#dog training sydney

[tomsavoca]

Importance of the first 18 months in a dog's life

As a high number of our clients have puppies or dogs between 2 and 18months old, we thought we might shine a bit more light on what’s going on. Just to clarify one often asked question; dogs older than 18months can certainly be trained, we have successfully trained dogs up to 12 years old. To get started, the first 18 months of a dog’s life are crucial for their overall development and…

[eazydogtrainer]

Online Puppy Class

My Online Puppy School Will Teach You How To Socialise And Train Your Puppy In A Positive Way. Follow A Professional Training Plan And succeed.

[teamseaslug]

Nvm it's cause she's a Swiftie and when she asked for my preferences I said "anything but Swift please, otherwise you're good" and she just doesn't know what to play now

[delicrieux]

—𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭, ch.1: things of present and future importance

pairing—carmy berzatto x f!reader genre—drama, romance, age gap, boss/employee relationship warnings for this chapter—trauma, anxiety, swearing, and sum depression as dessert word count—2k

uh-oh, carmen is losing it again, this time in front of his new employee, too. 

author’s note: give me this wet dog of a man and give him to me NOWWWWWWWW

masterlist | buy me coffee☕ | read on ao3 . next >

important! some of the dialogue scenes are written as a script & dialogues that overlap are marked in [] <3

there’s a lot of things wrong with this situation, but carmen does not have it in him to care. maybe he never will, and that’s okay, because it’s his fucking restaurant and he knows he could be kinder, could be gentler, could, maybe, keep all of those splinters in his gut from hurting too bad if he took a few deep breaths just how they say in therapy. deep breaths, slow breaths, and then they look at you like you’re a toddler having a meltdown in the middle of the street and suddenly, suddenly, it’s all go fuck yourself and the door slamming shut.

carmen’s an abandoned puppy – disheveled hair and round eyes that have been unloved (by him, most of all), with his head bent and shoulders tense, not sure whether to flee or attack, but offense is the best defense and just like a bad dog he bites when frightened. it’s all teeth and anger and desperation; jaws lock and teeth sink and he doesn’t let go because he’s starving, even if what he’s fighting for is nothing but a cadaver of a place, space, body – brother? no, don’t think of mikey. he’s starving, has been for ages – approval? don’t say that – and that hunger bubbles to the surface when confronted by a minuscule imperfection, like sauce on the stove left to simmer for too long.

it’s a bad first impression, second impression, third, what the fuck, he’s good at food and not very good at math, unless math comes to food and then, maybe, he can sort it out. still bad, still fucking terrible, to be honest, and somewhere in the frying tangles of his mind he knows that yelling doesn’t help, and that yelling in front of the new hire doesn’t bode well for retention. the last enzymes of his sanity warn him – calm down, just, just calm down, carmen, you’re making it worse, you’re making it fucking worse – but the to-go machine keeps beeping, and the kitchen is too hot, and his staff is too anxious, and everything is amplified tenfold by his brother’s looming shadow that exists to him only. don’t think of mikey.

“can someone please turn that fucking thing off?” it’s his voice, laced by such scorn and a barely contained anger that makes him tremble by the pans. he’s losing his mind. sweat collects on his temple and his eyes sting from the fumes billowing onto his face, “sydney!”

“yes, chef.”

sydney’s a trooper, doesn’t bend under pressure like steel, and he sees her maneuvering in his peripherals, quick and agile to not get into anyone’s way, least of all his. briefly, he thinks about burning this place down. he blinks. the beeping stops – she ripped the cord out of the socked, dropped it onto the floor that sent an echo.

the new hire watches this shitshow unfold by her station, eyes wide and weary, ears perked for orders. her hands move – strong hands, swift hands, long fingers and rough palms that cradle a knife the way a mother would cradle a child. she doesn’t look at what she cuts, but she chops and slices and it’s all automatic – trained response? – and if carmen were to take a ruler and inspect the pieces, he’d be impressed to find that most are even and none are crooked. he’d hum, then, skim through the folders of his mind to re-check her experience, re-check the college she went to. he’d say something like, “good work, chef,” and maybe she’d smile at the bare bones of the compliment he’d given her, and when he’d be alone in his dingy office he’d pull out her resume and examine it with more interest because he’d be too embarrassed to ask.

he’ll grow familiar with those hands, with the dips and curves of knuckles and the tiger stripes of scars running down their expanse; he’ll grow familiar with the touch, too, soft despite the callouses, but only to him. not yet, though, not for another few months till a completely expected storm will halt the trains and he’ll have to drive her home. it’ll be weeks after that awkward silence in the car and stolen glances at soaked t-shirt-clad skin.

her form is unfamiliar to him – he hadn’t any interest to look, nor would he find anything curious when all is covered in oversized fabric and a blue apron. at present, she’s his colleague, nothing more, and a young one at that, too young and too talented to be stuck in such a place and with him running it.

but he will look. sooner than expected, and not for any devout reason, unless loneliness can be considered holy.

he’ll feel bad about it, too, and he’ll feel worse when everything escalates, because it always does.

for now, he cooks by the open flame, letting hot oil sizzle on his hands and the fire lick his fingers, and maybe, just maybe, he likes the pain because he knows nothing else. it’s become empirical to him. an indication that he’s still alive. that he’s still in control of something, even if he isn’t.

richie, richie, good fucking god, richie always picks the worst moments to bitch about.

“are you fucking with me?” carmen’s voice, again, a bit higher this time and just a gruff. doe eyes narrow at the bell-tower named richard jerimovich that has the audacity to look clueless, “do not fucking fuck with me right now.”

richie: shove that stick outta [fuck you] your ass, cousin carmen: are you deaf? richie: boutta go deaf if you keep yapping [don’t got time for this]; listen, i just [you just?] came to talk [talk? now? talk?] yes, to talk, look carmen: now you wanna talk? now? you wanna [jesus] fucking talk right now?

the tension in the air is sharp enough to slice through skin. everyone pointedly pretends not to hear this conversation. carmen doesn’t want to hear this conversation, either. there’s a line of people waiting. he reminds richie of that, and richie reminds that oh, he knows, and –

“richie!” it’s sydney, cheeks glowing with sweat and bandana crooked, “not now.”

richie huffs, looks at carmen with a certain exasperation, a wordless question of ‘really? really? you’re letting her run the show, now?’, and carmen needn’t be a genius to know that richie’s gonna bring this up later. he’ll never hear the end of it, he scarcely does now. it’s a headache in the making. his heart skips, or maybe stops, and for a moment he feels white-hot panic shoot through his veins. it passes with a shiver he doesn’t show. he breathes just a tad quicker – not enough air, not enough fucking air, jesus.

richie retreats with his arms raised in surrender, amused and annoyed simultaneously. a quiet follows his departure, and carmen looks at the staff, gaze jumping from one to the other before settling on her. she’s unperturbed by the chaos, working, watching, assessing, and later he’ll learn she wears that face the same way he wears his anger – as armor.

eyes meet and there’s a certain understanding that glimmers in the depths of her iris. but what could she understand? three weeks from now, he’ll come to learn that she’s used to rough edges and loud voices: he’ll learn that she’s the daughter of the chef that made his life hell back in new york, he’ll learn that she took up cooking because she wanted to appease her father, he’ll learn that her parents have split and her mother is sick and that she’s not calm but disconnected and that she tends to live in her head just like him.

but he doesn’t know that now, so he blames the shitty lighting that blinks and buzzes and, “fak, for the love of fucking god, please fix it.”

he said please this time, and it means he’s cooling off. he thankfully misses the quick look the staff shares – a mixture of relief and pity. either would have been devastating to recognize.

the only upside is that the day goes by fast. too much to do, too much to stress about, and carmen’s used to running on nothing but nicotine and adrenaline and an odd spout of desolation, and he manages everything, keeps the pieces glued together until eventually everything becomes too much and then he crumbles. still picks them up gently, like handling broken glass. he visits the storage often. closes the door for a moment and just lets himself breathe, reminds himself how to. doesn’t calm, only collects, reigns in the anger that coats loneliness. don’t think about mikey.

the staff cleans in a similar silence that douses after a storm.

the night's clear, crisp air compounded with cigarette smoke. he leans on the wall of the restaurant, staring into space, listening to the white noise of a restless city. by now, sydney has flipped the CLOSED sign; by now, his new hire is probably thinking about quitting, elbows deep in cleaning detergent as she scrubs the floor. he’ll have to go over her work and double-check. just in case there’s something more to do for hands that are always restless.

he tries to think but his head is scrambled. too many thoughts rushing in and out, loud, obnoxious, too quick to leave a lasting impact. he’s tired. he’s always tired. he wants lay on his bed and let sleep swallow him whole, but he knows that won’t happen. if he sleeps, he dreams of new york, he dreams of fire, he dreams of voices coming from the other room. one, in particular, holds a familiar rasp and drawl, punctuated by laugher, weaving a tale and stop it, don’t think about it anymore, just stop it, don’t think about –

he tosses the cigarette, watching the embers burn.

don’t think about mikey.

he enters through the back exit, stalks through the restaurant like he's haunting the place. briefly stops to stare at the mirror behind the bar. doesn't really recognize the man staring back.

the clock reads 00:30 am.

marcus was the last to leave, or so carmen assumed by the silence that shrouds the place, but as he makes his way to his office, he hears a locker shutting, and the sound rattles him so much his heart beats in his throat. all of that previous exhaustion ignites into anxiety that makes his limbs lock up.

she halts by the mouth of the kitchen, hair matted from sweat and lower lip marked where her teeth sunk, drooped eyes widening a fraction as she regards him. he can only stare at her in return, at her messy hair and pinched eyebrows and the slight downward curl of her lips.

“you could use a coffee,” she utters, and her voice is jarring – not for any unpleasant reason, but for the fact that he didn’t expect to hear it. he’ll grow to like it, crave it, even, because it’s a lovely cadence and it’ll sound even lovelier when she says his name.

he’s frightened by it now, if one can be scared of such a thing. so he bites.

“it’s almost 1 am.”

“right,” she mutters dryly.

“why are you still here?” he questions, and it almost sounds like an accusation, because he thought he was alone, only to suddenly be proved wrong. feels like an invasion of privacy, to be fucking honest, “your shift ended like an hour ago.”

“oh, I, uh, had some things to finish, so…” she trails off, but she still looks at him, and it’s unnerving, really, how she doesn’t budge under the weight of his stare. he bends under hers, though; the floor is spotless, he has nothing left to do. he misses the visible tension in her face, misses the quick swipe of her tongue on her lower lip as she opens and closes her mouth. it’ll take two whole weeks to grow entranced by the sight. misses the polite smile, too, but hears it in her voice anyway, “night.”

her sneakers squeak and echo and the door shuts. silence settles heavy on his shoulders. he’s not sure if he’s more distraught by her sudden appearance or abrupt departure. both somehow feel bad. in less than half a year, he’ll come to realize that the latter is worse.

ch.2: thank you, love you

[whenmemorydies]

See this?

Carmy is about to pull this shit. He is really about to go in and likely blow up one of the only good relationships he has left from The Beef. After yelling at Tina from the pass. After stressing out everyone and their fucking dog cos he thinks this is acceptable behaviour if its all in service of a star?

This part of 3x03 Doors was such a jagged scene for me because of a few things (including what I've said above). What else got me:

Tina is someone Carmy knows, that Carmy loves (go back to their scene in 1x08 Braciole talking about Mikey. Go back to Carmy's soft "hey Tina you go ahead, you take the night off okay? I got you.");

Tina is an older woman of colour who has made the commitment to skill up so that she can work at The Bear after working at The Beef. Carmy has seen the work she has put in but in this moment, he pays none of it any mind. Imagine being T. Imagine how that would feel. Imagine how it would feel knowing all we know after watching Tina's journey in 3x06 Napkins. The thing is, Carmy doesn't need to know all of T's backstory to know his behaviour is unacceptable. The fact that he knows some of it and proceeds to act in this way is just more evidence of his white privilege showing its ass.

Carmy does not have the self reflexivity here to look at his young, white, male self yelling at this older WOC and see how fucked this is: how he's become another white guy in a litany of white men barking at workers of colour, not seeing Tina for the whole human she is but reducing her to a means of production. The racial dynamics on this show are so evident but don't get talked about nearly enough. I know the writers have crafted those dynamics on purpose because as beautiful a character as Carmy is, he's also a product of his environment as a white chef trained in a highly racially segregated field. This has repercussions for his relationships in season 3, particularly with the BIPOC characters in his life. @november-rising speaks about Carmy's behaviour in relation to Black women's experiences of love and professional recognition devastatingly here. Read their post and the reblogs.

