a yawn. It didn’t seem like he was going back to sleep anytime soon, so he grabbed his glasses from his nightstand and put them on. The light that filtered from the street through his bedroom window was enough to see Eddie clearly. He had a blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders and his nose was red, probably from the cold. Richie had to resist the urge to pull him into bed with him and snuggle him, with how adorable he looked. It would be inappropriate, not to mention he was supposed to be angry at Eddie for waking him up in the middle of the night.

“It was working and then it stopped.” Eddie said, matter-of-factly.

“Really, Eds?”

Eddie sighed, exasperated. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Richie. It was working just fine, then it started making these weird rattling noises and then it just, died.” He explained, shrugging. “And now my room is a fucking freezer.”

“And you want me to-” Richie trailed off, not knowing exactly what Eddie wanted from him.

“Can you come take a look at it? See if you can fix it?”

“Eds, I have no idea how to fix a space heater.”

Eddie pouted, “Please.”

Richie sighed, he could never say no to Eddie, especially when he was looking at him with the biggest, most adorable doe eyes ever. “Fine, Eds, but I can’t make any promises.”

Eddie smiled at him, grateful and turned around trusting Richie would follow him. And he did, stepping out of his bedroom, across the hall and into Eddie’s own room that, true to Eddie’s words, was freezing cold.

Ten minutes later, Richie was sitting cross-legged in the cold floor, with Eddie kneeling behind him. There was a frown on his face as he studied the broken space heater. Eddie stared expectantly at him, hoping that by staying silent Richie would magically know what the problem was.

“Aha!”

“Did you find what’s wrong?” Eddie asked hopeful, peering over Richie’s shoulder at the heater.

Richie shook his head, “Nope, I have no idea what’s wrong.”

“Then why did you say ‘aha’?”

“Oh, I just had the best idea for Bev’s Christmas present.”

Eddie swatted the back of Richie’s head, “You’re supposed to be figuring out how to fix it, not Christmas shopping in your head.”

“Eds, I could look at this for the rest of the night and I still wouldn’t have the slightest idea of how to fix it.”

“You’re an engineering major, aren’t you supposed to know about this stuff?” Eddie asked, raising his a challenging eyebrow at his friend.

Richie snorted, “You’re a pre-med student, if I started coughing up my lungs right now, would you know how to fix it?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, ignoring Richie’s quip. “Isn’t there someone we can call? Maybe ask someone in the building for help?”

“It’s almost two A.M, Eds, no one will help us. Besides, you know very well that everyone in the building but us has left for the holidays.” Richie explained, patiently.

“Maybe if we- uh.” Eddie frowned, and then half-heartedly hit the heater, expecting it to just start up again. It didn’t work. He tried hitting it harder, one, two, three times.

“Okay, okay.” Richie said, grabbing Eddie’s hands to stop strike number four. “Clearly that’s not working, Eds. I think it’s time to let it go. Mr. Space heater is dead. Let him rest in peace.”  

Eddie sighed, dropping his head on Richie’s shoulder. “You know who is not going to rest in peace today?” He asked. “Me, because I’m going to freeze to death.”

Richie patted his head, comfortingly. An idea occurred to him, but he hesitated, not knowing if he should suggest it or not. He didn’t see any other options though, it was either that or leaving Eddie to sleep in a cold room.

“You could- uh. I mean, if you want, you can sleep in my room.” Richie said, shrugging just a bit too much, trying to act as if it was no big deal.

And it wasn’t or at least, that’s what Richie was trying to tell himself. It wasn’t like they have never shared a bed before, they had, several times but that was back when they were kids and when Richie didn’t have a hopeless crush on his best friend, or at least hadn’t realized it existed. But this wasn’t about that, this was him offering his warm room and warm bed to his friend, no hidden intentions and definitely, no need to make a big deal about it.

Clearly, Eddie didn’t feel the same way. Richie couldn’t see his face, but he felt the way he tensed up when Richie suggested they shared a bed and when he didn’t answer right away, Richie started to panic.

“I’m just saying, Eds, its cold as balls in here. You won’t get any sleep if you stay here. Not to mention your dick will probably freeze and fall off.”

Eddie snorted, and Richie felt his breath hit the back of his neck and it made a shiver run down his spine. “Are you so concerned about my dick that you’re letting me sleep in your bed?”

Richie laughed the comment off, trying not to give away just how much he cared about it. “I’m willing to take one for the team, yes.” He said and chanced a glance at Eddie’s face. He seemed to be considering it, even if he looked a bit hesitant. “Come on, it will be just like when we were kids, Eds.”

“Except you weren’t a six-foot giant when we were kids.”

“Funny how you’re still a five-foot midget, though.”

Eddie swatted his arm, “Ha-ha.” He said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Richie chuckled and pressed on, as nonchalantly as he could. “You don’t have to worry though, my bed is big enough. You won’t even notice I’m there.”

Eddie’s pinched face led Richie to believe he wasn’t entirely convinced, but in the end, he nodded. “Fine, but if I feel your cold feet touching me at some point, I’ll kill you in your sleep.”

“Fair enough.” Richie said, standing and dragging Eddie up with him. They grabbed the pillows and blankets on his bed and made their way to Richie’s room.

A couple of hours later, Eddie was trying to wake up Richie for the second time that night. Richie felt a hesitant hand wrapping around his arm and squeezing slightly. Eddie’s fingers weren’t as cold as before, but they still made Richie flinch at the contact.

“Please tell me my heater didn’t break down too.” Richie said, voice hoarse and groggy from sleep.

