littlecrowell - Tumblr blog

[littlecrowell]

Hahahhahahahahaha

OH MY GOD I JUST STUMBLED ACROSS THIS ACCOUNT. 

[littlecrowell]

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.

[littlecrowell]

cape cod kwassa kwassa - vampire weekend

is your bed made? is your sweater on? do you wanna like you know i do?

[littlecrowell]

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.

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.

[littlecrowell]

insp

[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."

littlecrowell:

Often times, one doesn’t realize the various things they have been through, the time that has passed, nor the amount of people they have met when something from the past arises. They do say that nostalgia kills, and in the case of being hugged, let alone touched, by a person that had meant the entirety of someone’s life at one point, the emotions can be paralysing - which is exactly what happened to Ava. She couldn’t move, not even bring up her arms to wrap around him in the usual energetic fervor she knew she was capable of. Of how she greeted everyone with. With her face against his stomach, she began to mumble incoherently, not even sure of what she was saying herself – words spilling simply to make a noise. To function or at least do something to know that reality was, indeed, continuing on.

She knew how much he relished in his golden superiority. Every part of him sculpted by Aphrodite to be the most enticing man to walk the Earth… Or however Mikos had told her she was. Hands gained momentum as long digits crawled their way towards the contours of his inner back. The ridges of his spine going up and down along with the muscles surrounding the bones, the familiarity of it coming back as though it never left. His musk mixed with what she knew was Hana’s added smell gave something new to what she remember, not exactly him, but always with something more. Because that’s what Thatty was – never just one thing, always a million.

Fingers dug into his back, nails not intact due to her travels and not necessarily wanting to get them redone – preferring the simplistic nature to her style. Her face pulled away, smile illuminating her already glowing tan features. Face clear of makeup, chin on his stomach… Comfort. Absolute bliss. All of her travels were swiped, all the people she met. The necessity to avert her attention away from the heartbreak she knew she felt, or the happiness she felt for him over his happiness, it was all swiped. Ava let her soul smile through as she smiled up at Auggie, eyes widening slightly with the smile.

She knew he glorified his golden hue. Even in his days of light palour and bruised state, he still made it a known fact that he was the equivalent to a God on Earth, if not more. “My name is Thatcher,” Ava said in a strained, deep tone. “I’m a bronze Bernini, greeting the world in my refined glory.” A laughter, rumbling from deep inside like a machine gun gaining momentum, gradually made its way out as she squeezed her arms to encase his body as best as her thin arms would allow. “I pop in with no hair and deep voice after… “ she stopped, thinking – though she knew exactly how long it had been. “Seven months?”

“Hmm?” The faintest of murmurs reach his ears but it’s undecipherable, unless it’s something of importance, he won’t ask for a clarification. She’s always been a unique one. Auggie once admitted to himself that he broke all the rules for Ava, he can break them again. Why else would he show up? She’s the time capsule for his livelihood, the historian of the best of memories. He doesn’t have to ask her how great it feels to have her close like this again, whatever relief, the warmth not supplied by the sun, he knows she’s feeling it at the same time he is.

He squeezes her shoulders slightly, this is real, she’s human, and this isn’t a dream. Auggie knew he felt something akin to a wayward boat, stubborn in nature he couldn’t keep enough pride to admit Ava is and always will be his anchor, his lighthouse – annoyingly bright colored lightbulbs and encouragement, he can do it, this isn’t a hurdle. Is she going to speak again? Not that he hates the silence, they don’t need words, it’s taken him some time, time sitting on the plane drinking whiskey ginger and looking through old pictures, but the idea that Ava is a permanent piece of yarn woven in Auggie is something he can live with. Something he should have never neglected.  

He can’t help but smile back, it’s genuine, the lifting and curl of his mouth, he can’t let go of her, he doesn’t want to let go of her. He missed that, he missed this, the Florida air and Florida sky. He missed knowing where he was and the familiarity. He’s been lost for so long, wandering aimlessly, merely existing in a shell put on out of habit; maybe he can live now.

