ಇ five times xander tackled someone (& one time he didn’t)
°˖➴ the continuation of where their story left off in games untold.
Max tackled him.
Blankets tangled around her legs mid-lunge, the world tilting as she collided with Xander and sent them both crashing backward into the nest of pillows.
Xander hit the ground first. Max landed on top of him.
For a second, neither of them moved. Then Xander blinked up at her, dark curls half in his eyes, one hand still loosely gripping the narwhal. “Well,” he said, a little breathless, a little delighted, “this is new.”
Max became abruptly, painfully aware of several things all at once. One, she was straddling him. Two, there was a very unfair amount of solid muscle involved in the situation. Three, her heart had apparently decided to audition for a drum solo.
“Don’t make it weird,” she informed him.
“I’m not making it weird,” Xander replied immediately. “You’re the one pinning me to the ground in a structurally unsound blanket fort. If anything, I should be asking questions.”
Max narrowed her eyes. “You’re talking too much.”
“That is a criticism I have never received before in my life.”
“Faxing liar.”
Xander grinned.“Max,” he said, softer now, like he’d flipped some internal switch she couldn’t see.
Her name shouldn’t sound like that. It shouldn’t land somewhere under her ribs and stay there.
She swallowed. “What?”
Xander tilted his head just slightly, studying her, “You said go.”
“I did,” Max said. Her voice came out steadier than she felt, which felt like a personal victory.
“And then you said no go.”
“That was for the game,” she shot back. “Keep up, Hawthorne.”
“I am keeping up.” His voice dropped just enough to make the words feel different. “I’m trying to figure out if we’re still playing.”
Max opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Because that was the question, wasn’t it?
This, she’d said. Us.
Go or no go.
Her brain, usually so reliable, so quick, had apparently decided to clock out early. In its place was something messier. Her previous relationships never felt like this, Xander looked at her like she was worth the time.
“Max?” he prompted.
She huffed out a breath. “You are being very intense for a guy holding a narwhal.”
Xander glanced down at the plush still in his hand. “In my defense, it is a very emotionally supportive narwhal.”
Max snorted, and just like that, the tension cracked. Not gone, but reshaped.
“Give me that,” she said, reaching for it.
Xander lifted it out of her reach, because of course he did. “Conditional.”
“Oh my god,” Max muttered. “You’re bargaining with stuffed sea creatures now. You’ve hit a new low.”
“High,” he corrected. “Definitely a high. And the condition is simple.” His gaze flicked back to hers. “Answer the question.”
Max stilled.
He meant it.
Of course he meant it. This was Xander. Games were never just games.
Her heart kicked harder against her ribs, like it was trying to escape and file a complaint.
“You already know the answer,” she said, quieter now.
“I want to hear you say it.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Xander said, and for once, he didn't spin it into something theatrical or deflect with a joke, “it matters.”
Max exhaled slowly. “You’re really going to make me say it while I’m sitting on you.”
“I am incredibly committed to this bit.”
“Of course you are.” She shook her head, but there was no heat in it. Just nerves. Just that same impossible pull. “Fine. You want an answer?”
“I do.”
Max leaned down just a little, closing some of the space between them without quite meaning to.
“Go,” she said.
The word landed between them, solid and undeniable.
Xander went very still.
Not frozen like before, not playing along. Just… still. Like the world had paused to see what he’d do next.
“Go?” he echoed.
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Max said, but there was no bite to it now. “I’m already questioning my faxing life choices.”
“You tackled me,” Xander reminded her.
“You deserved it.”
“For the record,” he said, voice soft and bright all at once, “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Max rolled her eyes, because if she didn’t, she might actually combust. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” Xander said, “you said go.”
Her stomach flipped.
“Don’t push your luck,” she warned.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
There was a beat.
And then another.
And then Xander did something very un-Xander-like.
He hesitated.
It was subtle. She noticed everything about him, apparently, which felt like a problem she would deal with later.
“You’re thinking,” she said.
“I do that occasionally.”
“No, you’re overthinking,” Max corrected. “Which is my thing, by the way. Get your own personality trait.”
Xander huffed out a quiet laugh. “Noted.”
“Spit it out, Hawthorne.”
His eyes flicked to her lips and then back up so fast it would have been easy to miss.
It wasn’t.
Max’s breath caught.
“Oh,” she said.
“Oh?” Xander echoed, suddenly looking like he had no idea what to do with his hands, which was deeply unsettling. Xander always knew what to do with his hands.
“You want to kiss me,” Max said.
There it was. Direct hit.
Xander stared at her for half a second, then let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like surrender. “That is a correct assessment of the situation.”
Max’s brain, which had just barely started functioning again, short-circuited all over.
“Wow,” she said faintly. “Okay. Bold. Very bold.”
“You literally asked me go or no go.”
“I did not specify kissing parameters.”