“Uh, no. I don’t think so.” Eddie replied. Even if he wasn’t completely awake, Richie could hear the nervousness in his voice and he turned around to face his friend, curious. “It’s still cold though, not as much as my room, but still cold.”

“Okay.” Richie said, unsure of what Eddie expected from him. “Do you want me to get you another blanket?”

Eddie shook his head. “I already have two.”

“I- I really don’t know what you’re asking from me here, Eds.” Richie said, confused. Instead of answering, Eddie lowered his head and nervously picked on a loose thread from one of the blankets. The silence and being in so close proximity should’ve made Richie nervous but somewhere between falling asleep and waking up again, it seemed that Richie’s nerves had been transferred to Eddie.

They had gone to sleep on opposite sides of the bed, each wrapped in a cocoon of blankets. He noticed that while they slept they had both moved towards the center of the bed, closer to each other. Still, nothing worth mentioning had happened, of course. It wasn’t like Richie expected it would, but he had been anxious knowing that it could. Not anymore, though. Now, he wasn’t nervous, he was just confused that Eddie was acting so weird.

“Eds?” Richie prompted, but got no answer. He scooted closer to him, wishing that he could see his face but without his glasses, it was a struggle. He nudged him with his feet, causing Eddie to jump and squeal in surprise.

“I told you to keep your cold feet away from me!” Eddie gasped and Richie let out a laugh.

“I was tempted to wake you up like that, to get back at you for earlier.”

“Asshole.” Eddie muttered, but Richie could hear the smile in his voice.

He nudged him again, this time with his clothed leg. “So, did you wake me up, for a second time tonight may I add, for a reason or did you just felt like it?”

“I- uh. It’s just, other than your feet, you seem rather warm.”

Richie shrugged his shoulders. “I guess?”

“Is it okay if I- Can I get closer? To you? You know, for warmth?” Eddie muttered and through squinting eyes, Richie could see the way his cheeks began to pink up in a blush.

It made a smile appear on Richie’s face. “Eddie Spaghetti, did you wake me up to ask if we could snuggle?”

Eddie’s reaction was immediate. His shoulders tensed up, he pressed his lips into a thin line and he glared at Richie. “No! This isn’t- I’m just cold, Richard! And I thought- you know what? Forget it.” He said, turning on his side, facing away from Richie.

“Oh, come on, Eds. It’s pretty cute that you want to snuggle with me.” Richie cooed, pressing his face into Eddie’s shoulder. A few hours ago, he wouldn’t have dared to do that, worried that it would make things awkward, to be touching Eddie while they were in bed together but now, he felt at ease, joking and teasing Eddie like he was so used to doing.

“Fuck off, Richie.” Eddie said, voice muffled as he pressed his face against his pillow.

Richie didn’t answer, letting the silence stretch for a couple of minutes. Then, “Eds?”

“What?”

“Look at me, please.”

Eddie sighed and turned around, begrudgingly.

“Hey.” Richie said with a sweet smile, any trace of his smirk gone from his face.

Eddie tried to keep his face blank, but the corner of his mouth curled up in a smile, “Hey.”

“You know, I’m feeling a bit cold suddenly, I could use a cute boy to keep me warm.” Richie said, sincerely.

Eddie narrowed his eyes at him, expecting a joke but when it didn’t come, he relaxed. “I doubt I can do a lot for you.”

“No one makes me all kinds of hot like you do, Eds.” Richie said, and the words sounded a bit too real for his liking, but he didn’t let his smile falter. He lifted his blankets, so that Eddie could move closer to him. “Come here.”

“Fine, if you insist.” Eddie sighed, and scooted closer, curling around Richie’s side. His head was tucked under Richie’s chin, and his arms wrapped around his waist. Richie tried not to flinch at his skin made contact with Eddie’s, knowing rather well that the reaction had nothing to do with the fact that Eddie was cold. He wrapped his arms around Eddie’s frame and the blankets around the two of them.

“Better?” Richie asked, after a minute of silence.

Eddie hummed, nodding his head. Richie assumed that was the end of it and he closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to take him, but before it could, he heard Eddie’s voice, but it was too low to make out what he was saying.

“What was that, Eds?”

“Uh, earlier you said, this would be just like when we were kids.”

“Oh. Yeah, we used to share a bed all the time when we had sleepovers.”

“We didn’t do this, though.” Eddie said, face pressed against Richie’s chest.

Richie hummed in thought, knowing what Eddie was referring to. They never cuddled when they were kids and if they woke up closer to each other than when they went to sleep, they never said anything about it.

“Yeah, I guess that’s different from when we were kids.”

“That’s not- it’s not the only thing that’s different.”

Richie’s breath hitched at Eddie’s words and what he meant with them. It didn’t help that his fingers were tracing random patterns on his skin, where Richie’s shirt had ridden up.

“What do you-” He paused, his voice sounded strained and he cleared his throat before he continued. “What do you mean, Eds?”

“I think you know what I mean, Rich.” Eddie said, he borrowed his face further into Richie’s chest. “At least I hope you do, because if you don’t then I’ll feel like an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot.” Richie whispered, trembling hand running up and down Eddie’s back. “You’re right. It’s- it’s not the same as when we were kids. The way I feel about you, I didn’t feel that way back then.”

“I feel that way too.”

Richie let out a shuddering breath, one he didn’t know he had been holding. He smiled at the ceiling, “Cool.”

Eddie snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. “Cool?”

