#hawthorn in bottle
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another reason jack and alan didn't fuck on the lyric is that jack force fed alan his entire bottle of lube when he was unconscious and didn't have any more
(meanwhile thereâs alan, waking up on the floor and a beautiful man is pointing a gun at him and his mouth inexplicably tastes like olive oil and heâs gotta be like âokay either a microaggression happened... or the ancestors are speaking to me and they want me to fuck this man.â)
#the last binding#a restless truth#alan ross#jack alston#lord hawthorn#obviously they were dutifully waiting until their own book so we could all watch it happen#and yknow for Character and Trust Developing Reasons etc etc#but also: the lube was all gone!#god jack's ornate little bottle of olive oil lube is hilarious#I love that he made sure to have that handy for a 6-day voyage#(it's SIX DAYS jack!)#also that it's olive oil in the first place. yknow. considering.#and THEN he had to pour the whole thing down alan's throat regardless#farewell lube supply. gone down the throat of the one person jack would most want to use the lube ON
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nanami kento is literally grayson hawthorne just older.

#& japanese#but theyâre both tired of everyoneâs shit#appear stoic but they really just bottle up their emotions unhealthily#and were born with the energy of a 45 year old accountant#grayson hawthorne#the inheritance games#the hawthorne legacy#the final gambit#the hawthorne brothers
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H A W T H O R N x  SimspirationBuilds. (early access, patreon)
Hi all!
This month' set is a collab with SimspirationBuilds â„ As usual, my part of the collab is all included here, and you will be able to find her build & cc over on her patreon page. We both do early access as usual and both set can "stand on their own". We just love to be creative together, create something that comes together nicely. Working with SimspirationBuilds is always so much fun & inspiring.
Regarding my set, I focused on a little cozy bar area with counters & cabinets that will allow you to build you own bar and some espresso martini clutter â„ Please note that the counters ARE NOT kitchen counters, they function as regular surfaces, not as kitchen counters. I made different versions (4tiles & 1 tile) so you can really customize you area. The Hawthorn set contains a total of 16 new meshes. Details below :)
I hope you enjoy it & happy simming all! â„
â details & download link under the cut â
D O W N L O A D Â L I N K : [X] (patreon, early access)
S E T Â Â D E T A I L S :
counter (4 tiles) â 8 swatches
counter (1 tile) â 8 swatches
bar â 8 swatches
cabinet (4 tiles) â 8 swatches
cabinet (1 tiles) â 8 swatches
arched cabinet â 8 swatches
tall cabinet â 8 swatches
bar tray â 11 swatches
martini glass â 1 swatch
espresso martini â 1 swatch
shaker â 2 swatches
bar spoon â 2 swatches
jigger â 2 swatches
vodka bottle â 1 swatch
coffee liquor bottle â 2 swatches
ice bucket â 2 swatches
** hawthorn will be released (free) on June 20th**
â terms of use / TOU â / / â instagram â
#ts4#simblr#ts4cc#sims 4 cc#sims 4 interior#sims 4#sims 4 inspo#sims 4 cc finds#sims4#sims 4 cc download
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Late Summer field and forest edge flora:
Pawpaw, hawthorn, black gum, sassafras
Goldenrods, ironweed, white snakeroot, bottle gentian
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title: the dancer and the angel PART 5 (finale)
pairing: grayson hawthorne x reader
synopsis: a forbidden kiss, a fallout, a drunken secret and a broken girl⊠it all comes down to this
parts: part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4
warnings: SPOILERS FOR TGG, swearing
a/n: what a journey!! who knew this whole series could come from one request!! thank you @emelia07, I owe this all to you my love!! and thank you for everyone who has read along and been anticipating this part, your support and love has been AMAZINGGGG
taglist: @lovethornes @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @fleuriosa @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31 @loveinalocket @lanterns-and-daydreams @hermesenthusiast @eternal--dream @shattered-glass-roses @book-nerd-emi @peppapigsposts
YOUR POV
Light streams through the window and my head thumps, a constant monotonous banging. I groan, wincing slightly as I try to roll over into a more comfortable position to re-enter sleep. I feel like Iâve just been hit by a bus, my limbs ached and weighed heavy against the rest of my body. Even my mattress feels uncomfortable, itâs much stiffer than it usually is.
I donât open my eyes, I prefer the solace Iâm finding darkness at the moment. With a pounding head and sore body all I want to do is go back to sleep but it seems my overactive brain has other ideas. Suddenly Iâm overwhelmed with a flash of memories. Last night rushes through my brain in jerky disconnected moments. Grayson kissed Lyra. I had gone clubbing with Avery. Gigi was missing. The bottle of alcohol Iâd snagged to drown everything out, the crying, the running, the ocean and Grayson in my room.
Oh. Shit.
I suddenly realise I can smell him all over me. My mouth grows sour. I struggle to open my eyes, they feel velcro-ed shut but I manage to pry them open. Everythingâs a little hazy, though once my vision clears I realise why my mattress feels so funny. Beneath me isnât a mattress at all. Itâs a man I never wish to see again.
I sit up suddenly, jerking away from him as a wave of nausea rolls over me. I know itâs not the alcohol, I donât get sick from it. Itâs the realisation, the dread pooling the deepest pit of my stomach. This couldnât be happening.
Scenes replay in my head, like a twisted sort of horror movie where I am the main character who walks into the room the audience knows the killer is in, the same audience who is screaming at their television screens that I shouldnât walk into that room alone with no weapons. But thatâs the thing, you canât change a film but screaming at the tv. Whatâs done is done.
Everything I said, I remember it so clearly. Iâd told him everything. The truth. The truth that Iâd planned to bury alive until it died naturally. It was never meant to have a voice again but of course under alcohol my brain was persuaded much more easily.
âI love you,â Iâd mumbled, the words tumbling out in my drunken phase.
Iâd admitted to still loving him at least three times and that was how many times in remembered. I feel a little more queasy at the thought.
I dare to glance to my left. Half of his face is buried in the pillow, golden hair spilling over the other. His eyes are closed and his face looks calm, peaceful, beautiful. How dare he look like that.
Panic seizes in my throat. I donât know what to do. Wake him, yell at him, kick him out, kiss him, leave the room and tell him it was all a dream if he questioned it. My head spins and my heart thumps. I can barely see straight, overwhelmed with a sea of emotion. Iâm angry and Iâm upset and Iâm desperate and Iâm confused.
His eyes flicker of open before I have the chance to decide my best move. He immediately meets my eye and sits up in the bed. Heâs frozen, half way between going to say something and saying nothing at all. Any lingering tiredness dissipates into panic.
âWhat are you doing here?â I yelp, before he even has the chance to plead innocent, âwhy are you in my bed?â
âYou were drunk,â he blurts out suddenly, arms defensive over his naked torso.
âAnd thatâs why youâre in my bed,â I cry out incredulously, widening my eyes.
He rolls his, âyou wanted me to stay, I couldnât leave you alone on that state.â
âI was only in that state because I was trying to forget about you,â I snap back, climbing off of the mattress to pull my shoes on.
âForget about me?â he murmurs, almost in some sort of daze as he shifts his weight on the bed.
I glance up, not accustomed to the vulnerability of his tone when we were arguing. Of course I donât want to forget about him, Iâd wanted to forget that Iâd been stupid enough to give someone my heart.
But he didnât have to know that.
He looks delicate, just sat there, his features soft and mellow. I want nothing more than to reach out and cup his face in my palms and kiss all his pain away, all his built up fear and uncertainty. To run tender fingertips across his shirtless chest, to his collarbone and neck, only for them to get lost in the golden halo of hair that sat atop his head.
My own cravings and desperation annoy me. Why am I still drawn to someone who caused me so much hurt? My head spins. I always make the same mistakes, youâd think I wouldâve learnt by now. I just decide in the flash of a moment that I need to see this through, whatever this is now, it needs to be over.
âOh,â I tusk, rolling my eyes, âdonât sound like such a hurt bird.â
âI donât I-â
He stands up and attempts to make his way over to me. I move away.
âJust shut up and get out,â I groan, cutting him off, pressing my cold fingertips to my temples, âIâve got a banging headache and I just want to be alone.â
I sound like a bitch but heâs not exactly making this easy for me not to. Iâm hungover and heartbroken, not the best mix.
He looks at me, eyes scanning over me too tenderly. I want to melt back into his arms and fall asleep with the comfort of his soft breathing. When his eyes roam me like that I feel vulnerable, like he can see all of the things that are hurting me most. I donât like it, he shouldnât have that right, not anymore.
âLet me help you,â he says quietly and twinge of desperation in his throat.
My insides are screaming at me to just collide with his mouth and accept anything that he says. I look him up and down and discard this moment, these feelings and whatever happened last night. I remember who he really is and what he really did. The part of him I canât sugarcoat.
I scoff, tightening my arms across my chest., âI think youâve helped enough.â
He look even more hurt as he steps closer, âplease let me-â
A tingle runs down my spine at the familiar position weâre in. I canât do this.
âGrayson,â I say sharply, âleave.â
And so he does.
He turns his back and walks out of the door, shutting it gently behind him. Part of me wishes he fought harder and part of me is glad. I sink down to the floor my head in my hands. I wait for the tears that are bound to fall but the tease me and make me wait that little bit longer to cry.
Head pounding, heavy with exhaustion and all I want is his touch back, I want his voice back, I want him back but I canât afford to want anything like that. Not anymore I suppose.
***
GRAYSONS POV
âGrayson,â the way she says my name sends a sort of electrical shock through me, her tone is so attacking and bitter I almost wince, âleave.â
Leave. Last night I was supposed to leave but she asked me to stay, this time sheâs asking me to leave but all I want to do is stay.
But I turn my back and walk out of the door. I owe her this and so much more, I canât deny her of anything else, I canât be selfish enough to stay. My token of selfishness ran out last night or maybe even long before that.
I feel numb. Through my veins courses an icy silver liquid, my brain is a void of empty blackness lacking thoughts or emotion and my heart canât seem to beat. Everything is gone. I feel like Iâm standing on the edge of a cliff waiting to meet my death, Iâll never know when itâs coming or who caused it but Iâm contented, maybe even intrigued with the possibility.
I wanted nothing more than to fight for her, stay there and demand she didnât let me go. I want her to know how much again, how sorry I am, but what good is an apology when youâve destroyed someoneâs heart?
The numbness floods away and it hits me out of nowhere that this time Iâm leaving for good. The realisation attacks me hard in the chest, bullets raining on my skin, making it a little difficult for me to breathe. A tightness constricts my upper body and I feel hazy.
Iâm not going anywhere in particular, I just let my feet carry me away. Where is there to go without her? Iâm an idiot. Why did I think this morning it would be any different? Iâd brainwashed myself into thinking she still actually wanted me because sheâd said it when she was drunk. Deep down I knew this would happen and I still stayed.
Iâm a selfish bastard. Just like my grandfather.
Where to go from here? Iâm alone, sat on a slab of ebony rock, staring out to sea. Usually a practice like this would calm me enough to get me to think straight but today itâs a different story.
Slowly I strip my blazer coat from my back and disgusts the shirt Iâd rushed on only moments ago and trousers. I leave them folded on the black rock and make my way to the ocean. I come to the edge, the waves coming to shore lapping my bare feet and ankles.
Then I dive.
As far out as possible into the waters, until Iâm out of my depth. Whilst treading waters I analyse how far out I am and the seven best possible ways to get help if I come into danger before I begin to swim.
Iâve spent so much of my life swimming, I know when Iâve hit twenty five meters and then fifty. My body is used to how it feels. So I just do it over and over and over and over. I can feel my brain becoming a blank canvas. Swimming helps me think.
Though, Iâve never enjoyed swimming the ocean, not properly swimming anyway. But I suppose thatâs not what the ocean was made for. A pool is reliable. Thereâs no current, no salt burning your eyes, no creatures lurking beneath the surface. As I swim, Iâm constantly thrown off course by the waves, that only seem to grow in size. But maybe thatâs a good thing, I have to work that much harder to reach my goal.
Suddenly I stop and make my way to shore, breathing heavily as I sit on the edge where the sand meets the sea. I know what I need to do and my chest feels hollow before I even do it.
LYRAS POV
My chest heaves in and out, rising up and down as I gulp in the oxygen that dance had just stolen. I stay on the floor, toe pointed, arms poised. I donât know how long Iâm there for but eventually I will myself to stand up. Iâve danced, my feelings should be processed, but oddly enough they donât seem to be. Not like they usually are.
I feel someoneâs eyes on me, a prickling sensation creeping down the back of my neck. I turn and face the my unwanted visitor. Perfected blonde hair though seemingly a little damp, mellow gray eyes and a suit. Heâs here, of course heâs here. He canât leave anyone or anything alone, he has to have it all. My peace, my freedom, my expression and his shadow bears weight over it all.