While this shit made me so mad this season, it was also in character - as I've said here - for a white guy trained in fine dining to revert to established patterns of behaviour. Though, I'm gonna need the writers of the show to show US that they did this on purpose and have Carmy ATONE for this shit in season 4. Otherwise, what kind of redemption arc will this man have? This shit is hurtful to the BIPOC characters and BIPOC viewers of this show in no small part because white men the world over have a LONG history of using BIPOC people as a means of production and as a means of production alone. If you're unsure about this, please go look up the Transatlantic slave trade. Please go look up the history of colonial indentured labour. Please go look up The British East India Company. Please look up the forced labour regime in the modern prison industrial complex. Please go read a fucking book. And no I'm not saying Carmy is responsible for the slave trade (LMAO please hold fire if this is where your mind is going). I'm saying BIPOC folks carry with us a long ass history, an intergenerational history of this shit. But guess who else does too? White folks. So don't act like they dont.

This shit is also hurtful because we know how respectful Carmy can be. We’ve seen him in seasons 1 & 2. We know he knows what being a practical ally looks like (even if he may not have the language to name what he was doing) when he made sure to bring the staff of The Beef with him to The Bear and invested in them accordingly. We know he loves and respects them, none more so than Sydney. But there were so many times where he did not act like it in season 3. And when folks have got histories - not just personal but cultural too - as long and as loaded as we ALL do, actions account for a lot. What you do is the shorthand for who you are in the world, whether you like it or not.

Ok back to the scene.

Who comes in and simultaneously saves Carmy's ass and ANOTHER of his relationships? Who protects Tina and keeps the kitchen from exploding AGAIN?

Who supervises her sous chef like a fucking pro?

Sydney. Sydney. Sydney.

And who knows that he's in the presence of greatness but doesn't know how to articulate it cos he's not integrated, not by a fucking long shot. Who needs to attend some anti-racism training along with Al-Anon and therapy (so he can get the benefit of understanding his role in this system and get a better understanding of his own mind)?

Yeah you Carmen, you.

Better get on that shit before you lose the woman who is the beat to your whole heart another means of production to a chef who's going to pay her better, give Syd insurance from the jump and total creative control. Just saying.

[atinylittlepain]

Oh Baby - A Carmy Berzatto Story

dad!carmen berzatto x f!reader

carmy masterlist

a small family, a new family, trying to figure this thing out.

warnings | 18+ angst surrounding being new parents, work stress, but enough fluff to make up for it, i promise

a/n | this sweet little piece comes from a lovely request sent to me over DM, thank you so much for sending this my way, i hope i've done it justice. Also have to thank the cousins @tieronecrush and @northernbluess for reading this bad boy and letting me scream about the bear, love ya both

........................

He’s running late. It started with a question from Sydney about one of the new menu items, and then it was Sugar needing to show him a quote for some inspection they still need to get done. And then there was something with one of the new chefs, though he can’t really remember what it was right now as his brain fries with how late he is. 

He told her he’d be home by midnight at the latest, finish dinner service and get his ass home immediately. He had even made a joke about getting home just in time to give their girl her seemingly routine middle of the night bottle. But it’s now two in the morning and he’s only just getting on the L to get back to their apartment. 

It’s not like he has a hard time with the late nights. In fact, he always thrived on this chaotic rhythm. But he knows it’s not doing her or their girl any good. Getting home and crashing in bed, useless until ten in the morning, no help with breakfast or getting their girl dressed and ready for the day, shuffling into the living room to find her already working at her desk, her foot keeping a steady rock to the bassinet right next to it. A few days ago, the fleeting thought that she looked like a single mother, and then an immediate clench and clash of pain sliding through his chest. It’s the same feeling he has right now on the train, building and beating until he has to put his palm right over the hurt, like he might be able to press it out with the heel of his hand. 

He could slow down, everyone at the restaurant has offered that up to him. Shorter shifts, only there when he’s really needed, whole days off. So he doesn’t know why he can’t just accept that, why he’s still holding onto the restaurant with white knuckles. And right now, he’s too tired to give it much thought beyond how badly he wants things to be different. No more disappointed sighs, no more ships in the night, no more making promises only to break them. 

He’s only a little surprised when he walks into their apartment that the light in the kitchen is on, her light murmurings filtering through, enough to make that hurt even worse. He finds them standing in front of the microwave, waiting for a bottle to be warmed up, and for a moment, what a sight it is. She’s wearing an old The Beef t-shirt, legs bare and set in a slow shuffle side-to-side, her cheek pressed over the top of their girl’s head where she’s held in her arms, eyes dropped shut. A small smile that slides away when her eyes crack open to see him standing in the doorway. 

“You’re home.” It’s barely rasped on a whisper, a small frown pulling down each word. He considers for a moment that he’d really like for the ground to swallow him up right about now. 

“I’m sorry, baby, I–” His words crack when their girl starts to fuss, small coos and whimpers, tiny fists balled and pressing against her mom’s chest to arch her back away from her hold. And there it is, that sigh, that small collapse of her shoulders as she gets the bottle out of the microwave, no longer looking at him, brushing right past him to go sit down in the living room. He follows on her heels with all the timidity of a scolded dog. 

“I can do it, if you wanna go lay back down. It’s– I’d like–” 

“I can do it, Carmen.” Still not looking at him, her eyes focused on their girl, finger skating down the rounding of her cheek as she latches onto the bottle. He knows it’s one of the ways she tries to even the score with him, a petty thing to not let him partake in or watch this small wonder. When she was first born, and she was still breast-feeding, and he was still on a Sugar-mandated paternity leave, he’d hover endlessly. Just over her shoulder, watching the way their girl's hand splayed over her sternum like a perfect flower as she latched on, whispering in awe at her contented sighs and eager gulps. Always dropping a kiss to her temple, small words of love and gratitude, her chin tilting up, basking in them, warmth in the way she would look up at him. 

But now, now she’s looking at him with all of the kindness of a prison inmate, eyes blank and jaw set as she cups the back of their girl’s head, smoothing out the mass of curls already growing, just like his. For a moment, only fleeting, anger starts to rise like bile up the back of his throat. Anger that he’s here now, wanting so badly to be here now, and she’s the one boxing him out. But that anger is gone in a blink because he can see the way her eyes are starting to swim, red-rimmed and heavy down her cheeks. And he can see the way her lip is starting to tremble too, even as she coos and hums to their girl when she starts to fuss with the bottle. He can’t be angry when she’s hurting like that, when he’s the one who has made her hurt like that. 

He kneels down in front of where she’s sitting on the couch, a small relief that she doesn't flinch away when his palms come to rest on her knees. He can tell that she’s trying not to break, little sniffs to hold back the flood as their girl continues to suckle. 

“I don’t want it to be like this.” 

“Neither do I, Carm.” Said on a sigh, like, sure, nice words, not expecting anything to come of them though. 

“Tell me what I can do to make this different.” 

“I’m dumbfounded by the fact that you’re asking me to tell you what to do. Do you really not know?” Quick and clipped, still whispered so that it doesn’t disturb their girl as she finishes her bottle. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to arrange the right words to respond.

“You’re right.” The best that he can come up with at two in the morning, though at least it’s the truth. She just sighs though, shaking his hands off her knees so that she can stand up. And this hurts too, how easily she can do this by herself, or at least how easy she makes it look, transferring their girl to one arm as she pads back into the kitchen. A little more space between them as he follows behind her, watching how she holds the bottle against her hip to get the top screwed off, rocking and shushing their girl all the while as she soaps up the bottle. 

“Baby, let me do that. I can, here, just let me–”

“Goddamnit, Carm.” Still whispered, but still sharp, enough for their girl to let out a whine at her sudden exclamation, though she’s quick to soothe and calm against her shoulder. 

“Do you want to know why I don’t let you help? It’s because I’m trying to get used to doing this on my own.” 

“What?” It feels like the floor has dropped out from under him, a skittering, sickening feeling running up and down his spine. He wants more than anything to reach for her, for both of them, to thumb away the tears that are starting to fall even as she tries to steel her jaw. All he can do to ball his hands into fists over and over.

“You’re not here, Carmen. And when you are, it’s like– it’s like I’m living with a stranger. You told me before we had her that you would be here, that things at the restaurant were going to change. And I’m getting tired of waiting for that to happen.” 

“What are you saying right now?” She scrunches her eyes shut for a moment, pure frustration, and complete exhaustion, all the while still rocking their girl. 

“I’m saying that if this is how it’s going to be, I don’t know if I can keep doing this with you. My sister–”

“No.”

“Carm–”

“No. That isn’t– that’s not– you can’t just take her from me like that. We– we said we would do this together.”

“We already aren’t doing this together, Carm. And I’m just– I’m tired.” There isn’t any more to say, not now. She doesn’t look at him again, brushing past him through the doorway of the kitchen to get to the nursery down the hall. He doesn’t try to follow, numbly shuffling back to the couch, a full body slump, tilting his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose when the tears start to prickle. He listens to all the small sounds, stealing snippets of her humming, the quiet padding of her bare feet into their bedroom, the rustling of sheets. And then perfect silence, except for the broken exhales he keeps trying to stifle. 

…

Sleep happens, somehow. Curled onto his side on the couch, but not for long, the watery blue glint of dawn slanting in through the blinds when he’s woken up to the sound of their girl’s quiet babblings. The nursery is closer to the living room, so he’s almost certain she hasn’t been woken up by the sound yet. But he also knows that those soft coos will soon turn into full-blown wails, so he gets up, biting back a groan as his spine shifts and crackles upright before stumbling into the nursery.

Everyone seems to call their girl something different. She calls her bean, or sometimes pearl, any iteration of small, precious things, usually with a my in front of the word. Richie calls her cub, or cubby, a fitting choice given her father’s nickname. Sugar calls her curl because of that head of hair she’s already grown into. Sydney calls her miso baby, though it all comes out as one word like misobaby, on account of the cravings for broth and noodles her mother incurred while she was pregnant with her, something that Sydney was always happy to accommodate whenever she stopped by the restaurant. Carmy’s is less creative, he thinks, the first word he remembers coming to mind when he first held her in his arms, somewhere between wonder and utterly sweet devastation at the sight. 

“Hey, little, what’s going on in here?” It always shocks him, how light his whole world is when he picks her up in his arms, and how easily her cheek settles against his chest, his palm smoothing the small shake of her cries between the fragile wings of her shoulder blades. He remembers being terrified the first time he held her, that he’d somehow manage to ruin this most perfect thing. Laying in her hospital bed, watching, she reassured him that he wouldn’t, that he couldn’t, that perfect came from him just as much as it came from her. 

“It’s breakfast time, isn’t it? We’re gonna let your mom sleep in, okay? I’ve got it.” He drops his lips to the crown of her head, taking a long breath in as he shuffles out to the kitchen. And he does have it under control, after all, he knows how to follow a recipe. 

He keeps her close in one arm, only fumbling a little with the one-handed bottle into the microwave production, but he manages. And then onto the couch and honestly, he thinks it’s a little holy, it certainly feels that way. Watching her eyes slip shut in contentment as she drinks from the bottle, her tiny gasp and sigh when she’s all done. How could anything ever be as good as this? He doesn’t think it’s possible.

“Think we oughta make breakfast for your mom, huh? You wanna help?” She gurgles over his shoulder as he finishes burping her. He’ll take that as a yes. He maneuvers her high chair into the doorway of the kitchen with about as much grace as his one-handed abilities will allow him, trying hard to stay silent, peering down the hall to make sure she hasn’t woken up yet. Coast clear, he settles their girl into the high chair and gets to work. 

There’s a slightly old half of a loaf of brioche on the counter, something he brought home a few days ago, one of Marcus’ new projects. Eggs and milk in the fridge, so his plan is already forming. 

“You know, when I first met your mom– you’re a little too young for the details, but– the morning after, I made her french toast. I think it got me a second date.” He whisks up the eggs and milk quick, a pinch of cinnamon like he knows how she likes it. 

“I think for a while she was just coming back for the french toast. But I didn’t care, I was just happy that she kept coming back.” Butter melting deep and golden in the pan, and then the silent sizzle and snap of the battered slices of bread frying up perfect. He glances over to their girl in between checking on the bread in the pan.

“You weren’t done, were you, little? I’m sorry, I got you.” A little spit-up down the front of her onesie. He stretches between the stove and her high chair to dab it up with a clean dish towel, not even trying to resist the want to press a kiss to her forehead, earning him an exasperated gurgle from her.