“I- yeah, it’s cool. That you feel the same way.” Richie said, shrugging. He felt rather than heard Eddie laughing at him. “Well, what did you want me to say, Eds?”

Instead of answering, Eddie propped himself up on his elbow, looking at Richie with a smirk. “Actually, I don’t want you to say anything.”

Richie’s brows furrowed, confused. “You don’t want me to- oh.”

The last word was muffled by Eddie pressing his lips against Richie’s, softly but with intent. Richie responded eagerly, smiling into the kiss. Eddie pulled away shortly after, having made his point and smiled down at Richie.

Richie was smiling back at him, adoringly. “Just so you know, you’re welcome to shut me up like that anytime you want.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Eddie chuckled, returning to his previous position, with his arms wrapped around Richie, only this time there was no hesitation in his movements.

Content, Richie hugged Eddie, pulling him as close to him as possible. It might’ve been the kiss or Eddie’s proximity, but suddenly he was feeling warm all over. He figured Eddie had to feel the same way. Who needed a damn heater when they had each other?

Richie’s eyes flew open, he could tell Eddie’s breathing had slowed down as he drifted to sleep, but he spoke nonetheless.

“Hey, Eds?”

He received a tired hum in response, Eddie was probably close to falling asleep.

“Did you break the heater in your room on purpose just to get in bed with me?”

Eddie mumbled an answer, but Richie couldn’t make sense of it. When he asked again, he didn’t get any response at all. Well, he could always ask him in the morning.

He knew it was silly, to think Eddie would do something like that, especially since he couldn’t have possibly known the way everything would play out, but Richie allowed himself to think that’s what had happened. He would definitely tease Eddie about it and Eddie would probably say that was something Richie would do, not him. And he would be right.

Either way, it didn’t matter. Richie couldn’t care less about the broken space heater right now. He would gladly make a trip to the store tomorrow and get a new one, if it meant that tonight had really happened.

Or better yet, he could skip that and just ask Eddie stay in his room the following night as well, the two of them snuggled up together for warmth.

[septic-dr-schneep]

JSE Fanfiction - In Time Of Grief (Part 3: Extrication)

Summary: Chase serves as witness to the chaos and destruction as Anti and Jack face each other again for the first time.

Jack. Jack stood in the hallway with sheer fire in his eyes, shoulders squared—ready for a fight.

Chase’s heart flung itself into his throat, stalling his breath, chilling his skin, dropping his jaw. As soon as his mouth opened, his voice found traction.

“Jack!” he screamed, tears springing to his eyes as he threw himself against the barrier.

Jack lunged in the same moment, right arm locking around Anti’s throat to heave him off his feet. Screeching in rage and what could have even been alarm, the Glitch swung his legs back, slipping out from under his captor and swinging viciously with a fist scorched by black magic.

“No!”

Narrowly Jack managed to duck it, sending the other’s fist into the nearest side of the wall with a thunderous crash and then diving to snatch him around the legs before he could reel back again, pulling his stolen body out from under him. As they somersaulted across the kitchen, Anti’s savage curses and Jack’s fearless laughter blended into a cacophony of noise joined by the chilling warble of the magic being flung left and right and Robbie’s startled yelps from the floor nearby.

“Jack, hold on!” Chase howled again, pommeling the inside of his sphere as desperation and terror for his friend took hold. How could Jack be awake now? How could he—He wasn’t in any condition to fight on his own! I have to help, I have to help him, I have to save him! I gotta get out! As another wave of panic surged up in his chest, he cast a wild glance to Jameson, who had fallen to the bottom of his sphere as soon as Anti released him. He still hadn’t moved, despite the commotion. Was he conscious to see it? Chase had to help both of them, but how could he when he was trapped in here?!

Ever so briefly Anti was able to tear Jack off of him, flinging him down and landing a vicious punch to his face, earning a dark, sticky spurt of blood; he couldn’t turn his head fast enough. “Ho̸w͢ ̸a҉r̀e ýou ͝h̡eŗe?!” Anti bellowed. “You’re͠ n̴o̡t ̨t̨akinģ thi҉s̡ ͘f͘r̨om me ͜ag͢a̸i҉n̛!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of interfering, Glitch,” Jack sneered, smearing blood across his chin with the back of his hand. With a wordless screech, Anti summoned another spell that crackled and hissed across his skin like lightning. Just before the magic came down in a critical wave, Jack sprang up and to his right, seizing a fistful of his opponent’s long hair in one hand and smashing his open hand into his face with the other. Once he had that hand on his skin, he didn’t let go, digging his nails in with enough force to draw blood and grinning fiercely at the pain it elicited. It was as if Jack’s very touch was burning him—

Dizzied by the speed of what he was seeing, Chase craned his neck as Anti thrashed and flailed like a feral cat, trying to dislodge Jack’s hands so he could see. His next blast of magic swung wide, ricocheting away from them in a powerful pulse that Chase had no time to brace for. As soon as it struck him, the sphere surrounding him was blown away and he was falling. His body hit the linoleum with a jarring smack and the world went white as some of the stitches in his head tore.

When his vision cleared, the sharp spike of agony in his skull brought him to with a wave of dizziness as he rolled over, dragging himself underneath the kitchen table for cover as Anti’s magic shattered the backdoor, a shrill hail of glass raining down in Chase’s wake. Staggeringly he crawled to the closest gap, hunkering down and staring with blurry, wide eyes out at the chaos.

“I h-have to help,” he gasped, pushing the nearest dining room chair forward and clambering out after it, hands and knees skidding.