Fury courses through my veins, like lightning ready to strike. It crackles and hisses impatient to put a deadly shock through someone. I feel my expression morph into a scowl, my eyes narrow into sharp slits and despite my previously open body language through my routine I now tuck myself in and away from his prying eyes. I force myself up, legs still a little shaky from the adrenaline of the routine. I stand still, if he wants to talk, he can walk to me.
âLyra-â he begins, stepping inwards.
âYou,â I spit, a bitter venom coating my tongue, acidic and sharp.
Something flickers across his face. Is that fear I sense? Good. Iâm ready for a fight, for a battle, maybe even a war.
âLook-â he tries to begin again.
I donât give him the chance to continue. He doesnât deserve to plead his apologies, I wonât be swayed with empty words.
âYou are a horrible man,â I seethe, fire in my belly, âif you can even call yourself a man, Iâve got several other less polite words for it.â
âPlease you do not need to list them,â he replies dryly.
I bark out a surprised laugh, âstill arrogant, still full of yourself, after everything youâve done and the people youâve hurt you have the audacity to-â
âIâm sorry-â he interrupts me with an earnest look in his eyes I canât ignore. Maybe just maybe he really is sorry⊠or maybe heâs the fantastic actor heâs always been.
âSorry doesnât cut it,â I tell him coldly.
His desperate eyes dare to find mine, âhear me out-â
âNo,â I shake my head, âIâm done with listening to you and your lies.â
He winces as if Iâve struck him across the face, âLyra I didnât mean to-â
âYou did. And you wonât make that mistake again,â I say, an uninvited rawness in my voice, ânot with me.â
âLyra please-â
âBeg all you want,â I cut him off again. I know the lines heâs rehearsed, Iâve heard them said by other men. I donât give in to excuses, not from a man like him, âget on your knees I donât care thereâs nothing you can say to save yourself now and whoâs fault is that?â
âMine,â he barely murmurs, looking like a scorned child.
âFunny,â I say, dropping my voice low, âitâs so convenient now is the time you take responsibly for your actions, maybe you shouldâve thought about them before-â
âI made a mistake,â Grayson bursts, the action so sudden and out of character I wonder if itâs really him talking or some deranged drunken version.
I check his eyes. Heâs sober. And yet here he is standing in front of me, admiting heâs wrong and actually looking apologetic for it.
âThat much is evident,â I scoff, still I canât trust any word that comes out of his mouth, any look in his eyes, âbut you did worse than that. You hurt me, you hurt the girl who loved you, who gave you everything but still wasnât enough to satisfy your egotistical, spoilt desires,â I seethe, âyou didnât only do that but you made me into someone Iâm not and you of all people donât get to do that. I write my own story, paint my own picture, dance to my own tune. You donât get to decide who I am and you have, youâve made me the slut who goes around kissing other peopleâs boyfriends.â
âShe knows you didnt know,â he replies, almost softly.
âAnd whatâs it to me now?â I ask with a crisp laugh, âWhatâs done is done and everything is ruined.â
âYouâre right,â he mumble miserably.
âYou know if Iâd even thought for a fraction of a second there was someone else I wouldnât have even looked in your direction,â I tell him.
Itâs more than true, I could never do that to someone, not on purpose. It isnât me.
âI know,â Grayson says, âyouâre a good person.â
âI donât need you of all people to tell me that,â I snap, keeping up every wall I could. He will never get past them again.
âYou intrigued me,â he admits, as if it makes the situation better.
âMen are led by greedy eyes and tiny dicks,â I spit, such fury in my voice I almost donât recognise myself.
He canât stop his eyebrows from shooting upwards in surprise.
âThe first half of that sentence was true,â he murmurs.
âProtecting your pride still,â I sneer, as if any man wouldnât have, âhow can you come here and look me in the eye to plead for forgiveness after what youâve done.â
He looks pained, âI donât know.â
âYouâre an asshole,â I tell him. One final time.
âI know,â he sighs.
Iâve never seen a man that held himself with such composure look so defeated. I donât enjoy this, making anyone feel like this, even if itâs him. He may have hurt people but it doesnât make him immune to feeling hurt himself.
Still, that didnât kill the pure anger within me, the burning ferocity for someone who had done me wrong. And maybe Iâm a fool for being blinded by such an explosive emotion but I donât care. I canât afford to care.
So I almost smile, âI hope she doesnât still love you, in fact I hope she hates you for the rest of your life and you spend your days torturing yourself over this.â
âIâm sorry I kissed you Lyra, Iâm sorry I played with your heart,â he says solemnly.
âYou didnât play with anything,â I laugh, âif you think you got remotely close to my heart youâd be gravely mistaken.â
âIâm sorry I hurt you then,â he replied calmly, âand Iâm sorry I painted you in a bad light.â
âBut youâll win this game in the end wonât you,â I say with a shrug, my voice softens, âof course you will.â
âThereâs no game here Lyra,â he responds, a vulnerability in his tone, âjust a stupid man and two angry women.â
âShe doesnât deserve you,â I reply, looking him up and down.
âI know that,â Grayson admits, âshe never has.â
âAnd you proved that to her,â I remind him, salt in his wounds, I want them to burn as much as her heart does.
âI know that too,â he says, his voice soft and quiet.
He looks too agonised and suddenly I canât bear to look at him.
âI want you to leave,â I tell him quickly, âand donât look back.â
He nods silently, âIâm sorry, truly.â
I stare, waiting for him to leave. I would not run from a man, he should do the walk of shame out.
âDonât even think about coming anywhere near me after this,â I call out, âthis is a forever goodbye, Hawthorne. Stay out of my life.â
He doesnât respond, only gives a second nod before he turns his back and walks off slowly. I exhale softly and hit play on the music to start a second routine with a now cleared head.
***
YOUR POV
The bathroom tiles are cold under my thighs but theyâve almost gone as numb as the rest of me. Iâve been sat here for who knows how long recounting last nights events over and over, all the parts I didnât want to remember and maybe some parts that I wonât admit I do. This is one of the reasons I donât drink, but of course Iâd break that rule for him, betraying my own morals again for the same stupid man. Iâm exhausted, physically exhausted by it all. I tip my head back and rest it on the edge of the bathtub, a chill runs down my neck reminding me of what his touch to me.
âBut I canât say it out loud, because then Iâm an idiot for loving someone who cut me deeper than any weapon could ever cut me.â
Of all the things to say I really did have to spill everything didnât I? Thereâs no way of taking back, even twisting it into something itâs not. What I said was too raw to be lied about. Denial seems like my new best friend. If I pretend for long enough I never said it, maybe Iâll fool myself into believing it too.
âAnd I tried to drink it all away, believe me I tried, but then halfway through my fifth glass I kind of realised it wasnât working.â
Even my drunken tongue had lied, Iâd realised before the alcohol even had the pleasure of burning its way down my throat that it wouldnât work. Iâd just convinced myself it might attack the pain receptors in my body.
âItâs because I still fucking love you, how depressing is that? You murdered my heart and yet it canât stop beating your name.â
Did his heart beat mine? His replies are hazier than my memory of what Iâd said. My stupidity is woven deep into my brain, his hit the hardest when heâs kissed her so any other stupid things past that were more forgettable. My stomach rolls at the thought of all Iâd admitted to last night. I groan wishing for the floor to swallow me whole and softly drown me into an eternal darkness.
But I canât keep walking through this endlessness, whatever feelings I had left for him I had to leave behind. Iâm good at tricking my mind and that is my plan now, trick my mind into thinking I donât love, I canât love. Maybe next time I wonât be so hurt. I stand up and gaze at the girl in the mirror, finally silencing the voice that was picking out all the features Lyra had that I didnât. I inhale and exhale deeply. All my feelings would be discarded, here and now I decide. The moment I step from this bathroom and close the door, Iâm closing off connection to him.
I walk slowly towards the door, my legs a little more shaky and a little less numb. I canât tell which I prefer. I breathe deeply as I step out, taking in our happy memories for one last time, before this mess of a relationship it has become. And finally, finally I shut the bathroom door.
Heâs out of my mind and Iâm focussed on something else. I want to find Gigi, then I want to have a good nights sleep and then I want to go and find a career I love and cut this Hawthorne part of my life out completely. To truly lose him, I needed to lose everything close to him too. I canât afford to be drawn back again.
I leave the room Iâd slept in the night before and walk, fast paced and strong steps that leave me slightly breathless after a while. The island is bigger than it looks with many different pathways to walk.
I pick the one that seems the longest. I need to clear my head and focus on where Gigi could possibly be. I feel consumed with guilt that I hadnât been trying harder to find her, instead Iâve been wrapped up in my own problems. She could be dead, dying or something worse that I didnât even want to start imagining. All I know is, we have to work harder to find her and it starts here and now.
I need to gather all the information. When. When did she go missing? Exact time stamps of everything to calculate how swiftly any of this happened. Where. Where was she taken? We needed to revisit all the places she could be or couldâve been taken from. How. How was she taken? Did it leave any evidence? Would that give us a clue to who it might have been? Why. Why would someone want her? Whatâs the motive behind it all? What. What did they want? Surely they wanted something right? Who. The big question mark and blank face. Who in the world would want to kidnap Juliet Grayson?
A hand touches my shoulder and I flinch, immediately going into fight or flight. Unfortunately for the other person I choose to fight, twisting their arm quickly. They clearly arenât expecting it as they cry out and donât react fast enough. When I hear the sound of her voice I immediately drop the tight grasp Iâd had on her and repeat apologies.
âI am so sorry,â I exhale, âI was thinking deeply about Gigi and I thought you might be a kidnapper.â
âItâs okay,â Avery says, hiding her wince quite well as she adjusted her arm, âyou totally wouldâve kicked ass if I had been a kidnapper.â
I try to smile but can only manage a half grimace, âthanks.â
She tilts her head as our eyes meet.
âYou okay?â Avery asks, looking pitiful.
I hate it. I hate to think she feels sorry for me. Whatâs done is done, we all just need to forget and move on and her pity is only making me remember. I run a hand over my face to break eye contact. Clearly I look worse than I thought I did despite trying to hide my tired eyes and hollow cheeks with makeup.
âFine,â I respond with a small shrug, as we begin a slow walk down.
She hesitates, I can tell sheâd unsure to carry on the conversation, but she does anyway, âyou donât seem fine.â
I chew my bottom lip trying to come up with some sort of plausible excuse, ârough sleep,â I manage, my throat a little dry.
The silence between us feels thick and heavy, not the way it usually might. The paranoia in me thinks she knows something.
She stares at me for a moment and then sighs, saying whatâs really on her mind, âwhy did Grayson walk out of your room this morning?â
And for once the paranoia is right.
I donât say anything at first because I donât know what to say. Iâm trying to forget about him but slowly Iâm learning every second Iâm here Iâll be reminded. As soon as I can Iâll leave for good this time.
âLong story,â I murmur.
âCare to share?â she asks. Avery isnât one to push, if I told her to drop it now she would immediately. But part of her knows what I donât want to admit to. I need to talk about this, get it off of my chest. Burying it alive doesnât mean itâll die immediately. Maybe I need to kill it first.
âI got drunk,â I explain, more ashamed now because saying something out loud always makes it more real, âand said some things I shouldnât have and he stayed⊠because I asked him to.â
She winced, unable to hold it back this time.
âOh wait,â I laugh, through some pain, âit gets worse.â
Avery bites her lip, âplease no,â she begs in a small voice.
I sigh and meet her eyes directly, âAnd then, like the idiot that I am, I told him I still loved him.â
She gasps, air caught in her throat. She stills in her sheer surprise of it all.
âYeah,â I grimace, with an awkward cough, âso if youâre wondering why I look like crap that may or may not have something to do with it.â
âRewind,â she says, âdo you?â
âWhat?â
âStill love him,â she clarifies.
âOf course,â I murmur. If Iâm going to keep lying to myself from now on I want the last person I tell the truth to to be someone who I can truly trust, âbut heâs not supposed to know that.â
âThis is tricky,â Avery says, tapping her fingers at her sides.
âYouâre telling me,â I blow out a breath, âI have no idea what to do.â
âDid he tell you?â she asks curiously, âthat you told him you loved him I mean?â
âNo, thatâs the weird thing,â I reply slowly, âhe hasnât said a thing about it.â
I hadnât really thought of it until now. Why wouldnât he use that against me? Itâs perfect. Too perfect. He couldâve easily just explained the whole conversation and my only defence, I was drunk, which when thinking about it isnât even a defence.
Averyâs eyebrows furrow and she tilts her head confused, âso how do you know you said that?â
âI remember everything,â I blurt out, âevery single second.â
âBut he hasnât referenced it?â she clarifies.
âHe doesnât know I remember,â I say slowly, âand Iâm keeping it that way.â
She nods in understanding but I can see part of her is wondering why.