“Fuck off,” he chortles, eyes cutting away for a mere second before he’s looking back. He can’t keep his eyes off of her for too long. Knowing she won’t let go he removes an arm, carding a hand through his hair, it’s shorter – much shorter than it was since she’s seen him last. The insecurity stemmed by vanity over the scar on his head is gone, plus long hair is such a hassle during the summer, you get sweaty and it sticks to your neck, it holds heat – so many guys in New York have long hair, actually it’s a thing all over the world and Auggie isn’t one to blend in. “I saw you last week, what are you even saying Crowell? You look good…” Auggie has never been ashamed to say looks matter, because your outward appearance is what the world sees first, Ava could have the personality of the shrillest of women and he’d still think she was beautiful. “I know it’s random but… what are you doing today? last time you were crippled or whatever, this time I want us to hangout properly.”

[littlecrowell]

Often times, one doesn’t realize the various things they have been through, the time that has passed, nor the amount of people they have met when something from the past arises. They do say that nostalgia kills, and in the case of being hugged, let alone touched, by a person that had meant the entirety of someone’s life at one point, the emotions can be paralysing - which is exactly what happened to Ava. She couldn’t move, not even bring up her arms to wrap around him in the usual energetic fervor she knew she was capable of. Of how she greeted everyone with. With her face against his stomach, she began to mumble incoherently, not even sure of what she was saying herself -- words spilling simply to make a noise. To function or at least do something to know that reality was, indeed, continuing on.

She knew how much he relished in his golden superiority. Every part of him sculpted by Aphrodite to be the most enticing man to walk the Earth… Or however Mikos had told her she was. Hands gained momentum as long digits crawled their way towards the contours of his inner back. The ridges of his spine going up and down along with the muscles surrounding the bones, the familiarity of it coming back as though it never left. His musk mixed with what she knew was Hana’s added smell gave something new to what she remember, not exactly him, but always with something more. Because that’s what Thatty was -- never just one thing, always a million.

Fingers dug into his back, nails not intact due to her travels and not necessarily wanting to get them redone -- preferring the simplistic nature to her style. Her face pulled away, smile illuminating her already glowing tan features. Face clear of makeup, chin on his stomach… Comfort. Absolute bliss. All of her travels were swiped, all the people she met. The necessity to avert her attention away from the heartbreak she knew she felt, or the happiness she felt for him over his happiness, it was all swiped. Ava let her soul smile through as she smiled up at Auggie, eyes widening slightly with the smile.

She knew he glorified his golden hue. Even in his days of light palour and bruised state, he still made it a known fact that he was the equivalent to a God on Earth, if not more. “My name is Thatcher,” Ava said in a strained, deep tone. “I’m a bronze Bernini, greeting the world in my refined glory.” A laughter, rumbling from deep inside like a machine gun gaining momentum, gradually made its way out as she squeezed her arms to encase his body as best as her thin arms would allow. “I pop in with no hair and deep voice after... “ she stopped, thinking -- though she knew exactly how long it had been. “Seven months?”

Time. It was nothing in the past months but the most miniscule of strings that were the basis to a basket that held the most richest of fruits and chocolates. First it was Greece -Athens to Rhodes and then to Santorini. Then it was Bulgaria for a week and Romania for another. Belgium and Brussels, those two for two weeks each then Budapest, a whole month there. It’s true that when you travel, you have no past nor a future. You live in the now and whatever comes with each passing moment will suffice for the next and Ava vouched it like no other. She needed it, and Europe became her sanctum after Augustus. The news he had brought left her devastated, how could it not? Auggie was an inferno, always. He tore down everything in his wake and all that could be done was to show the impact he had proudly. And despite the stain that she had been drenched in, Ava couldn’t help but be happy for him despite what it had done to her - and that’s where Europe came in. She lost herself multiple times, both physically and mentally. Anything that came her way, she tried it. Whether it was Mikos or Stefan, escargot and warm beer, Ava went at it with no remorse. Even at the end of her trip, she told the travel agent to pick a random place for her to go, not in America, and she went, only to find out that it was Jamaica when she got there. Living was what she did and the only ties to anything else was done in a call or text. Instead, she surrounded herself with unknown things to her, both with people and surroundings. It was a carefree and naive thing to do, but worth it because things didn’t hurt as much anymore. She was tanned, she was fit, she was actually doing yoga without laughing anymore.. Then she was back in Florida because she couldn’t get away from the beach. And then there he was. Ava was meant to be leaving, going to enjoy a sitting at the beach with whomever she would find to spend the rest of the day with and instead she was met with an exceedingly tall, tattooed man, or more specifically, her face impacting the stomach of the exceedingly tall, tattooed man. “Whoa, stomach, hell… Oh.” Wide, brown eyes looked up in familiar splendour before an eyebrow went up with the side of her lips. “Hello there, Thatcher. Looking as white as ever.”

