#angst overload

[odd-birds-and-booksellers]

I’d rather try and find a needle in a haystack then try and find fluff in a Taylor Swift song...

[elvenbean]

- Do you think Sherlock did it? - She would never kill anybody!

[randomly-random-jen]

When Clarke reaches for Niylah's hand, he can't take it anymore. He knows he's being a jealous, petty ass, but it's been a crappy couple of days. After everything, he can't watch the two of them together no matter how platonic their relationship might be. He collects Heaven's scraps despite her protests. "Come on, you can finish it in the office. I need to check something out."

from an upcoming chapter of Heaven Can’t Wait

[peachhoneii]

When you read too many angsty Duck Canons:

[brookebond]

Arthur methodically cleaned out the apartment, putting all the furniture into storage. He figured he would spend the next few months somewhere else, trying desperately to get Paris out of his system. He planned to try every trick in the book to forget Eames, even if it meant sleeping with a slew of people. Arthur was desperate.

Eventually there was nothing left bar a metal trash can and the box of Eames’ things. It seemed fitting, really, that Eames would be the last memory in the apartment. It seemed right.

He sat on the floor and upended the box. The move reminded him of before he’d taken the job Eames showed up on and his heart ached. So many months had passed and the wound still felt as fresh as it had then.

Arthur picked up the t-shirt and lifted it to his face, sighing softly at the faint scent that still lingered. He rubbed the fabric between his fingers, a calming action that was meant to stop his eyes stinging but didn’t help in the slightest.

“Are you at least going to leave the flat before you burn it down?”

Arthur froze, the t-shirt still at his face. Of all the times Eames could have chosen to go back to their apartment, he had to do it when Arthur was being pathetic.

“Get out.”

“No.”

Arthur dropped the t-shirt and pushed himself off the floor. He knew he looked like a mess. He’d worn his oldest pair of jeans that were ripped at the knees, a threadbare t-shirt, and he was barefoot. His hair was a mess in that way that made him look like an errant teenager. He knew because he hadn’t bothered with his appearance that morning and because of the way Eames’ eyes lingered on him as though Arthur was something precious to look at. It was the way Eames used to look at him when they were happily together.

“Get. Out,” he repeated, unhappy that Eames had shoved himself where he wasn’t wanted.

“Arthur, we need to talk.”

“And you thought breaking into my apartment was the way to go about that?” Eames winced and Arthur revelled in it. “There is literally nothing I want to say to you. You made it perfectly clear—”

“If you have nothing to say, why are you still talking?” Eames countered, raising a brow. His earlier weakness was gone and the fire that Arthur loved so much was rising again. “You are going to let me talk and you are going to listen. Then, once I’ve said everything I need to, then we are going to talk.”

[weireir]

Here’s a lovely manga compilation of Shadow Torture Porn for all the sickos who enjoy seeing the character in constant pain and agony:

Does misery = depth and artfulness on its own? No, but emos seem to think so. Any sane, well-adjusted person would frankly say, “this is too much.”

[marsmaru]

Me: I should attempt at writing something light-hearted.

Me: *proceeds to write angst*

Me at Me: Why are you like this???????????

[theamazingworldoffandomfics]

This fic...

Who ever requested the fic I’m working on, I hope you like it. It’s making me teary eyed and I’m freaking writing it.

ANGST OVERLOAD