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@drabbledreams
Hi friend hope college is going well :) I was just going through my old bookmarks and remembered this blog and it kind of made my day so thanks :) xx
!!!!! this is so sweet omg
college is going well!!!! itās a lot of work but I really love it here I just donāt get a lot of downtime (finding time to workout is hell) (no one said sophomore year was gonna be so busy)
I hope everything is going well for you too <3 <3 <3 <3Ā
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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hey friends hope all is well keeping the arthur/eames spirit alive I see
Hope I'm In Your Thoughts Next Time You Log In
my secret santa gift for smugrobotics!! College AU where Eames hosts a segment on the uni radio show and Arthur is drunk on his voice. also on ao3
ā
āThatās it for tonight; thanks for listening. Donāt forget to follow my journey to self-discovery as documented in my blogālinks are listed in the official website. Have a lovely night, all.ā The voice is warm and low; Arthur can just imagine the speaker smiling, even if heās never seen Eames, whoever he is. Eames just has a really nice voice with a really nice accent, no, Ariadne, he is not infatuated with this guy.
Arthur just happens to like Eamesā radio show, thatās all. The segment, part of the universityās radio program, starts at seven in the evening every night. Eamesā program is an advice show, but it often turns into something of a missed connections programācallers complaining about being too shy to talk to the guy from the library or the girl who dropped her books in the quad, if youāre listening to this, can you please call me at this number?
Eamesā voice aside, Arthur genuinely finds Eames to be pleasant. Heās kind and thoughtful and always gives great advice, making sure to give out hotline numbers for questions that he thinks are more than he should be handling. From the show, Arthur has only been able to gather that Eames is a sophomore whose least favorite class is physics.
Which, yeah. Arthur can definitely relate to that sentiment.
All Arthur wants is for Eames to slip up about his romantic lifeāsingle? Crushing? Committed? Heās been listening for months, but Eames really does his best to make sure his segments are never about him.
Which is why Arthur finds himself googling the universityās radio show, going on the site, and searching for Eamesā blog. The link takes him to Eamesā tumblr, and Arthur clicks Follow before even reading any of Eamesā posts.
Keep reading
my heart is pierced by Cupid
āHow could you?ā she cries, the salty ocean air heavy on her tongue.Ā
Heās so beautiful, so earnest, red hair gleaming in the sun, and he pleads, āForgive me, my love.ā She opens her mouth to respond and one of the men pushes her over the edge, and she falls into the glittering, unforgiving sea.
i disdain all glittering gold
She begins to scout for them. Redheads. All the better if heās freckled--they look just like him from beneath the waterās surface.
From there, she is unforgiving. Just like the sea.
there is nothing can console me
Framing the boyās face with her hands, she croons to him. He looks at her in earnest, and she knows he would do anything for her. He would, she knows, let her drown him. In that moment, he looks just like him, her sailor, and she pulls the boy to the ocean floor.
but my jolly sailor bold
a letter to my future anything
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ā¢ No registration required ā¢ HD streaming
HAPPY NEW YEAR sorry I'm never on hope all is well!!
Hi how's college going? I hope you're having a good time!! xx
COLLEGE IS GREAT COLLEGE IS BUSY hi yes hello thank you for asking this is v v sweet I greatly appreciate it <333333333
going through a divorce au arthur/eames
nooooooooo
okay
ā
Itās a Friday night and Arthurās at home.Ā
Well, his new apartment that doesnāt reallyĀ feel like home yet, you know? But this is it. Home.Ā
Years ago, Arthur wouldāve been out with friends on a Friday night. Actually, if things had been different, he probably would be out right nowāexcept heās used to the married life, where Friday nights morphed into nice dinner, into wine and dim lights, into really,Ā really good sex.
Okay, so married Friday nights eventually evolved into mostly silent dinners marked by āHow was work?ās and hums and lights out at 11 PM. But hey. Marriage.Ā
His brain momentarily wanders to Eames, wonders if heās having sex, if heās eating alone, if heās having sex while eating? (What the actual fuck, his brain supplies.)Ā
No, no. Eames is living his life, and Arthur is living his. (Okay, so heās not reallyĀ living, but he so will. Live. Soon.)