“I feel like they were implied.”
“Assumptions are dangerous,” Max informed him, even as her pulse climbed higher. “You could have meant, I don’t know, holding hands. Maybe a high five.”
“I have never in my life wanted to high five someone like this.”
“That’s fair.”
Another pause.
Closer now. Somehow.
“Max,” Xander said again.
She met his eyes.
This time, she didn’t look away.
“Go or no go?” he asked quietly.
Her heart answered before she could.
“Go,” she said.
And then she kissed him.
It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t slow. It was very Max, which meant it was decisive and a little chaotic and very real. For half a second, Xander didn’t move, like he was surprised she’d beaten him to it.
Then his hand came up, warm against her side, and everything shifted.
The kiss deepened, just slightly. but not hesitant anymore. Like they were both figuring it out at the same time and deciding, very quickly, that they liked what they were finding.
Max’s fingers curled into his shirt without her permission.
This was happening.
This was actually happening.
Her brain tried to say something about consequences, about all the reasons this might be a terrible idea.
Her heart told it to shut up.
When they finally pulled back, it wasn’t by much. Just enough to breathe.
Xander looked at her like she’d just rewritten the rules of the universe.
“Well,” he said softly, a grin starting to form, “that was definitely a go.”
Max huffed out a breath that might have been a laugh. “Don’t get used to winning.”
“Oh, I fully intend to,” he replied.
“Dangerous.”
“You like dangerous.”
Max rolled her eyes, but she didn’t move off him. “I like tolerable.”
“And I’m tolerable?”
She pretended to think about it. “On a good day.”
“Harsh.”
“Accurate.”
Xander’s grin widened, but there was something softer underneath it now. Something steadier.
“Rematch?” he asked, lifting the narwhal slightly.
Max glanced at it, then back at him.
“Later,” she said.
And then, because apparently she had learned nothing, she leaned in and kissed him again.
Note:- Another set of Javery hc's because I miss them, this list got longer than I expected yet I have more soo... Part 2 will be coming
Warnings⚠️:- Some of these hc's have sexual innuendos
At first they were planning to live together at a midpoint from both of there college's but ultimatiely decided not to
Jameson once surprised her by sitting behind her in one of her classes and asking her the triangle riddle at the very end of the class
They send eachother the most random pictures from campus with no context and the other just goes "cool"
Sometimes their nightly calls last for hours and by the time they hang up the sun is already rising
Every once in a while they meet up at some cafe or library for a study date... It is in public so that they actually study
Jameson got her a yale teddy bear and Avery keeps it on her nightstand
Since it is hard for Avery to makes friends and so when she made her first friend, she was all excited and told Jameson all about it - he was looking at her like a lovesick puppy
Exam week is ROUGH, I am talking they go no contact and just lock in because they have a bet to see who can score better... They end up with the same exact grades... #soulmates
They sometimes roleplay as two strangers college parties and 'hook up' (the whole my boyfriend/girlfriend can't find out) for fun
Avery stole some of his yale hoodies and wears them all the time because it smells like him
If you see Jameson on campus and he is quite and is brooding... He is missing Avery...
Jameson once opened his appartment door to Oren pushing Avery towards him and saying "she has been saying 'I am bored' for ages now go do something fun"
Oren regretted doing that because his chaotic kids almost got arrested
They have a music playlist together and listen to it all the time
A very heavy makeout session happens every time they see eachother after a while
Jameson is dramatic so he texts her stuff like 'I am dying heiress, I haven't seen you in so long" - they had met like two days ago
Jameson loves when she calls him while being drunk (she is all giggly and adorable)... He records them and listens to it whenever he misses her
They leave eachother random riddles and puzzles all around the appartment whenever they visit the other
They bitch about their professors all the time
Secret disguises are a must when they are out and about (I sometimes forget they are celebrities)
Freaky texts.
Avery loves to tease him about the damn secret society he is in by saying "So you basically are a frat bro, ew"
Jameson constantly asks Oren whether or not Avery is overworking herself because he knows she won't tell him if she is
Oren and Alisa are their mediators whenever they get into a fight
When Avery first met Jameson's friend group she was treated as if she were the queen of England because of the way Jameson gushes over her to them... Avery was embarrassed... Jameson made it up to her in a very creative way
They have done eachothers assignments for fun and because they were bored
Avery got him a Uconn plushie that he pretends to hate... He does not hate it one bit
The best way they study together is asking study related questions in form of riddles
They both hangout at the park Avery used to play chess with Toby all the time and play chess... Spoiler alert - Avery beats his ass almost all the time
She has even taken him to her old house and told him childhood stories good and bad... Jameson Hawthorne was crying for what the love of his life had gone through
Avery visits Hannah's grave every sunday just to tell Hannah about her week and sometimes Jameson joins her (not everytime because Avery usually likes to be alone)
words: 1.6k
warnings: kissing?
pairings: jameson hawthorne x avery grambs
summary: averyjameson wedding as god intended
note: the whole set-up and scenario thing is @averygrambsswife's idea #ourjavery but its lowk kinda buns sori
It filtered through the church's stained glass windows, scattering amber, crimson, emerald and gold across the worn stone floor. Light bled over ancient pews and climbed weathered walls, turning the little chapel into something almost unreal.
