GOD TUMBLR, YOU CAN’T JUST GO FLINGING EAMES AT PEOPLE, GOD, IT’S 8 IN THE MORNING AND ARTHUR IS STILL BLEARY-EYED AND IRASCIBLE AND INCOHERENT AND HE NEEDS AT LEAST THREE CUPS OF COFFEE TO BE FUNCTIONAL ENOUGH TO COUNTERBALANCE THAT FACE AND THOSE LIPS AND THAT HIDEOUS BLAZER AND oh god he wants to touch his face right now, and run his fingertips over his lips, and—and—RIGHT BACK TO WORK. AND COFFEE. LOTS AND LOTS OF COFFEE.
- “why Arthur hates mornings, a mini-fic”
(Source: bearded-ness, via fuckyeahtomhardy)