“Already too cool for me, huh?” She smiles, showing off the two new teeth that have only started to come in. He doesn’t think he’s ready for any more teeth to start coming in yet.

He’s just plating up the first few slices when his ears prick to the sound of stirring, what sounds like a stretch groaning in her chest from down the hall. Bare feet padding, stopping at the nursery, he’s sure, and then coming closer, his heart starting to kick up in anticipation. 

“Good morning, my bean.” He can hear the kiss she drops to their girl’s cheek, and he chances a glance over to see her bending over the back of the high chair to nuzzle her face into their girl’s, contented giggles bubbling up in her small chest at her mother’s ministrations. His heart stutters stop for a moment before the gears start to turn again in a much better rhythm. But too long of a glance because–

“Oh shit.” The smell of singe, one of the slices burnt up and unsalvageable. He’s quick to scrape it out of the pan. Still plenty to make this right, okay, not perfect though. He was going for perfect.

“What’s all this?” She’s being quiet, not looking at him as she gathers their girl out of the high chair and into her arms, a small sway side to side. 

“I, um, breakfast– you hungry?” 

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. Go sit, I’ll get it.” 

“Did she–”

“Yeah, I fed her.” She’s finally looking at him, bewilderment rounding and widening her eyes, though she quietly nods and shuffles through the kitchen. A soft graze past him and toward the small dining table they have set up in front of the windows, now letting in the first honeyed light of the morning. 

Two slices, steam still rising and melting down a sliver of butter. Syrup on the side because she doesn’t like it to get soggy. And a plate for himself too because he knows she’ll tell him to eat, even as mad at him as she is now. 

She keeps their girl in her lap, her arm curled around the soft round of her belly to hold her upright, and he can’t help but smile, sitting down across from them. A small sigh with her first bite and it feels like the greatest relief, something slackening beneath his ribs. 

“I didn’t play fair last night. I’m sorry, Carm.” Always beating him to the punch, he hates that she’s apologizing.

“No, you were right. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m gonna make some changes, okay?” She sighs, her lashes dropped to the tops of her cheeks, not buying it. And he doesn’t blame her, he’s talked about changes in the past. Though the changes have yet to happen. 

“Baby, I’m serious. I’m gonna talk to Sugar today and get this figured out. Not gonna keep messing this up.” 

“You aren’t messing up, Carmen. I know how important that restaurant is to you. And maybe it’s selfish, but I just want you here more, with us. You’re missing so much, and I don’t want that for you.” Their girl chooses that moment to start to squirm in her hold, pressing the dough of her palms into the edge of the table to stand up in her mother’s lap, turning around and wrapping her small arms around her mother’s neck, making a smile get big and bright on her face as she smacks a string of kisses on her cheek, a quiet thank you, my bean. Missing things like this, he thinks. His heart aches with it. 

“Nothing is more important than this. I think when she came– I was just like– holy shit, you know?” Her smile tempers, settling on him as she continues to accommodate the squirms and shuffling of their girl in her lap. 

“Yeah, I’m familiar with that feeling.” 

“This isn’t an excuse, I know it isn’t. But, I don’t know, I think I believed that if I could just work harder, make sure the restaurant was good and money was coming in that– that it’d somehow make me feel less terrified.”

“Terrified?” 

“Of getting this all wrong. I just– Jesus Christ, I want everything for her.” There’s more he’d like to say, but he cuts himself off with a resigned laugh, holding his head in his hand as he watches their girl twist around in her mother’s arms again, looking at him now like somehow she knows he’s talking about her. And then a small hand reaching out across the table. Small hand reaching for him.

She gets up with a sigh, rounding the edge of the table, an easy pass-off, their girl’s hands grasping at his t-shirt, the same one he came home in last night. He holds her close, taking another deep inhale of the crown of her head before looking up at her mom. Her mom, his woman, his partner, who carefully runs her fingers back through his mussed hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. 

“There are so many people also working to make sure that restaurant is good, Carm, and it is. But I– we need you here, we just do.” Her palm slips down along his cheek, and he turns his head to press a kiss to the center of it. A much smaller hand tugs at his curls to get his attention, making him laugh as he drops a kiss to their girl’s temple. 

“You’re right. This is where I need to be. I don’t want you having to do this on your own anymore.” He gets up with a sigh, hiking their girl onto his hip, reaching out for her with his other arm, his fingers curling behind the nape of her neck, a small coaxing that she allows, pressing her forehead against his.

“We’re gonna do this together, alright? I’m here, and I’m gonna figure out how to keep being here.” An answer in the way her nose brushes along the side of his, an okay. And the realization that he can’t remember the last time they were this close is enough to bridge what space is left between them, more of a sigh than a kiss, but he’ll take it. Quick to be interrupted by quiet fussing and a small fist pressing against his cheek, both of them pulling away with a laugh to look at their seemingly perturbed girl. 

“I think we’ve made a small monster.” She says it absolutely dripping in affection, her hand coming to brush their girl’s sleep-tufted hair back from her face. 

“Maybe, yeah. She’s still fucking perfect though.” He snakes his arm around her waist, pulling her close so their girl is half-sandwiched between them, eyes wide as she babbles up at them both.

“We have to stop saying fuck around her, Carm. It’s gonna end up being her first word.” 

“She’ll fit right in at the restaurant that way.” 

A small family, a new family, figuring it out in their sun-soaked kitchen. Tired eyes and bare feet and quiet laughs. And there’s going to be more messing up, he already knows that. Both him and her. Passing sorry back and forth, willing and receiving. But this is enough to make it right, to keep going. This can be perfect. 

[digenerate-trash]

Ok but how about yan dol with a forgiven fallen angel pc. PC doesnt act so sad anymore but definitely depressed and is more distant then before when they use to be so warm. Also im taking this from a headcanon from another guy about forgiven fallen angels but PC acts more agressive and lashes out. They have this new bloodthirst in them that wasnt there before and seems to be wanting to get into encounters jusy so they can hit people.

Obsession | TW Yandere | TW Rape | TW suggestive

Bailey

Baley doesn't mind. Whether you're an angel. A demon or a dog. He doesn't care how aggressive you are or how divine the church thinks you are, you're property, and more importantly, you're his property. 

•···········································•✦•···········································•

Robin

He Is probably the reason you fell… feels bad about it and promises never to touch you again. He wants to make everything right and takes you lashing out at him with grace not wanting to cause any more hurt to you… 

•···········································•✦•···········································•

Whitney

doesn't like that you're still trying to be pure. He thought you gave up that crap the first time he violated you. he's not going to go through your purity shit again he doesn't have the time or the patience

•···········································•✦•···········································•

Eden

doesn't care. The more aggressive you are the more training you need though. And ripping your feathers out makes a noise that he really enjoys. 

•···········································•✦•···········································•

Kylar

Loves everything about you! Even when you're yelling at him! He loves your wings too and spends hours cleaning and preening them. He wants to make sure you're perfect no matter what path you're going down. Whether you're the angel of the church or just a heathen like him. 

•···········································•✦•···········································•

Avery

Devastated when you feel. You no longer made the perfect arm candy. He distanced himself a lot only calling you for... Unsavory reasons. But now that you're back to being a perfect angel he's caring again. Besides some backhanded comments about how you looked better before you fell. 

•···········································•✦•···········································•

Alex

It didn't matter if you were an angel or anything before. But you're emotional state is causing him stress. He just wants to be with you. But you're more distant and aggressive… it's hard for him to get close to you. But he's not going to give up either 

•···········································•✦•···········································•

Sydney

he's the weirdest about it. Touching your wings praising you. Taking you to the church and showing you off. Brags about your redemption and tells everyone he plans to be as pure as you. Prayers every night. Looks like a kicked puppy when you lash out at him and begs you to forgive him 

•···········································•✦•···········································•

Harper

he's going to study you. No matter what form you are in. confined to the hospital. Never to be seen again by the outside world 

Will also give you a little kiss. No matter how aggressive you are. 

[tgmsunmontue]

Team Player 7/7

Hangster. Jake's cousin plays for the Sydney Roosters and gifts him with merchandise regularly. Bradley has an unexpected realization.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX

PART SEVEN - EPILOGUE

                Things between them are never boring, and he doesn’t quite know how they’ve managed to simply have open and honest communication from the get-go, but they do. Probably because he had to get over his whole initial embarrassment at realizing that seeing Jake wearing Roosters merchandise really did it for him. Continues to do it for him. All Jake needs to do is send him a photo of him wearing something and Bradley has an automatic response, which has fortunately mellowed from immediate hard-ons to something lower but still intense, an itching need to get his hands on Jake and confirm that yes, Jake is indeed his.

                Bradley has been told he’s intense, as a boyfriend, a bit of a love bomber. Some of his previous partners haven’t been able to handle it, told him he was just a little bit too much. He’d tried to curb it with Jake; it had worked up until a point and then he’d just forgotten one time, let himself just go all out one day and he’d twisted himself up inside when he realized, terrified that Jake would finally understand how over the top Bradley is, how he wants to be there all the time, that he was needy. Except Jake had basked in the attention, a little shy and that gorgeous blush Bradley has come to love making Jake’s skin warm, but Jake had just soaked it all up. Can’t seem to get enough and over the following weeks he’d allowed himself to relax, the little twisty part in his gut unfurling and relaxing and Jake’s smile washing all his anxiety away.

                Their six-month anniversary had come and gone and he’d held his breath, that milestone was usually the tipping point for so many of his previous relationships. Except his relationship with Jake seems stronger, foundation set firmly in shared life experiences and values and also really good sex. Their friends all saw it coming apparently, but he thinks only Phoenix saw the actual potential for them, apparently knowing them both well enough. Now when Jake wears something Roosters branded, Bradley knows he wants to be taken home and fucked. Hard. Which is just as well because it fits with exactly what he wants to do when he sees it.

                It’s become a code between them, not a game, because there’s no start or end, no winner or loser. Sometimes Jake will simply send a mirror selfie, dressed in his uniform, with a simple Treasure hunt time caption and Bradley knows he wants soft and sweet, while he peels off the layers, kisses every piece of skin as it’s uncovered until he finds whatever it is that Jake has found to surprise him with this time. There’s been socks, singlets, boxer briefs, a G-string one memorable time, a little key-chain charm looped with his dog tags, a watch… Then Jake had started with the skin-transfer tattoos placed on all sorts of different places, and it’s not every time, just when Jake seems to want Bradley’s full undivided attention and Bradley is more than happy to give him that.

 …           …            …

                Their squadron is usually together, however they are occasionally split into smaller groups and deployed separately in order to assist with upskilling and training of other aviators. He hates it. Well, that’s a lie. He hates it when he’s not with Bradley and he knows they’re maybe a little codependent but he’s also pretty sure they’re ridiculously and blissfully happy. Nauseatingly so, if Javy’s words are true. He doesn’t give a fuck. He’s back in the same state as Bradley for the first time in six weeks, which isn’t that long, he knows that logically, but it’s the longest they’ve been apart since they got together and phone calls have not been enough.

                They’d already planned for Jake to head straight over once he was finished up dropping his things. He has a key to Bradley’s place, given to him on their one-year anniversary, and he lets himself in, kicking of his shoes. The main lights are off but the few little side lamps are lit and they lead to the bedroom and he’ll give Bradley shit for not being subtle later. Right now he wants to see his boyfriend, and if he’s already in the bedroom then it’ll save him time trying to get him there. He pushes the door and his breath catches in his throat, Bradley is lying in the center of the bed, completely naked, the lighting golden and dim and he’s absolutely fucking gorgeous.

                “You’re home…”

                “Yeah. Fuck you look good…”

                “So do you. Come on. Want you to fuck me…”

                “God I missed you,” Jake mutters, stripping off his clothes with single-minded focus, eyes not leaving Bradley, lying naked in bed, hand stroking his cock and his eyes aren’t leaving Jake as he strips and he feels himself getting harder under the attention. He knee walks up the bed, lowers his head to capture Bradley’s lips in a kiss and he feels every single muscle in his body relax a little as Bradley’s hands run over him and he feels a sense of homecoming.

                “When did you get this?” Bradley asks, tugging at his dog tags and Jake glances down at the little silver heart charm that has the Roosters team logo under resin, three little diamantes in the corner. No-one will ever see it except for Bradley, but he flushes anyway.

                “Oh. Uh. While I was away,” he says, deciding not to mention that he kissed it every morning and night.

                “God I love you Jake…”

                Jake kisses him again, has said the words plenty, but they just come easier to Bradley sometimes. He runs his hand down Bradley’s body to his cock, runs a finger behind his balls and there’s slick and firm resistance, the base of a plug and he pulls back to look Bradley in the face.

