Can I just go back to Kingsmouth? No? FML. Pastiche where are you, you suicidal jerk, no I don’t want to know I hope a redcoat killed you out in London.
Where is my cellphone? Fuck.
1
(Source: whisler117)
(via skyatlas)
(Source: paper-hako)
| Not dead yet. |
(Source: thebeautiful-and-thedamned)
The worse part of it isn’t even the hills, or the trees so thick you can barely see through them. It isn’t the smell even though sometimes the things can reek so badly it somehow even permeates my dreams. It’s the water. The water so dark you cannot even see the bottom in the shallowest of pools. It gets into everything. The waterproof case I use for my phone cant even keep the moisture out so the screen is shorting. It has ruined so many of my suits, and fuck- my shoes- these are 400 dollars shoes. I guess it’s my fault, but hell if I will dress like Pasta.
The worse part though is how it gets into my hair. It makes it all stiff, not like product. Like something is in it, like something is pulling and clumping together. It isn’t like beach water, this. It’s something dark and when I wash it out it drains black down the containment cell drain. That’s the worse part. That fucking black water.
(Source: dipliner)