[littlecrowell]

Time. It was nothing in the past months but the most miniscule of strings that were the basis to a basket that held the most richest of fruits and chocolates. First it was Greece -Athens to Rhodes and then to Santorini. Then it was Bulgaria for a week and Romania for another. Belgium and Brussels, those two for two weeks each then Budapest, a whole month there. It's true that when you travel, you have no past nor a future. You live in the now and whatever comes with each passing moment will suffice for the next and Ava vouched it like no other. She needed it, and Europe became her sanctum after Augustus. The news he had brought left her devastated, how could it not? Auggie was an inferno, always. He tore down everything in his wake and all that could be done was to show the impact he had proudly. And despite the stain that she had been drenched in, Ava couldn't help but be happy for him despite what it had done to her - and that's where Europe came in. She lost herself multiple times, both physically and mentally. Anything that came her way, she tried it. Whether it was Mikos or Stefan, escargot and warm beer, Ava went at it with no remorse. Even at the end of her trip, she told the travel agent to pick a random place for her to go, not in America, and she went, only to find out that it was Jamaica when she got there. Living was what she did and the only ties to anything else was done in a call or text. Instead, she surrounded herself with unknown things to her, both with people and surroundings. It was a carefree and naive thing to do, but worth it because things didn't hurt as much anymore. She was tanned, she was fit, she was actually doing yoga without laughing anymore.. Then she was back in Florida because she couldn't get away from the beach. And then there he was. Ava was meant to be leaving, going to enjoy a sitting at the beach with whomever she would find to spend the rest of the day with and instead she was met with an exceedingly tall, tattooed man, or more specifically, her face impacting the stomach of the exceedingly tall, tattooed man. "Whoa, stomach, hell... Oh." Wide, brown eyes looked up in familiar splendour before an eyebrow went up with the side of her lips. "Hello there, Thatcher. Looking as white as ever."

He doesn’t know why he’s doing this… he does a lot of things he doesn’t necessarily care to think about until hours, days, years after the moment has passed. Auggie doesn’t know why he filled himself up with the notion that he was good, in a decent headspace, living a decent life. This isn’t him… down at the visceral core of Augustus Thatcher Reeves isn’t the person he sees when he looks in the mirror. Pull off the suit, the tattoos, the skin and blood, his soul… it reflects a different story than the fable he’s been trying to sell people these past seven months.  

“I’m happy.”

“She’s the one.”

“I’m so at peace with myself and my demons.”

All lies, utter bullshit. Not even Auggie can escape the idealistic notion that falling love and forging a life with another human can make you a superior being. He’s Auggie Reeves, dammit – the fucker was born superior. He let himself grow yielding and pliant and everything he told himself he would never do.

Sober mind – sober thoughts.

Except the thoughts weren’t real, they were manufactured propaganda he let himself comprehend to get everyone off his back, it’s been a game since day one, when did Auggie lose his dice and place on the playing field? When did he believe that he’s honestly someone that does things the normal way? The one percent isn’t normal. Swathed in opulence and a chemical imbalance encompassing his mind, he didn’t think his life would end up here. Auggie is bored, Auggie is miserable. It was never a lie:  Augustus Thatcher Reeves is full blown human now, with genuine emotions and feelings, he cares about people. Auggie does care about people, he cares about the people closest to him on a basic scale but he will always care about himself the most. That’s why his hands don’t shake anymore and he never sleeps, the aches are gone, the residual ache that racked his body something of a sick memory. It’s safe to say he threw the wagon out of the equation.

Taking these familiar steps to a familiar door isn’t unnerving, there’s a sick comfort knowing she’ll always be somewhere within reach, maybe he has to take plane or drive a car but she’ll always be at the end. That’s loyalty on an infinite level. Auggie didn’t kiss Hana on the cheek before he left, nor did he pack a bag – he’ll figure it out when he needs to. The only thing on his mind is Ava, every time he reflects on the last time he saw her he wants to vomit. It wasn’t him, it wasn’t him and he’s never shown her a façade, he wants to apologize, he wants clarity, he wants to rip the ink off of his ring finger and tell her it was just a joke – a sick joke that he’ll never pull on her again. She’s always been understanding, broad minded, they can laugh it off and pretend it never happened.

