Crying Violently - Tumblr Posts
Simon Riley is the type to mutter, “Suit yourself,” when you ask him if you can call him something cute.
You could call him Shithead all day, for all he cares. It wouldn’t dent that invisible iron door in his chest, because he doesn’t give a shit what you say or don’t say about him, what you like or don’t like. He’s his own island, he doesn’t need your good opinion or anyone else’s.
But what he doesn’t know about you, is that you’re fucking annoying. It starts soft as little “baby”s and “sweetie”s, and of course he doesn’t even bat an eyelash. Just the usual puppy love bullshit, it’ll wear off.
But then you start slipping in the “my favorite person in the whole world”s and the “precious thing”s, and he’s narrowing his eyes a little, growing uncomfortable with how that settles something stuffy in his lungs. It’s a little too far for his liking, but he did say you could call him anything. And he is, well, incredibly competitive. So he decides he can take it.
“Delicious lil guy,” you whisper into his neck after you’ve given him a good chomp.
“Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” you sigh, running your hands through his wet hair after a shower.
“Sweet little baby cupcake,” you mumble when he wraps himself after you after getting home from work past midnight.
All heartfelt and honest, and unfortunately for him, stone cold sober.
“Have you seen me?” he finally demands one night, after you’ve kissed all over his face and told him how perfect it is.
You frown down at him, a little confused. “…yes?”
“I’ve got— fucking—“ he makes a gesture with his hand, indicating his face.
You narrow your eyes and really squint, trying to figure out what he’s getting at.
“Scars,” he finally huffs.
“Oh, yeah.” You smile down at him, tracing the history of violence with your eyes. “I forgot about those.”
“You forgot?”
“I haven’t really noticed them since like the first few weeks. Aren’t brains funny?”
Puppy love, he reminds himself, as you settle into his arms and sigh happily. This slicing pain in his chest and the burning in his eyes… this is puppy love. It’s totally normal to feel like he’d rather throw himself off a building than see you hurt. It doesn’t matter that he spends his time before falling asleep just thinking about you, inventing new ways to make your life better in any way he can conceive.
That’s normal. Right?
tim is a dog that chose, chooses, and will forever choose his master. he’s a guard dog. he would be allowed on the bed, if and when he ever asks. he rarely does, keeps himself curled up in his bed at the fire. he isn’t kept close to heel once he grows enough to be comfortable wandering, because when his master whistles, he comes. he’s loyal—the hand that feeds him and pats him is the same as the one chokes him and hurts him, but he will never bite it. he eyes it, wary, but doesn’t flinch from it. he chooses this. he will take it all as it comes. he knows his master hurts him because he’s sick. he is a guard dog, but before that, he’s his master's dog. he’s a support animal. he’s a pet. he guards, because that’s what his master’s pets do. he’s loyal. he cannot blame a sick man for being sick.
kon is a work dog, a sheepdog. he guards. his master, the shepherd, isn’t around. he has handlers. they are not kind, but kon is not a family dog. he expects this, and to him they are kind. he knows no better. kon doesn’t know the warmth of a fire, except when his master's parents allow him in when he comes with the sheep. he takes his lack of supervision as trust, as freedom, wears it as pride. he still comes when he’s whistled for. he doesn’t like how his handlers turned him into a showdog, he wants to work, but he is forced to like it. it gives him purpose. when his master, or no, the shepherd comes, he tells him he did a good job, he takes him into town. then he is glad to act as a show dog. then he is happy. but the moments are fleeting. he doesn’t let himself mind. he’s a worker. there are sheep to be guarded.