                “You couldn’t wait for me?”

                “Nope,” Bradley says, lips making a popping sound and his eyes are dancing with mischief and Jake can’t help but grin. “Didn’t want to wait. Was kind of the whole point… Come on. Lie back. I want to do all the work.”

                Jake isn’t going to argue with that, lets Bradley shift out of the way and push him back so Jake’s now lying naked in the middle of the bed feels the breath punch out of him as Bradley’s hand encircles his cock and starts stroking, his eyes dark as he watches Jake’s face and his mouth drops open so he can suck in a deep breath, watches as Bradley smirks at him as he reaches behind himself and pulls out the plug. Then his cock is getting lubed up and Bradley is straddling him, wiggling his hips and eyebrows playfully and Jake lets out a little laugh which morphs into a groan as Bradley shifts and he knows to hold still while Bradley slides down. Then his cock is getting enclosed in the hot tight heat of Bradley and his entire body twitches at the sensation and he continues to hold still, waiting for Bradley to start moving, that it’s okay for Jake to start moving as well.

                “Missed you…” Bradley murmurs into the crook of his neck, before licking and sucking and Jake groans, plants his feet and rolls his hips a little, tiny amount, just needing something, anything, rather than the all-encompassing pressure. He can feel Bradley’s pleased hum against his neck so he does it again, keeps the slow undulating grind while they kiss, hands touching everywhere, reminding each other of the familiar landscape of each other’s bodies. He can tell when Bradley gets comfortable, his body beginning to rock against his, making the slide and drag longer and it feels so fucking good. His boyfriend is a genius. When he’s fully comfortable he sits upright, thighs working to lower and raise himself onto Jake and he’s a vision Jake can’t take his eyes off.

                Their rhythm is smooth, practiced despite the weeks apart, their months together making them slot back together effortlessly and Jake runs his hands over Bradley’s thighs, loves the feels of hard muscles under warm skin, the shift as he moves and he digs his fingers in and smirks when Bradley groans, his hand moving to grasp Bradley’s cock in his hand. Then Bradley’s shifting again, reaching for his hand before he can touch and his wrists are above his head.

                “Mine. Mine. Mine,” Bradley chants, voice low as he rocks his body above Jake, fingers still wrapped around Jake’s wrists, holding him in place and his entire body shivers, he loves hearing that and he plants his feet and snaps his hips, hard and fast, not a pace he can keep up indefinitely but he’s pretty confident he won’t need to.

                “Yours. Yours. Yours,” he says into the side of Bradley’s head, teeth nipping at Bradley’s earlobe and he feels Bradley come, hears him moan, feels him sucking at his neck and he’s probably going to have little marks all over, not to mention the fucking stubble burn. He’s really fucking missed it and he thrusts faster, chasing his orgasm now.

                “Come on Jake, come for me…”

                “Asshole…” Jake mutters into his neck, the word coming out on a half-laugh. It’s not a Pavlovian response, but Bradley likes to think it is; and he is coming damn it, but it’s not because Bradley told him to. It feels too good for him to care too much, and Bradley is muttering sweet endearments against his skin, their movements shifting into the slower softer afterglow and Bradley is kissing him again, all over, lips placing soft little butterfly touches everywhere and he hums happily, feels warmth trail as Bradley drags his fingers down his arms.

                “Welcome home,” Bradley says and Jake smiles, eyes drifting closed as he relaxes, so glad to be back, letting Bradley run his hands all over and check for any changes. He feels his cock slip out, then there’s a warm cloth on his stomach and then his cock again and Bradley is kissing him and his day of travel is catching up and he’s starting to think Bradley had it bang to rights saying he’d do all the work. Jake feels floaty and tired. Then he feels Bradley snuggle up behind him, pulling the blankets to cover them and he falls asleep with a smile on his face.

…            …            …

                He looks at the top and bites his lip, because he has no idea whether Bradley’s going to like it or not. He’s pretty sure they’ve fucked while Jake’s worn nearly every piece of Roosters merchandise at some point or another over the last twenty or so months. He’s also pretty sure he’s supporting a sports team for all the wrong reasons, still having never seen a game, but he does not care at all. He’s had to have it customized, and Bradley’s never made any comment about wanting to see his actual name on Jake, but even now, if Jake wants to drive him wild, all he has to do is wear a piece of Roosters merchandise and without fail Bradley is in his space, pushing him against the nearest surface to make out with him. He thought it would be a novelty, that it would wear off after a few weeks or months, that Bradley would get bored of him. Instead they’re coming up on their second-year anniversary and Bradley still looks at him like Jake is the center of his universe, regardless of what he’s wearing. Or not wearing.

                They’ve moved in together. Jake has bought a ring and he knows there’s a ring waiting for him, because he found it accidentally when looking for a hiding place for the ring he bought. Bradley is it for him and knowing he’s it for Bradley gives him a deep sense of contentedness and rightness. He knows Bradley will say yes, and he’s determined to be the first to propose. He pulls on the new jersey, the front looks normal, a standard top with just  the logo and Roosters team name; but the back, across the shoulders is now the name BRADSHAW and he doesn’t want to send that through as a message. Wants to see Bradley’s face.

                Usually he wouldn’t wear something like this for their little treasure hunt thing, is usually in his uniform. Actually now that he thinks about it he can still make it a bit of a treasure hunt and he goes to find the ring Bradley hid, his finger running over the Rooster’s inscription on the inside and he bites his lip as he slips it on, hopes that Bradley won’t mind; places the ring he bought Bradley in the pocket of his jeans. Then he goes into the bathroom and takes a photo, sends it through with the standard Treasure hunt time caption and then freaks out a little, because there’s no going back now. He’s about to propose and he hasn’t put any thought into it other than the traditional bended-knee.

                Bradley’s visiting Maverick, is meant to be heading back around about now and he stares at himself in the mirror, tells himself that it won’t matter how he proposes, just like it doesn’t matter how Bradley will say yes, that as long as they’re engaged at the end of the day that’s all he cares about.

                “Jesus fucking Christ…”

                He looks up from his own reflection and there, standing behind him but staring at his back, his name across Jake’s shoulders, is Bradley. Jake catches his eye in the reflection and he licks his lips. Bradley’s cheeks and necks are blotchy red and Jake realizes Bradley likes it a lot, seeing Jake wearing Bradshaw across his body. He pulls the sleeve down over his left hand, doesn’t want to literally show his hand quite yet, his stomach fluttering with nerves despite being sure of the answer.

                “Hi.”

                “Jake…”

                “You’re back earlier than I thought you’d be,” Jake says, throat going dry as Bradley presses himself against Jake’s back, lips going to his neck and he turns his head for a kiss, although he notes Bradley is watching them together in the mirror. Pervert.

                “You spoil me, god you’re hot like this…” Bradley mutters, and he’s already got one had grasping one of Jake’s ass cheeks and he can’t help but press back into him.

                “Glad you think so, oh god, fuck,” Jake mutters, Bradley’s other hand now rubbing him through his jeans, lips on his neck and jaw, other hand on his ass. He can’t believe he’s doing this in the bathroom of all places, but he reaches into the pocket of his jeans, determined to get this done before Bradley undresses him and fucks him wearing nothing but the damned jersey. The flash of metal catches Bradley’s attention and he immediately pulls back a little, eyes going wide as he realizes what it is Jake is holding in his hand.

                “Will you marry me?” Jake asks. Bradley’s smile is blinding, then he’s turning Jake to face him properly, cupping his face in his hands and he’s being kissed so thoroughly it consumes him and he has to pull back and catch his breath. “So that’s a yes?”

                “Yes it’s a yes. I got you a ring too, just didn’t want to rush you…”

                “Yeah, about that…” Jake says, pulling the sleeve back to reveal his left ring finger and he didn’t think Bradley’s smile could get wider but it does.

                “Finally where it belongs,” Bradley says, and he lifts Jake’s hand to his mouth and he kisses the ring, maintains eye contact the whole time and Jake doesn’t need to look in the mirror to know his cheeks are flaming red. “Love you Jake.”

                “Love you too.”

THE END

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

Full focus

In working out like a maniac for at least 1 hour a day before going to bed, Carmy had found his solace.

He hadn't completely conquered his insomnia, but his sleep patterns had improved considerably since he'd collapsed into bed after a hot shower and an intense and painful workout session that always left him aching all over and sweating like a sinner in church. Every muscle burned like hell and every joint felt like a death threat after working out to the point where exhaustion was just a fogbank his body would trespass in a state of welcome mindlessness. Like a zombie. The only reminiscence of life he felt after the fact was the blood rushing through his veins and the pain coursing through his limbs.

Needless to say, he wasn’t expecting company when in the middle of his third set of Russian twists he had to let go of his beloved kettlebell, get up, and jogg to the door.

His sweaty face and messy hair framing it, his labored breathing that made his voice sound different, sexier, his old football jersey that he had cut shorter because he had partially burnt it trying to put out a fire a few years prior and now showed his perfect V-lines and sometimes even his bellybutton, his dick printed grey sweatpants that also showcased his perfect V-lines, his incredibly blue eyes showing surprise and also satisfaction, all of it was what Sydney saw as soon as he opened the door. And she had to remind herself to breathe after taking it all in.

"Hey there!"

"Hi, hello!"

"Come on in… What’s going on?"

"You forgot these."

She handed him a manila envelope that contained forms he had to fill out, sign, and submit the next day, well in a few hours actually, first thing in the morning.

"Natalie was furious so I thou-"

"So you saved the day, as usual…"

"Well, when you put it that way…"

"Sorry for the mess, Syd… I wasn’t expecting…"

"Oh, no no, don’t be. I gotta go now anyway, it’s almost midnight so…"

"Oh that’s not what I meant, please stay, give me a sec, and I’ll take a quick shower and drive you home. K?"

"No, it’s OK. I’ll catch a cab if I miss the train. Don’t sweat it. Well, too late for that, but, it’s fine. No worries. I mean. It’s cool, it’s fine, it’s-"

She was ranting, her speech rate had skyrocketed.

"This late? Good luck with that… No way! Lemme give you a ride, it’s the least I can do. Just… just help yourself in the kitchen and I’ll be right back. OK? Make yourself at home. Give me 5 minutes!"

"Um… OK. OK…"

Before jumping in the shower he speedily picked up his “toys” and put the kettlebell, the dumbells, the push-up bars, and the cast iron disc away as he casually tried to make conversation:

"So.. who… who let you in?"

"Your neighbor, the one with the little brown dog that looks like a squirrel."

"Oh, Mr. Washington! Yeah, he told me once you reminded him of his daughter."

"Yeah! He just told me that too. Shouted that at me, actually."

"He’s hard of hearing…"

"Yup. I’ll just wait here. OK?"

Syd sat down in the living room and texted his dad to let him know why she was running late and to reassure him that Carmy was going to drive her home soon.

"K, as you wish, I’ll be right back."

The more she went through his books the more she found herself wanting to ask him about what he had learned from each of them.

She wanted to know it all, what recipes had he already tried, which ones he didn’t like, where had he purchased that other book that was so hard to get, etc.

The pile of books by the window also served as an impromptu coffee table on top of which a little black ashtray was on display. She found that so endearing, so very “Carmy.”

She ran her index finger along the edge of that ashtray and could see him standing there by the window, smoking a cigarette, thinking about the restaurant, about Michael, about a recipe maybe… Did he ever think about her? She wondered. Her finger was still on the edge of the ashtray, tracing circle after circle, then venturing inside the receptacle to play with the ashes, drawing more circles in there. Sydney was deep in thought by then and had completely forgotten about the books, she was now only thinking about Carmy. 

In a state of semi-trance, she unknowingly got to the shelves on the wall and started inspecting each of the items there. Her curious mind was having a field day.

This red hard-cover sketchbook caught her attention and she couldn't help it, she had to know what kind of Sistine Chapel-level drawings with shading and all Carmy had come up with, so she opened it. 

If she momentarily forgot how to breathe earlier when her EC opened the door looking like a Greek God of testosterone, stamina, and cross-fit, covered in sweat, what she saw in that sketchbook straight out made her forget how to maintain a proper brain function altogether.

Each page, dozens of them, showed a different expression of her face, a different hairstyle of her braids, and a different design of her headscarves. A flawless variation of her. She was all over those pages. The resemblance was uncanny. She was beautiful on that paper, she was like enhanced but not to the point of not looking like herself, her essence was captured perfectly and she couldn’t help but be mesmerized by her own features.