âI canât afford to love him Avery because I love too hard,â I admit, each word killing me softly, âI trust too much.â
âI understand,â she purses her lips, âbut doesnât it mean something, that he hasnât said anything.â
I tilt my head to the side, âhow do you mean?â
âHe knows what heâs done is beyond wrong,â she begins, âand he also knows you still love him, but he also knows you donât want to be with him, so maybe heâs trying to make it easier for you to leave, to just forget.â
I chew my lips, âI suppose.â
We fall into a silence of pondering. Maybe he is really trying to let me do what I want to. Maybe he is helping me leave because I asked him to. Maybe he knows if he asks me to stay, I will, so heâs not asking at all.
âIâm sorry,â Avery says quietly, wrapping as arm around my shoulder and pulling me into her.
âWhat are you sorry for?â I sniff, suddenly aware of a dampness on my cheeks, ânone of this is your fault.â
âItâs not you either,â she whispers tentatively.
I donât know how she knows but she knows I need to hear this. I keep trying to find the flaws in myself, all the things that Iâd done to cause this to happen. And as much as I hate to think I would do that for a guy, itâs what I am doing.
I look up at her, glossy eyed.
âNo,â she says firmly, âdonât you dare start blaming yourself.â
âToo late,â I smile sadly, a tidal wave of emotion hitting me hard. If I hadnât been a problem, if there wasnât something wrong with me, then why kiss another?
âOh sweetheart,â she says tenderly, hugging me tighter, closer.
âMaybe I wasnât good enough Avery, maybe if I was smarter, maybe if I was prettier, if I could dance like herâŠâ I trail off, âI know Iâm a lot, I know Iâm hard to deal with but I just thought⊠I really thought Iâd found someone who understood that and embraced it. I thought he loved every part of me, that heâs never feel like that for anyone but me. I was stupid enough to think for once I was the special one but I was wrong. Iâm the girl Iâve always been, Iâm not enough Avery.â
âLook at me, look at me right now,â she says with a fierce love, âyou are enough. In fact youâre more than enough. Youâre so kind and lovely and sweet, you light up a whole room when you walk into it, youâre constantly putting others before yourself. Youâre brave and youâre beautiful and heâs letting all of that go. You are everything and donât let him make you forget it because Iâm not going to sit here and let a stupid boy make you think youâre not enough.â
I force a laugh, my throat so hoarse so the sound of scrapes and scratches.
âAnd Iâm not even just saying this,â she says, once again proving that she can read minds, âyou know me, Iâm an honest girl and I wouldnât lie to one of my best friends. Heâs not worth you, he let you down, he hurt you and thatâs on him, thatâs a reflection of him. It has nothing to do with you, okay?â
I nod snivelling, âgod I love you Ave.â
âI love you too,â she smiles through her own tears now.
We hug again and even thought Iâd thought it was impossible to get ourselves any closer, we still managed.
âI canât believe Iâm crying over a boy right now,â I laugh through my tears.
She laughs too, wiping them from my cheeks, âitâs okay, Iâve been there one too many times.â I beam at her and slowly loosen my arms around nee to let her go.
âAvery,â I say carefully.
She hums in reply, brushing my hair behind my ears.
âCan I ask you a question?â I say.
She looks at me, almost knowing whatâs coming yet still replies, âsure,â in such a way that made me more than comfortable to even ask.
I inhale deeply, âwhat would you do if Jameson did this to you?â
A sudden sadness coats her hazel eyes.
âHonestly,â she sighs, âI donât even know, I wouldnât know what to do. I know thatâs the last thing you probably wanted to hear.â
I shrug, âitâs okay. I donât really know what I expected you to say.â
***
GRAYSONS POV
My pride is wounded two times over. Good. Maybe thatâll teach it.
Ever since I was a child I had been raised to be a proud man, someone who held their head high no matter what theyâd done or in some cases what they hadnât. I could blame my grandfather for the way I turned out, the man who bred me to be such a foul and malicious creature or maybe my neglectful mother, absent father or a smiling red headed girl who pitched herself off of a cliff edge. But what good I blaming someone when Iâm still stuck as myself?
I find myself back at the beach. A place that is both achingly familiar and distant all at the same time. I wonder if the salt in the water will cleanse me of what I have done. As I close my eyes and inhale, I remember pulling her between my legs, telling her she was the only one our first night on this island. I would do anything to go back to that moment.
Why is nothing ever enough for me? I donât know when to stop, when to feel satisfied, when to recognise I have more than I want. Why am I the way I am? My head is a swirling mess of antagonising thoughts and strangling voices all on top of one another.
Though one is the loudest, one shows me the most.
I hurt her more than I could ever imagine and itâs killing me. Pieces of me are eroding away in the acid coursing through my veins. I can feel myself slipping away, everything growing heavier by the smallest fractions that build up over time until everything just crumbles one day and you look back and wonder what the hell happened.
I have hatred for a lot of people but my most loathed enemy is the man who looks me in the eye every day in my bathroom mirror, the man who shares my name and my blood and my mind. I hate him for hurting her. I want to destroy him for making a single tear slip. I wish nothing but an agonising life for him.
I feel someone sit beside me and I already know who it is. It isnât the way she moves that gives her away, nor the smell of her perfume or sound of her breathing. I just know. Like Iâve always just known. She sits by my side and stares out to sea, not meeting my eye when I turn to look at her.
âIâm done with this,â she says, her voice stone, cold, âthe tension, the arguing, all of it. Iâm done with you Grayson. I want to make it clear. When I say stay away from me, you will stay away from me. I donât want anything to do with you anymore.â
Sheâs still looking out, every weighted word is said towards the ocean and still I feel every jab just a heavy on my chest.
Sheâs so beautiful, too beautiful. Iâm selfish in this moment for almost being glad she came, just so I could look at her, really look at her one last time. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold, as well as her nose slightly pinkish. Long thick lashes curl up to almost touch her eyebrows. Her lips only taunt me in their perfection, rounded and red, making my desire to take them into my own that little bit more violent.
I understand what she wants, but I donât want her to want it. But I have to give her this, if I truly love her, I have to let her go. But if this is the last conversation we ever have, I donât want it to end here.
âWhat do you remember from last night?â the question escapes my lips before I can filter it.
Still she does not meet my eye, âare you not listening to me?â sheâs agitated, annoyed and desperately trying not to glare at me in fear of making eye contact.
âI will do whatever you ask,â I tell her, praying she could hear my earnestness, thick in my throat, âI promise you-â
She scoffs cutting me off, âyeah because promises went far last time.â
A pang of shame attacks my heart, it aches and pulsates in agony. Itâs my own fault and part of me is guilty it isnât writhing more, I suppose itâs still holding out for some false hope.
âI swear it on my life and yours,â I say, slowly, âIâll do whatever you ask. But please, please tell me. What do you remember from last night?â
âNothing,â her voice almost softens, itâs not as harsh as before but not as sweet as I remembered.
It stings. Reality usually does, but I donât think Iâve felt it this strongly since Emily died. Iâd thought maybe somewhere there wouldâve been part of her that remembered her confession, part of her that believed it. All I know for sure is Iâm not going to say a word about it, I owe her far more than that and despite how much I want her, crave her, need her, I canât do this to her.
âAbsolutely nothing?â I murmur, wondering if words were even being processed by my brain anymore because I donât remember thinking them.
âI drank a load of alcohol and then went to my room,â she replies briskly, her frostiness returning like an icy sheet on a winters day, ânext thing I know I wake up with you next to me.â
âSo you donât remember anything you said?â I push, testing the waters.
If this truly is our last conversation, I need to know for sure that she doesnât remember anything, that I should forget like sheâs already forgotten.
âNo and quite frankly I donât care Grayson,â she groans, eyes blazing with a fury I wasnât used to, âIâm tired of this vicious circle. You messed up and no amount of apologising is going to save you now.â
âI love you,â I blurt out.
I canât help it. Sheâs everything to me and she needs to know it, even if she doesnât believe it.
She shakes her head, almost sadly, âand clearly thatâs not enough.â
âIt is enough,â I say desperately.
I understand why she canât see this like I do. I understand why she wonât consider it. I understand Iâve hurt her beyond her limit.
âThis is what I mean by a vicious circle,â she chokes out, âweâre back to the same place again. You tell me you love me, then I ask why you did what you did, you say you donât know and I canât forgive and forget it.â
âIâm not asking you to,â I tell her, âbut you know it as well as I do, weâll go crazy without each other. Iâm already losing it and so are you-â
âOh thanks,â she scoffs, sarcasm clinging to her tone, âgood way to win me back there, telling me Iâm a mental case, real attractive.â
I wince then regain composure.
âYou donât drink,â I say, âyouâve never been a heavy drinker and now what? You suddenly are.â
âIâm allowed to do what I want,â she spits back, âhabitual or not.â
Something about the way she is so defensive about being so reckless makes me feel sick to my stomach. I donât want to be the reason she destroys her health.
âSo you expect me to sit back and watch you hurt yourself!â I yell, suddenly angry, more with myself than ever at her.
âWell youâve had no problem hurting me before,â she snaps, her voice almost acidic.
I fall silent. What is there left to say? Sheâs right. She has me backed into a corner of speechlessness. Iâve run out of defences to plead.
âYou know what Grayson, itâs fine,â she says bitterly, harshly wiping away tears, âpeople move on I get it but couldnât you have just said it to my face before you went behind my back? You knew, you knew I was insecure about her and you still went ahead and kissed her. What kind of sick person does that?â
She looks like sheâs physically in pain, it agonises me to even watch her, let alone realise that Iâm the one who caused this. Guilt consumed me so long ago and yet it feels like my first taste all over again.
âI donât know how to tell you this again,â I fumble over my words, my hands shaking, âit meant nothing, I felt nothing.â
âThen what made you do it?â she sobs, âwhat made you do it?â
âI donât know,â I ramble, âshe was there and she was upset and I felt bad and Iâd just spent the last 24 hours with her and she reminded me of you and so I got confused-â
âConfused.â she says darkly, she looks livid, âConfused? Weâre completely different fucking people, Grayson. Please donât try and feed me that excuse because it wonât wash with me!â
âI donât know, I really donât then,â I reply, holding my hands up to surrender, âI donât know why this happened or how, all I know is that Iâm going to regret it for the rest of my life.â
âGood,â she snaps, âas you should, now are you done here?â
I look at her longingly, my eyes latching to her body. I donât want this to be goodbye but if it has to be then I want to remember every inch of her.
âIf you promise me youâll be careful,â I murmur, barely audible.
Her face scrunches up, âdonât tell me what to do.â
âYou scared me last night,â I admit, softening my voice.
âIâm a grown woman Grayson,â she sneers, saying my name so coldly I feel it burn in my chest, âI can do what I like, I donât care if it scared you, get your big boy pants on and get over it.â
âThat wasnât you,â I whisper.
âYeah,â she laughs gently with a bitterness caught in her throat, âand I thought this wasnât you but I was wrong too.â
âI donât want you to waste away because of me,â I tell her.
âOh, you do like to flatter yourself,â she shakes her head with a sad smile, tears still rolling down her cheeks.
I look at her as earnestly as I can, âIâm serious.â
âGrayson if I scared you so much,â she states simply, folding her arms across her chest and taking a dangerous step closer, âthen why not just leave?â
âI couldnât leave you like that,â I reply with the truth because Iâve lied far too much.
âWhy?â
âBecause I love you,â my voice cracks, âand no matter how much you scare me that fact doesnât change.â
âYou shouldâve left,â she replies coldly, staring dead at me, like sheâs trying to keep her emotions in check to defy the glistening tear stains on her cheeks.
âI know,â I respond quietly, âand I tried but you asked me to stay.â
âI was drunk,â she exclaims, raising her voice, âand being an idiot, I didnât know what I was saying!â
âAnd if Iâd left would you be any happier?â I shoot back, anger taking hold for that split second.
She falters, âno because the bottom line is youâve hurt me more than I know I could hurt, so nothing you do can be worse.â
My heart throbs.
âIâm sorry,â I say, knowing the word will never be enough.
âThatâs meaningless to me,â she shakes her head.
âI know but Iâll still say it until Iâm blue in the face,â I shrug.
âBe my guest,â she replies, stepping backwards, âitâll still be meaningless.â
Sheâs stepping away, she wants this to come to an end, sheâs scared it wonât. I donât want to let her go but I will. I ask myself if this is our last conversation. If so, I have to take the gamble.
âBeing away from you is torturing me,â I say.
âMaybe you shouldâve thought about that before you had your lips on hers,â she only shrugs in reply, opting for her stony tone, unsympathetic eyes meeting my own pleading ones.
âI know itâs torturing you too,â I whisper.
The world comes to a standstill for a moment and I feel like Iâm in a place between life and death. A surreal sort of slowed experience where it doesnât feel quite real but not quite synthetic either. Waiting for her to reply sucks the oxygen from my lungs.