Using the edge of the table to haul himself upright, he clutched tightly at his throbbing, bleeding head, heaving a breath before summoning the strength, wrestling the chair into his arms and hurling it in Anti’s direction. It was only when it was in the air that he realized his aim was off.

“J—Jack, look out!”

By some miracle Jack was able to twist; the chair just clipped his shoulder before breaking against the wall. The way it was angled, it should have crashed into his head, but Chase’s vision was doubling; it looked as if it passed right through him and all the while, he clung to Anti like he’d magnetized to him. Hissing and blinking hard, Chase glanced around for anything else he could throw. Only when he was forced to dodge another stray flash of light did he realize what he could do.

“Jameson!” he hollered, rushing to the youngest Ego’s prison. “Jem! Jem, I’m here—!”

Stirring sluggishly, Jameson blinked up at him with pained, cloudy eyes, his speech slide shaking as he curled into himself. “Da…how did you…?”

“Anti’s blasts of magic are going haywire; I just have to shift you into the right place at the right time and you’ll—you’ll get free too!” he panted, flinging his arms around the sphere and ignoring the burn against his skin as he spun toward the fight. “Just have to…time it right…”

“You c̢a͝n'̨t rįd ̴him o҉f͡ me!” Anti’s words grew distorted as Jack’s hand dragged down his face, tearing open welts in his cheeks. “Yo͘u’re ̡n̛ev̷er͜ ge͏tting̷ hi̧m ̴b̧ack̨!”

“Wouldn’t that be a shame, Defect? Would you risk manifesting your real form to hurt me?!” Jack barked.

“A҉͏̀h͢hh͢h͟h̶͡!”

“Jack, get him this way!” Chase hollered, but his creator barely heard him as he wrenched Anti’s head back and forth, straining against him. Gritting his teeth, Chase dug his fingers painfully into the slippery surface of the sphere, squinting hard against the flashing lights as he dragged JJ sideways. “C’mon, c’mon, we just need one—wh-ahh!”

Everything happened in less than a second—Chase’s heel catching on one of Robbie’s misplaced body parts, his arms twisting as he fell, sending Jameson’s sphere wildly askew to crash into Schneep’s. Chase barely managed to roll into the fall and sit back up before the dark magic flurried over his head and sent the doctor tumbling to the floor.

“Schneep!” Struggling back onto shaky feet, Chase gasped, “Schneep—JJ, he’s—”

“Go!” Jameson urged, pushing up on his elbows. “Go to him, Da, and get out of here!”

The vlogger’s frame froze halfway through his tense to spring, reeling back in disbelief. “What?”

“Go on,” the younger Ego repeated, features tight with pain. “Run, run far away! You have to take him!”

“No—No, no, no, Jem, I’m not leaving you!” he cried out, yelping and shielding his head as the overhead light was torn from the ceiling, swinging wildly by cords. “All three of us are—”

Trembling with silent sobs, Jameson shook his head, droplets of blood flinging from his face. “Please go, please! You and he are the only ones free; you’re our best sliver of a chance! You can make a dash for it, Da, you have to find someone!”

“Jameson—!”

“Save the doctor—now, while you can!” Jameson spat, slamming his fist against the barrier. “Bring help back to us! RUN!”

In horror and grief Chase pressed his face into shaking hands for just a moment before whirling aside. As he bolted, he could see Anti in his hazy peripheral vision, slamming Jack against the tile, snatching up one of the broken legs of the chair and bringing it down hard. Chase cast it out of his mind as soon as he registered it, sliding his arms under the doctor’s limp frame and heaving him up against his shoulder as he skidded toward the front door.

He ran, hot tears and sweat burning his eyes and smearing the colors of the sky and the rocks together. Every pound of his feet shook him to his core, breaking his heart more and more the farther he went. Schneep’s arms and legs were thrown into Chase’s sides over and over, the jarring sensation eventually melding into the adrenaline-fueled frenzy as he pinned his sights on the city.

When his shoe finally hit a snag, he and his burden were flung violently to the ground. The impact broke through his mindless center, shattered his strength. All of the pain made itself known in an excruciating flood; his lungs were in stitches, his legs felt like broken toothpicks and his head—his head felt like it was going to explode. Shuddering exhaustedly, he allowed himself to go fully limp, eyes fluttering closed.

An undetermined amount of time later, he felt a familiar hand grope lethargically at his back. “Chase…what’s…? Wh-Where are we?” Schneep croaked, hoarse, ragged coughs breaking his words until they were almost unintelligible.

Chase couldn’t find it in himself to answer immediately. Instead he directed his will toward getting back up. A decent layer of his forearms was skinned away as he levered himself onto hands and knees, pinning his eyes on the small puddle of blood left behind on the rocks from his head. Biting back a moan, he clumsily swept at the rocks, doing his best to cover it.

“Here,” he hissed groggily. “Lemme help you up…”

How long did it take him to make it to his feet? Too long. It took even longer to get the doctor’s arm around his neck and draw him up to lean on him; Schneep was too woozy to walk on his own.

“Marvin…” he rasped, rattled breaths hitching. “Marvin attacked us…Jackie…and then I—I don’t remember anything…”

“It was Anti,” Chase murmured thickly. “He t-took Marv. He’s got control of his magic. He still has Jackie, Robbie…J-Jem. But Schneep, you—you weren’t conscious to see—Jack.”

At that Schneep stopped up short, swaying dangerously against Chase’s hold. When Chase glanced sideways at him, he found that all the color was draining from the older Ego’s face. “What?” he breathed, his voice breaking.

