(almost no interruptions) When a lonely child by the name of Clay and the nickname of Dream discovers a Mermaid Prince as lonely as he is, they grow to become best friends on the outside, with a few tiny feelings on the inside. How the hell are supp...
lmao the title has nothing to do with the chap but i love the sound of "Sin City" and blinding lights a great song
Summary: this tweet i saw in a video and fell head over fucking heels with<333
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also if the watermark gets in the way sorry! but i think you get the basic idea
◌༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈•༶-◌
(also i used https://www.coolsymbols.us/ for the border its really good)
The sun was partially blocked by clouds, creating a misty and tired aura in London.
It was a normal morning. Well, for most people. For a certain British brunette, this was the start to something he would never forget for all his years on earth. He had woken up to Dog barking like a psychopath, probably at a squirrel or something, and was getting a really bad headache.
As the protagonist of our story, George Davidson, woke up to the incessant noise, he asked himself why the hell he had decided to live in an area with so much foot traffic even when he knew how easy it was to rile Dog up. She barks at anything and everything, or even for no reasons at all. However, he had woken up much later than usual because of a long, late-night stream, and Dog was probably just hungry.
"Jeez, how long can she go before having to stop and take a breath?" George mumbled to himself, throwing the heavy sheets off himself and standing up. It was incredible how much endurance she had that morning considering sometimes she could barely walk down the block for a little exercise.
As he swung the door open, a chill ran down his hoodie and engulfed his back, all the way to his baby blue socks. And then, his mortal enemy appeared.
A mild inconvenience. (lmao same dude)
Yeah, as he stepped through the doorframe he forgot what he had to do and stood there like a dope for 10 minutes trying to remember what he had to do.
A sharp barking snapped him back to reality.
Oh right. Feed Dog. Why have I been forgetting things more often?
New POV: Dream.
A cold sigh left me, and I remembered sitting at the window sill as a child, drawing shapes into the condensation that would collect on cold days thanks to the steam leaving my mother's boiling showers. Elegant and sweet lady, my mother. Even if she is a tiny bit high-maintenance. I wish I could still feel all the things I could when I was still alive. You're never thankful for what you have until it's taken away. I'm pretty sure that's what they wrote on my tombstone.