âOf course it is, you idiot,â she groans, âIâve got double the torture because not only am I now alone, I was betrayed by someone who I thought loved me.â
âI do love you,â I tell her.
I hope she can hear the emotion in my throat. She knows me well enough to know I could hide it, but I donât want to. I want her to know that I feel more for her than Iâve ever felt for anyone else on this planet. I need her to know that she is everything to me.
âEmpty words Grayson, all of them,â she replies. Itâs what happens when you hurt someone so pure too many times, you ruin them. âThe ones you said before and the ones youâre saying now, theyâre meaningless to me,â she shrug.
It feels like itâs the end and it is consolidated as so when she walks away from me. Sheâs finished, sheâs done. War is over.
But selfish me canât let her do that, selfish me is still fighting, selfish me is taking over my brain and selfish me needs to try one last thing, as awful as it is, he has to.
âNo theyâre not,â I say loudly.
She stops, frozen in place. Her head whips around, fast, âare you seriously doing this?â
Her eyes blaze with the purest of fury. I begin to think Iâve done the wrong thing, but thereâs no turning back now.
âYou told me you loved me last night,â I blurt out.
I canât believe itâs come to this. I hadnât wanted it to but I donât feel regret. I canât hide this from her too.
She stares me dead in the eye, âI know.â
The wave of shock almost knocks me flat.
âYou know?â I gape, jaw dropping. This whole time she knew and she just didnât say anything.
âOf course,â she tusks, rolling her eyes, âI said the stupid words.â
âBut you said-â
âI lied,â she snaps sharply cutting me off.
My eyebrows furrow, âwhy?â
âThis reason,â she points to the both of us as my eyebrows draw together even tighter, âto avoid this.â
âWhat is this?â I ask. I need to clarity, I need to know whatâs going on inside her head.
âThis conversation,â she says, âI donât want it.â
âWhy?â I ask again, the painstaking monotony of the word making me feel like a petulant child.
âBecause,â she meets my eye and her voice wavers for a moment, âI donât want to look you in the eye and tell you itâs over again, because this time I donât think Iâll cope.â
âThen donât tell me itâs over,â I blurt out.
I never think straight when sheâs involved, itâs always this mess of chaos in my brain and I say and do things without thought, without fear, without overthinking,
âBut it is Grayson,â she replies, pain ripping through her voice, âit was over the moment you put your lips on hers.â
âI donât love her,â I tell her again, sheâll never hear it enough but if I stop saying it I fear sheâll believe I do.
She shakes her head and her bottom like trembles, âthat doesnât change what happened.â
âHow can I prove it to you?â I ask, trying to reach out for her in my desperation, âwhat can I do?â
She moves away so my hands canât clasp hers. Iâll beg her in my hands and knees if I must.
âGrayson you have to understand that I canât trust you anymore,â she explains, âand how can I be in a relationship with you if I donât trust you.â
âI donât know,â I murmur, âbut we could try, you could rebuild the trust.â
She pauses for a long while, not moving, barely breathing. She limbs rest still as she analyses me, her eyes trailing up and down me slowly until they finally meet my eye and stop themselves from wondering. I can only hope she sees how much I mean it, the eyes are the window to the soul, she once told me. How clear is that window now?
She takes one step in, a single tear glistening as it rolls down her cheeks, âhow do I know you donât love her,â she whispers.
I take her face into my palms and I kiss her, deeply, smoothly. I say a thousand words without uttering a sound and I already know she feels every single one of them before weâve stopped.
We break away naturally, âbecause I didnât kiss her like that,â I say breathlessly.
âI wonât forgive you with just a kiss,â she shakes her head, pushing me away gently, âyou canât win me over with sweet talk.â
âI know,â I murmur, fingertips lingering like a ghost touch on her hips.
âAnd if weâre going to be us again itâs going to take time,â she responds, taking a step away so my hands fall from her body and weâre just two people looking at each other, âa long time.â
âIâm fine with waiting,â I tell her, âIâll wait forever just to be with you.â
Every word is the truth, every word I mean.
She looks at me and I canât quite read her, though she looks in deep thought, âyou have the next stage of the game now,â she reminds me quietly.
âI donât care,â I shrug.
And I donât. This stupid game has caused me nothing but misery and I donât want any part of it anymore.
âGo,â she whispers with a smile that still looked sadder than usual, âI need time.â
My heart clenches.
âForever, Iâll wait forever.â
a/n: ahhh itâs so bittersweet to end this series!! I canât believe how much it grew, starting from that one little fic to this whole story I somehow created?! special shout-out to @inmyheaddd and @midiosaamor for being my biggest cheerleaders đđ I love you with all of my heart and thank you so much, but also thank you so so so INSANELY much to anyone else who had liked, commented or read this fic, it means more than anything to me
okay so this is PROBABLY a controversial ending because she doesnât get back with him but she doesnât not get back with him, Iâll leave the decision to you guys⊠(I know it leans towards she probably will BUTTTT hear me out: this is fiction and I wanted the main character to end with with grayson and I think itâs not like she just got back with him, she has conditions, sheâs being cautious, but her love is so overwhelming that she still wants to be with him even though he brain is telling her no)
ANYWAYS i hope you enjoyed this final part, a little bit of me is scared itâs too underwhelming but I liked it :)) thank you all again <33
TIG masterlist
#bella writes đ€#bellaâs tig masterlist °ââ.àłàż*:#the dancer and the angel#the inheritance games#tig#grayson hawthorne#the brothers hawthorne#the final gambit#the hawthorne legacy#grayson hawthorne one shot#grayson hawthorne x you#grayson hawthorne x reader#grayson davenport hawthorne#avery kylie grambs#avery grambs#jameson hawthorne#the grandest game#averyjameson#jameson x avery#avery x jameson
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Not Writing
When I am not writing I am not writing a novel called 1994 about a young woman in an office park in a provincial town who has a job cutting and pasting time. I am not writing a novel called Nero about the world's richest art star in space. I am not writing a book called Kansas City Spleen. I am not writing a sequel to Kansas City Spleen called Bitch's Maldoror. I am not writing a book of political philosophy called Questions for Poets. I am not writing a scandalous memoir. I am not writing a pathetic memoir. I am not writing a memoir about poetry or love. I am not writing a memoir about poverty, debt collection, or bankruptcy. I am not writing about family court. I am not writing a memoir because memoirs are for property owners and not writing a memoir about prohibitions of memoirs. When I am not writing a memoir I am also not writing any kind of poetry, not prose poems contemporary or otherwise, not poems made of fragments, not tightened and compressed poems, not loosened and conversational poems, not conceptual poems, not virtuosic poems employing many different types of euphonious devices, not poems with epiphanies and not poems without, not documentary poems about recent political moments, not poems heavy with allusions to critical theory and popular song. I am not writing "Leaving the Atocha Station" by Anne Boyer and certainly not writing "Nadja" by Anne Boyer though would like to write "Debt" by Anne Boyer though am not writing also "The German Ideology" by Anne Boyer and not writing a screenplay called "Sparticists." I am not writing an account of myself more miserable than Rousseau. I am not writing an account of myself more innocent than Blake. I am not writing epic poetry although I like what Milton said about lyric poets drinking wine while epic poets should drink water from a wooden bowl. I would like to drink wine from a wooden bowl or to drink water from an emptied bottle of wine. I am not writing a book about shopping, which is a woman shopping. I am not writing accounts of dreams, not my own or anyone else's. I am not writing historical re-enactments of any durational literature. I am not writing anything that anyone has requested of me or is waiting on, not a poetics essay or any other sort of essay, not a roundtable response, not interview responses, not writing prompts for younger writers, not my thoughts about critical theory or popular songs. I am not writing a new constitution for the republic of no history. I am not writing a will or a medical report. I am not writing Facebook status updates. I am not writing thank-you notes or apologies. I am not writing conference papers. I am not writing book reviews. I am not writing blurbs. I am not writing about contemporary art. I am not writing accounts of my travels. I am not writing reviews for The New Inquiry and not writing pieces for Triple Canopy and not writing anything for Fence. I am not writing a daily accounting of my reading, activities, and ideas. I am not writing science fiction novels about the problem of the idea of the autonomy of art and science fiction novels about the problem of a society with only one law which is consent. I am not writing stories based on Nathaniel Hawthorne's unwritten story ideas. I am not writing online dating profiles. I am not writing anonymous communiqués. I am not writing textbooks. I am not writing a history of these times or of past times or of any future times and not even the history of these visions which are with me all day and all of the night.
Anne Boyer Garments Against Women, 2016
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Standing in the kitchen, Iâm making sure Iâve got enough bottles ready for the weekend trip away from my little one.
âAre you sure you can manage him on your own? He rarely takes a bottle, always preferring to breastfeed. Plus, he throws such big fits when I try to change his poopy diapers. Maybe I should just bring him with me instead of leaving him here...?â
âYouâre leaving me?!?!â
I hadnât even heard our little one toddle into the room.
âOh, honey, just for the weekend. But donât worry! Mommy got you the best babysitterâMrs. Hawthorne! She even said she likes to play hide and seek with little ones like you.â
My little one drops to the floor, bursting into tears. âDonât want that stupid lady. Want Mommy.â
I scoop up my little tantrum and carry them back to the nursery. âLove, we donât call people âstupid,â even when weâre upset. Iâm going to let you calm down for a bit, and then youâre going back out to apologize to Mrs. Hawthorne.â
My tiny tot clings to me like a koala caught in a thunderstorm. âI donât want you to go. Take me with you.â
I sigh softly and rub their back. âMommy canât take you with me, honey. I need some alone time with Daddy. And I canât have that if Iâm also making sure you donât have a poopy butt. Iâm sorry, but youâll be staying with Mrs. Hawthorne.â
After a few minutes of holding my tiny one close, their sobs slow down, and they start to hiccup instead. I gently rub their back, waiting for the storm to pass.
"Feeling better, sweetheart?" I ask softly, my voice gentle.
They nod slowly, sniffling. "Uh-huh..."
"Good," I smile, wiping away a tear from their cheek. "Now, can you do Mommy a big favor?"
They look up at me with wide, innocent eyes. "What?"
"Can you go out and apologize to Mrs. Hawthorne? We donât call people names when weâre upset, remember?" I give them a little squeeze. "I know youâre sad Iâm leaving, but I need you to be brave for Mommy, okay?"
My little one scrunches up their face, looking torn. But after a moment, they give a reluctant nod. "Okay, Mommy..."
I stand up, holding their hand as we head out into the living room. Mrs. Hawthorne is sitting patiently, her warm smile welcoming. My little one looks down at the floor, still a little embarrassed but trying to be brave.
I guide them gently forward. "Go on, sweetie. Itâs okay."
They shuffle up to Mrs. Hawthorne, and in a quiet voice, mumble, "Iâm sorry for calling you stupid... I didnât mean it."
Mrs. Hawthorne leans down, offering a soft smile. "Itâs okay, little one. I know you were upset. Thank you for apologizing. And Iâm sure weâre going to have a great weekend together!"
My little one glances up at me, eyes still a little teary but now filled with a sense of relief. I smile and give them a kiss on the forehead. âGood job, sweetheart. Youâre such a good little one for Mommy.â
With a final hug, I turn to grab my bag. "Now, you be good for Mrs. Hawthorne, and Iâll be back before you know it. Mommy loves you."
"Love you too, Mommy..." they whisper, sniffling again but with a small smile.
I head out the door, knowing theyâll be in good hands and feeling a little lighter, even though Iâll miss my little one. A weekend of grown-up time with Daddy awaitsâbut I know it wonât be long before Iâm back, and my tiny one will be waiting for me with open arms. đ
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PARTNERS IN WINE
Avery Grambs x Jameson Hawthorne - 2.1k
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Hello and a Happy St. Patrick's Day to all who celebrate! Here's the promised 'Jameson takes care of drunk!Avery' fic, @saythewordheiress. You did not ask me to write it, but I have done so anyway! (because I like doing fun things, especially if it means skiving off schoolwork!) Let me know if you guys want a part two, because I think I set it up pretty well to write a chapter for Grayson and Lyra. This is different from what I usually write, so the quality might be worse. This fic, as I said earlier, is one where Jameson takes care of a drunk Avery. She's drunk for about half the fic and hungover for the other half, so if you don't like reading about people being drunk, or people throwing up ... wrong place, I will see you next week! It is also partially a chat-fic ... you'll see what I mean, because it alternates between actual storytelling and texting. It sounds bad rn, just read it. If you hate the texting, there is actual writing, and if you hate the writing, there is texting. Have fun!
CONVERSATION: KEVIN, JOE, NICK AND THE BONUS JONAS
NASH: Alright youâre going to love this
JAMESON: am i
NASH: Maybe not
NASH: so you know how the girls had a night here
JAMESON: yes
JAMESON: get to the point nash
NASH: there was some rum involved
GRAYSON: Is anyone dead, bleeding, or currently in the hospital?