That one syllable was enough to bring Chase’s tears back to his eyes as he nodded confirmation. “Jack,” he repeated tremulously. “He’s awake, Schneep. He…he bought me enough time to get to you.” There he fell quiet, allowing Schneep a second or two to process the words—it wasn’t nearly enough time—and then he retightened his grip on him. “S-So we need to get somewhere safe. Gotta regroup so we can make it back and rescue them.”

Schneep was silent as a shadow for the rest of their journey into the city, apart from labored wheezes that he tried to suppress. Every time Chase heard one past the ringing in his ears, he squeezed his nearest fingers, trying to be reassuring. No matter how many times he asked if he needed to stop, however, Schneep shook his head, pulling on him to move forward.

His strength didn’t last forever. By the time they reached one of the streets where they could hail a cab, he was practically hanging from the arm that was wrapped around Chase’s neck, barely holding any of his own weight. For the very first time, Chase found himself attributing the tiniest sliver of gratitude to the nine months Schneep was missing; if his friend hadn’t become so underweight in that span of time, it would’ve been completely impossible for Chase to carry him this far.

The cab driver blessedly pulled the vehicle up to the nearest curb; it only took a few more steps for the two of them to tumble inside. “Whoa…you two get in a fight at the pub?” he questioned in disbelief.

“Carter Lane…please,” Chase whispered, falling low in the seat and leaning his heavy head against Schneep’s bony shoulder. There he stayed for the entirety of the drive; he couldn’t find it in himself to even react when the doctor’s weak coughing shook the both of them. When the driver informed them that they had arrived, Chase legitimately could have wept in relief when he pried aching eyes open and saw the house before them. It looked so welcoming.

Stacy’s reaction when she opened the door to them was a little less so; as soon as she saw them, she flinched back, pressing her hands against her mouth. “What on earth—?”

“Are the kids home?” Chase asked first.

“Wh—What? No, they’re at school!” Stacy stammered uncertainly, eyes panning over his battered frame and then flicking to Schneep ever so briefly before returning. “Chase…Why do you look so awful? Actually, no! No, don’t tell me. But shouldn’t you be recovering from your surgery right now? It’s only been a few days!”

“Who is it, hon?” a deeper voice called from somewhere within, sending Chase’s heart to the pit of his stomach.

“It’s Chase and one of his—friends,” Stacy managed uncertainly, glancing over her shoulder and tucking her hair behind her ear as her boyfriend emerged from the backroom to stand beside her. He cut an intimidating figure, though Chase wasn’t in any shape to cower before him. For the first—and only—time in his life, he couldn’t care; he practically welcomed the sight of him.

“This is your ex?” Tom huffed doubtfully.

“He doesn’t usually look like this,” Stacy assured him, a note of uncharacteristic worry catching in her tone.

“Well, he looks like he needs medical attention!” Gesturing to Schneep as he slumped against the doorframe for balance, Tom revised warily, “You both do.”

“Yeah…” Chase admitted after a moment of thought, tilting his head back with a weak, vaguely delirious smile. “Yeah, that’d be nice…”

[hauntedhistorycolorado]

Audio recorded from walking tour of Crystal Valley Cemetery. My friend Martha and I are led through the cemetery by Peggie and Eli of the Manitou Springs Historical Society on December 6, 2019. Transcript below the cut.

FROM HISTORICAL SOCIETY TOUR:

P (Peggie, E (Eli), J (Jem), M (Martha)

December 6, 2019

[transcript]

P: I can tell you that, um, the Crystal Valley Cemetery - the original Manitou cemetery, was at the top of Pawnee. And Dr. Isaac Davis, who was the first doctor here in Manitou, wanted to develop that property. He thought that the living would enjoy the view much more than the dead. So, he ended up donating this land to the city for their cemetery so that he could develop that property and everybody was moved from up there to down hre, and that was done in the 1890s.

J: Now according to what I’ve read they were all buried in unmarked graves - do you know if that’s true or if that’s just a rumor?

P: In the original cemetery?

J: Ah, when they were moved down here.

P: There is a few that are still, that have headstones, they’re the ones at are clear up at the top. 

J: OK.

P: And I can show you those graves, but, a lot of them do not have headstones, yes.

J: Interesting.

M: Do you know whereabouts the unmarked graves are?

P: Mhm, I can take you there.

[Background noise]

J: Oh, fascinating. Awesome.

E: Do you want to do that now or do you want to stay to ask some more questions? We could actually use that space in there if you guys just want to sit down and ask me questions, or we could just walk around.

M: I feel like we could ask more questions after.

J: Yeah, I feel like we’ll have more questions as we’re going.

P: Do you want to walk around and see the graves of the more noted people?

J: Yes, absolutely.

[side conversation, walking]

P: Homer Grafton is the first grave here. He came to Manitou from Ohio. He was the postmaster in Manitou from 1893 and held the position for 26 years. He was also a member of the Colorado State legislature and a principal of the Manitou school. So he was one of the movers and shakers here in Manitou.

[walking]

P: Our next grave is Eber Duclo, and Eber was the only person from Manitou that was killed during WWI. He met his demise on June 15, 1918 and was not buried here in Manitou until September 11, 1921. He enlisted in the Marine Corps and was assigned to the 6th marine machine gun battalion and was stationed in France. He died at the battle of Balleau Woods. The Battle was fought from June 1st through the 26th, 1918. He was buried in France and after the war was over on November 11, 1918, America wanted her dead back, France did not want to disinter the men, for health reasons, so America fought hard, so like I said, it wasn’t until 1921 that he was sent home. And that’s his father buried right next to him. And we do have pictures of John and Eber together.