A fitting stage.
Jameson Hawthorne stood beneath the wide archway, Avery's hand laced with his. Electricity hummed where their fingers met. Not nerves exactly. Rather…anticipation. The delicious kind that came just before everything changed.
He curled his fingers around hers, earning the smallest shift in her expression. Most people would've missed it. Jameson didn't miss her tells. Her pulse fluttered once beneath his thumb.
She was nervous.
The realisation tugged the corner of his mouth into something dangerously close to a smile. Avery Kylie Grambs had outplayed billionaires, murderers and Hawthornes. She'd survived riddles designed to break people. Yet somehow, standing in a tiny church with him was what made her heartbeat stumble.
His Avery had an infuriating habit of being adorable without the faintest idea she was doing it.
She looked up at the altar, then back at him and corner of his mouth lifted. Without a word, they stepped forward together.
One step.
Then another.
Then Avery laughed. And, naturally, that was all it took.
Dignity became collateral damage as they broke into a run, hand in hand, racing down the aisle of the tiny church with the reckless joy of two people who'd spent far too long cheating death to bother bleakly walking toward forever. Their laughter echoed off the ancient stone, bright enough to rival the stained glass overhead.
Jameson would've bet every last penny of the Hawthorne fortune on that sound.
They reached the altar far sooner than either of them seemed prepared for. Two shallow stone steps lifted them onto the platform, and then there was nowhere left to run. Jameson turned to face Avery, their hands still linked between them, and for a long moment, all he did was look.
He'd looked at her a thousand times before. Across crowded rooms and deserted rooftops. Covered in dust, soaked through with rain, grinning because she'd beaten him at one of his own games. Yet, none of it compared to this.
The breeze slipping through the open chapel doors caught in her ash brown hair, lifting the loose waves so they framed her face in effortless disarray. Sunlight filtered through the stained glass, spilling over her jade green dress in fractured colours that shifted every time she breathed. Green suited her. Always had. It brought out the gold hidden amongst the hazel of her eyes. Eyes fixed on him with a softness that still had the power to knock the air from his lungs.
Jameson had never put much faith in angels. They sounded far too well behaved.
But if heaven had ever decided to make an exception, he imagined it might've looked something like the deity standing before him.
And somehow, against impossible odds, against fate, against every version of his life that should have ended differently, she was here.
With him.
"You know," his heiress said, her voice pulling Jameson from the dangerous territory of staring a little too long, "I'm starting to get a bit pissed off that I can't kiss you yet."
A cheshire cat smile snaked its way across his face.
"Patience, Saint Avery." He lingered on the title with all the sincerity of a sinner.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Oh, shut it, you-"
"Ahem!" The pointed interruption echoed through the little chapel. Both Jameson and Avery turned towards the open doorway in perfect unison.
An elderly woman stood framed beneath the arch, scarcely taller than five feet. Deep lines softened her face, and a simple cream coloured robe hung loosely from her slight frame.
"Siete voi due i ragazzi che hanno chiesto un celebrante per il matrimonio?" She spoke, and Avery looked at Jameson with silent confusion scattered across her face as his brain quicky went into translate mode.
"Sì, grazie per aver dedicato del tempo a celebrare il nostro matrimonio, signora," he replied politely.
The woman smiled, though there was the faintest flicker in her expression that made Jameson wonder if his pronunciation had wandered somewhere it shouldn't have.
He chose not to dwell on it. Italian had never been his strongest language, anyway. German, on the other hand...
The woman made her way towards them at an unhurried pace. Before she reached the steps, Avery was already moving. Of course she was.
She released one of Jameson's hands and offered the woman her own, steadying her as she climbed the steps. Avery did it so naturally she probably didn't even realise she'd moved. The woman thanked her with a warm smile before taking her place behind them, positioning herself between their shoulders, ready to begin.
Alright, Jamie, his own voice spoke in his head. This is it.
He remembered the rush of adrenaline that had flooded his veins the night he'd dropped to one knee on Avery's 25th birthday. At the time, he'd thought there was no greater high, no greater risk.
He'd been wrong.
This eclipsed it.
As he joined his hands with Avery once more, their officiant began to speak.
"I vostri nomi sono... Avery e Jameson, giusto?"
"Sì," the word left his mouth automatically.
Jameson glanced at Avery, his fingers tightening around hers before he realised how hard he was holding on. His pulse battered against his ribs with reckless insistence, each heartbeat louder than the last. Heat prickled behind his eyes, his vision threatening to blur.
