kingthatcher - Tumblr blog

[kingthatcher]

DON’T BE FUCKING RUDE

bitch bitch fuck yOU

[kingthatcher]

biiiiiiiitch

shalllla lllla llalalalalala

[kingthatcher]

ok.

dlkdfknbkfbnsklbknblknbknbkg

112222222222222222222222222

[kingthatcher]

tutut

womp womp

dsh;hgadug;adhfga;udfh;agudhuaghd;uhduh;duh;udhd

[kingthatcher]

howdy

,,,,

[kingthatcher]

,,,,

[kingthatcher]

old cupcake trash

beep boop beep boop

MAN WAAAAAAAAAAAAAATHA A DUNKIE DOO DAMN

[kingthatcher]

thatch

text text text text text text text text text text

text teststststststst

[kingthatcher]

test ignore this

[kingthatcher]

ok fine i cant stop you

never stop testing, never

[kingthatcher]

stop stop stop stop

hmm this is a test post once more

[kingthatcher]

hi when r u getting married

HI ROBERT :))))))

[kingthatcher]

[kingthatcher]

n*ce

OH MY GOD I JUST STUMBLED ACROSS THIS ACCOUNT. 

[kingthatcher]

“I can keep a secret, Ava.” He’s grinning though, Auggie knows he should just enjoy this now and not think about it later. Nothing to stop him, he’s home his original stomping grounds and there isn’t a better welcoming than reversing into old habits. He should probably let go soon – but when is the next time he’ll get to touch Ava’s breast? His determination to stick to his old ways is fickle, partially because Auggie has no qualms to coming home to Hana every day – it’s just the mere idea of actually doing it forever he has issues with. He’s never been a guy for consistency, starts projects and ends them, or gives them to someone else to handle and demands all the credit. Auggie is lazy like that. Nonetheless he does hope to enjoy his time with Ava before Hana inevitably calls him concerned, seeing as he didn’t give her the slightest of heads up when he up and left while she slept. He wouldn’t go running back with his tail between his legs but he doesn’t want to deal with the look in her eyes like last time.

“I – fine,” the less work he has to do the better. “We can always order something, since I always provide the champagne.” Auggie’s grandmother once told him a bottle of champagne was an essential to any kitchen – maybe that’s why Lennon can’t stop drinking alcohol now. They were practically raised on it, champagne to celebrate the most random of things, whiskey in your tea when you’re sick, mimosa with your eggs and bacon. It’s normal to sit around and drink mint juleps after dinner while sitting on the porch for them. It’s a very hedonistic life; they live blind to the problems of society and think everything is fine as long as champagne is involved.

He finally lets go, one last squeeze for the road with both hands and he’s tempted to give her nipples a quick tug but he’s not looking to start something he may or may not can’t finish, that wouldn’t be fair to Ava. “No new tattoos,” he answers, giving the ink already embedded in his visible skin a glance, “I’m considered really tan in New York so I’m going to need you to stop with the white jokes, they hurt.” Auggie always enjoyed Ava’s sense of humor – or maybe it wasn’t humor and just her natural… Ava Style. It’s something he missed, laughing at the arbitrary things she could come up with, her mind is quite sharp and he likes that.  

Eyes leveled on hers, Auggie reaches out and pinches her cheek, shaking her face slowly, “bacteria in the food they eat,” he answers finally. “The pinker the flamingo, the more healthy the bird is.” He drops her face for her hand and turns, “do you still have your –“ he road over in his G-class, the one he bought with her, at the time it felt somewhat cool – in his fucked up rich kid mind – getting matching Mercedes SUVs with the girl you’re unofficially but basically officially dating. “She almost failed inspection.” He unlocks the SUV, “something about her windshield wipers or whatever but we got it settled. She’s safe for the road.”

Banana hands. Ligaments long, bones elongated, and fingertips soft to touch but filled with a pressure of excitement and endearment. A quirk of a smile played into the depths of minimal lines that gave way to the many times Ava had resorted to the reaction, however this time, it was of a sentimental state. A state of a comforted nostalgia – like a welcomed bed in your room after a long trip away from home. Her body and mind was alternating back to, and yes – all because Thatcher was grabbing her breasts. At his comment, however, the extensive roll into her head that her eyes gave was only part one of the movements that followed. A groan that came as a laugh, the shimmy of her arms, and the protruding of her chest as she removed her hands from beneath his and placed them on top. “And Dr. Carson said no one would be able to notice,” she pouted only to beam a smile.

With a final squeeze, Ava allowed her hands to fall slack on top of Auggie’s; allowing the playful amenity to laze over her grip. Was it technically real? All of this? Here he is with herself in the same state. Both with a handful of breasts in each hand. Brown eyes dropped towards his ring finger for a validation on the theories crossing her mind but instead, Ava forced herself to think nothing of it. To simply envelope her mind to the requests of the youngest Reeves. What more could she do? She had been living in such fluidity and impassivity towards tremendous life altercations that there wasn’t much else to do than go with him.

“Since you’re providing the champagne, it’s only right that I cook and no exceptions, Thatcher,” she spoke before her mind could process the fact that she was answering. Ava mentally scolded herself for two reasons, the most important being that she just said she would cook when she knew she loved Auggie’s cooking. Second, she was agreeing. He was intoxicating, as he always had been. She had realised how pungent the attachment she had to him was during her first months abroad, but it had gone away only to return like a tub of acid being dropped on her then.

