a-wraith-891

[a-wraith-891]

ROHAN - “Do your worst, love.”

(he’s sorta underrated ngl)

Tagging: @7975348473 , @lyrakanefanatic. @silvenyy , @runnningoutofink

[a-wraith-891]

~~Jameson Winchester Hawthorne~~

there’s been a lot of Jameson hate going around, and while I think that most of it is completely justified, some takes I just can’t agree with, like it gets to a point where instead of criticising the character’s reaction , you’re just ignoring the reasons and claiming that the writing is bad, or out of character.

for the drawing: guys ik it’s bad, but a girl in my class has just finished the Inheritance Games series and I need to make sure she reads the Brothers Hawthorne!!

moots: @7975348473 @lyrakanefanatic @silvenyy @runnningoutofink

[a-wraith-891]

just walking down the street... nothin' to see here

Moots: @7975348473 @lyrakanefanatic @silvenyy @runnningoutofink

a quick one hour drawing of lyrason cuz im displaying withdrawal symptoms after GR

[a-wraith-891]

Remembrance- Part 2/2

Part 1

Relationships: Past Emily Laughlin/Grayson Hawthorne

Characters : Grayson Hawthorne, (dead) Emily Laughlin, Jameson Hawthorne, Mentioned Nash Hawthorne, Mentioned aleXander Hawthorne,

Tags: Angst, Grief, Make Grayson Suffer, Grayson Hawthorne needs a Hug, Nash is Stressed, Jameson is Drunk, Xander is tryna take care of his two older brothers :(

MILD SUICIDAL IDEATION

Summary: After Emily's death, the world moves on, but he can't. Nothing changes, but for the Hawthorne Boys, everything does. Grayson isn't doing well. It's been two months, and all he can see is red hair and green eyes, following him everywhere. Nothing changes.

Grief makes individuals do activities uncharacteristic to their personalities.

A/N: MANY MORE THANKS TO @runnningoutofink FOR BETA-ING THIS!!

Tagging: @7975348473 , @lyrakanefanatic, @silvenyy

----------------_---------------

Scaling buildings felt a million times harder when there was no Jamie or Nash to compete with, no Xan half cheating by making grapels. The finger holds felt shallower, and the wind sharper.

Of course, now, instead of friendly competition, Jamie would sooner kick his fingers and let him fall.

He could almost hear it now, like he heard Emily. His brother's voice, drunk and bitter chased him like Emily's lilting laugh.

He glanced sideways, heart hammering, but there was no one climbing parallel to him. He was alone. Still, Jameson swayed in his periphery. He was red-cheeked, furious, his hair mussed and eyes glassy. “You’re always pretending, Grayson. You loved her enough to kill her. You don't love me enough to let me go.”

It was a hallucination. Obviously. He blinked once, hard, and when he looked again, there was no one there. Just wind and sky.

He wondered why Oren's security hadn't asked him to come down yet, why Nash wasn't screaming already. Maybe they didn't care.

But exhausted, he made it to the top of the House having started on a viewing platform, and rolled himself over the corniced ledge. He'd climbed the edges and landed atop the roof, catching his breath.

After some minutes, he heard the whirring of the pool in the east wing being uncovered. It was 2:11 already. Grandfather had changed it to a prime number for a puzzle. Grayson had thought it was the coolest thing.

Now? He couldn't care less.

He could almost imagine that it was another night where neither Emily nor him had been able to fall asleep. They would wait by the poolside, and when it hit 2:11, they'd try to trick the other into falling in.

He folded his arms on his knees and buried his chin in the gap between them. Would it have ever lasted? It felt mean-spirited, but he didn’t think so.

He knew too, though, that it was none of his business. None of it was anymore. She was gone, and what kind of asshole speaks ill of the dead?

The kind that had bled because of them.

He’d broken himself a thousand times over to be the perfect son, the perfect brother, the perfect boyfriend, but really, it all meant nothing.

His mother refused to be addressed as such, his brothers couldn't talk to him without it turning into a fight, and his girlfriend or whatever she was to him? She was dead.

And yet, the world kept turning.

He stood abruptly and pushed his torso far over the lip of the House's balustrade. He didn't know what he was doing, just that he was.

