UNDER EDITING BUT IT IS DONE
George had always been into vintage things, so it doesn't surprise his mother when he ends up buying a house built in the 1900's, oh but George was so naive thinking he was alone.
"It was my 21st birthday, and i had gotten home drunker than hell because y'know it was my 21st and i could drink now that i was old enough, and i saw my dad, i had sobered up quicker than you could snap, i never had a good relationship with my dad, he hated gay people and i was bi, he had found out the hard way, and then, at 11:35PM, November 1st 2000, my own father shot me in the head, because i had kissed another boy,"
(no this has nothing to do with flowers from 1970, this is my idea (i think) and i wanted to share it)
TW'S INCLUDE: PANIC ATTACKS, DEATH, BLOOD, ABUSE, VIOLENCE, SEXUAL THOUGHTS AND ACTIONS, MENTIONS OF RAPE.
For the past two years, the only dreams George has had the pleasure of having were horrible, horrible nightmares.
These nightmares always had five things in common.
In every one, each and every person he cared about died in an excruciatingly painful way.
In every one, George was tied up, and there were lacerations all across his chest that bled but didn't hurt.
In every one, there was someone cackling in the background.
In every one, there was something there. Something he could never remember the details of when he woke up.
And lastly, that something would always lick his wounds slowly, savoring his blood and fear before whispering a promise in his ear.
"I'll see you soon, Georgie."
[DREAM NOT FOUND FIC, INSPIRED BY WIZARDSTOVE'S DREAM DEMON DESIGN]