That’s when Carmy showed up behind her.

She didn’t even have to ask. 

He started explaining himself immediately. He stuttered his way through that explanation as his cheeks started to burn and his mouth began to feel dry.

Her surprise didn’t allow her to close her mouth. She kept it open all along, while Carmy tried to talk his way out of that predicament.

He kinda did by saying that he always drew portraits of people and that he didn’t think they were any good so that’s why he hadn’t shown her those yet, but that if she liked them she could keep them.

After a few more moments of silent blinking, Syd, while still flabbergasted, finally managed to shut her mouth, compose herself, swallow, and then form a short sentence:

"Um… thanks."

Carmy tried to fake calm. He wanted to sound as if he had everything under control and nonchalantly said:

"So you like them?"

"Sure."

"Wanna keep them?"

"I wanna frame them."

"Oh well… OK, thanks, I guess…"

"You are sooo talented, Carmy. These are… great, I’m—I’m in awe! I don’t know what to say, really…"

"Thank you."

"How did you-"

"I see you every day Syd."

"So… you didn’t take any pics or anything like that? I mean, I never posed for these…"

"Nope, just… I thought of you… that’s all."

"Wow!"

"You wanted my full focus, didn’t you? Well, there you have it."

He smiled sheepishly.

"I’d say…"

They both laughed on the way to the car.

That ride was awkward. The tension in the car was palpable. They couldn’t hold each other’s gazes. They would just steal a look at each other now and then, at a red light mostly… Then the tension continued to build up and they kept trying to ignore it and act as if nothing happened. Syd was holding on to that red sketchbook for dear life, she held it firmly against her chest like a shield.

When he pulled to the curve in front of her house, he looked at her intendedly, but couldn’t say a word. He was still too nervous and too embarrassed. His cover had been blown.

He had been caught red-handed, loving her.

His cover was up in the air like a fucking zeppelin.

Loving the memory of her.

His cover was now a satellite orbiting around Earth.

Loving the very thought of her.

He was sure she knew that by now. She was too smart to not have figured it out.

Syd looked at him and this time she was able to hold his eyes for a moment, then she stuttered something along the lines of: “Thanks for the ride” and got out of that car as fast as she could.

The walk to her door felt endless. Torturous even.

She wanted to go back in her tracks and kiss the genius out of him but she kept walking.

When she heard him drive away Sydney felt equally sad and relieved.

As soon as she got in bed she started going over the drawings again, and she was still so blown away by them that she couldn’t get any sleep that night.

She twisted and turned and her mind kept playing tricks on her. She pictured him alone, at his place, smoking a cigarette by the window, maybe wearing sweatpants, perhaps *only* those grey sweatpants that looked so hot on him, surrounded by his amazing books and thinking of her, drawing her perfectly by heart.

Her heart was all of a sudden a wild horse.

She wanted to call him up, wake him up, listen to his voice, and ask him about each drawing. She wanted him to walk her through each of those masterpieces. She wanted him to tell her why he did that, the truth this time around, not the PR version. She wanted... him.

6:00 AM Sydney was on her way to The Bear, still wired up, with the image of her own charcoal face firebranded on her brain and her every thought circling back to Carmy.

6:40 AM She was already at work, going through her to-do list, which included a lot of things that Carm usually did because he had to run that errand downtown, that morning.

9:07 AM Carmy walked through the front door of the restaurant and went straight to the office trying to avoid Sydney.

9:08 AM Syd was in the office telling him they needed to talk and do it elsewhere because Natalie was on the way.

9:08 AM Carmy was kicking himself on the inside.

9:10 AM They were outside, in the back alley, trying to sound like 2 adults having a serious yet friendly conversation about art.

9:11 AM They were making out. No, they were obscenely sucking face. Syd’s tongue was deep in his mouth and his hands were on her back pulling her closer.

9:20 AM They were still making out in the back alley, now her back was pressed against the wall, her hands were in his hair and his mouth was exploring hers as if his life depended on it, they were running out of oxygen, but that didn’t stop them, they continued locking mouths for a moment longer.

9:21 AM They finally broke the kiss to catch a breath, now their eyes were locked, they were panting, and they were nowhere finished. He went for her neck. Then back to her lips, she did the same. His hands on her waist, keeping her pinned to the wall, pressing himself against her. Her hands all over his back, trying to learn it by touch, like blind people learn to recognize faces with their hands.

9:22 AM Tina went out the back door carrying a huge trashbag, quickly made her way to the container, and dropped it there. She only saw them when she turned around and headed back to the restaurant. At that point, her spidey senses told her *something* was up, but Carm and Syd tried their best to look like 2 innocent people who happened to just be chit-chatting about the weather. Tina decided to play it cool and shot: “Morning!” Then promptly left them to it.

9:23 AM Syd and Carmy were back in the kitchen, pretending to fully focus on the tasks at hand. Not looking at each other. Still feeling their lips on one another. Still trying to control their respective heart rates.

11:08 PM Syd was on his couch, he was on top of her, he was all over her, inside her. She was grabbing his ass and urging him deeper as she sank her teeth into his shoulder and commanded him to fuck her.

11:29 PM Carmy was smoking a cigarette by the window, in his white boxers, using the ashtray he kept on top of his pile of books and looking at her, basking in her naked beauty, memorizing it. Syd was still on the sofa, lying on her side and resting her head on her hand, looking at him, enjoying the view as well. Their full focus: On each other, only this time around none of them were trying to hide it.

:The 💋 end:

You can find more fics like this one by me on AO3.

Thanks for reading!

XOXO

[propertyofwhitney67]

since we're at the topic of LIs being animals... what about LIs as dogs ? how would dog Whitney act ?

Whitney is a pomeranian and you can't change my mind

AKC dog groups wasn't working so this took a while

Whitney: Pomeranian | Vibes and proud, bark a lot if not trained well, small dog syndrome

Kylar: Hungarian Vizsla | separation anxiety, lap dog despite size, highly intelligent, curious, and sometimes manipulative

Sydney: Pembroke Welsh Corgi | Playful, Tenacious, Friendly, Bold, Outgoing, Protective

Robin: Bichon Frise | soft, sweet, and naturally social

Avery: Siberian Husky | Stubborn, fastidious, dignified attitude

Alex: Border Collie | Intelligent, Tenacious, Keen, Responsive, Energetic, Alert, Loyal, Athletic

Eden: Boerboel | strong watch and guard-dog instincts, self-assured, fearless, highly intelligent, protective

GH: English Pointer | Even Tempered, Kind, Affectionate, Amiable, Loyal, Active

BW: Bloodhound | Even Tempered, Stubborn, Affectionate, Gentle

[tomsavoca]

Getting Updates

We love to get updates about how dogs we have trained are going. A recent example is Hewey. He was sent for training as his main issues were excessive challenge barking, some reactivity, pulling when walking, lack of reliable recall and basic commands. We recently received this update: “We have been working with Hewie, from release-play to sit (at distance), to command ‘come’, and drop. He is…

[eazydogtrainer]

Dog training sydney

My Online Dog Training courses are fun, easy & affordable dog training option! Follow Your Professional Online Dog Training Plan & Train when it suits you!

[pupphe-additions]

✬Evie's Idol Profile✬

✬Basics✬

Group: Stray Kids Stage Name: Evie English Name: Evelyn Kim Korean Name: Kim Nari (김나리) Nicknames: Eve, Lyn, Evie, Evs, Nani, Bear, Bug, Nini, Lovey, Vi and Ari Position: Dancer, Rapper, and Vocalist Birthday: July 6th, 1998 Zodiacs: Cancer/Tiger Birth Place: Sydney, Australia Ethnicity: Korean Nationality: Australian Languages:

English (native/fluent) Korean (fluent) Auslan (fluent) Auslan is Australian Sign Language Spanish (fluent) Japanese (learning/conversational)

Family: Grandma (Deceased), Grandfather (Deceased), Mother, Father, Older Brother, Younger Sister, a niece, and a nephew Instagram: skz.eve98

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

✬Physical✬

Height: 152.4cm (5’0) Weight: 44.9kg (99 lbs) Blood Type: A Body Modifications: belly button piercing, triple helix (left ear), lobe and upper lobe (both ears) | two tattoos Face Claim: Soyeon (G)I-DLE Dance Model:  1M Dance Studio Yoojung Lee [x] [x] [x] Rap and Vocal Model: Dreamcatcher Dami [x] [x]

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

✬Personality✬

MBTI: INTP Positive Traits: Caring, open minded, loving, logical, empathic, intuitive, protective, and ambitious Negative Traits: Extreme stubbornness, perfectionist, jealous, can be rather moody and impatient Strengths: Open mindedness, curious, creative, talented, and passionate Weaknesses: Impatient, perfectionist, disconnected often, standoffish, low self esteem and self worth, and overthinks everything 3 Words She Would Use to Describe Herself: Hard working, loving, and open minded 3 Words STAY Would Use to Describe Her: Brave, caring, and understanding 3 Words Stray Kids Would Use to Describe Her: Rebellious, kind, and crazy

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

✬Statics✬

Visual: ★★★★★★★★☆☆ (8.5/10) Vocals: ★★★★★★☆☆☆☆ (5.5/10) Rap: ★★★★★★★★★☆ (9/10) Dance:  ★★★★★★★★★★ (10/10) Choreographing: ★★★★★★★★★★ (10/10) Stage Presence: ★★★★★★★★★★ (10/10) Acting: ★★★★☆☆☆☆☆☆ (4/10) Producing/Song Writing: ★★★★★★☆☆☆☆ (6/10) Public Speaking: ★★★★★★☆☆☆☆ (5.5/10) Other Variety: ★★★★★★★★☆☆ (8/10) Total: 76.5/100 Special Stat (Flexibility): ★★★★★★★★★★ (10/10) Special Stat (Video Gaming): ★★★★★★★★★★ (10/10)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

✬Career Information✬

Stage Name: Evie Agency(s): SM Entertainment (former trainee) JYP Entertainment (current) Training Period: 2010-2019  (almost 9 years) Group: Stray Kids Debut Date: 01-24-2019 Position(s): Dancer, Rapper, and Vocalist Individual Fandom: Lily Pads Representative Emoji/Animal: Koala 🐨 Unit: Dance Racha

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

✬Romance, Simplified✬

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Ideal Type: “Someone understanding and someone I can connect with. Someone who will love and care for me, but also someone who will call me out on my bullshit. I think that would be my ideal type.” Commenter: What about gender? Do you have a preference? Evie: As long as they love me that’s all that matters no? Gender doesn’t stop love! 

Relationship Status: Single

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

✬Trivia✬

Evie has two dogs named Aurora and Luna and a macaw named Comet.

Evie's sister is named Chloe (2001) and a brother named Hudson (1996)

Evie was originally on the show with the other members of Stray Kids but she got eliminated very early on and didn’t get a second chance as JYP didn’t think she was ready enough at the time. Evie mentioned on vLive how that made her feel like she would never be good enough to debut.

She has a serious case of RBF.

She enjoys being alone after a long day.

She is a masters overwatch 2 support player, she is also in diamond as DPS, and plat as tank.

She really enjoys playing games competitively.

She is very close with her older brother and his kids and calls him everyday for at least an hour.

She can come off as cold and intimidating when you first meet but she's actually just a massive softy.

She is allergic to shellfish and also has seasonal allergies.

She likes to assign people in her life with colors.

She has a group of idol friends that she talks to regularly and she doesn’t like making new friends unless she is with the other members of SKZ.

[hazard-and-friends]

i'm soooooo glad i got hazard first.

not just because he's a good mentor for puppies (although he is) and not really because he's improved my dog training skills (although he has)

he and k'seil are so different and they think and learn so differently; the skills i developed to work with hazard are either irrelevant or preinstalled for k'seil, and my problems with k'seil are largely not problems i ever had with hazard. i don't need to teach her how to eat outside, or how to refocus on me after getting distracted by the environment, or how to care about what i care about--

and that's what i'm grateful for, because k'seil is such a sport puppy and her problems are sport puppy problems. if she was my first dog i would've returned her already i would not be so able to help my clients and would not be so empathetic to them, because k'seil and sydney have a lot in common in terms of approach to training--sydney i could train for an hour. any context. any location. with kibble. she would be glued to my hand. i could be sloppy about my mechanics, push her, put social and spacial pressure on her to do what i wanted, and she would follow through--and, largely, so does k'seil.

so if those were the two dogs i had exposure to, because one is a wellbred aussie and the other was a puppy mill doodle, i would think that this was just dogs! dogs are like this! not being like this is something that should be fixed!

and spending 3 years with just hazard, who refuses to be pressured, who requires buy-in before doing difficult things, who cannot be lured or teased or tricked--and those aren't things i'm able to (or WANT to) change about him, they're just who he is, as a cattle dog/shar pei abomination--

like yes the training skills also good but just the understanding of the diversity of dog behavior, that not every dog is a border collie analogue--that's important

[patheticbatman]

The 52nd Win A Commission Contest was the film Napoleon (1995)! I wrote it in prose form in conjunction with my drawings (lmk if you think I should add the songs), so if you’d like to see that, please

Once upon a time, there was a golden retriever puppy, who had big dreams, and no idea how to reach them.