The wind lashed his hair and stole tears from his eyes and though he felt marrowless and light, his wrists strained under the pressure. He stayed like that, eyes closed and body outstretched—a dancer held aloft by his own fickle hands, none witness to it other than the stars that shone above.

It wouldn’t take much effort at all, really, just the slightest contraction of his biceps.

But…

What had he told Emily, that last day, when she’d come to see him?

"I’m going to make my family proud."

That precluded any foolishness. Sinking back onto the soles of his feet, Grayson told the empty grounds, “I’m going to make my grandfather proud.”

The Jamie in his head sneered. "You're a coward, Gray."

He couldn’t hate himself for this.

He wouldn’t hate himself for this.

He broke the ancient fire exit chain and took the stairs back down.

.

.

.

He was in his bedroom, now. Lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Staring at the cheap glow-in-the-dark stars he Xander, and Jamie had put up on Halloween so many years ago.

At least Xander didnt hate him yet. Maybe he was just better at hiding it. Grayson wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse.

All but two of Cygnus' stars had peeled off, leaving Lyra alone in its corner of the ceiling. Alberio had survived though, forever reaching for Lyra and keeping it company. Maybe that was him. Alone and reaching, but never fully there.

Emily had seen them. Only once, where they had both been far to drunk, and far too young to care.

—("You're the saddest person I've ever met Grayson Hawthorne. You try so hard to be happy, but I see it in your eyes. You can't. I'm so sorry Gray." "I… I don't know what you're saying Em. I'm happy." She'd rolled over and fallen asleep, but he hadn't.)—

He'd once gone up to her and told her she was right. He'd seen it in her eyes, she'd been proud.

But he'd been too much of a coward to ask about it again. She'd left him for Jamie the very next day.

He felt tired abruptly.

"Too proud to fight for me, Em?" He asked the stars far above.

They didn't reply.

"I watched her die."

"Well so did I! "

He couldn't blame this on Jamie.

He couldn't hate his brother.

He took a breath in, and a deep breath out.

So, effective immediately, he quit moping. His brothers needed him, and his grandfather needed an Heir.

Hating Grayson Hawthorne was no longer an option.

[a-wraith-891]

@7975348473

IVE FIGURED IT OUTTT!! (Hopefully)

SO THE TIMELINE IS LIKE THIS:-

August 22 (2020) - Jameson turns 18 years old

August 23 (2020) - Grayson turns 19 years old

Xander is 15 years old

Avery is 16 years old.

October 18, 2020- Emily Laughlin dies at 17

Grayson is 19

Jameson is 18

Xander is 15.

Avery turns 17.

December, 2020:

Xander turns 16.

Jameson is 18

Grayson is 19

Avery is 17

Inheritance Games: occurs before October 2021, Presumably before August(?)

Xander is 16.

Avery is 17.

Jameson is 18.

Grayson is 19.

I think this is correct(?) I really hope you don't have to re-write your fic!

[a-wraith-891]

Remembrance - An Angst Fic... Part 1/2

Part 2

Relationships: Past Emily Laughlin/Grayson Hawthorne

Characters : Grayson Hawthorne, (dead) Emily Laughlin, Jameson Hawthorne, Mentioned Nash Hawthorne, Mentioned aleXander Hawthorne,

Tags: Angst, Grief, Make Grayson Suffer, Grayson Hawthorne needs a Hug, Nash is Stressed, Jameson is Drunk, Xander is tryna take care of his two older brothers :(

Summary: After Emily's death, the world moves on, but he can't. Nothing changes, but for the Hawthorne Boys, everything does. Grayson isn't doing well. It's been two months, and all he can see is red hair and green eyes, following him everywhere. Nothing changes.

What happened on that cliff, Grayson?

A/N: VERY MANY THANKS TO THE LOVELY @runnningoutofink for BETA-READING THIS

Moots: @7975348473, @lyrakanefanatic

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

It starts with a dare.

Or perhaps, it starts with an argument, or later, on a cliff.

Perhaps it starts when two boys are born just 364 days apart, with competitive streaks as wide as their horizons.

Perhaps it never starts at all.

Even still, It ends on October 18th.

.

.

.

It'd been two months, two months, red hair, red water, silent

Grayson clings to the flimsy promise of routine. "It helps," they'd said. So many people had been hired to talk to him. So many so called 'grief counsellors' who only cared about the money going into their pocket.

