I write fanfics, though I may occasionally post artwork.
Fandoms:
Genshin Impact
Kpop Demon Hunters
Ninjago
Inheritance Games
Red Queen (I never finished the last book so be careful (I do know what happens in the end))
A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder
The Outsiders
Shadow and Bone
Shatter Me (Still in the process of reading, finished book 3)
Divergent
Once Upon A Broken Heart
The Selection
Hunger Games
Percy Jackson (I only read the first arc, and don't plan on continuing)
I think that’s it, but feel free to request a show or book or movie and I’ll see if I know it.
Request rules:
1. Nothing NSFW, I do not write smut. I’m fine with gore and blood tho.
2. I do write romantic relationships (please, please request platonic stuff too 🥺)
3. No illegal ships. (Minor x adult, abusive, etc)
4. I write a whole variety of stuff, so be sure to be specific if you want it to be angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, etc. (again, NO smut)
5. Be polite and patient please!
6. Request format (your request must be loosely fitting this to be considered. It can be in any order)
Movie/show/book, character(s), prompt
Be specific with the prompt if you want it a certain way. Also, specify if you want a certain gender. Mostly, I’ll probably do f!reader (if it is a fanfic with a reader, I’m also okay with just characters), but I’m open to other! I’ll try to do more gender neutral but ehhh, I’ll probably slip up.
I hold every right to deny your request if it is something I do not particularly ship, or would not feel comfortable writing.
Also, DO NOT give any of my works to AI and do NOT copy my work
DNI:
Homophobes, transphobes, zionists/israel supporters, racists, sexists, ableists, etc.
Synopsis: Nash finds a box while cleaning up labelled as 'Vid Recordings'. It turns out, that dusty old box is filled with nostalgia and lots of childhood memories.
AN: Please ignore any illogical or grammatical errors. Happy reading!
“You guys really didn’t have to come-”
“Nonsense. Of course we had to come!”
“Besides, we are already here.”
Nash could hear voices from the hallway. And a lot of footsteps. While his brothers had claimed they would swing by to ‘help them settle into their house’ Nash knew better. With that lot around, it was guaranteed things would become a lot slower. Nash put the carton he was holding and sauntered back to the main living room.
The living room was one of the first rooms Libby had insisted on setting up. It smelled faintly of fresh wood and leather, with a hint of polished stone from the fireplace. Wide, honey-colored floorboards gleamed under the sunlight streaming through tall windows, their simple linen curtains swaying softly in the breeze. Against one wall there was a fireplace, with photo frames scattered across the mantle: some candid shots of them on their wedding, some pictures of his brothers and her sister.
But then again, the place or design had never mattered to him. It was the blue-haired woman standing by the kitchen counter who made this place a home for him.
“Don’t sweat it, Libs. We will cherish the free labor,” Nash spoke, as he stood beside his wife.
“Is that what we are to you? That was hurtful,” Xander gasped, “And to think I bought scones for you guys as a peace offering.”
“You’ve already set up the living room,” Avery observed as she took in the living room.
“Do you like it?” Libby asked excitedly, “I am thinking of doing the kitchen in a bit cooler tones.”
“Oh, we like it,” Jameson said, already flopping onto the couch, “It’s giving ‘See? I can design a more homely-home than my manipulative grandfather.’”
Nash rolled his eyes at Jameson. Although, he loved the idea of a ‘homely-home’ for his kids to grow up at.
“It’s also giving elite interior design choices,” Lyra quipped as she and Max moved one of the boxes out of the way, followed by Grayson who was carrying another box to the side.
Libby beamed at the comment.
“It’s also giving ‘if Susannah’s Beach House from The Summer I turned Pretty met Texas-ism’,” Max interjected.
Before the design critique could escalate into a full symposium, Nash intervened, clapping his hands once for order, “Okay. Listen up. Unless one of you actually plans on lifting something heavier than a pastry box, start grabbing cartons.”
Xander shot his oldest brother an offended look, “I would hold a grudge against you for calling scones a pastry box.”
Soon enough, all six of them got to work.
Well, ‘work’ was a generous term.
Jameson exactly carried one box before getting distracted by the acoustics of the hallway, “Guys, echo check!”
Avery had reorganized the books on the shelf alphabetically, which looked perfectly fine un-alphabetically too. Xander somehow was amidst playing with the bubble wrap which contained a glass ornament that Max had taken out to put on the console.
Lyra and Libby had disappeared into the back gallery.