NASH: no
GRAYSON: Then whatâs the problem?
JAMESON: you text like a karen
XANDER: Nash hesitates to tell you, so I shall!
XANDER: They got really drunk.
NASH: âŠ
NASH: Yâall have been quiet for a while
NASH: Iâm not afraid of a fight
NASH: I have Oren
GRAYSON: Oren wonât help.
JAMESON: theyâre not hurt, jfc calm down loverboy
JAMESON: how much is really drunk?
NASH: like a lot.
NASH: Avery and Max kept drinking after Libby stopped
NASH: theyâve gone through a lot of bottles.
XANDER: Avery recited Shakespeare off the top of her head
JAMESON: do you know which one
XANDER: A Midsummerâs Night Dream
XANDER: The queenâs monologue
JAMESON: omg she was learning it last week for that lit course
NASH: Gotta say
NASH: if this whole inheritance thing stops working out
NASH: she has a future in theater.
GRAYSON: From one solo?
NASH: hey she and Lyra got a pretty good recital of Hamlet in
NASH: they sound better than you do when youâre sober
JAMESON: i think gray might cry lmfao
GRAYSON: Iâm not.
Jamesonâs favorite thing (person) in the world was Avery Kylie Grambs.
That being said, he had no idea how to handle the woman while she was drunk. And in denial.
âLook, Iâve walked in a straight line, and ⊠and I got back home fine. Iâm not thaaaaat drunk.â
Jameson looked at Avery, who has tucked herself into his side. âOren drove you here, and that line was definitely not straight.â
âIt was âŠâ she mumbled. She tried to take a few steps by herself, and fell over against Jameson, who wrapped an arm around her torso to steady her.
âJesus Christ, how much did you drink?â Avery had a pretty high tolerance for alcohol, and her liver probably died three times over for her to be this drunk.
âIâm not Jesus, Iâm Saint Avery, remember?â Her voice slurred as they reached the stairs. Avery tried moving, but she tripped on the first stair and nearly brought Jameson down with her.
Okay, that plan is out the window. Jameson hooked an arm around her legs, and lifted her in a bridal carry, walking away from the stairs.
âWhereâre we going?â her words were basically mush at this point, but Jameson was able to make them out.
âYour room is pretty high up, Heiress, and we are taking the shorter route.â He stopped at a random point in a hallway, and tapped it three times. The wall slid away, and revealed an elevator.
Jameson put Avery down, and half-pushed her into the elevator. He clicked the button for her floor, and kept her within his arms as the elevator. It was a pretty short ride, but the sudden stop (which was pretty smooth) caused Avery to lose what little balance she had, and nearly fall over.
Jameson saved her from an encounter with the floor. Again.
She was still putting her full weight on him, so he picked her up again.
As they were walking to her room, she started giggling.
âWhatâs so funny?â
âYou!â
Jameson had no idea what she was talking about. âWhat?â
Avery giggled again. âLike that. Youâre funny. And pretty. Like really pretty.â
Jameson nudged at the side of her head with his nose. âJust pretty?â
âYeah. Really pretty.â She rested her head against his chest.
âI thought youâd say Iâm sexy.â
âThat too.â
As soon as she reached her bed, she fell asleep. She was already in pjs, and it didnât seem worth waking her up again to get fully ready for bed.
Jameson, who had been in bed fiddling with a puzzle Xander gave him, had already been in âsleep modeâ for the past hour. After making sure Avery was underneath a blanket and wasnât about to fall off the bed, throw up, choke on said throw up or all three, he got in beside her, and was surprised that Avery promptly attached herself to his side.
âYouâre not really asleep, are you, Heiress?â He asked with a smirk.
She pulled him closer. âI ⊠love you.â
Jameson gave an amused smile and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. âI love you too.â
She didnât respond, and Jameson figured she was truly asleep.
âGood night, Avery.â
Avery woke up the next morning- and ran straight to the bathroom.
Jameson was sitting on the counter next to the sink, as if he had been waiting there, but she barely acknowledged him as she bent over the toilet. He held her hair back as she threw up, and rubbed circles in her back. His touch was gentle, and Avery would've appreciated it more if she hadn't been spilling the contents of her stomach into the toilet.
âGood morning, Heiress.â he said with a smirk once she was done.
She shot him a glare, but quickly looked away as her head began pounding. âDonât even try.â
âI didnât say anything.â He joined her on the floor, placing a kiss on her temple, and offered her a bottle of water.
She began to drink it, and felt her headache ease somewhat. She leaned into Jameson and closed her eyes, taking a minute to relax and allow herself to slow down. With the nausea out of the way, she felt closer to sleep than ever.
She checked the clock on the wall. 9:45.
It was still too early for her.
"Woah." Jameson tapped her hand. "You're not sleeping until you've had something to eat."
"What?"
Jameson shrugged. "You're probably going to throw up again when you wake up, you might as well have something to throw up instead of pure stomach acid. You're lucky you ate before drinking last night, otherwise you would be in significantly worse shape."
She opened her mouth to respond, but she felt her stomach turn, and quickly dove for the toilet. Jameson held her hair back as she threw up bile, and kept dry heaving. She almost collapsed against the toilet and felt Jameson tie her hair and walk out of the bathroom. Avery wondered if she was in such bad shape that he couldnât even be around her.
Avery tried to move, but her vision went temporarily black as she got up, and she wobbled for a second before catching the countertop. "Ow."
âHow much did you end up drinking last night?â Jameson re-entered the bathroom and helped her sit on the countertop, giving her a bottle.
Thatâs why he left.
Avery noticed it was Gatorade rather than water and raised an eyebrow.
âYou need the extra hydration, donât look at me like that.â
Avery wouldâve rolled her eyes. She instead decided to open the Gatorade bottle, but lacked the energy to actually open it.
âAnd she said she didnât drink at all last night.â Jameson gave her a smirk -oh god, how could he be hot and helpful and unhelpful so early in the morning?- and helped her tip the bottle into her mouth.
She finally found the strength to talk. âDid I really say that last night?â
âAmong other things.â He stood between her legs, and gently took the bottle from her, capping it as he moved it to the side.
Avery poked his chest. âWhat else did I do?â
Jameson gave her a crooked grin. âFinish the food.â
Food?
He produced a packet of crackers out of nowhere, and Avery groaned. âTheyâre disgusting.â
âTheyâre what youâre least likely to throw up.â
Avery frowned, and Jameson tore open the packet. âTake it from a Hawthorne man; we know the best ways to get drunk, and the best ways get over a hangover.â
He fed her a cracker, which was bland and flavorless, but the thought of any other food made her want to throw up.
Avery got halfway through the packet before she felt drowsy again. She didnât realize it until she felt a series of gentle taps on her hand.
âJust one more, Heiress.â Avery was leaning almost entirely on Jameson, her head in the crook of his neck.
Avery tried to respond, but she was almost fully asleep, and Jameson took it as an answer. âAlright, youâre too sleepy for this, letâs get you to bed.â
He lifted her off the countertop almost effortlessly, and gently placed her on her bed, placing a kiss on her forehead. He mightâve said something, but sleep washed over Avery, and anything he said was long gone.
DIRECT MESSAGES TO:Â GRAYSON HAWTHORNE
JAMESON: how drunk did the girls get
JAMESON: even i never got hungover this bad jfc
GRAYSON: I couldnât tell you.
GRAYSON: Sheâs stubborn as ever.
GRAYSON: She wonât even eat food.
GRAYSON: She also says that sheâs not drunk.
JAMESON: sheâs not tho????
JAMESON: sheâs hungover??
JAMESON: donât tell me youâve been telling ur girl shes drunk.
GRAYSON: Donât tell Xander.
GRAYSON: Or Avery.
JAMESON: lmfao i just got avery back into bed
JAMESON: try harder
GRAYSON: She just ran to the bathroom.
JAMESON: have fun
She ended up waking up about two hours later with a blinding headache-
â-And thatâs what the painkillers are for.â Jameson sat on the edge of the bed and handed her two pills and a glass of water. She quickly gulped down the pills and all of the water, and she felt relief wash over her about five minutes later.
âJesus Christ.â She moved closer to Jameson and leaned her head against his shoulder.
âHow are we feeling, Heiress?â She looked up at him and he flashed her a smile.
âA lot better now. How are you so patient?â
His eyebrows rose. âIâm not.â
âYou knew exactly what to do.â
âThat comes from a combination of regularly having gotten hangovers, and being a Hawthorne.â He gestured wildly with his arms. âEfficiency is key.â
She bit back a laugh as Jameson talked about his âprocessâ and how many tries it took him to perfect the hangover routine.
â-so you got the better end of the deal, you hopefully will never have to experience a true, raw hangover.â
âThank you.â Jameson looked down at her and she shrugged. âYou didnât have to help. It was pretty gross.â
âAnytime, Heiress. And Iâve seen gross. I lived with Grayson.â
Avery swallowed. âWe woke you up last night as well, and I didnât plan on getting drunk at all. You were completely unprepared.â
Jamesonâs eyebrows flew into his hair. âIf you ever meet an unprepared Hawthorne, please disinherit them.â
When Avery didnât laugh, he sighed. âItâs okay, Heiress. We all drink a little too much sometimes, and no one goes out planning to get wasted. We have a whole shelf in the pantry with âhangover-safe food.â Itâs not a burden to help you, and itâs never a bad thing to spend more time with you.â
Avery opened her mouth to argue back and Jameson clapped a hand over her mouth. âI will always be there for you, whether you like it or not. Itâs not a bad thing.â
She felt her breath catch in her throat, and she paused for a minute before she spoke. âAlright.â
He flashed her a smirk. âIt is also fun not being the one drunk for once.â
She rolled her eyes and Jameson wrapped an arm around her. âBrilliant. Now do you want to see whether Lyra finally stopped arguing with Grayson?â
âOh, she never does.â
âToday might be different.â
âHow so?â
âSheâs hungover for one thing âŠâ
GRAYSON: Where did they get the alcohol again?
JAMESON: averyâs asking if Lyraâs okay.
GRAYSON: Sheâs sleeping.
JAMESON: gray itâs like 1pm
JAMESON: why did it take you so long to get her to rest.
GRAYSON: Apparently, Lyra has a severe distaste for all things involving alcohol.
GRAYSON: How did Avery get her drunk?
JAMESON: she says Max did it.
GRAYSON: I shouldnât have expected anything less.
GRAYSON: I thought I was done with hangovers when you stopped drinking.
JAMESON: and then you decided to fall in love
JAMESON: this is not my fault
GRAYSON: sheâs waking up.
GRAYSON: Maybe Iâll finally sleep.
JAMESON: thatâs what you get for not sleeping when people do
GRAYSON: Iâm not going to grace that with a response.
GRAYSON: Goodbye, Jamie.
JAMESON: youâre not going off to war jfc dont sound so dramatic
JAMESON: well, you kinda are
GRAYSON: ⊠Iâll pass on the sentiment to Lyra
JAMESON: he didnât mean that -Avery
JAMESON: I did
JAMESON: see you later.
fin.
ENDING NOTES This fic was kind of a rollercoaster, and it was harder for me to write ... for some reason. I specialize in angst. Thanks for reading - please like, reblog and leave feedback in the notes. Or just throw blackberries at me. Anything works. It's St. Patricks Day, and I literally live in Walmart Ireland, and I ... made this fic blue. (yaaay) This looks shit in light mode, im sorry. The taglist has a grand total of one person (thank you, Jude) and is looking for more people, so if you want to be added, lmk. (I joined the writing side during TIG's lowest point, but we are going to deal with it by throwing more fics into the pit.)
Taglist: @inmyheaddd
#tig#the inheritance games#averyjameson#with a hint of#lyrason#lyragrayson#what do we call them jfc#avery grambs#jameson hawthorne#the rest of the hawthornes#nash hawthorne#xander hawthorne#grayson hawthorne#and our favorite dancer#lyra kane
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Regret (LyraxGrayson)
Lyra didnât remember who yelled first. Maybe it had been her. Or Grayson. Probably both. All she knew now was that something between them had shattered earlier that day, and neither of them had reached for the pieces.
So when Rohan found the bottle and announced, âWeâre doing truth or drink my fellow contestants,â she didnât object.
The rest of the Hawthorne estate was humming, with coded clues and strained alliances. But tonight, for just one moment, the core had given up pretending they were okay. They gathered in the lounge like they were high schoolers, like they didnât all have blood on their hands or grief in their hearts.
Lyra sat on the rug, opposite Grayson. He didnât look at her. Not once. His expression was unreadableâstoic, like always. But she knew him better than that. His posture was stiff, his hands too still in his lap. Every now and then, his eyes flicked toward her like he couldnât help it. She tried not to care. She failed.
The bottle spun, round and round, until it slowed and pointed.
At her.
Of course.
