"I swear to god, I will throw my fucking shoe at you if you don't shut up!"
Brendon is a curious little hybrid who takes a particular shine to Dallon.
Dallon is honestly just trying to have a normal life.
Until Brendon comes along and fucks that up...
Holy shit my dudes, I'm at fucking 3K and that's a massive milestone for this fic! It's not a lot in the eyes of massive fics, but it's alot for me and I thank you all for that! And further more, I'm getting more and more comments and that's fucking awesome! I'll treat you all with a chapter scene of your choice soon (;
Favourite bands: Panic! At The Disco, Fall Out Boy, Twenty One Pilots, My Chemical Romance, All Time Low, The 1975, Green Day, The Brobecks, Queen, AC/DC and like so much more other bands.
I hate myself for this chapter, and for Spencer. I love Spencer so much guys, I just hate the character that I've made him into.
And behold! I haven't been murdered! I finish on the 16th (I also have The 1975 that night so (;) so I will be sure to have another update on the 17th for you wonderful people. Yours truly, your Fairy Gaymother.
****TRIGGERS****
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Since living with Dallon, Brendon has never been a victim of discomfort. Even during the early stages where Dallon was pissed off the the kitten hybrid was taking residency on his livingroom couch, the man still went out of his way to get him a blanket and a towel to dry off. Moving further down the timeline, Brendon had been upgraded to his own bed, his own clothes, his own stuff, until finally he reached the peak of sleeping next to - or on top of - Dallon every night in a large warm bed.
And when he's hurt, whether if he's little or he's being the worlds biggest brat, he's always tended to. It's what Brendon loves the most about Dallon, that even if he's able to look after himself or he's cursing the world and everyone in it, Dallon would still tend to his wounds, still kiss him goodnight, still make him breakfast every morning.
That's the strange part. The part that made Brendon confused, because even if they've argued and fought, Dallon still treats him like royalty, like a prince that needs serving to and never asks for anything back in return. In a way, as much as Brendon loves how Dallon doesn't hold a grudge, it makes him upset to think that must've been the normal thing to happen if he and Breezy ever got into an argument. That he had to be the one that made it up to her, even if she was in the wrong.
Brendon frowns because there's a massive pain in his head and a further pain in his side, his face is smushed against a cold concrete floor that's sure to leave a creak in his neck for about a week. It's odd, because for months now, Brendon has been used to the comforts of the world, and to be landed face first - literally - onto what use to be a familiar concrete, feels so foreign now.
"Where am I?"He croaks, his mouth feeling like cotton wool and his words slurred together as if he's been drinking. He hates that type of feeling, where his mouth is too numb to speak and his head is too sore to think. He's groggily sitting up onto his knees with more struggle than he'd like to admit, pain coursing through his head and his limbs feeling to weak to work on their own. His voice echoes off the walls and bounces back to him, seeming to be speaking to nobody but himself in the hollow, empty room that he's trapped in.