Other than Nash, Grayson was the only one who was actually making any progress.
Nash had been taking one of the boxes to the other room after unpacking the kitchen utensils that his gaze fell on the label of the box he was holding. It wasn’t in Libby’s neat script.
It was his writing.
‘Vid Recordings’
Nash stopped in his tracks as the words rang a bell.
Video recordings. This box contained years worth of memories.
For a second, the noise around him faded to nothing, as he stared at the box. A floodgate of memories threatening to open.
Suddenly, Nash felt a sudden shove. He instinctively clutched the box closer as he regained his balance.
“Why have you stopped in the middle of the battlefield?” Nash hadn’t heard Jameson materialize near let alone saw him colliding into him.
Jameson didn’t wait for an answer. He leaned forward to look at the box.
“Shut up,” he murmured, “Is it what I think it is?”
“Seems so,” Nash said, opening the box to reveal a bunch of polaroid pictures, photo albums, tapes, and an old camcorder.
“What’s that?”
“Did yall find something?”
Before he knew it, everybody was crowded around them.
Avery reached out to pick one of the polaroid pictures. The picture showed a seven-year-old boy with long brown hair, a cheeky grin, and bright green eyes too big for his face. She held the picture up in the air in front of her, comparing it to her boyfriend, side by side.
“No way. It’s you,” she said, on the verge of cooing.
“It was right after he had run into Xander’s Lego tower,” Nash recalled.
“This is so cute,” Max declared, “It’s only fair that we go through them. All.”
This is how they ended up abandoning unboxing and watching the old tapes.
It took the brothers ten minutes to figure out how to display the tapes on the TV. Grayson read an online user manual for the camcorder that was at least a decade old. How did he get it? For the very same model? It was a mystery. And Xander happened to have an AV-to-HDMI converter box.
In seconds, the blank screen lit to life.
The static, the whirring sound made Nash feel like he was taken back in time.
TAPE ONE:
The camera was too close to a face. All forehead, bright green eyes and chaotic brown hair.
Static.
A faint mechanical whirr as the tape caught. The image snapped into focus. Grainy. Slightly overexposed. The date stamp blinked in the corner.
“OKAY SO TODAY GRAYSON IS BEING A SORE LOSER,” A high-pitched voice burst through the speakers.
The camera wobbled and the scene changed to show two other boys. One on the ground, covered in mud, with dirt streaking his white-blond hair. He wore an indignant expression.
“I AM NOT!” a five-year-old Grayson shouted, voice small but furious. “YOU PUSHED ME!”
“DID NOT!” four-year-old Jameson yelled back from behind the camera, breathless and gleeful.
The footage shook as toddler Jameson attempted what was probably a dramatic spin. Instead, the camera dipped toward the ground, capturing mostly shoes and lawn.
“Okay, cut it out. It was just a race,” Nash’s voice could be heard whilst Jameson swung the camera.
“HE CHEATED.”
“I WON,” Jameson corrected loudly, too close to the camera.
“You tripped me!”
“You fall by yourself!”
The camera zoomed in abruptly- too close- to Grayson’s furious face.
“STOP FILMING ME!” little Grayson demanded.
On screen, older-kid Nash finally stepped into frame to separate them. Ten-year-old him looked lanky and serious. He helped Grayson get off of the ground with one hand with the other reaching for the camcorder.
“Jamie, give it back.”
“NO!” The wail was loud.
The screen jolted violently as the camera was yanked. There was a loud squeal, a flash of sky, then grass, then someone’s elbow.
And then the tape cut abruptly to static.
As the screen got blank, there was silence in the room.
“Confession: I did push Gray,” Jameson announced as he got up from Avery’s side, reaching to put the next tape in.
“Everybody knows Jamie. It was no point in arguing with you,” Grayson informed.
Jameson rolled his eyes, “Still a sore loser I see.”
Before Grayson could retort, tape two rolled.
TAPE TWO:
The screen now showed a boy aged ten and a half, sitting crossed legged on the floor, holding his curly-haired, two-year-old brother in his lap. The video was wholesome, just Xander babbling nonsense in the camera that suddenly a loud crash echoed.
Ten-year-old Nash frowned, twisting around just as two voices wailed,
“NASH!”
Soon, footsteps followed, and two boys aged three and four emerged. One already crying, and the other on the verge of tears.
“HE PUSHED ME DOWN THE STAIRS.”
“I DIDN’T. AND YOU HIT ME WITH THE CANDELABRA IN RESPONSE.”