None of them had ever known her, and now, they never would. But, they were 'professionals', and Grayson is nothing if not well-disciplined, so he listens. "Find your rhythm," they say, so he picks up his camera. The Canon EOS that is usually an extension of his very being, feels stiff and alien in his hands. Grayson goes to practice his photography with a camera that focuses but a brain that is lost.

He takes his camera and his body, both stiff with disuse to the streets, and climbs up a worn half-wall. Two months too long. And then he stands there. Stands there feeling misplaced until a bothered adult in a polo shirt tells him to get lost or move over.

An image occurs to him: his camera breaking itself across the man’s jaw, his fist introducing itself to the man's eye. But it disappears in the next moment and brings with it a red flush of shame.

He leaves the area.

Slowly he makes his way to the House, walking for a few feet then branching off to take pictures of interesting weeds and cracks in stone shaped like broken hearts.

But then he clips the sidewalk and almost eats shit. The illusion of artistic detachment shatters into a million pieces, and he tucks his case close to his chest and carries on home, his shoulders pulled up to burning ears.

.

.

.

The House is empty and silent. It didn't used to be like that. There used to be Rebecca and Xan and Jamie and there used to be Em—

So w h y is it silent?

He enters his room, making sure to try and be stealthy. The air doesn't shift. It remains as oppressive as ever. Nothing happens. His phone mocks him from its stationary place on the night stand. The window's still open. Dust has blown in and settled on the desks.

He glances around. No one. His phone seems to burn holes into his head.

"Fuck this," he mutters snatching it up. It lights up at his touch, its battery somehow still charged. His bland wallpaper stares back at him.

He hasn't changed it since his old phone smashed against the cellar wall.

Why is it so bright all of a sudden?

Grayson squints at it, 7:56 . Shit. He still has the rest of the day to go. He swipes up on almost muscle memory and types in his password.

The call app opens. He doesn't know if he clicked it. He doesn't know a lot of things, and the wide voids in his memory seem to be physical holes in his skull. What happened on that cliff, Grayson?

=====

Missed calls:

Nash (27) | Xan (12) | Jamie (1)

Voicemails:

Nash : (Yesterday, 22:34)

Hey Grayson, I know that you're not enjoying the House right now, but i just want to know where you're at. I know the atmosphere's very tense, so just.. call me.

Nash : (Yesterday, 23:52)

Gray, you know I'm all for late night escapades, but it's late for you to be out. Just, please tell me where you are. If you're mad at me, I'm sorry.

Xan : (Today, 01:21)

Grayy everyones panicking. Even Jamie's worried. You have signal but well... we can't find you. there's some sort of bug which has fixed your location at the House. I just--just come home.

Jamie : (Today, 03:39)

You always have to make everything about yourself, don't you?

Nash : (Today, 04:07)

God, Grayson. Everyones worried for you. If this is some sort of stunt to get my attention, well you've got it. All of our messages have gone through, but none of them are seen. Just pick up! You can't avoid this forever.

=====

Is that how Nash saw him? An attention seeking brat? And his fucking assumption that Grayson couldn't handle himself. He wasn't a child. He didn't need to be coddled. And the audacity of Nash to tell him to 'reach out' when the most Nash ever did when Grayson needed it the most was tell him that it was all 'going to be alright'?

What right did Nash have?

None. The same anger as before rises up, but it doesn't tamp down. There's dust on his fingertips now. From where? There's blood underneath his fingernails. He doesn't know why. Two months.

He wants to throw his fucking phone against the wall. He wants to find Nash and yell at him till his voice goes hoarse. Wants to show Nash just how fucking broken his 'perfect ' baby brother is.

At least Jameson says it to his face the first time around.

But Grayson doesn't do any of those things. 'Control, ' his grandfather whispers in his ear.

Crazy, isn't it?

He grabs some cash from his drawer, silences and throws his phone in, and strides to the window. He's only on the third floor, and this isn't his first rodeo. He swipes some dust off the windowsill. Did he open the window or was it open in the first place? Is he alive or was he never alive in the first place?

The black eye he has throbs. Jameson sure does know how to throw a good punch. His hands move to open the window but it's already open. How?

It doesn't matter, does it?

Grayson jumps out.