J: We should try to check those out.

M: Yeah.

[side conversation, walking]

P: Okay, this is General Charles Adams’s grave. He was appointed the agent of the Ute at Los Pinos and the White River agency after the Meeker massacre. Due to his friendship with Chief Ouray he was able to negotiate the release of Mrs. Meeker, her daughter Josie, and Mrs. Price and her children and had them safely returned to Greeley. That’s the inscription on his gravestone, which reads, ‘Rescuer of the Meeker women after the Indian massacre at the Colorado White River Agency September the 19th, 1879.’ Can you see it?

E: Yeah, it’s really hard to read.

P: General Adams was instrumental in organizing the Manitou Springs mineral water bottling company, and he was killed in the Gumry hotel disaster in Denver, August the 20th, 1895. Helmouth Loacher, the boiler engineer, was at a local saloon tippling and left a 17 year old boy, Elmer Pierce, to look after the boiler. The boy allowed the water to fall below the safety valves, the boiler overheated and exploded when Loacher added cold water. The collapse of the building - this collapsed the building, and what it actually did, it blew out the walls and all the walls just pancaked down on each other. General Adams was buried under the debris and his body was not recovered for several days. But after all he went through, to end up being killed like that...

J: I know, yeah. It’s horrible. Something like 25 people were killed, in the accident?

P: In that one?

J: Mhm.

P: There was a lot of them, but he was one of them. The lucky ones.

[side conversations, walking]

P: This is Emma Crawford’s grave.

J: Now from what I’ve heard, she’s not actually buried here, right?

P: She’s not. I think she’s a little further down on the point.

J: Yeah, I’ve never been able to find, like, her exact location.

P: I talked to Jimmy Phillips, and he was here at the time, and I asked him, and he said it’s close - it’s just a little further down on the point.

J: OK.

P: You know about Emma. Do we need to talk about Emma?

J: Oh yes, we know all about Emma.

M: Yeah.

[side conversation, walking]

P: This grave right here, this is Sidney Francisco. They called him Sid Francisco, and his family owned the large dairy up on Pawnee Avenue. You will find Sid Francisco Dairy bottles still around. He was active with the fire department and also did construction. But, once again, he was well noted in Manitou.

J: Now I know that’s the Freemason symbol, do you know what this one means?

P: Eastern Star. Eastern Star was the women’s arm of the Freemasons.

E: Not pagan, then?

P: No, no. My mother was Eastern Star.

[side conversation, walking]

P: OK, this is William Frizzell. William Frizzell and his wife Johanna and their eight children - there were six boys and two girls - moved to Manitou from Prince Edward Island in the 1880s. William was a stonemason by trade and built such notable structures as, Miramont, and the stone bridges over the cricks. They did all types of construction work, and William was he head of the waterworks in Manitou, laying many of the original water and sewer mains. He helped organize the second fire department, the JB Wheeler hose, hook, and ladder company, where he was the first foreman. Along with his six sons, they almost completed the fire brigade. The Frizzells attended all the funerals and helped maintain the graves. They also had an ice business and served many in the community, including Montcalm Sanitarium. The kids were always eager to help with the Montcalm delivery, even though it took a whole wagonload. The sisters always rewarded them with special goodies from the ice box. William is buried here with his beloved Johanna and several of his children and grandchildren. Upon his death, Archie Gillis, a longtime friend, said, ‘He was one man who loved to bring sunshine into the lives of others, for he had sunshine in his own.’

J: Awe.

E: Are the Gillis’ buried here?

P: No - some of the kids are.

E: Ah. They helped build Miramont.

J: Interesting!

[side conversation]

P: Oh, right on the other side of that tree, in an unmarked grave Helen Foster is buried with her newborn baby. They did not even record if it was a boy or a girl. It was not uncommon for a mother to die in birth, so there’s still a lot of - It’s just on the other side of that tree.

[walking]

P: [unintelligible, but pointing out the original graves moved from Pawne]

E: These guys are cool.

J: Definitely! Good to know.

M: Yeah, we never would have found these.

J: No. Do you know roughly how many graves there are here, like how many were moved?

P: No, I don’t. And I don’t know that there’s anything that really tells us that. I think that’s probably all lost to time.

[unintelligible, but talking about the markings on the old graves]

J: Could possibly do, like, a rubbing, and see if we could make it out that way.

E: Well that one doesn’t even have any language on it. And that one’s just - gone.

P: You can see a little bit of writing on the very bottom.

J: Mhm.

M: So this is where all the moved graves are?

[unintelligible, but probably saying “I don’t know”]

M: So just the only ones we know.

P: You know, I doubt there are any more.

[side conversation, walking]

P: Okay, this - this right here, this was the Sisters of Mercy’s plot, all of this, and I imagine it was donated to them. [unintelligible] These plots were donated to the sisters so they could bury patients who had no family or means. The inscription reads, ‘Mercy, Jesus Lord grant them rest.’ This is right here. There are four graves, two marked, two unmarked. The names of the deceased in the unmarked graves are George J Dandis and Mary Raftree. 

[walking, unintelligible conversation]

P: Oglebee - Dr. Oglebee’s right there. Dr. Henry Oglebe practiced medicine in Manitou for 47 years. He was the first doctor for the Cog Railway, but found that it took all day to complete a round trip up the mountain to attend to visitors who had succumbed to the altitude. Consequently, the venture did not last very long.