Three-year-old Jameson yelped, “I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT IS!”
Nash pointed toward the candle stick in Jameson’s hand, “The candle stick you are holding is called a candelabra”
“His name is Lumiere not candle-whatever Gray said,” Jameson corrected, mid sob.
Nash wanted to tell him that the Lumiere he was talking about from Beauty and the Beast was a candelabra.
“Both of you, apologize to each other.”
“BUT I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!”
“SAME!”
Before a ten-year-old Nash could do anything to calm them down, the sound of heels clicking resounded. Nash looked up behind the camcorder.
“What’s going on here?” A woman’s voice said. It was calm yet strict.
Jameson and Grayson both launched into their versions of the story, cutting and interrupting each other.
“Okay, okay. I got it,” The woman interjected, reaching down for Xander who happily reached for her too.
Nash moved toward the camcorder and picked it up, swinging it to show a glimpse of a young Zara Hawthorne holding Xander at her hip, one arm securing him in place and the other hand holding Grayson’s.
Jameson looked expectantly at her. Zara lets out her pinky finger for Jameson to cling to, and leads them out of the room.
The screen goes blank.
The living room was filled with silence.
“Unpopular opinion? Zara would’ve made an excellent mother,” Max opined.
“It’s a very popular opinion,” Jameson said, “Aunt Z was there, wasn’t she?”
The last question was rhetorical and directed to his brothers.
TAPE THREE:
This tape was a recording of an after-school match.
When the tape whirred, a football-field (by football i mean soccer) appeared, filled with a bunch of ten and nine year olds. The video was being filmed from the bleachers.
“Let’s make a bet! If I win, you let me film!”
The camera moved to show an-eight-year-old Xander wearing a ‘Number 7’ shirt and a ‘Number 3’ jersey. Jameson and Grayson’s number, respectively.
“Next time,” a sixteen-year-old Nash promised.
“You said that last time! And last time before that last time!” Xander complained, before looking past Nash and the camcorder, “Hello? Future-lawyer-in-making! A little help!”
Nash swung the camera to his left showing a girl of his age. Her dark hair was pulled in a ponytail and she had bangs.
“Wait, hold up,” Avery choked, grabbing the remote to pause the video.
Max’s eyes widened, “Is that who I think it is?!”
“The Alisa Ortega. With bangs. Oh my God,” Avery said, hastily pulled out her phone to capture the picture of the paused frame.
Nash, without thinking about it, glanced at Libby. His wife was looking amused, watching her sister fumble with her phone.
“See? I called it! On her being a lawyer,” Xander announced, feeling very proud.
Grayson shook his head, “It was pretty much common knowledge.”
The rest of the video was just loads of yelling from the surrounding crowd at the bleachers and zero commentary.
By the time Jameson started to reach for another tape, Nash intervened,
“Last one, Jamie. We’ve already wasted an hour or something.”
Jameson groaned, “Ugh, fine, let me choose another one then.”
TAPE FOUR:
The scene was of a car. A twenty-year-old Nash behind the wheel. The camera was set on the dashboard. A fourteen-year-old Gray was in the passenger seat, looking out of the window.
The camera showed the backseat too. Jameson was trying to untangle a pair of tangled wired headphones and Xander was sprawled on his side and the empty middle seat, dramatically nudging Jameson’s arm with his socked foot.
Jameson swatted his foot away once. And then twice.
“Tell Xander to stop touching me!” Jameson complained loudly, scooting further toward the door.
“Don’t lean on the car door,” Nash warned.
“I wouldn’t have to if Xander was on his side!”
“Xander don’t touch Jamie,” Nash sighed.
“I’m not touching him,” Xander reasoned, hovering his toe over Jameson’s arm.
Jameson shoved his foot again, “I wanna swap places. Gray, swap places with me!”
“No.”
“Oh come on!”
The argument escalated quickly and Nash had to reach back with one arm to restrain Jameson.
“One nice video. That’s all I asked of you guys!” Nash said, pushing Jameson back into his seat, “And put your seatbelt on, Jamie.”
Jameson huffed, before leaning toward the gap between the driver and passenger seat, talking to the camera, “Let this serve as a reminder that Grayson is so incorporative."
Grayson gave him a scandalized look, “I am incorporative? You have been kicking the back of my seat for the past half an hour!”
“Liar!”
“Yes, you have!”
“Guys, I’m hungry. And Nash, you just drove past a gas station and I told you I wanted to go to the restroom,” Xander cut in.