His mother had named him Muffin, but one day, he heard humans speak a name – Napoleon! – And knew that had to be his true name. In his soul, he knew his heart beat to a tune that was both more warlike and wild. Often he had even heard the howls of wild dogs. Unfortunately, no one else saw it like that, and his mother insisted on calling him Muffin.

It didn’t help that he was afraid of water. He told himself that while every warrior had his trials, there was no need to be afraid of the humans’ pool; he was bred for swimming. Still, he hesitated.

One day, the small human had a birthday party. Cruelly, but without malice – for many young creatures are oft inconsiderate – the child decided to show off Napoleon's adorable qualities by placing him on a turtle pool floaty. The puppy panicked. Then, in an even worse turn of events, the humans forgot he was there, and soon he floated to the middle of the pool – the stuff of nightmares for both him and his mother.

Thankfully, the floaty eventually made its way to the steps of the pool, and Napoleon rescued himself – though not before a balloon fell on his head.

Irritated, he chewed and slobbered on the various objects the children left by the poolside to assuage his ego.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something new to investigate - a basket, tied to a bunch of helium balloons. He crawled in, much to the chagrin of his mother. She asked him to get out immediately, but embarrassed and overfocused on asserting his bravery, he did not heed her commands. And as she was tied to the dog house, she could do nothing to enforce them.

His wiggling and jiggling as he sniffed all over the basket – it smelled and tasted like a child with a lightly sticky hands had been messing with it – he did not notice that the basket had come untethered. Only when he had righted himself, did he notice that the basket - and thus himself – were in fact, flying.

His mother pleaded with him to jump out, but the balloons rose too fast, and he was soon too high up to tumble out safely. Both parent and puppy were terrified, and she tried to assure her son that he would stuck get in the trees, and to just sit tight.

But through some twisted miracle, he floated into the open sky.

Trying to calm his nerves as his mother’s frantic barking grew fainter and the world underneath grew smaller, he sang a song of adventure. A warrior, a true, wild dog, must of course be able to make the best of bad situations.

Soon he floated out of the suburbs, and into Sydney, seeing the incredibly tall skyscrapers from above for the first time.

And just when he was starting to float down, and his hopes rose – for maybe some human could take him home! – His basket got caught on the front spike of a monorail train.

Speeding through the city, he enjoyed the wind in his face and the rush of people in cars below. Unfortunately, the train came to a stop, and his basket came loose, and once again, he was free - floating right towards the harbor. Water!

Soon, he was over open water, and the weight of the situation settled heavily on his poor heart. A plane passed overhead, but did not hear his pleas for rescue.

But a lost galah named Birdo did. Screeching and curious, but also cautious for the puppy, he encouraged Napoleon to sit more securely and balanced in the basket. However, Birdo was still a bird, and he had a bird-brained idea. As the two floated over a beach, Birdo started popping the balloons in an attempt to gradually lower Napoleon to land.

Bemused, for Napoleon did not quite follow the plan, he watched as the first popped balloon fell to the side of the basket. However, by the second, the basket began to worryingly shudder its way to the ground - and Napoleon was not close. Still, Birdo persisted.

Unfortunately, the fourth popped balloon was one too many, and the basket hurtled to the ground.

Horrified, Birdo screamed for Napoleon to jump out as the basket impacted, and then began bouncing and rolling violently down the windswept cliff. When the basket finally reached the bottom, Birdo feared the worst, for he saw no sign of the puppy.

But it was empty! Napoleon was on a rock ledge. He ridiculed Birdo, and the galah was both irritated at Napoleon's ingratitude, and worried over the puppy’s fate in the wild.

Napoleon, ignoring both his and Birdo’s fears, decided to embrace his situation and go look for wild dogs. He climbed up a different cliff to overlook a vast rainforest. Birdo warned him that house pets don’t survive out in the wild and said he should head home. Hearing the call of a wild dog, Napoleon ignored Birdo’s warnings and descended into the forest.

It was soon dark, but Napoleon wasn’t worried, making his way through the slender moonlit trees. High above him, a tawny frogmouth caught his attention and warned that housepets either died or became something monstrous to survive. Napoleon once again ignored the advice, believing that the frogmouth was merely trying to frighten him.

—

Eventually, Napoleon decided it was time to sleep. He had gone a long way today, and would likely have further to go.

Napoleon ran across a spider and asked her for a good place to sleep. She instead fished for a compliment about her web. Napoleon pointed out a mistake, panicked because it stuck to his nose, ran through the web and ruined some more of it with his tail. The spider was quite displeased.

Unconcerned, the puppy ventured forth, until he came to a great tree, with a tunnel running between its roots. Napoleon sniffed it, hoping that it could be his bed for the night, but found it to be someone’s home. Calling out in the hope of finding someone willing to share for the night, Napoleon did not notice a feral black cat watching him from above.

"Is that a mouse I hear?" the cat said rhetorically, stalking forward. Napoleon entered the tree roots. "Can’t have a mouse in my house." Napoleon munched on something inside. "Furry mouse. Big yellow mouse."

Napoleon thought he heard something but quickly turned back to the food.

"Time to rid my house of the mouse!” the cat said, coming into view.

"Huh? What?" Napoleon said, his wide, dark eyes shining against his pale yellow face.

"The mouse." The cat growled – whether or not in reply to Napoleon, only she would ever know. Her intense, yellow eyes squinted menacingly, her body barely standing out from the dark of the night.

Napoleon laughed nervously, panting. "Good thing I’m not a mouse."

"You can’t fool me with that pitiful disguise!" She crept forward and hissed. "I’ll RIP it off you!"

Napoleon tried to run, but the ribbon the birthday child had wrapped around his neck got caught. The cat growled, and the puppy ripped free, leaving the ribbon behind. She ran after him, in that flat, close to the ground way cats do, far more familiar with the landscape than he was.

He hid, hoping that a lack of movement would protect him from the grimalkin.

Unfortunately, he had hidden right next to a boulder, which was perfect for her to creep up, plan her attack, and then pounce on the unsuspecting Napoleon.

He ran into the forest, the cat catching him occasionally, and even once bowling him over. She chased him onto a log, crossing a small, muddy pond.

He froze when he realized he was stuck over water, and the cat taunted him.

“Listen to me. I am not a mouse. You are a deeply disturbed animal." Napoleon foolishly appealed to her sense of reason.

“Shuddup!” She snarled. Napoleon whimpered. "My job is to destroy all vermin in this house. The mouse must die, now!" She started biting at his face, hoping to knock him into the water.

The tawny frogmouth, who had been observing, took pity on Napoleon, and flew down, knocking the cat into the water.

Only bubbles rose.

The frogmouth scolded Napoleon, but he did not care, and mocked the spot where the cat fell in. Remembering his manners, Napoleon thanked the bird.

"That cat won’t rest until you’re dead,” It said.

"That cat is fishbait by now." The puppy scoffed, and ran away.

The cat rose out of the mud and swore revenge, but by then, Napoleon was far out of earshot.

—

Snuggled at the base of a tree, the sun rose, and Napoleon heard his mother say, "Rise and shine, Muffin. It’s a beautiful morning. Time to get up, Muffin. Wake up."

“Mom? Mommy?” He woke up, expecting his mom to be there, but was dismayed to find himself alone.

Shaking his sadness off, Napoleon scampered through the verdant rainforest, and congratulated himself for surviving his first night away from home. He came upon a waterfall, and sat stymied. Out loud he wondered why he was so afraid of water.

A bunch of rainbow lorikeets started mimicking him. In between taunts, they told him that the wild dogs are on the other side.

Soon, Napoleon’s desire to meet them won over his fear. He found a flat spot to cross, and the lorikeets mocked his progress. But he made it!

He met a much nicer lorikeet who confirmed his intel and sympathized with him over the rudeness of the others … which gave Napoleon an adorably wicked idea.

Crossing back over - for he was slightly distant desensitized to his fear of water by then – he tricked them into calling themselves stupid, and went on his way.

Eventually, he arrived in a less dense forest, and overhearing a suspicious sound, went to investigate.

In the clearing, on a slanted tree, was a koala.

Napoleon tried to growl at the koala, but he was nonplussed. After a little more boasting from Napoleon, the koala climbed down, unconcerned with the puppy’s antics as he followed behind his odd waddle on the ground.

Napoleon tried to goad the koala into climbing up a tree and spotting the wild dogs – for once again, he heard them, but could not seem to find them. The koala turned it back on him, and kept the fact that he couldn’t see farther than a meter in front of himself, until he was away from Napoleon's reach.

The puppy stalked away, irritated. That was when Birdo found him again. Napoleon immediately jumped on the chance of having a lookout, but accidentally insulted the galah instead.

He apologized and then ignored Birdo‘s advice about going home, instead, asking for wilderness survival skills.

Unfortunately, when trying to open up to Birdo, to convince the galah of his mission, Napoleon let slip that the that they called him ‘Muffin’ at home, near a dastardly frog, and the same taunting lorikeets from before, looking for revenge. On the spot, they came up with the whole song about how he should go home. Napoleon tried to bite the frog, but it plopped onto his head. Birdo, being a good friend, kept knocking the lorikeets off their perch, but they kept flying back.

Tail held high, Napoleon walked away from the twittering animals, and found a log floating in the water. Unthinkingly, he walked on, and was surprised when it detached from the shore and floated into a bay. Despite his dismay, he resolved to sit tight, and let it take him to the other shore, where he was headed anyway. Less work!

Of course, it ended up dead in the water.

Birdo, impatient and dedicated to keeping this dog alive if he wasn’t going to go home and save himself, decided to toughen Napoleon up. He swooped down and knocked the puppy into the water, encouraging him to doggy paddle.

Napoleon was surprised to find that he was really good at it – perhaps forgetting that he was literally a golden retriever. He still needed a little instruction on how to get up the bank, but he made it.

—

The first lesson to become a wild dog, Birdo decided, was food. They had reached a rocky area, overlooking mountains. Birdo lead Napoleon to a rocky hill, covered in dry grass. A chorus of rabbits briefly scattered into sight before hiding behind other boulders and grass.

"Do you want me to eat these?" Napoleon said incredulously. All he had ever eaten was his mother’s milk, dog food, and dropped human food.

“You want to eat," Birdo said, with no small amount of vicious glee in his voice, "You’ve got to learn to KILL!"

Napoleon's incredulity did not lift. But somehow, he was convinced to try. He wandered over to where the bunnies were flitting about.

Sadly, they moved so rapidly, Napoleon had trouble focusing on just one to catch. They sang as they escaped, aware that they had the upper paw, but unwilling to show anything other than caution.

Birdo sang in opposition, calling upon Napoleon's bloodlust and hunger to drive the puppy to kill. Napoleon managed to get one alone, and it sat huddled, mostly frozen to its own detriment, as the puppy engaged in rough play with its tremorous body. But the rabbit managed to gather its wits, and after it jumped on top of a rock, Napoleon lost interest.

Birdo scolded Napoleon, but eventually gave up on the bloody venture once the puppy found lichen to eat. It did not stop his complaints.

They moved to drier, flatter land. The next lesson, according to Birdo, was learning to discern whether an animal was dangerous or not.

Napoleon approached a wombat, but as soon as it caught sight of him, it ran away, screaming, "A house pet!"

Next, he found some quokkas, former victims of the cat. They were more friendly, but still shaken from the encounter. One’s ears were quite torn.

Birdo was satisfied, so they traveled onto some snow-topped mountains. Napoleon, who loved using his nose, remarked that snow made smelling more difficult. That did not stop him from smelling something unusual.

Birdo was uninterested. He felt that it was time to learn the third lesson, about the weather. In fact … he felt a huge storm coming.

The snow that sat on the trees shivered and fell. A large rumbling came ever closer. Then Birdo realized his mistake. The rumbling wasn’t a storm. It was brumbies!

"Run!" the bird screamed, and flew away, landing in a far tree.