Then her body was moving, and she was walking into the bushes until she came to a random branch and took hold of a spare key and locking the door only to look up into haggard, green eyes that still shone in their natural Augustus splendour. “So tell me… Why so white, Augustus Thatcher? Any new tattoos? Why do you think flamingos are pink? I need answers only you can give, curls.” Intoxicating or not, she would burn in hell with whatever the Devil himself had decided to accept Thatcher with, and she would do it with a smile and hop intact.

[kingthatcher]

littlecrowell:

A laughter of relief sounded from the small girl, no restraint given into the actions coming so naturally in reaction to the vicinity Ava had with him. It was intoxicating; as if every smile – another adding effect to the one ready intact – was another dosage of venom oozing into her bones. The very way she oh so easily became wrapped around his pinky through the comfort she felt in his presence. Like every touch was normal and every conversation, no matter how idiotic or morbid it could get to, was normal. Why was it that Auggie could render her useless with the mere usage of a verbalised word? What gave him the audacity to show up in all of his glory as if it were nothing abnormal? Because, the voice in her mind said as though it were the most obvious of answers. He’s Augustus.

And it was true. He was and is her Thatcher despite the time and distance, both physically and emotionally.

The laughter subsided to a rhythmic giggle, brown eyes rolling at his statement before they playfully widened in a shocked realisation. “Last week… Oh, no, Thatty. The amnesia… It hasn’t stopped!” Ava exclaimed, hands clutching onto his back dramatically. The corners of her mouth turned downwards as her bottom teeth were displayed to reinstate the melodramatic actions she was forth going. Immediately after – a frown never being able to stay intact on Ava Crowell for more than a full minute – a smile glowed onto her lips, though it gradually subsided to a close-lipped smile at his next words.

The last time Thatcher had been in her home, the last time the two of them had shared time together, was when he had told her he had gotten married. Ava quickly averted her impulse to look at his ring finger, refusing to diminish her spirit in the way her mind had taken so long to repress the need to do so in the beginning months of her travels to center herself. Instead, she pulled the strings that controlled her shoulders and forced them upwards in an eccentric shrug and a raise to her eyebrows. “You know, I mounted that boot from the days of my crippled youth. It’s actually in the bathroom in my Maple House,” she informed him as though it were the most important of disclosures.

Auggie was always quick to state what he needed though he was never blunt when it came to emotions. Ava had noticed, over the length of time they’d known each other, he would do anything to sidewind the subject at hand until it slipped from his chained encasement. His inquiry of what they should do now that he had arrived was a prime example. Something was wrong, terribly wrong – and he came to her to fix it, as she always had done and would do. Her petite body pulled away as she cupped her breasts and jiggled them, bowing her head in gratitude. “They say thank you and would like to extend an invitation of finding a random couple to eat or surf with as I was just on my way to do.”

Boobs, of course it’s the boobs. He gives himself the quick grace period to look before clearing his throat, scratching at his chin he nods, “they need my grip of approval…” Don’t do, don’t fucking do it Auggie. Don’t you dare… he can’t remember a time where there was an angel on his shoulder talking him out of every wrong thing he’s done. He is sin personified and seeing Ava, watching her do that just kicks it up a notch. “I could go for some food right about now,” he comments, his hand dwarfs hers and he squeezes lightly – Auggie loves breast. Chicken breast, female breast, nearly A’s he can put his whole mouth on, super huge ones that sag, he doesn’t give a damn. “Is this saline or silicone?” he’s teasing, even if her growth is manufactured, it’s the one thing he isn’t going to judge about. Some greatness isn’t organic – it’s bought.

He can’t stop at one and now he’s got both, shaking them, the slightest pressure of his fingertips pressing down on the soft weights. They probably look crazy, he’s standing in front of her house – anyone can see – groping her breast like he’s TSA or some shit, does he think her tits of glory contain explosives? His cock begs to differ. “I really like Veuve Clicquot now – I have a bottle in my car, why don’t we head to the beach – I need to catch up to your level of tan and walk around? I’ll get hungry eventually.” Nothing screams more ‘normal’ to Auggie than talking a stroll on the beach with Ava, drinking champagne straight from the bottle. “Then I’ll make you something to eat, they cleaned Princess today, I got the text on my way over.” Once he wasn’t living alone he had his boat shipped back to Florida, he couldn’t continue going back and forth between Little Compton and New York – well he could have but he felt like it was useless when his ‘family’ wasn’t going with him.

Auggie couldn’t apologize before because he was happy, truly happy. But happiness is only temporary it seems, because stomach eating guilt he felt the last time he looked into Ava’s eyes is gone. He just feels foolish, foolish in thinking that a new girl, a new city could make everything seem better, different. Boy was he wrong. As weeks and months flickered by and a new routine set in, the glossy sheen of the honeymoon period dulled down and the gross domesticity settled, Auggie figured out he was so wrong, Auggie hates being wrong. He’s always enjoyed the chase; it keeps it interesting, keeps Auggie busy. Naturally people probably get sick of the cat mouse game, sick of reading signals and not getting clear answers. But it’s the unknown that keeps him afloat, his sheer curiosity, the need to be free and disengaged from anything but his own wild endeavors.

Auggie is jealous of Ava, she’s never looked better, probably never lived more than she has lately and it makes him sick to his stomach how he quietly seethes, he’s the youngest at heart – if he can’t have it? no one can. Lennon can attest to that. He wants what she has, that freedom and free will, Ava only has to answer to herself and no one else. There isn’t a husband she has to check in with there isn’t a young child to support. It’s just Ava, living Ava’s life. More than anything he wants to live Ava’s life with her – in any way he can.

[kingthatcher]