“Why didn’t you go before we left?” Nash looked out the window, seeing the gas station far behind.
“I didn’t need to go then,” Xander answered, as to say ‘duh’
“And also, are we there yet? When will we be there?” Jameson added, annoyance lacing his voice
“Do you see Palo Duro Canyon anywhere?” Nash asked.
Jameson frowned, “No.”
“Exactly. So no, we aren’t there. Neither are we close to it.”
The tape ended.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Back to present:
"Wow, that was a trip down the memory lane," Max said, "You guys were tiny rugrats." She addressed this Jameson and Grayson.
Grayson tsked while Jameson laughed.
Even though they hadn't been raised by a parent or been molded to perfection by their grandfather, they had always had each other. Always.
"You should play their embarrassing videos on their weddings," Libby suggested to Nash.
Grayson groaned, "No thank you." And at the same time Jameson shrugged, "Sure thing. I was a very cute child and very epic."
"I don't know if I should feel sorry for your future child or for Avery," Lyra sympathized.
Jameson waved his hand dismissively, "You can't recognize awesome-ness."
Avery who had tears in her eyes because of laughing so hard at the last video, said, "This is a pandora box of memories. We should plan a day for watching all of these."
"Not all of them are in good quality though," Nash informed them, getting up and picking the box up, "Although, there are a lot of pictures."
Nash suppressed a chuckle, "Even the pics where Jamie and Xan dressed as Tweedledum and Tweedledee from one of the books of Alice in Wonderland."
"Really?" She leapt forward to take the photographs from Nash before her boyfriend could stop her.
"No, heiress no," Jameson groaned, red tinting the cheeks.
They all spent the rest of the evening reminiscing the good and marvelous parts of their pasts.
AN: I am actually so proud of this fic. One of my best ones if I say so myself. Also, this is my last fic here till my exams are over. So, consider this masterpiece a parting gift!
signing off,
anna <3
p.s. ofc ill reply to y'all's comments, keep em coming 😔
yo so what if i lowkey wrote a fic abt reader being royal and the hawthornes having been like personal advisors but its gonna lowkey be platonic and lowkey angsty with suffering and also fluffy and the reader grew up with them since they live in the palace too and wtv 😍😍😍
hello, can I request a Jameson x reader with a reader who flinches in an argument? (maybe one with Grayson too if you get the chance)
Flinch
Author's Note: Sure, and I'll write one with Grayson some other time 💕
Contents: Jameson Hawthorne x reader
Warnings: Arguing, flinching, slight angst, reader is implied to have trauma from past experiences
Jameson Hawthorne had always been passionate — loud, expressive, full of fire. That was part of what made you love him. But sometimes, that passion burned too hot.
Tonight was one of those times.
The argument had started small. Something about him taking risks, pushing limits, not thinking things through. You had voiced your concerns, and Jameson, in his usual way, had brushed them off with a cocky grin.
“You don’t get it,” he said, throwing his hands up. “I need to do this.”
“No, Jameson. You want to do this,” you shot back, frustration creeping into your voice. “And you’re not even thinking about the consequences.”
“Since when do you care so much about playing it safe?” he challenged, stepping closer.
And then-
He moved too fast. His hand lifted. Not toward you, not even in anger, just a gesture as he spoke. But instinct took over before logic could catch up.
You flinched.
It was small, barely a second. But Jameson saw it.
The air between you shifted instantly. The fight disappeared, swallowed whole by something heavier.
His expression dropped, all the fire in his eyes extinguished in an instant. He went completely still.
“Did you just…?” His voice was quiet now, careful.
You swallowed hard, looking away. “It was nothing, Jameson. Just reflex.”
But it wasn’t nothing. You both knew that
Jameson took a slow step back, like he was afraid of getting too close. Like he was afraid of hurting you. “Have I ever-?” He stopped himself, shaking his head, as if the question itself was unbearable. “Has someone else?”
You exhaled shakily, arms wrapping around yourself. “It’s not you,” you murmured. “It was never you.”
Jameson’s jaw tightened. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration laced with something deeper, something like guilt.
“I would never,” he whispered, almost to himself.
“I know.” And you did.
For the first time since the argument started, Jameson wasn’t trying to win. He wasn’t pushing or teasing or challenging. He was just there, his green eyes searching yours for something. Reassurance, maybe. Forgiveness.
Then, without thinking, he dropped to sit on the floor, crossing his legs like a kid. The suddenness of it caught you off guard.