.

.

.

.

He's at a hotel now, a motel maybe, considering the condition of the bedsheets. He's slept more than ever, and... it's night out now? There's not enough light in the room. He would check on his phone, but he doesn't know where it is.

And with sleep, he's dreamt more too. He remembers waking up to mysterious shadows and flaming red hair infront of the sunlight peeking through his curtains.

In his dreams, he wakes up again and again to people he knows but can't grasp, a cowboy hat and a machine and a drink screaming his failures.

And if they end up smashed in those dreams (or nightmares) before he wakes up, it's his issue and his issue alone.

Because they all leave in the end.

With more sleep comes feelings of slowness and heaviness, as though his blood is congealing in his veins. He feels slow, and the world moves on while he is stuck.

He doesn't know the time. The gap in the curtains is gone, or maybe it wasn't there in the first place. Perhaps he's just hallucinating. Wasn't the window open?

His hands are still stained. There's blood and dirt and ribs crack under them from the force of the CPR, but she h-has, no had a heart condition, it wasn't feasible—no, no—

Grayson kicks himself out of the bed. He looks like shit but he can't bring himself to care when all he can see is Emily and himself sitting together when he was sick—

— (He tells her to leave. "I'm sick, Em. I'll get you sick." She responds, "Do I look like I'm afraid of germs, Gray? They're microsopic and well, I'm me. I bet we could win." Is she teasing or is she not? Grayson never knows with her. "That's not what I meant, and you know it." He's ruined the mood, and the conversation peters out immediately. "Is it so bad?" She askes quietly, "the idea of us?" Grayson can't respond. She leaves before he can try to fix it.)—

—She leaves too.

Grayson returns to the House.

[a-wraith-891]

Agh guys I’m in a weird writing slump and my classes start up again on Monday so I’ve been prepping instead of writing :/

So as a peace offering pls enjoy Stephanie doing night time gymnastics when not on patrol. The inspiration was this emoji: 🤸‍♀️

[a-wraith-891]

Savannah Grayson 💫

New style for Savannah’s card!! I had a ton of fun making her card and it’s not perfect but 🤫

Tagging my moots: @7975348473 @lyrakanefanatic

Click for better quality :)

More versions under the cut!

[a-wraith-891]

A highly caffeinated trio. Well Bart and Tim are, Caffeine does… things to half kryptonians.

[a-wraith-891]

I feel like Javery are the type to have a date up high like that one timber comic panel… it lines up with Prague too js saying 🤷🏻

wait… I shld draw it….

I did it :)

My… moots? @7975348473 @lyrakanefanatic

Reference under the cut!

[a-wraith-891]

A comic panel re-draw of my favourite bird!

[a-wraith-891]

A random thingy I wrote :/ Can sorta be attributed to Nash Hawthorne or Libby if you just change the gender or Grayson maybe idfk

Inspired by @two-bees-poetry as all poetry of mine is.

[a-wraith-891]

Just a day at Texas Pumpkin Fair.

Ps: They got into a fight near the horses. A Hawthorne brawl, if you will. (This day taeb nwood started)

PS: Nash won.

(Xander just wants to eat the pumpkin. No, Nash doesn’t know how he got in there)

Another version under the cut!

Tagging: @7975348473, @lyrakanefanatic

[a-wraith-891]

I may have just realised that I am way in over my head here…

this was a quick trial of Baby Jameson and…. welll…. Uhhhhh see for yourself ig

He looks.. ugh. Let’s see if I can make Grayson and Xander and Nash after this

[a-wraith-891]

AHHH!!! THIS IS MY FIC :) THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS AMAZING FANART AND FOR THE PODFIC TOO :))))

Inspired by an amazing fic

With a card up his sleeve what could he achieve

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64612132/chapters/165961273

By TheEarthTheWindTheFlame

Podfic link:

https://youtu.be/GBktpiMdE5A

[a-wraith-891]

No romantic pairings here :)

Just pure bromance

[a-wraith-891]

Idk guys I’m on a tig roll these days. This art is titled

“What would happen if someone gave Grayson a hug during The Brothers Hawthorne [derogatory]”

Be so fr with me, his mental state is weaker than a toothpick. One strong wind and this kid is about to keel over. Get sm therapy dude. smh fr fr 🙄