She just has to open the door first. 

[littlecrowell]

Ava continued to busy herself, the blocks of vine charcoals dropping to the floor and her own self becoming exasperated that she couldn't hone in her inner acrobatic self to juggle them all in one had like she was capable of. Frustration was apparent as the slight pout of deep though puffed out in appearance. The gradual stages of emotions were coming in waves, first paralysed shock, then regaining her thoughts which gradually shifted into rejection and now it was the storm of denial. Denial that he'd found happiness, but not in her. Something that Ava tried so desperately to be ignorant about but knew was there all along. Over their time, Thatcher had grown a dependency on her, but it was Ava that had done the same. She was simply the one still addicted to him.

Hearing his words though, brown eyes finally looked up at his face -- taking the last step to realisation. It was nervous Auggie, and at a time, it was her favourite Auggie and she immediately regretted how she was reacting, even though she couldn't help it. "Don't... Don't apologise," Ava finally said, sighing out a smiling and look down at her filled hands. She dropped everything into an empty basket she just had lying there and lifted her hands to him and wrung them out. "It's like Ash Wednesday in here... It was driving me loco crazy." The longing in his face, the frantic eyes, the increased shifting in his chest, all signs to anxiety in which the necessity to better him was intact. "A happy and... M-Married Augustus Thatcher Reeves? Can I get a praise Jesus, Halelujah?" Ava offered him a smile that didn't quite meet her eyes despite how hard she tried and looked around, "Or maybe a glass of wine in toast?"

Her reaction is making him regret this. He wants to tell her to lay back down, not to over exert herself but he doesn’t have that right anymore. Or did he ever have it? He hasn’t been married that long and wonders if he told her too soon, jinxing things. Is there such a thing as a marriage jinx? Auggie wants to apologize, apologize for every time he told her he loved her when he really loved the idea of her. Ava is the ideal woman when you put her on paper: passionate and thorough. Loyal even when all the signs point to his guilt she would still have his back. She was the only one who didn’t look at him like the piece of shit he felt in that hospital bed. He wouldn’t be the man he is today without her and and he’ll be forever indebted. Too bad he can’t pay her back with a love she deserves, Oliver wasn’t right for her but neither is Auggie. So he��s honestly lost as he wills himself not to have an anxiety attack in Ava’s bed. “I feel like I should apologize but I’m actually really happy for the first time in what feels like forever so I can’t say I’m sorry.” Not that Ava didn’t make him happy, she did, she was amusing and the chemistry was there, he can’t make up excuses as to why it wasn’t them in Hawaii, that it wasn’t Ava he vowed to never let go to bed angry. He doesn’t want For Better or Worse with her and that’s the plain cold truth. 

[littlecrowell]

The silence between them was comforting, Ava knowing like these would be sparse because they had been growing to be so over the course of the previous months. So she burrowed her head deeper into the indention just below his collarbone, listening to the distance common beach sounds entwined with the low hum of Thatty’s voice. Ava listened to him speak about Hawaii, imagining herself with both feet fully functional and in the white sands, eating shaved ice while looking off into the distance and seeing one of the islands with storm clouds while there was a cozy sun beating down on her. The sound of his voice was rhythmic. Like listening to the low baritones of a serenading, yet exciting, symphony piece. How he spoke of a wedding and how it was good luck to have it rain at one -- something Ava always told clients if it my chance drizzled on their day. Brown eyes watched the movement of his hand come down, slightly hypnotized by the size and grandeur of long digits and the swollen black and pink glistening from the tattoo.

The sense of delayed shock was strong in her mind to the point where it took him nearly finishing his speech before Ava realised that her forehead was hurting from the deeply etched scowl corrupting the skin. She had involuntarily inched her way off of Auggie’s shoulder, feeling cold on the place that was just warm. Her hands were hanging awkwardly in the air, reminding her of someone who had burned their hands and it hurt to do anything other than just have them there. Despite the scowl on her face, Ava’s eyes were wide open. Both in disbelief and the greatest repudiation. Her mind was rejecting what he was telling her because it wasn’t true, not with Thatcher. It was a prank before the grand scheme he had plotted. However something inside Ava told her that Auggie wasn’t lying. That he was being serious.