As the feral horses thundered by, the bird realized with great dismay that he could no longer see his friend. He called out, but if there was an answer, the galah could not hear it.

Once the herd passed, Birdo fluttered down and searched amongst the trampled snow, panic rising. But Napoleon merely had slipped into a snow burrow.

Napoleon yelled at Birdo, for he had at least smelled the horses. Birdo protested, and it only made Napoleon angrier, vowing not to trust Birdos ‘faulty’ advice again, and ran down the mountain. His nose caught something, so the puppy paused for a moment, looking over the land below. "I smell sweets!” – Napoleon followed his nose to a field of what he thought was tall grass. Birdo followed, and tried to warn him what happens to fields of dry sugarcane.

Being a dog, and one irritated at Birdo, Napoleon ignored the warnings and followed his nose instead.

Napoleon ran into a red-bellied black snake, and was nearly drawn into its eyes, but Birdo’s worried screeching pulled him out of it.

The cane around him got hotter and hotter as he pushed further in. Then he smelled smoke. And where there is smoke, there is fire. Terrified, Napoleon trampled through the burning cane, skirting around blazes and coughing, while Birdo guided the puppy out with his voice.

Stumbling out of the cane, the two reunited joyfully, and Napoleon apologized.

Of course, that was when the cat caught up with them. Bird and puppy hurried away, the cat following close behind.

Surprisingly, they stumbled upon Birdo’s flock, whom he had been searching for these last few days. Birdo joyfully flew among his kin, screeching.

This gave enough distraction that the cat, not wanting to miss an opportunity to rid her ‘house’ of vermin, crept up on a tree full of galahs.

Happy for his friend, Napoleon wandered a gulley lined with red dirt, making slight fun of the reunited family as he passed underneath. By chance, Napoleon turned his head and saw the cat creeping up behind some of Birdo‘s cousins.

Napoleon had to yell repeatedly that the cat was behind them, their excitable din nearly causing their own demise. But the galahs noticed the cat and flew away in time.

Birdo didn’t see it that way, and scolded him. He hadn’t seen the cat, and only saw what he thought was Napoleon scaring his family away. He quickly changed his tune when the cat crept up behind him.

Napoleon sauntered away as the cat lay defeated in the tree, looking for Birdo. They soon found each other near a highway. Birdo failed to land on a traffic sign, and Napoleon refrained from commenting beyond a genuine query about his health, as Birdo delicately climbed onto his chosen perch.

"Where does this road go?" Napoleon asked.

"It leads to the shore, where you landed." said Birdo. "It can be one of the most dangerous places out here!"

The puppy shrugged him off, saying, "I know all about roads!"

This was when a tractor trailer truck came into view. Napoleon wisely got to one side, but then noticed a dark colored frilled-neck lizard, laying flat on the road. Desperately, he barked at the lizard, believing it to be asleep. He wanted to go into the road, to nudge it away from the path of danger, but Birdo and some of Napoleon's housepet instincts held him back.

The truck roared by, covering the poor lizard from sight. To Napoleon and Birdo surprise, once the truck passed, they saw the lizard lay unharmed.

Napoleon went forward to make sure that the lizard was all right.

"GO! AWAY!" snarled the lizard, terribly offended at Napoleon's proximity and concern. "THIS IS MY SPACE!" The lizard leapt threateningly into Napoleon’s face. Friendliness made Napoleon a little slow on the uptake, so he didn’t really walk away until the lizard leapt.

"Never expect gratitude from a cold blooded creature. Hah!" Birdo said, landing on the road to walk away with Napoleon.

Soon, they encountered dry shrublands. In between dull green plants with thin leaves, the red earth lay cracked and uneven.

Birdo urged Napoleon to go home, reminding the puppy that his family surely missed him.

Napoleon's eyes shined wetly, but he couldn’t ignore the call of the wild dogs. It was his lifelong dream, after all.

The two debated for a while, but Napoleon held fast, claiming it was a dog thing, and Birdo wouldn’t understand, but that he was grateful for all of Birdo’s help so far. They came to the edge of the desert, and both felt in their hearts that it was time to go their separate ways.

As evening fell, they sang a bittersweet duet of parting, and bid each other goodbye, wishing to meet again. Birdo flew off to rejoin his family, and Napoleon continued on his quest to find the wild dogs.

—

Napoleon followed along a narrow footpath.

A small, spiky animal groaned as it came his way, as if each step hurt. An echidna! Napoleon went over to say hi, but it dismissed him stingily, anticipating jokes about its appearance, and wishing to keep its potential water to itself. Napoleon assured it that he would share any water he found, but that didn’t seem to matter to the echidna. Then he made a poorly-timed pun, and the creature clumsily rolled into a small pit in sheer irritation.

The echidna begin to dig, though its small paws made for slow going. Napoleon helped, and the puppy quickly uncovered some water, and drank first, much to the echidna’s chagrin, complaining about germs.

Napoleon set off again, and found himself in the desert. Red sand laid burning, wind blown into long waves of dune lines, stretching on for desiccated kilometers. The puppy scampered across, as the gait afforded him less time for each paw to touch the scorching ground. Nevertheless, it hurt.

Brown mountains rimmed the stretch of land, and Napoleon kept along until he found a solitary tree, providing precious shade. There he rested among the dead branches bleached white like bones, when he spotted an odd animal.

It stood – as much as a lizard can stand – upon a shrubby hill, and howled and barked in a heart-sinkingly silly voice.

"That’s what I left home for?" The lizard barked some more as Napoleon stared on in disbelief.

Disconcertingly, the thing started approaching Napoleon, making odd gulping noises with each step it took.

"Were the wild dogs I’ve been hearing… that?” Napoleon had to make sure. He ran to the creature and asked.

Pleased with the attention, the goofy looking beast – which he came to realize was a perentie lizard - let out a long, ridiculous howl, ending in a guffaw. Without prompting, the lizard demonstrated his poorly rendered repertoire, which included cow noises.

Napoleon ran away, heartbroken and disillusioned, the lizard’s haunting "Moo. Moo. Moo. Moo. MOO!" echoing in his ears as he climbed up the mountains.

"I am such an idiot. All this time, I’ve been chasing after a barking lizard. There’s no wild dogs anywhere. I’ve been running after something that doesn’t even exist." He whimpered. "Now I’ve got no home. No wild life. I don’t have my mother. I don’t have the instinct to make it out here. I’m a dumb house pet.” He cried for a moment. “Who doesn’t know a retriever from a reptile. I don’t deserve the name Napoleon. Not a crumb like me." Then, with a sob, "I’m just a Muffin after all."

He kept running, racing along ridges, until at last he fell down from exhaustion.

—

When he came to, small creatures - rodents, or marsupials, he wasn’t sure - were running around, hiding in rock cracks and burrows. A few noticed him, and presumed him dead or soon to be. A rain storm loomed ever closer, and promised to sweep all incautious creatures away.

Napoleon got moving. He knew better now than to ignore their warnings. Sure enough, fat drops soon splattered the ground, and currents began to form as the water overtook the earth.

Running into a crevasse, desperately hoping to find himself a cranny or nook to press himself into until the flood was over, Napoleon stumbled into a cave that stretched upwards, away from the coming water.

It was still dry, the red soil still untouched by water that would turn it into a bland tan. Napoleon climbed upward, sniffing excitedly. A safe spot! And then, at the very top, a pale movement. Two other puppies!

"Mother? Is that you?" a sweet voice called out.

"Hello?" Napoleon couldn’t believe his eyes.

"A stranger! Get out, or we’ll attack!" a rougher one said. He knocked his sister down to Napoleon in the guise of a pounce.

They were creamy tan, with ears that were still floppy like his, but looked like they were going to lift up soon, likely into sharp points.

Nancy, for that was the girl puppy’s name, decided Napoleon was fine, and after clearing up that she and Syd (the other puppy) weren’t lost, that this was their home, she tried to play with Napoleon.

But it was not meant to be. A wave rushed into the cave, and soon caught up to where Napoleon and Nancy were standing, washing them away. Syd, safe on a rock shelf, screamed as his sister was thrown about, yelping. Napoleon managed to pull himself to sit on a rock shelf, a larger and stronger swimmer.

Napoleon took charge once he saw that Nancy was still in the water. He instructed her to keep talking, and to hold on.

Nancy disappeared for a moment, the boys’ hearts leaping into their throats. But then she reappeared on a rock, the water still lapping at her feet, threatening to catch her again.

Napoleon could feel his heart racing - all his troubles with water had lead right to this moment. He swam to Nancy’s rock, barely keeping his head above the water as lightning flashed and thunder rumbled.

But he made it! Too scared to swim, Napoleon coaxed Nancy onto his back. Confidence and a need to save her strengthened his paddles, as he pretended to be a boat, to distract her from panicking. Both stayed above water. He had a little trouble getting her onto the ‘dock’ -the rock shelf where her brother stood - but they managed.

And just as quickly as the rain had come, it stopped. And there, standing at the cave mouth, limned by the tentative sun, was a figure.

"It’s a wild dog!" exclaimed Napoleon in wonder.

"Of course it is. It’s our mother!" exclaimed Syd.

She shook the rainwater off, and smiled at the puppies.

"I’ve been with the wild dogs all along!" Napoleon couldn’t believe it.

In a comforting voice, the mother dingo said, "Syd. Nancy. Are you all right?" she panted. "Who is this?"

Shock at his own luck and a sudden drop in adrenaline hit Napoleon like a hammer, and he fainted.

—

He woke up hours later, with Nancy licking his face. After shrugging her off, and spotting her mother, he got straight to the point.

"Can I stay here with you? I want to be a wild dog."

"But what about your mother?" ask the dingo, her kind eyes watching from above.

"I want to live here. In the wild!" The other puppies pleaded his case too.

The mother dingo answered the only way she could: "Of course he can."

"I’m a wild dog. At last!"

All the puppies began to tussle out of sheer happiness.

—

The days passed by. The two dingo puppies played ‘Napoleon’ with the vanishing puddles, taking turns being rescued.

Both Napoleon and the mother watched over their antics. At the beginning, he would sometimes sit out of their games to make sure he did not tumble the other two puppies - being bigger and older, he could hurt them. But as time went on, he grew disillusioned with playing. For the last few days, he had not played at all, and only laid next to the dingo mother.

His new life in the wild didn’t quite satisfy him anymore. The thrill of living with real wild dogs was amazing, of course, but something felt missing. Napoleon thought it was just because they hadn’t started the more bloodthirsty aspects of the life, like fighting and hunting. But the dingo mother knew better, and so as she cuddled with the retriever puppy while he took a big nap, she made a plan.

—

"Wake up, Napoleon. Today is the day." She nudged him awake and led him out of the cave. “Come on, it will just be the two of us." She trotted it across a field of flat rocks, covered in red clay, and baked in the sun. Being unfamiliar with the terrain, Napoleon struggled to keep up, but was buoyed by enthusiasm.

"Tell me child; why did you leave home?" she asked.

"I wanted to go where there were no rules."

"And what did you find?" They crossed onto a plane of white sand.

"Well, I found that there were a lot of rules, about living with other animals, and being on your own."

Now they were walking parallel with the shore, black shells littering the ground. "And what did you want to do out here?"

“I wanted to hunt my food, and kill it!"

"And did you enjoy that?" Her voice continued to be kind.

"No. I ate moss instead." He confessed.

"Anything else you wanted?"

"Well, yeah! I wanted to stay up late and have fun all the time!"

"And did you? Have fun, all the time?" The two laid down, front paws ahead, watching as the sun bowed down to darkness.

“No. Sometimes it was scary. Lots of times I was alone."

"Then why do you want to be out here?"

"I want to be a wild dog! So I can be really brave and fearless!"

"But you’ve been that, all along. You couldn’t have come this far without being fearless. And it was YOUR bravery that saved Syd and Nancy." She paused, and then said, "In your heart, you’ve been a wild dog all along, Napoleon."

Their shadows grew long. "I guess I have!"

"Is there something more you want?".

"Well, yes."

"Tell me."

"I want – " Napoleon paused, for a moment, unsure if he was willing to say it. "I want to go home. I miss my mom."

"What if I told you I had a friend who could take you back?"

"Really?!"

"Come along." The sun‘s last rays lit the two dogs as they went back to the cave one last time.

—

The next day, Napoleon was treated to what was possibly the most inane song in existence as he rode in a red kangaroo’s pouch. Repeatedly, Napoleon was smashed full in the face with tall, bristly bushes and narrowly evaded what should have been easily avoided obstacles, such as trees. He called for help several times, but to no avail, as the kangaroo crooned to her ‘possum’. He tried hiding his face, but it didn’t fit well in the pouch.