He was getting married.
HE WAS GETTING MARRIED!!!!!!!
To Avery. His Avery.
The absurdity of it, the sheer impossibility, hit him square in the chest.
This was real.
He caught the unmistakable shimmer of tears gathering in Avery's eyes, and something inside him gave way.
The signora's English was a bit choppy, every sentence shaped by a thick Italian accent. Jameson barely registered the words. He knew them already. They'd been spoken in a thousand churches, on a thousand beaches, beneath a thousand skies.
None of those vows had ever belonged to him.
Until now.
"Jameson," the woman said warmly, "do you take this lovely lady standing before you to be your best friend, your lover, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?"
His throat tightened. It was only two words. Two impossibly simple words. Two words that cost him nothing but meant everything.
A couple of tears escaped despite his best efforts. He didn't bother wiping them away.
"I do." The words sounded like a prayer falling from his lips.
"And Avery," the woman continued, "do you take this gentleman standing before you to be your best friend, your lover, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?"
Avery let out a watery laugh that dissolved into a sob.
"I do."
Jameson smiled so hard it hurt.
"It is my great honour to pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss-"
He didn't hear the rest.
His hands reached out and cradled her face as he closed the distance between them, crashing his lips against hers with every ounce of love he'd spent years fostering.
She kissed him back just as fiercely.
His wife.
It didn't even sound real.
She was his wife.
His best friend. His favourite person. The love of his life. The woman he got to have and to hold, for better or for worse, and whatever else the signora had said.
As they breathlessly thanked her before dashing out of the chapel, they burst onto the sunlit grass hand in hand, shouting things like, "WE JUST GOT FUCKING MARRIED!" at absolutely no one before crashing into another kiss, and then another, laughing so hard neither of them could breathe.
Jameson found himself absurdly, overwhelmingly grateful that it had been just him and Ave - his wife - in that tiny chapel, tucked away from the rest of the world.
Of course, they'd have an official wedding. There'd be enough champagne to bankrupt a small country, enough guests to make any socially awkward person physically recoil (cough, cough, Grayson) and somewhere amongst all of that, they'd deal with the legal paperwork once they got back to the States.
But this?
This had been theirs.
No cameras. No photographers. No paparazzi. No headlines. No carefully curated images of the heiress and the Hawthorne.
Just them.
Just the memory of her hands clasped tightly in his, of sunlight bleeding through stained glass and painting impossible colours across their faces as they chose each other. As they tied themselves together for life.
He already knew Nash would give him the lecture of a lifetime. Libby would probably do the same through a flood of happy tears. Alisa would have around seventeen opinions.
And every single one of them would cry.
Yes, they'd done it behind everyone's backs.
Yes, they'd slipped away from the paparazzi, denying the world the spectacle it would've expected.
Yes, it had been impulsive.
Reckless.
But he couldn't bring himself to regret a single second of it.
All that mattered was the girl running beside him, smiling so hard her cheeks had to ache, tears spilling freely down her face as his own laughter mingled with hers beneath the Italian sun.
And as they disappeared into the evening, hand in hand, the words she'd spoken so long ago found their way back to him.
he literally always calls her ma’am and it has taken her a gazillion years to get him to call her josephine
she’s like 70 btw
“how are you feeling today?” “functional.”
josie lets him finish overexplaining, then says, “that wasn’t the question.” silence.
grayson once tried to “win” therapy by preparing bullet points. she listened nodded and replied “you’ve described events. not feelings.”
they have a shared understanding that sarcasm is ‘inefficient but occasionally necessary’
the most amount of praise she’s given him is “that’s… progress.” grayson takes it like a medal.
my girl is literally on the verge of tears every time grayson describes his feelings or tobias and she just goes “and how long has that been normal for you?”
she literally wants to throw hands at everyone who’s hurt him, because she’s 70, she’s lived a good life, sure she’s lost her husband and her kids are far away from home, but she was happy, and here sits a 21 year old, a mere boy, who has gone through more in 18 years than she had in her whole life
at one point gray said “I don’t see how that’s relevant.” and she replied, “that’s also interesting.” *sigh*
grayson finally speaks. josephine makes a checkmark.
grayson once asked “am I doing this correctly?” “there is no correct way.” beat. “you are, however, avoiding it.”
she doesn’t force him to talk. that usually makes him talk
she persuaded him to get a cat (it actually helped a lot)
she’s one of the first people to encourage grayson to explore his more artsy side
once she found out about his artsy side, their next session was at one of those cafes where u paint plates and mugs and stuff
she noticed he seemed a lot calmer
she literally did like the fists in the air “YES!” thing when gray told her about lyra
Josephine also became very interested when she found out grayson was a fashion geek (THIS IS CANON I SWEAR)
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 😔