Once his hands clasped together, Ava recoiled at the sight of them slightly. She hadn’t looked at his face, nor did she want to, because despite people saying that Augustus Thatcher was a monotone sort of person when it came to emotions, she knew they were there. She could tell apart the slight differences when they came and left. He was, after all, one of her favourite people and Ava was an avid member of the People Watching Club. Ava knew that if she looked at his face, the ramblings he’d just ensued would be true. So, instead, her own trembling hands -- which she hadn’t noticed were quaking -- lowered and moved to grab a hold of his hands, cupping them before numbly grabbing for his left hand to inspect the fresh tattoo. Her touch was gentle, but it was due to fear that she’d break if she pressed her full touch to him.

Something inside of her snapped then, seeing the design and Ava shook her head, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth to stop the exhale of pain that was bound to escape. Her head continued to shake as her eyes were turned toward the floor and she attempted to hoist herself into a sitting position with great difficulty. With her hands exerting themselves as she pushed herself up, the youngest Crowell stood, busying herself so that she wouldn’t cry -- willing herself not to cry or show any form of defeat to Auggie. He had, after all, confided to her what he had only told one other, but now she felt like it was too strong of a weight she could hold, and she could usually hold a lot. Ava shuffled around, clumsily gathering her charcoals and paints, still not looking at Thatty and still staying silent. Silence wasn’t something Ava did, ever. It wasn’t in her books to, but now, it was the only thing her mind was allowing her to do.

It breaks his heart, how smitten she is. Why is it the good ones go for trash? He honestly doesn’t get it, Ava can do better than him, Hana can do better than him yet here he is, two women equally amazing and too worthy of his time. The need to retort is on his tongue — that he is a monster. One who’s done bad things and even if he’s realized that this? He’ll still do them, you can’t have a near death experience and commit to a life of godliness and charity. Not that he’s devoted his life to religion and gives to charity, but he’s not going to change overnight. At least he can admit that to himself. “Hawaii was nice… It rained a couple times but my grandmother says when it rains on someone’s wedding day that it’s good luck…” He trailed off, not wanting to disturb her on his shoulder and pull out the wedding band he wore on a simple chain around his neck he put his hand on his thigh for her to see, the still healing band of ink circling his ring finger. “Hana put a ring on it,” he whispered. “Well no — it was my idea, I gave her a ring first.” He smiles faintly at the memory, Hana’s shocked silence as he produced the ring, it was an impulsive move, something Auggie is an expert at and no one knows if they’ll last. He wants them too but who knows what the future holds for them. “You’re the second person I’ve told. Well the first person I’ve told properly, Lennon doesn’t count.” He isn’t entirely sure when Lennon will count anymore. He doesn’t like it but Auggie takes his brothers words and views on him seriously. For him to say he only gets grumpy around Auggie and not take Auggie’s attempt at getting his life together really affects his recovery. 

The pain wanting Auggie to just succumb to the cravings that make his hands shake and his body ache. He doesn’t know what real pleasure is anymore, but someone, anyone giving him the genuine lauding he desperately craves for just trying to be like everyone else and be sober is enough for him not to touch the stuff (for now.) “Maybe we should have waited a little bit longer to get married but it felt right in the moment… Kinda like when you jump into a pool for the first time.” Not that Auggie has stepped into a body of water since he overdosed but you never forget the first time you do something new and exciting. “It’s scary but once you get used to the water and tread a little you realize how stupid it was to worry.” That was what being with Hana was like, what was a petty obsession with a taken girl festered and spread like a virus until he was completely infected and he didn’t want a vaccine. “I know I get bored easily but I really want this to work out…” He finishes his spiel and clasps his hands together when he realizes they’re shaking and swallows; he isn’t really ready for her reaction.

[littlecrowell]

It was odd, the sentimentality occurring, but it was uplifting nonetheless. Thatty's body language was telling Ava that something immense was on his mind, but being the person she naturally was, she wouldn't grapple onto it and yank it out of him. It'd come out when he wanted to. A trust had developed between the two in a whole different form than what they had before. A sort of bond between them that only seemed to grow even though they weren't technically each other's -- even though Ava would like for them to be -- but that was life. Things happened, different paths were walked on constantly, and new relationships came along with it. Hana made Auggie happy now, and that's really all Ava ever wanted -- him happy. She knew he deserved it even at the cost of her own loss.