âLyra,â Rohan grinned, already drunk and always dangerous. âTruth or drink?â
Lyra grimaced. She could feel her stomach turning from the liquor already. âTruth,â she mumbled, voice rough, shoulders braced.
Rohanâs smile grew sharp. âTell us your biggest regret.â
The room shifted.
Grayson looked up.
Lyra could feel the weight of that glance like gravity itself. It pinned her in place, nailed her to the floor with its quiet ache.
Her mouth opened. Closed. Her head was spinning. Everyone was staring, waiting, but all she could feel was him across from herâsilent and still and barely breathing.
She couldâve lied. Said something clever. Something safe.
But she didnât.
Instead, she looked straight aheadâat no one in particularâand said, âCalling him.â
It was quiet. So quiet, it felt like the world stopped spinning.
The silence was loud.
Someone laughed nervously. Someone else muttered âyikes.â But Lyra didnât move. She didnât look at him.
She didnât have to.
Because she felt it. The second it hit him.
Graysonâs expression crumpledânot completely, but enough to make her heart twist. His eyes werenât cold anymore. They were open, raw, hurt. A look sheâd never seen from him before. Not even after the fight. Not even when she walked away.
He looked like someone had punched him straight in the gut and he hadnât figured out how to breathe again.
He looked like a sad puppyâcrushed, lost, blindsidedâand too proud to ask why.
But he didnât say a word.
He just stood up, slowly, and left the room.
No dramatic exit. No slamming doors. Just quiet heartbreak.
The game fizzled after that. No one had the energy to keep pretending. The fun died when he walked out.
Lyra waited a few minutes before slipping out, grabbing her coat. The air outside was thick, and the first drops of rain started to fall as soon as the door shut behind her.
She didnât expect to find him standing out there.
But there he was. On the edge of the porch. Arms crossed, soaked to the bone, hair dripping into his eyes.
He turned when he heard her. And the second their eyes met, Lyra froze.
He looked broken.
No walls. No cold composure. Just pain.
âLyra,â he said, voice wrecked.
She looked away.
âPlease,â he whispered. âTell me you were lying.â
She shook her head, trying to clear the blur of alcohol and grief and whatever the hell this was between them. âLying about what, Grayson?â
âDonât do that,â he said, stepping closer. âDonât act like you donât know.â
The rain picked up.
âIâm not acting,â she said, backing up an inch.
He ran a hand through his drenched hair. His voice dropped to something hoarse and desperate. âDonât tell me you regret that call. Donât tell me you regret coming here. Donât tell meâŠâ he swallowed hard, like it hurt, âyou regret us.â
The word hung in the air.
Us.
The one word she couldnât touch without bleeding.
âThere is no us,â she said, forcing the words out. âNot anymore.â
âDonât,â he breathed. âLyraâplease.â
He looked at her like she was the only thing holding him together.
And she⊠she couldnât even look back.
âI regret needing you,â she said, voice barely audible through the rain. âI regret thinking you could fix this.â
âThatâs not fair,â he said. His voice cracked. âYou called me, Lyra. You chose me.â
âAnd maybe that was my mistake,â she said, tears falling now, hot despite the cold. âMaybe you were never supposed to be my person.â
Grayson looked like sheâd just ripped something vital out of him.
âIâm not leaving,â he said, stepping forward again. âNot unless you tell me to.â
She didnât speak.
He waited.
And when she didnâtâcouldnâtâsay anything, he just stood there.
âIâd do it all again,â he whispered. âEvery second of it. Iâd answer that call a thousand times.â
Lyra turned.
She couldnât bear it. The look in his eyes. The way he sounded.
She walked inside.
And this time, he didnât follow.
He stayed outside.
In the rain.
Alone.
Because no matter how much it hurt, no matter how broken he felt, Grayson Hawthorne loved her too much to make her stay.
Couple of hours later......
The rain had turned to a storm.
Thunder rolled over Hawthorne Island like a warning, the kind that rattled windows and cracked against the ocean like a curse.
And stillâGrayson didnât move.
He sat on the edge of the stone steps, soaked, freezing, skin pale, lips tinged blue. He didnât notice. Didnât care. The water blurred his vision, or maybe that was something else. His thoughts looped like a broken record, stuck on the same sentence, the same voice, the same ache:
"I regret calling him."
The words didnât just hurtâthey hollowed.
He didnât know how long it had been. An hour? Two? The storm made time meaningless. So did the cold.
Thatâs when the door slammed open behind him.
âWhat the actual hellâ Grayson?!â
Jamesonâs voice cut through the rain like a lightning strike.
Grayson didnât flinch.
He didnât even look at him.
âAre you insane? Youâve been out here forâJesus, Gray, youâre soaked throughââ
Jameson reached him in seconds, kneeling beside him, gripping his shoulders. He jolted at the cold, cursing under his breath.
Grayson didnât react.
Didnât speak.
Didnât blink.
His gaze was fixed on nothing, eyes glassy, jaw clenched so tight it looked painful.
Jamesonâs panic kicked in. âOkay, nope. No. You are not shutting down on me right now. Gray, look at me.â
Nothing.
âGRAYSON!â
Still nothing.
Just that same vacant stare and rain-soaked silence.
Jameson swore and yanked him to his feet. âInside. Now.â
He half-dragged, half-supported Grayson through the door and into the warmth of the estate, shouting over his shoulder, âXANDER! NASH! 911 CODE DEPRESSION, GET YOUR ASSES DOWN HERE!â
He threw a blanket over Grayson and practically shoved him onto the velvet couch. His brother didnât protest. He just sat there, wet and stiff and too quiet.
Jameson hovered, pacing, hands in his hair. âHeâs not talking. Heâs not even in there. This is worse than when Emilyââ He cut himself off. âNope. Not saying it. Just⊠do something.â
Xander and Nash came barrelling down the stairs, arms full of questionable snacks and a jug of something bright green.
âDrinking game!â Xander announced like a war cry. âStep one: weird concoction. Step two: denial. Step three: emotional breakdown. Letâs go.â
âUsually itâs step three where we cry,â Nash added. âBut, uh, looks like weâre jumping ahead.â
Grayson didnât blink.
They started anyway.
They played. Loudly. Sloppily. Jameson slammed shots, Nash told a story that made zero sense, and Xander somehow ended up wearing a lampshade as a hat. But through it all, Grayson sat stiff and silent.
He drank when they handed him something.
But his eyes never lit up.
He was thereâbut not really.
Jameson watched him carefully. Heâd seen his brother angry. Seen him cold. Seen him put on a fake face that the world believed.
But this?
This was new.
This was cracked glass and bleeding beneath the surface. This was a silence so loud it rang in Jamesonâs ears.
âDude,â Jameson said finally, softly. âAre you okay?â
Grayson didnât answer.
Just stared at the floor like it had betrayed him.
Thenâ
Slowly.
Almost imperceptiblyâ
He shook his head.
And then he broke.
No warning.
Just a soundâa sob, sharp and gutturalâripping out of his chest like it had been buried too long. His body folded in on itself, shoulders shaking, hands in his hair, and he collapsed.
To the floor.
Sobbing.
Grayson Hawthorne was crying.
Jameson was on the floor beside him in seconds, arms wrapping tight. âHeyâheyâGray, breathe. Iâve got you, okay? Iâve got you.â
Xander and Nash stood frozen for a beatâshocked.
Because Grayson never cried. Not when their Grandfather died. Not when Emily died. Not when everything else in their world fell apart.
So if he was crying nowâŠ
It meant something was seriously broken.
Xander knelt beside them, grabbing Graysonâs hand.
Nash crouched down, grounding him with a firm touch to his back.
They didnât say anything at first. Just sat with him. Let him fall apart without judgment.
Finally, through shaking breaths and tears, Grayson choked out:
âShe saidâŠâ
His voice cracked.
âShe said she regrets calling me.â
His brothers didnât move.
âShe said she regrets us.â
The words splintered in the air.
Grayson wiped at his face, but it didnât help. The tears kept coming.
âI donât know what to do. I canâtâI canât breathe. Itâs likeâlike somethingâs crushing my chest. And I keep thinking if Iâd just said the right thing, done one thing differentlyâmaybe she wouldnât hate me.â
âGrayâŠâ Nash started.
âI love her,â Grayson whispered, eyes shut tight. âAnd it hurts. It physically hurts that I canât tell her. That I do, and now she wants nothing to do with me. That she hates me. That I wasnât enough.â
âYou are,â Jameson said fiercely. âYou are enough.â
Grayson shook his head. âI donât feel like it. I donât feel like anything. I donât even know who I am without her. I donât know how to fix this.â
âYou donât have to,â Xander said softly. âNot tonight.â
âWeâve got you,â Jameson said, still holding him. âEven when you break.â
Especially when you break.
They stayed like that for a long time. On the floor. In the quiet. Surrounded by empty shot glasses and fading thunder.
And for onceâ
Grayson let them hold the pieces
#books#gigi grayson#grandest games#grayson hawthorne#inheritance games#lyra kane#the inheritance games#avery kylie grambs#jameson hawthorne
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ââââ àšà§ THE BOOK CLUB â GRAYSON HAWTHORNE + READER â§âË
a/n: pt two here we are!!! do i have any idea where this plot is going??? no. but you're along for the ride bitches so enjoy!! also if this is shit its bc im sleep deprived :)
[part one] i'm a fan
"it all happened so fast. everyone was happy... and then something happened... and now... now he's dead!" alya sobs from her spot on the couch.
"did you just spoil the book we're all reading together??" kira shrieks from her position on the mattress.
"i think the bitch actually just spoiled the entire book," pheobe rolls her eyes from underneath her blanket on the mattress next to kira's.
"oh come on you knew something like this was gonna happen!"
"yeah but i wasn't expecting it to be screamed aloud while i'm halfway through," kira says exasperated. "i mean please its not even five thirty yet, we got here an hour ago, how are you already finished?"
"alya, this is why we don't come over anymore," pheobe groans. "none of us were expecting that and now you've spoiled it."
"oh cry about it, i'm moving onto my next book anyway, does anyone want some snacks while i'm in the kitchen?" alya smiles nodding her head when kira requests some food and a bottle of water.
"so we're clearly never having a book club sleepover again guys," you say looking at the camera.
"no we're gonna have another," pheobe says shuffling over into the frame. "alya's just not invited."
ââââ
yn.books



liked by alya.green, maxine.liu.loo, pheobethereader, kirasbooknook, graysonhawthorne and 672, 983 others
yn.books the book girlies unite!! for a sleepover a trip and a readathon (alya will not be invited back) stay tuned for the yt video!
tagged: alya.green, pheobethereader, kirasbooknook
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alya.green I AM OFFENDED
kirasbooknook good
pheobethereader had a lovely time with you girls can't wait to do it again (except for you alya)
alya.green u guys are so mean wtf
user1 im desperate to know why alya's in trouble lmaooo
user2 and im desperate to know why grayson is still in the likes
user3 THE GIRLIES ARE IN TEXAS I SAW THEN TODAY AND ASKED FOR A PHOTO!!!!
user4 they're in texas you say đđ
user5 divine rivals crushed me oh my goshhhh
graysonhawthorne divine rivals was a enticing read, thank you for the recommendation.
user6 ok so i died-
user7 OH OH OK SO WTF WHO WAS GONNA TELL ME GRAYSON IS HERE???
maxine.liu.loo the book girlies are together again!!! (invite me next time)
yn.books already done ;)
ââââ
"they're mine," max's voice snips through the quiet of the room. she's staring directly at grayson and clearly referring to the book girls she watches.
"i'm not trying to steal anyone," grayson tries to reassure her.
"you're obsessed with my favorite one! why couldn't you have gone for pheobe or kira?" max huffs, you were her favorite. grayson had no right to become - rightfully - infatuated with you, and no matter how much he tries to deny it everyone can see he likes you. its painfully obvious.
"again i'm not stealing anyone, i've interacted like three times with-"
"grayson! the girl you're obsessed with posted another youtube video," jameson's extremely loud voice cuts through the room and emits a groan from grayson.
"i'm not obsessed with anyone," he says rising from his spot on the couch and picking up ruthless vows, which by the way he definitely went out and bought after he read divine rivals. what? he wanted to know what happened.
"oh my gosh they're in texas!!!" max screeches clearly watching the video. "they're in texas for a red carpet that they've been invited to!" she pauses watching for more conext. "they been invited to ask the people on the red carpet about books! oh my god- XANDER. we have to go to this event oh my gosh please?"
"sure and you can bring grayson along so he can officially join the book club, and meet his new idol," jameson smirks from the doorway
grayson responds by flipping him off.