As soon as she stopped, Napoleon hurried out and into the forest, to get away from her insanity. Somehow, he ran into the same koala as before.

"Well, well, " the koala drawled.

"Oh no, not him again!" Groaned the puppy.

"If it isn’t my favorite dining companion, the wild dog himself."

"No! I’m Napoleon! Wild house pet! Conqueror of the outback, and the backyard!" Napoleon declared, sure of himself.

“I can run fearless across waterfalls!" he yelled as he did just that.

The lorikeets, who still didn’t have anything better to do, mimicked him. "Little birds suck!" Was all he said, tricking them into insulting themselves once again.

Soon he was back at the beach where he first arrived. "Now what do I do?" he said, clambering over the rocks and pebbles that lined the shore. He could see home! But how was he to get across? Then he spotted his basket, a little worse for the wear, but still floating, and felt triumphant. He went over to the tide pool where it rested, bobbing occasionally with eddies of the waves.

But instead of it being empty, as he had assumed, a New Zealand Adélie penguin popped his head out! It was nearly full grown, but was still small and round.

They argued a bit, but the puppy was able to assert ownership over the basket, and then they fell to talking. As Conan the penguin kept extolling his fierce nature and super–penguin abilities, Napoleon had to laugh; the little bird was exactly like him at the beginning of his journey!

Conan’s speech started to turn dangerous, so Napoleon decided to tell his own story, hoping to help the penguin avoid his own mistakes.

—

By the time he finished, an unconvinced Conan stood watch as Napoleon struggled to climb into the basket – the plan was that he would be carried out into the bay at high tide during midnight. But the penguins' bravado dissolved as soon as he saw his family.

"Pengy!” a raucous voice called out. Conan tried to hide, but as his mother just called out “Pengy!” again, he reluctantly turned to face them. Napoleon laughed at the silly name.

Terribly embarrassed, Conan waddled up a dune to escape, only to find his family already there.

Apologetic, Napoleon convinced the family that he could persuade Conan to go home. He felt bad for making fun of Conan’s name, but still thought it best to try and stop any so-called adventuring – even going so far as to continue to call him Pengy.

Napoleon climbed into the basket before Conan could, annoying the penguin.

"It’s my turn to howl! You’ve had your fun!" said the penguin, who then howled in a goofy manner. Conan began waddling up a hill, continuing to monologue about his future adventures.

There was a low rumble. At first, it sounded like a vicious wind blowing through trees, but it soon transformed into a noise Napoleon knew and dreaded. It came from the hilltop.

"That sounds… Could it be?" Napoleon tilted his head in hopeful confusion. "Hello, is somebody else up here?"

Rocks fell. Napoleon knew it had to be her. "She’s back!" he yelped, voice high with fear.

Lightning illuminated a black figure, stalking downhill. Unconcerned and unaware, Conan carelessly looked for the cat, peering down and making empty threats, as the predator gazed from above. Thunder rolled, and again, the cat growled.

Napoleon scrambled out and up the hill. He couldn’t let that dumb bird die!

"Time to rid my house of the mouse!" the cat announced.

Finally, seeing her, Conan, ignorant of his impending mortality at the claws of the creature above, suavely said, "All right. Come on! Let’s go, hunt down a few."

"But I’ve already found one! An unusual, black and white mouse."

Napoleon finally arrived. "Leave the penguin alone!"

"Well, if it isn’t the Muffin mouse!", she hissed. "The mouse dies!" She lashed out at him, claws outstretched.

Finally getting a clue, Conan waddled away. “Well. There is such a thing as too much adventure!"

“Just you and me, wacko!" Napoleon challenged.

"Seems unfair, nine lives against one," the cat quipped.

Within his head, Napoleon quickly came up with a plan to get her into the water, where the cat seemed much less of a threat. "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty!" he called, while backing closer to the water.

Showing her absolute detachment from reality, she followed his call. As both walked across constantly wave–beaten slippery rocks, one hit her body, and she slipped off the rock, yelling.

"Bull’s-eye!" Napoleon yelled, then gasped as he saw the drenched cat hissing from behind another rock.

"You’ll pay for that!" she vowed.

"Okay, it’s payday!" Napoleon ran up a hill.

The cat shook herself and followed.

"Come on!" he taunted. "Come after me!" Napoleon slipped and loosened some rocks, sending them tumbling at the cat's face.

"No!" she wailed, unable to stop as the rocks underneath her paws became loose and pulled her now towards the edge. "Kill! No!" she hooked a paw on the ledge as more rocks tumbled down, persistent to the last.

"Running out of lives?" Napoleon said unsympathetically.

"I still have many more!" Her paw was slipping. "Come, let me slash you!"

“Happy landings!"

"Slash you with-" She shrieked, falling to the dark depths below.

Napoleon pulled himself to the peak, and looked down at the tumultuous water. "I knew that cat was on the edge." The waves raged on. "Look at that! Guess she used up her lives." Suddenly, he remembered Conan. "But what about that penguin? Hey Pengy, you down there?"

The cat watched the golden figure from behind, hate burning in her eyes. She hissed, and Napoleon sent a glance her way, but he must have not seen her, for she she was able to rush behind and headbutt him off the cliff.

She laughed at the puppy stuck on the ledge below. "That’s it! No more games."

"Games?!" exclaimed Napoleon incredulously.

The cat encouraged the puppy to jump to his blue death; the waves beat mercilessly upon the shore.

He refused and tried to appeal to their common background; after all, weren’t they both just lost house pets?

She hissed and crept her way down to him, telling him to shut up and boxing his ears. It was looking a bit dire.

“Hey, ‘fraidy cat!" called Conan from further down. No way was he going to let some cat hurt his friend!

This distracted the cat just enough for Napoleon to push her off the ledge and into the basket waiting below.

She laughed maniacally as the impact of her fall dislodged the basket from the rocks and pulled her out into the bay.

Conan jeered.

From the ledge, Napoleon heard a howl. Looking up, he saw the spirit of a wild dog; and just as soon as it appeared, it was gone.

"I really am a wild dog, " he murmured in awe. But his awe soon drained; forlornly he watched his way home disappear, yowling into the night.

—

Morning came.

Conan questioned Napoleon's plan to get home, but the puppy had no idea what to do. He was very distraught.

Then Conan spotted something, approaching them from the water. A green sea turtle, with something … on its back?

It was Birdo!

Puppy and galah reunited, Napoleon agreed that his friend was right all along, and Birdo brought good news. He had found Napoleon a way home!

As Napoleon stood on the turtle’s back, letting it take him back to Sydney, he bid his friends goodbye, reminding them to come visit soon.

—

Running, running, running, Napoleon made his way home. His tail wagged like a propeller as he saw a familiar yard.

"Mum! Mum! Mum! Mummy!"

His mother, who had just a moment before had been slumped mournfully, stepped out of her dog house and began a full body wag. “Muffin? Is that you?!" She couldn’t believe her ears.

"Mum! Mummy!"

She scanned the yard, but could not see her baby.

"Mum!"

“Well come here!" she said desperately. "Come here! Let me put my paws around you!"

His little head peeked over the patio wall. "Mum! It's me! I’m back! You wouldn’t believe where I’ve been!" He put his front paws on top of the wall.

She spun around, unable to contain herself, held back by the rope attached to the doghouse. "Come here! You didn’t get hurt, did you? What happened to you!?"

Maddeningly, he came no closer. "What happened? Everything happened to me!"

"Careful! You can’t get over that wall!”

"Are you kidding? Piece of cake!" He leapt down, and ran to his mother, nearly smashing into her face out of sheer exuberance.

They jumped and tumbled and kissed joyfully, relief and love filling their hearts. Mother refused to let son out of her grasp and finally, the world was right again.

"Muffin, I want you to promise me you’ll never run away like that again."

"I won’t. And I want you to promise me something."

His mother laughed. "Anything darling, anything."

"I want you to call me Napoleon."

"From now on, you’re my Napoleon."

—

Nobody noticed the cat peering over the wall. "Ah, not a mouse. A dog! Dog must die!"

Napoleon Explanation

So this was a story that took me a long, long time. It’s definitely my longest adaption of film, tv or podcasts yet - and I hope it stays that way! The adaption ended up a little dry, but I feel that I was able to describe the events effectively, and utilize the dialogue (the hardest part to adapt) sparingly but appropriately. At the beginning of my transcription, I tried to avoid any dialogue at all, but oh well. This covers the entire movie, a movie without any books or scripts to help me avoid typing.

Last summer, 2023, I had the job of Lost Parents. That basically meant I’m the person lost children are brought to if the security guards can’t find their parents right away. Eventually, a security guard brings the guardians, or the guardians come themselves, and pick up the kid(s). Which is all fine and dandy, especially since I don’t have kids for most of the shift. Kids have stayed with me for over two hours, but usually they’re gone within half an hour and I’m rarely brought any in the mornings. So I get projects like these done!

The movie is on youtube (see link), so over several days I slowly worked through it and wrote out all relevant details into a notebook (I find writing easier if I start in a notebook and type it into a document later - if I just start on a document I never finish. Plus I wasn’t really supposed to have my phone out, and switching between apps is annoying). Then I typed it up - often via voice-to-text, unless I was recording dialogue. For some reason, the program does not recognize quotation marks very often. Then I fixed it up and whalla! What you see above is what I wrote!

But I didn’t finish editing it until after that summer, because I was more interested in drawing the pictures. In fact, drawing the title picture was the first thing I did!

To be honest, I often drew the title pictures well before anything else. They were easy.

This title picture was in reference to the old VHS cover I used to have for this movie. It’s an Australian movie, so they speak English, but for some reason they released an American dub and released it over here. So I’ve loved this movie ever since I could remember. But the balloon scenes were iconic, so of course I had to include it. Especially since I decided this adaption would only have four pictures total. As I wanted to save my labor for my more original projects, and because this was a movie, it has less pictures.

The second picture is Napoleon getting chased by the cat. It used to scare me as a kid, so I always had a clear picture of it in my head. Plus, it serves to contrast Napoleon’s bravery in later scenes.

The third picture is Napoleon saving Nancy. I basically just wanted to draw all the puppies and Napoleon being brave. So we ended up with that part!

Last is Napoleon and Pengy/Conan looking up at the wild dog spirit. It’s the least accurate picture, but one I felt fit well. In the movie, Napoleon and Pengy look up to see a wild dog on top of a cliff who gets swept away by mist. But considering that they were still up on the high parts of the cliff at the end of the fight, the timing and location doesn’t quite make sense. And drawing *lineart* of mist is hard with my style, and requires more texture than fits in line with my most recent coloring book drawings. Way back at the beginning, I used to add details like shading, lines of hair and such, but that gets in the way of coloring, so I stopped. As such, I adapted it to fit my needs. Now Napoleon and Pengy/Conan are in the shot (I wanted to include both), and the wild dog spirit is in the clods and stars! I’m decided that the storm went away.

The Pengy vs. Conan thing was something of which I struggled when writing the last part. I support chosen names, especially when the old names totally don’t fit anymore. Hell, Napoleon insists on being Napoleon right to the end! But I decided since this was basically from his viewpoint, he would not call the penguin Conan, not even in his head. For the rest of the movie, after all, he calls the penguin Pengy. So while this choice does not reflect my preferences, I think it does reflect Napoleon’s.

Last thought: the setting of this story is genuinely fantasy. I think the creators wanted to go for a pan-Australian vibe; so many different ecosystems from across the continent are shown in the film. This means, of course, that Napoleon went to a fantasy kind of island across from the city though. There is nowhere in Australia where ALL of those environments are present. If he truly walked the entirety of Australia, a continent, he would have been a grown dog well before the end of the movie. But since he is still a puppy by the end, that just means he went to a fantasy Australia. Which is kind of cool.

Hope you enjoyed, and please check the movie out!

[ryanstillwrites-if]

Happy birthday! 🎉 And as it is your birthday, can you tell us the birthday of the RO’s? If you’re still doing this type of stuff of course! I can’t remember if you’ve done this before, but I need to judge star signs

thank you! ive had a great day (apart from the train debacle) and i got my cake after all. its from the grocery store and has the paw patrol dogs on it but by god was it delicious.

pls keep in mind i know nothing about star signs and just asked sydney which fits best for each so if it's wrong... i refuse to accept that

adelaide: march 29th, aries

gabriel: may 12th, taurus

hayden: october 1st, libra

mavis/maverick: december 3rd, sagittarius