The small girl still popped a smile and leaned into his massive shoulder making her feel even more minuscule than she naturally felt. "But a loving one, nevertheless," Ava spoke in her tone that showed she was meant to be wise. Her head rested upon his shoulder, the mixture of bone and muscle a comfort that she always found as her hand lifted and went towards his hair, putting her fingers into the cavern of courts before pulling upwards. "Lennon may think you're this monster, but that doesn't mean you have to, okay? You're the farthest from it, Thatcher. I mean, in the dark you do look a little scary but hey, perk of being 6'5. But you've got this heart that has seen so many things and it's still beating and trying to make you happy, and that's what counts, 'kay?" Ava said, patting his head then bringing her hand down to rest on her stomach only to begin making patterns with the residual charcoal on her fingertips.

"So violent this one," he mutters with a chuckle. He doesn’t want to lose this. A sense of friendship and rapport they’ve managed to maintain since the lack of sex. Auggie doesn’t have many true friends, acquaintances yes, fellow rich kids he grew up with, sure. But not an actual friend he can be himself around. He had no choice when he first met Ava, getting swept up in her Crowell charm in and outside of the bedroom. He can’t lose that, he refuses to. He’s already lost Lennon and basically everyone else except Hana and Raleigh. He doesn’t know what to do if he has to add Ava to that list. 

It’s been so long since he’s felt guilt and it hits him like a ton of bricks, every moment between them was real and he’ll never regret it. He’s slowly come to grips with his actions and how they have consequences, sanity and empathy growing on him like spores of mold; it’s gross, he’s not particularly fond of the green and fuzz but he’s grown tolerable to this realization. That his disassociation, his depersonalization  so deep that he had grown so accustomed to being this empty shell of an human, only using the human capabilities for his own personal gain; it’s gone. Augustus Thatcher Reeves is full blown human now, with genuine emotions and feelings, he cares about people, he cares about Ava and knows this won’t end well. 

[littlecrowell]

Auggie would be the one in the leopard, gold g-string while ironing.

[littlecrowell]

Ava playfully slapped at Auggie, but in no way meant any malice. That was how he spoke and she was beyond used to it now, even saying things as he would simply because she was used to it -- and in no way condoned any sort of labour shops whatsoever. As he began to speak of her recovery, she gave him a kind smile in return to his words. The smile only widened as he compared the lifestyles to how they were in the hospital to how they were outside and Ava couldn't stop the warmth she felt about the subject.

Ava knew what they did, and Auggie knew what they did. Why he was reminiscing on their past, she had no clue, but it made her feel blissful. "Well, you know what they say, "A dose of Ava a day, keeps the doctor away!" she laughed but settled herself before continuing, "But I know, you just have to keep the right mindset and not allow your brain to become as crippled as your injury. You've got one strong brain there, Thatty, you amazing little thing. Your days were filled with you living and realising that you were living and not surviving... I'll be doing that, too, and no sixteen soiree will stop me. Or, you know... You're nineties fashion."

"If it’s less than twenty years old? Yes, vintage is fine. I still prefer my clothes brand new embedded with the tears of a malnourished child who made it for me but everyone is allowed to have their opinion." He finally realizes her boot was decorated and chuckles, "a fashionable cyborg," he supplies easily. Leaving back against his palms he wets his lips, jaw tight. "The weeks will fly by… When I was in hospital —" he pauses, "actually no. It felt like the days were longer than ever. But once I got out and I was in Rhode Island…" here comes the memories they made together flooding his mind, "the days started ending faster than I’d liked." 

He studies her, “you’re resilient, you’ll bounce back.” But he knows she already knows this.  

[littlecrowell]

@avazing: I'm wet!

[littlecrowell]

Ava rolled her eyes at Thatty's retort, letting out a cross between a bewildered snort and exasperated sigh. "Oh, so now vintage is okay to wear. Okay, Okay. I'm going to remember that next time I go to a shop," she threatened playfully and clicked her tongue when tapped the boot. She didn't speak though, instead, a frown etching onto her brow and her eyes grazing over his sharp features  for any signs of distress. "He would cover up dark circles so freaking good by how much he conceals," Ava thought in her head, but she wouldn't press him any further. If it was bothering her out of all people on how the events were displayed last night, they surely upset Thatty, but nevertheless, he'd speak of it if he wanted to.