ââââ
graysonhawthorne



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graysonhawthorne a nice day out
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user1 i need him religiously
user2 NO BOOK THIS TIME???
user3 oh he is scrumptious isn't he
ticking.time.bomb i saw you obsessing over what photos to choose in case a certain someone saw this gray.....
user4 PLS TELL ME ITS WHO I THINK IT IS
thexanderhawthorne oh it is...
user4 OH MY GODDDD
user5 IN THE LIKES LOOK WHOS IN THE LIKES!!!!!!
user6 they're so into each other
alya.green we gotta catch up and talk about this whole situation buddy boy
user7 ALYA đđ
user8 i need him to go to the red carpet so they can meet!!!
ââââ
maybe grayson should go to that red carpet... i mean he was invited. whats the worst that could happen?
đ . âź đ·ïž tags .á Öč â ê±
@arqbella, @midiosaamor, @maybxlle @reminiscentreader, @sweetreveriee
@elysianwayy77 @tornqdowarnings, @catapparently, @zenikswaffleshop, @thelov3lybookworm
#ౚৠ: my works .á#the inheritance games#the hawthorne legacy#the final gambit#the brothers hawthorne#the grandest game#grayson hawthorne#grayson davenport hawthorne#grayson hawthorne x fem!reader#grayson hawthorne x y/n#grayson hawthorne x you#grayson hawthorne x reader#grayson x reader#tig#thl#tfg#tbh#tgg#ă the grayson series â.á ă
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[ID: A digital illustration of Phoenix Wright and Dahlia Hawthorne from Ace Attorney. Phoenix is his college aged self in a pink jumper. He is kneeling on a path outdoors, an area of grass and bushes in front of university buildings visible behind him. He has a white mask pulled down under his chin and his hands over his mouth as he cries, looking up at Dahlia. Dahlia is visible from behind, holding her white parasol over her head. White and pink butterflies fly around Phoenix's head. On the ground next to Phoenix is an open bottle of Coldkiller X medicine, pills spilling out onto the ground. End description.]
Poor Feenie đ©·
The @aabadendingzine Mea Culpa zine is now available for free!!
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Alexander 'Xander' Hawthorne Headcanons!
Ethics and philosophy lover
Knows anything and everything about methods of transportation, think cars, trains, submarines
Very knowledgeable about stars as he tried to impress his mother with facts about constellations. She ended up teaching him astrology in a cafe and they made a game out of guessing people's star signs. It was a game that they played for a few months, but it's one of his fondest memories of her.
Takes his haircare routine very seriously. His brothers tried switching out the contents of hair products into other bottles and Xander tried to kill them.
Loves vegetables, hates fruit.
No one knows about the stories and fanfiction he's written. He's a bit embarrassed of what he wrote, not because of the contents but because he never finished writing them.
He's a slow driver because he gets distracted by what he sees. He almost always takes the scenic route.
He was an academic validation girly, and is still somewhat scared of failure. He knows it's all bullcrap, but he can't help it.
A lot more introverted than most people think.
Loves being able to speed up songs, movies and tv shows. He thinks that everything is too slow.
This is why he loves Gilmore girls.
A huge fan of cringe teen drama movies and shows. He just finds them funny and likes bugging people with references.
Sci-fi and fantasy media is what made him a robotics and STEM fanatic. He needed the star wars androids to be real.
Loves card and board games.
Plays nyt games daily.
An exceptional sword fighter (lightsabers taught him well)
Clicks his fingers when anxious.
Is not a huge fan of music but he'll listen to anything
Picked up self help and psychology books when Grayson and Jameson stopped speaking to each other.
Likes mecha anime.
He knows a lot of the family tea and general facts about his family due to Tobias. His brothers find things out about their family and heâs all âyeah? I thought that was common knowledge đ€šâ
In his daydreams, heâs either an assassin or a journalist who got bitten by a radioactive spider
Has run to grocery stores in cosplay attire
He has a throwaway account where he cosplays sometimes
Goes to conventions
Does not like public speaking
Loves being put into groups by teachers. He gets an excuse to talk to people he wouldnât have talked to otherwise.
He never acknowledges how he feels. Got by in Hawthorne house by being obsessed with robots instead of living up to expectations. He still sort of feels the pressure but ignores it because it âwasnât as badâ as the pressure Grayson and Jameson went through.
Fades in and out of awareness. Like he is either hyper focused or mentally not here.
He is a clone of his dad personality wise but Isiah is just quieter about his crazy.
Always looking for someone to match his freak.
Always had the best Halloween costume, which pissed his brothers off.
Always a little bit worried whether or not he comes off too strong.
Paces frequently when his emotions get out of hand. Heâll go rigidly still with subtle twitches in his expression, and then heâll go back to pacing.
He was glad but guilty that he didnât face the exact same pressures of his older siblings. Being the baby does have its perks, and one of those perks is less responsibility.
Honestly, I think he got along well with Tobias because he fit the invest, cultivate and create thing the best out of his siblings. Cultivating and creating come naturally to Xander, he just needed the money for all of his interests.
I really need JLB to do a deep dive on Xander because everyone is all âGraysonâs traumaâ âJamesonâs traumaâ but they all grew up in Hawthorne House so whatâs going on with Nash and Xander and Zara and Skye?
#more justice for my man đ€#xander hawthorne#alexander hawthorne#xander blackwood hawthorne#the inheritance games#tig#the hawthorne legacy#the final gambit#tig series#the brothers hawthorne#the grandest game#tig headcanons#isaiah Alexander#tobias hawthorne#skye hawthorne#jameson hawthorne#grayson hawthorne#nash hawthorne
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Passports, Rings, and You


Grayson Hawthorne x Lyra Kane
Warnings: Fluff, romantic intimacy, non-explicit smut, soft emotional moments, and heavy domestic honeymoon vibes
Synopsis: On their secluded honeymoon, Lyra and Grayson trade plans and passports for sun-drenched intimacy, quiet laughter, and the kind of love that makes forever feel easy.
Word Count: 922
The first morning of their honeymoon began not with a sunrise, but with the soft rustle of sheets and the subtle sound of waves lapping against the shore just beyond the glass doors of their villa.
Grayson Hawthorne stirred first. A habit, probablyâalways alert, always early, even when there were no boardrooms to dominate, no headlines to manage. But today, he didnât move to get up. He just watched her.
Lyra was still curled beside him, bare legs tangled in linen, one hand resting loosely on his chest, her wedding band catching the slant of golden Caribbean light that filtered through the gauzy curtains. Her mouth was slightly parted, hair a chaotic halo on the pillow. She was peaceful. Untouched by worry.
Heâd never seen her quite like this beforeâunguarded.
He memorized it. Every part of her.
She shifted, sighing, before blinking awake. âYouâre staring,â she mumbled, voice still coated in sleep.
âYouâre beautiful,â he replied without hesitation.
Lyra squinted at him. âYou know thatâs an unfair way to start a conversation.â
âTruthful, though.â
She gave him a sleepy smirk and traced a finger along his jaw. âWeâre married.â
âWe are.â He slid his hand under her chin and kissed her softly. âIt still doesnât feel real.â
âIâm here. Youâre here. Passport stamps and rings to prove it.â
He grinned at that. âSpeaking ofâhow do you feel about skipping the city tour and staying in?â
Lyra raised a brow. âGrayson Hawthorne, are you suggesting we skip a pre-booked itinerary?â
He rolled onto his side, hand skimming over her waist. âIâm suggesting that the view is better in here.â
âYou paid for a private infinity pool.â
âI also paid for the right to admire my wife in every timezone.â
Lyra laughed, full and warm, then kissed him like they had nowhere else to beâwhich, finally, they didnât. For once in their chaotic lives, no puzzles needed solving, no inheritance tangles to sort. Just this: sun-warmed skin, slow kisses, the promise of forever sealed in gold bands and matching passports.
Their morning was lazy in the best wayâdrawn out kisses, fingers skimming bare skin, laughter muffled against each otherâs shoulders, the best kind of slow sex. Grayson was careful with her, as always. Tender in a way few people got to see. They didnât rush it. Didnât need to. Every touch felt like a declaration.
âI should shower,â Lyra whispered sometime later, still tangled in the sheets, hair mussed and cheeks flushed.
âYou could.â He pulled her closer. âOr we could swim.â
âOr,â she teased, âwe could do both.â
And they did. Eventually.
The outdoor shower was tucked behind stone walls and tropical plants, semi-open to the sky, warm water cascading like rain. Lyra stood under it, arms lifted, face tilted to the sun, and Grayson swore heâd never seen anything more divine. He joined her without a word. Washed her hair. Kissed the soap from her collarbone. She laughed when he dropped the bottle and water splashed their faces.
By midday, they were stretched out on a hammock beneath palm fronds, a soft breeze brushing over their damp hair. Lyra wore one of his shirts, her legs draped across his lap, toes occasionally nudging his side just to hear him groan.
He fed her fruit from a little wooden bowlâmango, pineapple, something sweet and exotic she didnât recognize. She licked the juice from her fingers and teased him for not using the silver tongs that came with the platter.
âYouâre impossible,â he muttered, eyes dark and amused.
âIâm on my honeymoon. Iâm not lifting a finger unless itâs to touch you.â
Grayson looked like he might combust on the spot. âYouâre not playing fair.â
âNever said I would.â
Later, when the sun dipped low and theyâd barely left the villa, Lyra curled up beside him on the couch with their passports in hand. She flipped through the pages of his and then hers, noting the matching destination stamp from yesterday.
âOur first one as husband and wife,â she murmured, tapping the inked page. âLooks real now.â
Grayson watched her as if he were trying to memorize the moment. âEverything about this is real.â
She shifted to straddle his lap, balancing her arms around his neck. âWe survived Hawthorne House, your terrifyingly brilliant brothers, the paparazzi, my chaotic family, and Averyâs ridiculously elaborate seating chart. We deserve this.â
âAll of this.â He ran his hands up her back slowly. âYou. This view. Us.â
âEven the fruit platter?â
âEspecially the fruit platter.â
Lyra kissed him againâlonger, deeper this time. They had nowhere to be. No calls to answer. No secrets to unearth. Just skin and sunlight and the sound of waves. She leaned her forehead against his and smiled so softly it made his heart twist.
âYou look like someone whoâs going to write me love letters.â
He raised a brow. âIâm more of a private jet and midnight escape kind of guy.â
She bit her lip. âIâll accept that as romantic.â
âIâll write the letters too, if you want.â
âIâll write them back.â
They fell asleep in the hammock that night, tangled limbs and quiet breathing, stars above and the ocean whispering promises below. Grayson held her like she was both treasure and anchor, and Lyra nestled into his chest like sheâd finally found solid ground.
Neither of them said it out loud, but they both knew:
The adventure had only just begun.
And for once, it didnât start with a riddleâ
Just passports, rings, and the person you choose to wake up beside.
#grayson x lyra#lyrason#grayson hawthorne#lyra kane#jennifer lynn barnes#the inheritance games#honeymoon#marriage au#fanfiction writer#writerblr#writers#female writers#bookworm#fanfic#fypă#the grandest game#fyp#tumblr fyp
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can i call you tonight? - xander hawthorne x reader
a/n: i adore autumn with my whole heart but iâm missing those carefree summer romance vibes soo bad đ wc: 1.8k warnings: kissing, mild language, verryyy fluffy ur teeth might fall out masterlist
the sun was just beginning to set, the sky looking like something out of a painting, and you and xander had spent the whole day at the beach together â swimming, laughing, and, of course, getting covered in sand.Â
now, still giggling from the âsand ballâ fight you had with him earlier, you both stumbled toward the beach shower, desperate to wash the sand off of you.
the water came out freezing at first, eliciting a yelp from you as you stumbled back â in turn making xander laugh, before you adjusted the temperature perfectly to your liking.
which, according to xander, was:Â very, very, hot.
âare you trying to boil us alive?â his eyes were comically wide, furrowing his brows after he stood under it for half a second, jumping back with a shout.Â
you simply stood under the shower head calmly, attempting to get the sand out of your hair.
you huffed a laugh through your nose, âxander, itâs not even that hot, iââ
ââwere the hours under the scorching sun not enough? you also need to stand under water thatâs practically a few degrees away from turning you into a boiled lobster?â he rambled on.Â
atleast he was so chill and normal about the temperature, so very calmly expressing his dislike! Â
you stifled a laugh as he continued, unbotheredly wringing water out of your hair as you watched him complain. âiâm just saying, thereâs a fine line between a shower and a chemical peel.â he said, pointing at the shower with a shake of his head.Â
âthat water is hot enough to sterilize surgical instruments.â he crossed his arms over his bare chest, as you watched him watch you, a slightly confused furrow in your brows and intrigued smile growing on your face.
a slow grin grew on his face as he raked his eyes over you, taking in your slightly sunburned nose, wet hair, and bathing suit you had picked out with him a few weeks back.Â
he lolled his head to the side before he spoke, âiâm sorryâ why was i mad again?â
you laughed at his quick demeanor change, playfully rolling your eyes and sighing dramatically before making the temperature colder and motioning for him to step in.  âjust get in, you big baby.â
âoh, thankyou very much, i appreciate your willingness.â he responded, bowing his head jokingly as he stepped under the water, his hands finding your lower back instantly.Â
but of course, xander being xander, couldnât just stand there like a regular person.Â
no, he shook his head, like some sort of dog sending water droplets and little sand particles everywhere.Â
âxander!â you squealed, shielding your face and taking a step back, but you couldnât stop laughing.Â
âoh my godâ youâre so annoying!â you squeaked out, still laughing.
he chuckled, taking a step closer to you and placing his hands where they just were, eyes sparkling with mischief as water dripped down his hair. âand youâre so easy to annoy.â
he reached out, gently brushing sand off your cheek, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. âthat wasnât funny.â you said, biting back a smile.Â
it was funny, but he didnât have to know that.