[laughing]

P: He was needed much more in the city. While attending to patients at Montcalm Sanitarium it was Dr. Oglebee who caught wind of a lynch mob coming up Ruxton for Father Francolin at Miramont. He notified Archie Gillis who came to the Castle and hid the Father under the seat of his buggy and took him to Saint Mary’s Catholic Church.

E: I didn’t know that.

M: So cool.

E: I knew about the lynch mob and stuff, but I didn’t know they hid him.

P: Yeah, it was Oglebee that did it.

J: Cool.

E: Do you guys know who Father Francolin is?

M: No.

J: Yeah, he built the Castle. [referring to Miramont]

E & J: Well -

E: He didn’t build the Castle -

J: He didn’t build it, but he owned the Castle and lived there.

E: He and his mother lived there and donated it to the Sisters of Mercy.

M: OK.

E: If you know any names from Miramont - know Francolin.

M: And a lynch mob came for him? Why?

E: Um, suspected of pedophilia. It’s not something that we talk about a lot, because, you know, it’s not really great to be associated with that.

M: Yeah.

J: Sure, sure.

E: But - he was a priest, back in the day.

P: Right here. [The Gillis children] It’s Anna, 3 months, and Charlie, 18 months. The Gillis’ were daughter and son of Angus Gillis. The Gillis’ were prominent contractors in Manitou and El Paso County, they worked with the Frizells on many projects. The death of these two children show that no family was exempt from the death of a child, no matter your standing in the community. But, you know, it’s sad that they’re buried here, but mom and dad didn’t.

J: Yeah.

[walking]

P: These people right here, Jesse and Judy - or, Jesse Judy and Laura Judy. They were Frankie Track’s mom and dad, and Frankie Track and her husband W.A. had a photography business in Manitou, and you’ll see a lot of the Track photos. Jesse and Laura Judy, Frankie’s parents, were with them in the business, and if you’ll see an older couple with them, that would be them. William had this special white burrow called Trilby that he trained from a colt, and trained to do many tricks. Trilby was always included in the numerous pictures that Track took of the visitors on burrows, as he was very gentle with the children. Frankie became ill after her mother and father passed and William turned to painting and was very good at it. Frankie developed cancer and died. W.A. also developed cancer and was very bitter about photography for he felt that it was the chemicals they used that caused both their cancers, and that was probably pretty true.

J: Martha knows all about that.

P: Huh?

M: Yeah.

J: Martha takes photos with the same technique, on the big camera.

P: Oh, mm. Knowing how Frankie had suffered before her death, and feeling so alone, he didn’t have the courage to go on. On June 29, 1939, he took his own life.

J: [whispering] Wow.

P: Mr. Track’s brother came and brought the body back to Sandusky, Ohio - that’s where he had come from. So Frankie has been left to spend eternity without her beloved William. But he committed suicide at Ruxton Trading Post - that building right there, that has the antiques and the wagon wheels - 

E, J, M: [all] Mhm, yeah.

P: He owned that, and that’s where he killed himself.

J: Wow.

[side conversation]

[unintelligible, but pointing out the fire department plot]

E: This whole plot?

p: [unintelligible] ...that was donated, and that was back before it was a volunteer fire department. Well, it’s always been a volunteer, but it was just Manitou Fire Department, it wasn’t Manitou Volunteer Fire Department.

E: Sure.

J: Mhm.

P: I’m not sure when that was changed. This is the grave for Hannah Davis. This was Dr. Isaac Davis’s mother. This monument was the first monument that was erected in Crystal Valley, in 1885, to honor Hannah, by her son. So when Davis donated the property, this was one of the first things that was...

J, maybe M?: Wow.

P: And then the last one - Oh, Davis is buried here too. Dr. Isaac Davis, he was the first physician to set up shop in Manitou. His drugstore was located at the corner of Pawnee and Manitou Avenue. It’s where the Library is right now, but closer down to Pawnee Avenue. Not only was he a physician, but he was also a druggist, the undertaker, county coroner, mayor, town trustee, and justice of the peace.

J: Mhm.

E: Oh my gosh.

P: He was instrumental in the organization of the first fire department, and was elected the first assistant foreman, and that’s the W.A. hose, hook, bell, and ladder company. Dr. Davis died and was buried in 1891 at the age of 51. But, it was Davis, um, that, um, mummified Tom O’Neal.

J: Yes, I read all about that.

E: And I have not heard anything about that, so...

J: Oh yeah, people say all kinds of horrible things about Isaac Davis because of it. They like, call him Dr. Frankenstein. And I’m like - that’s just what doctors did then.

P: A man by the name of Tom O’Neal had died in a saloon brawl in Old Colorado City and even though every attempt was made to locate the next of kin to claim the body, none could be found. Dr. Davis used Tom to try a new embalming technique that he was developing. He would rub the body down with his lotions and potions and then daily lay him out in the sun to dry. This went on for two years. Dr. Davis was very successful and the mummified remains were kept in a small stone house in the Pawnee cemetery.

E: Yeah.

J: OK.

P: O’Neal was one of the last to be moved, and he was buried in a loose gravel grave in the north field of tombstones, which was - but it was very short lived. Some unscrupulous men dug him up, thinking he would do well as a sideshow attraction, and he his now touring the country - or, he was then. This [the tour script] was written as though it was that time frame. And nobody knows whatever really happened to him - he just, he’s probably in somebody’s closet somewhere.

E: Yeah, probably.

P: And the last one is Theresa Kenny.