Arthur sighs and heads to the bedroom, knowing his Friday night is over. He clambers underneath the dark brown covers, hoping that Eames is having just as hard of a time being aloneānot because he wants to be vindictive, but because it would be even more painful if he was the only one hurting in this.
I'm so glad you've started posting again! I missed seeing your poetry on my dash! xx
thank yooooooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuu :*********
I thought that maybe Iād be sorry
when everything was said and done.
But after blood filled your mouth
and my tears killed out
even the prettiest lights in the city,
Iād have to say that the only thing I regret
is letting your lips touch mine.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ā¢ No registration required ā¢ HD streaming
She is young and reminds me of a sister, tells me that she had almost gotten raped in the hallway at school last week, but had kicked him and gotten away. I can tell that she sees, now, in the same bruising hues that I do. I know that where my hands gently hold hers, she sees purpling near the edges, know that every time she sees a boy who looks like him, she will see red in his eyes. Iām tired of the dreams where my fists are futile, where my limbs are heavy and all I see are shadows. The hands that touch me feel like cement and they grind me into the ground. All of me is tired. Iām tired of being a constant "radical force" in an area where "feminism" is the real f-word. Iām tired of being scared when the sun starts to set, keys clutched tightly between my fingers and fear setting my jaw like a modern-day Boudica, Celtic Warrior Queen, clutching her sword and fury tightening her hold. I'm tired of the statistics, of the exploited assaults retweeted with approval, of the constant planning in case of an attack. All of me is tired. But I will continue this way; I will continue being a fucking feminist, spewing bloody words. Taste it. It tastes like fear. It tastes like fury.
"i keep my knife in the front pocket of my purse," drabbledreams
I changed my theeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeme maybe I should change my icon
Iāve always struggled with feeling guilty over my past, or rather, feeling bad about feeling bad about my past I've had a personal relationship with emotional abuseā sheās pretty, sure, but her lips are painted red with poison (my mother and her were pretty tight) I wonder if thereās a group for kids whoāve lost parents to addictions because wouldnāt it be nice to be able to flash a card at someone instead of having to explain to them that your father got drunk, as his habit was, and fell down some stairs and broke his neck āHi, I belong to the āDPDAā (Dead Parent Due to Addiction) groupā flash a smile move on Or maybe the āI Had an Absentee Parent and Make Self-Deprecating Jokes About My Lifeā group The problem with people is that even long after theyāve lost the ability to leave marks on your skin, they still manage to leave marks through headaches and torn fingernails and shitty poetry written hunched over a computer at hours of the night you should be avoiding
"hi, and welcome to the Self-Deprecation is My Coping Method groupādonāt worry, we wonāt leave you like my dad left us when I was a kidāBA DUM TISS," drabbledreams
I wish I could love as Orpheus, as Cupid, as Alcyone, but I'm rather afraid that I'm the serpent, the hot oil, the violent sea; your pretty hands cannot tame me.
he smiles at you and you can't tell if the fire in his eyes is for you or from the sunset
you hope it's for you-- even though he doesn't get your heart racing like the stories say, even though he's all wrong and his hair is too short and his hands are smaller than you'd like-- the feeling of being wanted is enough for now
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch ā¢ No registration required ā¢ HD streaming
sooooooo it's been a while huh
but I've got some stuff heading this way so be on the lookout for some shitty poetry :))))))))))))))
Your touch is gentle but when I look at the knife on your desk, strapped in its holster, I remember when you hesitantly told me that you black out when angered. ("You okay?" you ask. "Yeah," I say, my eyes straying from the knife to your large hands.) And I hope that you wouldĀ never hurt me, but the flash of fear is enough to make me want to run-- the same fear that makes me wrap my fingers around my pocketknife when I walk in parking lots, the fear that makes me run to the door in darkness. ("Why are you breathing so hard?" you ask. "Heavy groceries," I reply.)