âiâm sorry,â he faux pouted at you. he didnât sound sorry, in fact, he sounded a little amused.Â
you felt your stomach do a little flip, but before you could say anything, his eyebrows raised like a lightbulb went off in his head, and he grabbed the shampoo bottle from your beach bag on the ledge.Â
âhere, let me do this right.â he turned to stand behind you, pouring an adequate amount into his hand and then started working his fingers into your scalp.Â
you tried to turn your head to ask him what he was doing, but it did feel a little nice to stand there and feel his hands run through your hair. okay, maybe not just a little.
he gently guided your head back forward. "hold still," he said, his voice lower, but with a little hint of that teasing edge remaining.Â
when he noticed you werenât saying anything back, and that if anything you were feeling relaxed, he spoke again.Â
âsee, would you look at that?" he said softly, "i can be helpful too."Â
you could practically hear the grin in his voice, but it was hard to focus on that with the way you felt like you were buzzing under his touch.
you hummed, âyeah, only when you want to be.â you let your eyes close for a moment, and then he spoke again.
âi want to be helpful with you all the time.â you could hear the fake pout in his voice, then it flipped completely, and you heard that grin in what he said next.
âiâd make an excellent stay at home husband for you, yeah?â he joked with his voice all breathy-like.Â
âyou wouldnât have to worry about me complainingâŠâ he trailed off, âyou know, except about the shower temperature.â
you let out a little chuckle, and opened your mouth to remind him about the time he somehow burnt instant noodles, and that maybe being a stay-at-home husband wasnât the right path.Â
you didnât get the chance to say anything, though, because he swiftly grabbed your shoulders and turned you around, standing you under the shower head.Â
your eyelids immediately squeezed shut, squealing a little with your whole face scrunched up as the shampoo-y water ran down your hair.  you were careful not to get it in your eyes, laughing as xander stepped infront of you and gently moved your hair out of your face.Â
you opened your eyes, still squinting a little as you looked up at him. âthat also wasnât funny.â you remarked. ânot in the slightest.â
he quirked a brow up, looking like he was biting back a grin, âit wasnât?â he asked, cocking his head to the side in question.
âno.âÂ
then a roguish smile started to spread on his face, and you began to deeply regret your words.Â
âwell then, would you like to see,â he paused for dramatic effect and raised his eyebrows, âsomething funny?â
you were the one biting back a smile now, taking a step back from xander as you shook your head, already anticipating what he was going to do.Â
ââŠno.â
he rendered the step you took back obsolete as he stepped right on forward, his smile turning into a chuckle as you shook your head.Â
there were about three things you were afraid of in this world, 1: a bug getting in your food and you eating it, 2: getting kidnapped and held hostage, and 3: xander blackwood hawthorneâs tickles.Â
âxander, i was kidding, i swear.â you rambled with your voice dropping lower, trying to get out of this situation, but xanderâs face only scrunched up in laughter as he gave you about 5 seconds to make your case. Â
âyouâre like, the funniest person iâve ever met! youâre so charming and hilarious, and ââ
your time was over, it seemed, because xander bent down and picked you up over his shoulder, his laughs increasing in volume as you squealed in the secluded beach. âxander! it was a joke, i promise! put me down!âÂ
as if he was on a quest to become even more annoying he began running to the beach beds, regardless of your protests which were now coming out more as laughs.Â
he placed you on a beach bed breathlessly, his hands coming to cup your face as he basically climbed on top of you, then leant down to kiss you.
oh, you werenât expecting that.Â
granted, you were both still breathless, and the two of you were smiling and laughing against each other so much, that you werenât sure whatever you were doing could be considered a kiss.
then it came. xander pulled back ever so slightly and his hands moved down and jabbed at your neck, then your sides, your arms, anywhere you were ticklish, and you were both equally a laughing wreck.Â
you tried to peel his hands off of you as you writhed under him, repeating his name surely over 20 times in between giggles.Â
after what seemed like forever, he stopped, putting his hands up in the air as he sat up, and your chest heaved as you caught your breath.
ânow,â he said, âwas that funny?â he raised an eyebrow, âchoose your answer very wisely.âÂ
âfine,â you huffed, âit was a little funny.âÂ
his other brow joined the raised one at the top of his forehead, âthat was not the wise  answer i thought of,â he muttered, as he slowly started put his hands back down towards you, your eyes darting between his face and his hands.
âokay. okay, yes!â you scrambled before he could literally attack you again, âi lied, it was funny, and not just a little.âÂ
his hands retreated, âbrilliant. very wise answer,â he commented, âwell done.âÂ
he brought his hands up to your jaw and only your jaw this time, cradling your face like he did earlier as he placed a short peck on your lips, but you pulled him in for a longer one.Â
he smiled at thatâ you felt it, and he reciprocated the kiss 10x harder. Â
 as he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours, he murmured with his voice low. âquestion,â
âwhat is it?â you breathed out, still catching your breath.Â
âdoes it genuinely annoy you when i tickle you like that?â he asked, his voice bare of any teasing, âdonât lie, please.â he added on.Â
âbesides, i can be very perceptive of micro-expressions, and i can feel your heartbeat against me right now.âÂ
you let out a little laugh, even though your heart was doing somersaults in that moment. xander was possibly  the most caring person youâd ever met âhe was a deeply empathetic person underneath his rube goldberg obsessions and masks of humor he used so often.
âno,â you said truthfully, âi donât actually get annoyed, i could never actually get annoyed at you. why?âÂ
you felt his breath hitch against your lips, a very un-xander like manner. âyour micro-expressions and heart rate indicate youâre telling me the truth.â he muttered.Â
how did he sound hot talking about micro expressions and heart rates?
then you realized, he was expertly dodging your question on âwhy?â.
âbecause it is the truth.â you muttered back, smiling a little as you watched him pull back too see your eyes better.Â
he didnât say anything after thatâ in lieu of words, he pressed another sweet kiss to your lips. he wasnât one to expose his worries or be vulnerable very often, and you understood that. heâs opened before about people saying heâs âtoo muchâ and how it sometimes gets to him, but in all honesty, you could never get enough of him. Â Â
as you felt the warmth of his hands on your face and your lips moved across his in rhythm, a thought crossed your mind:Â
if thatâs what you get for telling him he was funny, youâd start telling him heâs a world class comedian now.Â
tag list: @charsoamerican @ariabedumb @x-liv25-jamieswife @wish-i-were-heather @thecircularlibrary
@whatsamongus @littlemissmentallyunstable @anintellectualintellectual @bewitchingkisses @maybxlle
@sheisntyou @emelia07 @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee i love u guys đđ if youâd like to be removed or added lmk!!
#xander hawthorne x reader#xander hawthorne#the inheritance games#the grandest game#grayson hawthorne#jameson hawthorne#nash hawthorne#tig#tgg#tig headcanons#games untold#the brothers hawthorne#the final gambit#⊠jude writes
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AVERY HCSSSSS
i thought our leading lady needed more appreciation so i made these hcs. a lot of these are with avery and another character so lmk if you still like these. enjoyyyyy đ€âš
avery got braces after she got the money bc she couldnât afford them before and she was a little insecure about them but jameson thought they were really cute
she used to hate the scars from the times when people tried to kill her but as time went on she learned to love them
i hc hawthorne house had a trampoline park and her and xander had a sleepover in there where they played taylor swift and jumped until xander broke his arm trying to do a triple backflip
her and max always scream when they hop on a call thatâs on speaker so they donât spill the tea when everyone can here
avery is chronically addicted to block blast and she has the highest score you can possibly get on the game (me fr đđ)
when she was hooked up to the life support machines after the plane bombing she made a bunch of pictures and videos that she never posted but just bc she thought they were funny (they really werenât she was just high from the meds)
oren had to teach her how to pick locks and she told him it was just because she needed to open a door but wouldnât let him do it himself (she lost the keys to jamesonâs handcuffs and needed to get him out)
she always has at least one airpod in at all times and always looses them around hawthorne house
she once had a âdreamâ (đđđ) about jameson but she was having a sleepover with libby and max and libby was like âwhy were you moving around and making noise last nightâ and ave was like âi was probably just sleep talkingâ but max knew what was really going on and never let it go
avery switches her aesthetic like every month and switches her room decor/wardrobe with that aesthetic
she has like 50000 pillows on her bed and jameson gets so confused about which heâs allowed to sleep on bc she doesnât want him to ruin the decorative pillows
ave is an amazing actress and can fake cry on the spot so when she needs to win something she fake cries and jameson knows her fake cry and he doesnât go over to her to comfort her so her plan will work
sheâs allergic to shellfish and she learned that when she ate some at a gala and she started having a reaction and she broke out in hives and was struggling to breath but thankfully oren had an epi pen with him so she didnât die
she enforces a rule around hawthorne house about no shoes bc she thinks itâs nasty so everyone just slides around in socks like an ice skating rink (they actually think itâs really fun so no one complains)
she loves water bottles and has a whole cabinet dedicated to her water bottles
she has tumblr and a03 accounts that she stayed anonymous on that she kept when she got the inheritance bc no one knew it was her and she needed to rant about her books and write fics and stuff and they said stuff like âomg jameson is such a book boyfriendâ and âi want to date himâ she was just like yeah so do i⊠(she was keeping it a secret from the hawthorne s but they eventually found it and made fun of her spicy fics and xander ended up being one of her moots under an anonymous account bc they read the same books)
her and grayson watch shows like the golden girls and i love lucy together bc they love the old style
one time her nash found herâšspicyâštexts with jameson and never let her let them go
sry this is kinda short but iâm sick rn so iâm trying to get my rest but i hope you like theseeee
#the inheritance games#the brothers hawthorne#the final gambit#the hawthorne legacy#games untold#the grandest game#jameson hawthorne#avery grambs#averyjameson#nash hawthorne#xander hawthorne#libby grambs#maxine liu#grayson hawthorne#john oren#oren
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AND THEY WERE BOTH BOYS
pairing: jameson hawthorne x rohan
summary: a joke
tagging: @clarissaweasley-10 @emelia07 @whatsamongus @cassie6392
a/n: đ«¶đ«¶
masterlist

Rohan doesn't like interacting with irrelevant people, or with people he is interested in during irrelevant times. Interacting with people during dinner in the grandest game was one of those irrelevant moments of his, especially since he has to put up with Jameson Hawthorne. He had this feelingâhe couldn't put the right word to itâ everytime Jameson said something.
âCould you pass me the bottle of water?â Jameson asked in a British accent to Rohan.
Rohan stabbed his fork on the plate. âYou do realise that you're half British too, right?â
âI am a proud American.â
âCanât tell.â Rohan said sarcastically.
âKant tell.â Jameson mimicked Rohanâs accent.
âCan you stop? You know what? I'm done with dinner. Thank you.â
Later, Jameson followed him. Jameson found Rohan standing in the hallway looking at a portrait of two dogs playing.
âAre you familiar with this portrait, Rohan?â
Rohan sighed as he saw him approached, sighed at his sight. Because he was just soâ no!
âNo.â
âThey are both boys.â
Rohan turned to Jameson. âWhat?â
âIt's not a sin.â
âIt literally isâŠâ Rohan pointed.
âRight, I meant. Love, truth, they aren't sins.â Jameson stepped closer to him.
âWhat are you talking about, Hawthorne?â
âTruthâŠour truth. We shouldn't repress what we have Rohan.â He said, trying to close the distance between them.
âAre you mad?â
âI see the way you look at me.â
Rohanâs breath hitched. âWhat of Avery?â
âWho?â
âAveryâŠThe heiress? Your girlfriend.â
âI will love you regardless of your schizophrenia. Because there is no heiress or a girlfriend named Avery.â
âWhat?â Rohan was flabbergasted.
âIt is probably a Mandela effect.â then he adds âdon't make me think I kissed you in my head tomorrow.â
Then he pulled Rohan into a passionate kiss.
#the inheritance games#jameson hawthorne#jameson hawthorne x rohan#the brothers hawthorne#the grandest games#games untod#grayson hawthorne#the hawthorne brothers#xander hawthorne#avery grambs#avery kylie grambs#nash hawthorne#the grandest game
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