M: Oh, she built the house?

P: Hmm?

M: She built that, herself?

P: She did. Ah, she built her own mausoleum, with the exception of the roof. She textured the outside walls with a kitchen spoon. The interior was finished like a home. Nothing pleased her more than to visit her little house and rock in the rocking chair on the front porch very afternoon, and that rocking chair is still there.

J: Oh!

P: There was also a pump organ -

E: Really?

P: - that is at Miramont now.

E: Which one?

P: It’s the one that is back by the, the piano, that little one that’s up against the wall.

E: Oh, I didn’t know that.

P: Mhm, that was her’s, that she would play. It was her desire that the organ be donated to Crystal Valley Cemetery Chapel, and it will eventually come back here, as soon as we get it all finished.

J: Wow, thank you so much.

P: Is that what you guys wanted?

J: Yes, that was fantastic.

[nocturbia]

On Writing Children

Writing Children Right 

Writing from a Child’s Point of View 

Show And Tell: How to Write Realistic Young Child Characters 

8 Necessary Tips for How to Write Child Characters 

4 Don’ts of How to Write Child Characters

1. DON’T MAKE YOUR CHILD CHARACTERS CUTESY

There’s only one Shirley Temple–and I sincerely doubt her “ohmiword” would have been as cute when conveyed on the stark black and white of a novel’s page. If your child characters are going to be cute, they must be cute naturally through the force of their personality, not because the entire purpose of their existence is to be adorable. Forced cutsiness rarely works any better than forced humor.

2. DON’T MAKE YOUR CHILD CHARACTERS SAGELY WISE

“Out of the mouths of babes” may have its moments of truth. But–with the rare and organic exception–don’t turn your child characters into little fonts of wisdom. It’s true kids have the benefit of seeing some situations a little more objectively than adults. But when they start calmly and unwittingly spouting all the answers, the results often seem more clichéd and convenient than impressive or ironic.

3. DON’T MAKE YOUR CHILD CHARACTERS UNINTELLIGENT

Don’t confuse a child’s lack of experience with lack of intelligence. Don’t have your child characters offer wide-eyed “I dunnos” or stand around with a finger in their mouths and a blank expression on their faces. It’s fine if they don’t know what’s going on, but don’t forget for a minute that their brains are whirring behind the scenes, trying to figure it all out.

4. DON’T HAVE YOUR CHILD CHARACTERS USE BABY TALK

In writing child characters, the same rules apply to their dialogue as to the use of any kind of dialect: don’t abuse it. Don’t spell out their lisp. Don’t make a habit of letting them misuse words. And, at all expenses, avoid “ah, gee, misters.”

4 Do’s of How to Write Child Characters

1. WRITE YOUR CHILD CHARACTERS AS UNIQUE INDIVIDUALS

Don’t ever put a “child character” into your story–anymore than you would “an American character” or “a female character.” Create a fully realized individual who has a reason for existing beyond mere accessorizing.

Adults often tend to lump all children into a single category: cute, small, loud, and occasionally annoying. Look beyond the stereotype. Remember yourself at the age of your child character? Remember how smart, determined, curious, and individualistic you were? A trick I like to employ to get myself back into the child mindset is to look at photos and videos of myself at the correct age.

2. GIVE YOUR CHILD CHARACTERS PERSONAL GOALS

The single ingredient that transforms someone from a static character to a dynamic character is a goal. It can be easy to forget kids have goals, because when we think of goals, our adult brains tend to think of lofty things like earning a million dollars, finding true love, or saving the planet. In fact, however, kids are arguably even more defined by their goals than are adults. Kids want something every waking minute. Their entire existence is wrapped up in wanting something and figuring out how to get it.

Consider Harper Lee’s enduring Jem and Scout Finch and their determination to lure their reclusive neighbor Boo Radley out of his house so they can see him. If I had to pick one single reason why How to Kill a Mockingbird is so enduringly beloved, I wouldn’t choose its powerful themes. I would instead point to Scout Finch’s passionate desire for something or other on every single page. This, all by itself, is what makes her such a fascinating and dynamic character.

3. MAKE YOUR CHILD CHARACTERS SMART

I look at my two-year-old niece and I see a brain every bit as intelligent as my own looking back at me out of those big brown eyes. She may not know as much as I do, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t as smart.

Now, of course, you don’t have to go out and write a bunch of little Einsteins. But don’t make your child characters “dumb on purpose.” In Wayfarer, I had a blast writing the relationship between my twenty-year-old country boy protagonist and his eight-year-old street-savvy sidekick Rose. Their different lifestyles and educations placed them on basically level ground, despite their age differences–which created all kinds of interesting story scenarios.

Kinda like Dickens’ ever-epic Artful Dodger:

4. DON’T FORGET YOUR CHARACTERS ARE CHILDREN

Most of the pitfalls in how to write child characters have to do with making them too simplistic and childish. But don’t fall into the opposite trap either: don’t create child characters who are essentially adults in little bodies.

One of my favorite passages of all time is from Louisa May Alcott’s Little Men, in which the little boys ruin the little girls’ tea party. One of the boys, banished from the room, lies down on the floor to listen under the door as the girls are comforted by being told the boys are surely sorry, to which this particular miscreant bawls, “I ain’t!”

Perfection.

The beautiful dichotomies of childhood offer so many wonderful opportunities for creating subtext and irony within fiction. Use them wisely and with as much insight and understanding as you’d apply to any of your adult characters. The result may be one of the most powerful characters you’ll ever write.