“What are you doing?” you asked, furrowing your brows.
Jameson looked up at you, softer now. “I don’t want to stand over you,” he admitted. “Not if it makes you feel like that.”
Your chest tightened.
Carefully, you sank to the floor too, sitting across from him. For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Jameson reached for your hand, slow enough that you could pull away if you wanted. You didn’t. His fingers curled around yours, warm and steady.
“I don’t care what we were arguing about,” he murmured. “Nothing is worth making you feel unsafe. Ever.”
A lump formed in your throat.
Jameson Hawthorne — reckless, wild, untouchable — was now sitting on the floor with you, holding your hand like it was something delicate. Like he would never let it go.
Honestly some of the reactions to Jameson's chapters are in a word astonishing. I get that we didn't want his POV (and honestly it wasn't needed) but that being said, the way people are reacting to genuine trauma responses is something else. I really recommend learning some empathy. This fandom really has selective understanding and it shows.
the removal of all mentions of the crows ages from the dregs editions is genuinely one of the worst choices leigh bardugo has ever made. the youth of every character is so crucial to their stories.
kaz is not an angry adult man who can’t let go of a grudge, he’s a teenager who lost his brother only a few years ago who’s still grieving, but is still naive enough to believe that fathers must love their sons.
inej is not a strong adult woman, she is a child still, forced to grow up too fast and fend for herself. her optimism despite the shitty hand fate dealt her has so much to do with her youth.
jesper is not an adult man who can’t control himself. he is young and reckless and grieving his mother and suppressing one of the most important parts of himself.
wylan isn’t a grown man too sheltered to leave his fathers house despite being well past the age he should’ve left by. he was sixteen when his father tried to kill him the first time, young and still hopeful that his father must love him enough to send him to school to make music, the one thing he truly loves.
and nina and matthias were carefully groomed by their countries to maintain their biases from a young age. they are literal child soldiers. their change is so much more impactful because of their age.
and kuwei?? a literal child being held captive by the fjerdan government for the actions of his father, frightened and too intelligent.
and all this isn’t to say that being an adult would make any of their circumstances less tragic. but these characters were originally written as children. Their character arcs, personality, quirks, dialogue, everything was written to align with the fact that they are children. Changing that ten years later just creates a weird dissonance between the characterization of the Crows and their described age.
it infuriates me to strip these characters of their youth when their age is so tightly woven into their personalities and character arcs.
You OBVIOUSLY have not read Crooked Kingdom, where Kaz's lips brush Inej's neck, he has a panic attack, leaves, starts a fight with his ENTIRE GANG and WINS
I know I mentioned how Inej didn't doubt Kaz alone when she was being held hostage aa she assumed Nina was the only one who'd have actually fought for her a couple times already, but you know what really kills me about that?...
How utterly dissonant it is from the reality of how Matthias Jesper and Wylan felt while she was away. Inej is so loved and admired by ALL the Crows is borderline insane; Kaz (for the readers) and Nina are obvious cases, but like-
As soon as Inej is kidnapped and Kaz mentions getting back at Van Eck without even saying her name, Wylan Jesper and Matthias immediately make it about her because that's the important thing, and that carries on for the entire following week- literally everyone is pissed Kaz refuses to openly make it about Inej when that's what they're all thinking about first and foremost including Kaz but that's not the point.
She assumes Matthias might come to save her to back up Nina, but he personally holds Inej in such high regard for her bravery and skills, he's among those who felt like she deserves better than Kaz and he was shocked when he found out she was beaten in combat despite days of starving herself and poor rest- and the guy has been a trained soldier for a good chunk of his life.
She doubts Jesper would prioritize her over the money he needs, but the guy sacrificed his guns, his most beloved item and one that brings him comfort other than his weapon of choice, so that he could successfully do his part in Kaz's plan to take Alys and do the trade.
She doesn't even register Wylan as an option, but he felt responsible for her situation simply because Jan is his father, he's the one who tries to respect Inej's moral code when they're holding Alys hostage and he's so confused by Kaz's insanely violent reaction because "Isn't this all about Inej?".
And yeah, of course everything going on with Kaz, and Nina thinking of Inej to push through addiction withdrawal, just...
Inej is the heart of the Crows and everyone knows it except her.
oh nothing just thinking of the irony of kaz making fun of matthias for worshipping a tree when the reason he still believes in beauty and happiness is the memory of his apple trees and the promise of reuniting with them again one day