Her brown eyes followed his green ones as he looked upon the black, jewel-embellished boot and she smirked as she leaned forward to pick up her leg at the knee and bring it to cross of her undamaged leg. "I'm going to sue my ballet instructors from when I was... Five. Psh, letting me down in my time of need." Ava crossed her arms and put them behind her head as she laid back down. "I'd still be able to work but 'no stress on the foot' blah, blah, blah. Whatever. The doctor says six weeks since the ankle is stable and in which case I don't need to become all cyborg meets Final Destination -- though that would be pretty cool -- so no screws, but ya. Five more weeks, but I have a feeling your lungs may need a boot because you keep sighing. Wanna borrow mine? It has studs."

"It’s not last night, it’s vintage," he quips, tugging at the collar of his shirt. Last night put so much in perspective for the youngest triplet. He’s so… upset, with himself, mostly. He’s distraught and confused, not used to feeling hurt and remorse. A sober mind bringing forward an onslaught of sober thoughts, all these months later he still can’t sleep in the dark, still wonders what if. He’s not used to hearing the sound of his own voice in his head, grown comfortable with the white noise. He sighs, “vintage is in, if I stand correct — which I always am…” 

He takes the seat, opting to hand over the flowers personally, his hands shake and her question couldn’t be timed any more perfectly. “I’m fine,” he lies. It’s so easy to lie, at least one part of the old AT is still in there. “Lennon has been telling me how I’m trash since he figured out I can’t do a lay up like him, I’m not fazed by that.” He knocks on the boot gently, “I always thought you had so much grace… Come to my surprise you aren’t ice proof.” He’s staring at her boot, sighing. “How long are you out of commission? It’ll be some girl’s sweet sixteen soon and you’ll have to feed the masses of spoiled brats jealous that they’re dad wouldn’t hire catering for their soiree.” 

[littlecrowell]

As if the night had gone out with the verve to win worst night ever would be an understatement. Throw a dash of awkwardness and a healthy dose of brotherly vendetta and you would have the Reeves brothers have a pissing match. However, this time around, Ava was quite proud to see that the youngest triplet actually had a good heart in him that night despite everything that was thrown at him, but, of course, she knew how disheartening it was to have someone keep bringing up his past. Auggie was growing from what had happened and since returning back home, it was eating away at her that even Lennon couldn't see that. "That little turd," Ava huffed, indenting her canvas with charcoal only to rub away at it with her fingers before bringing the paint brush to it.

The sounds of the ocean outside were different than the honking and combustion of the city, and in a way, it was weird, but she still loved it. Footsteps outside signified that someone was in the alley and hearing the gate open, Ava sat up to see who it was only to see the exceedingly tall, familiar form. A smile beamed on her already tanned face -- making no waste of the sunny weather -- as she saw Thatty walk in. "Oo, last night's clothes, eh?" she cooed, bobbing her shoulders up and down. Her nose scrunched at the gifts only to stay the same as she laughed. Ava flourished her arm, inviting him to sit before awkwardly sitting more upwards and setting the canvas on the coffee table. "Such the kindest of kindred men, thank you.. But, eh. Here. Stumped. Cripped out. The usual. But, is it okay if I ask you how you're holding up, Reeves?" she questioned, fingers already crawling towards the chocolate box.

He hasn’t slept, still in the suit (wrinkled now)he wore the night before, sunglasses on because he can’t handle the sun. The residual pain at the base of his neck prompting him to roll his shoulders as he limps down the hall. Flowers and her favorite chocolates in hand he’s nervous, he doesn’t know why he is but his feet keep screaming at him to turn around and walk away, don’t do this. But he has to, Thatcher has never felt like this before. It isn’t an overnight change and he’ll never really be a nice guy but… Hana deserves better than him and he’s going to fake it until everyone believes he’s that guy. 

He stops in front of the door and sticks his head in with a carefree grin, “knock knock?” he chuckles before letting himself in. “I brought get well soon gifts,” he states holding up the chocolate and flowers. “Would have brought you a little booze juice but I wasn’t sure if you were taking pain medication or not…” Eyeing the paint he tosses the chocolate on the bed. “How you holding up Crowell?” 

[littlecrowell]

i cry for days over this.