#petco vet

[babynest80]

Happy dog, New Viral Pet song, Basset, DOG new Song, Dog Fun Video, #babynest80 #chuchutv #dog

[doctorcrusher]

WE'RE PICKING UP THE CATS ON SUNDAY 🎉🎉🎉🥳

[sakebytheriver]

Look at my little princess! 🥰👑💕🦋

[tea-and-secrets]

When I was younger, I applied for a job at like Petco or Petsmart— one of those two, can’t remember which (they’re both the same anyways). Well, after an unexpected group interview there, the guy leading the interview called me and left a voicemail to call him back. I did so, but got no answer, so I hung up, never tried to call again and gave myself credit for trying. Idk if I ever actually did get the job or not, but I’m glad I never really followed through. It just feels like the type of job that would’ve ruined the store for me, knowing what goes on BTS and how they actually treat the animals they sell (probably not to good standards).

.

[themoonking]

there is no such thing as a “low maintenance pet”, only different maintenance.

dogs, cats, fish, reptiles, birds, small mammals, et cetera all have different needs, and your individual lifestyle may be better suited to meeting the needs of one more than another. you may be able to properly care for a cat but not a fish, or a fish but not a rabbit, or a rabbit but not a bird, and so on, but that doesn’t make any pet “easier” to care for than another. it doesn’t make any pet need less care and attention than another.

promoting any pet as “low maintenance” leads to neglect at best and abuse at worst.

[alltheirdamn]

Chapter 1: Opening Day

Series summary: You've seen it all as the team's lead photographer. You're in the tunnel before the games, on the sidelines for each inning, and always around the players. When Frankie Morales is called up for the new season, you find yourself drawn to him in ways you can't quite explain. Chapter summary: It's opening day at Petco Park, and you finally meet the team's new star catcher. Rating: 18+ (Eventual smut) Word Count: 5k Tags: Triple Frontier AU, OFC! character described as having red hair and freckles, meet-cute, two big dummies bound to catch feelings, mutual pining, slow burn, future smut, duel pov, baseball terminology, etc. A/N: Hi!!! Well, welcome to the series! I'm really excited to share this lil story with you all. I've never really written an OC! before, so hopefully I don't totally butcher it. Anyway, I'm a bit nervous but please enjoy!

Masterlist | Baseball 101

Point. Click. 

Point. Click. 

The camera shutter echoes through the stadium tunnel as you settle into your usual game-day routine. It’s your third year on the media team for the Padres, and you’re beyond eager for the new season to begin. Nothing beats the thrill of baseball season, and it definitely doesn’t suck when an endless array of beautiful men in tight polyester uniforms surrounds you.

Perched on the ground, you angle your camera down the tunnel to capture the boys as they arrive. Benny Miller, the team’s starting shortstop, waltzes through the hall after a few managers get their head start. He’s got on his usual athleisure wear, a workout bag slung over his back, and his blonde hair tousled in a way that’s both messy and intentional.

Point. Click. 

“Welcome back, Benny,” you say, your camera angled a bit higher to adjust to his height.

“Hey to you too, Red,” he grins. 

America’s heartthrob, you think.

Not far behind him is his brother, Will—or Ironhead, as they all call him. He’s been a vet on the team for nearly five years and is one of the top left-handed pitchers in the league. No doubt, with last season's standings, he’ll take them far this year. He’s got the best ERA out of any team in the National League, and his brotherly dynamic with Benny is unmatched. The only difference between Will and Benny, though, is their personalities. Where Benny is outgoing—and a bit flirtatious—Will is reserved and collected. He’s the voice of reason and the glue that holds the entire time together. 

“Hey, Will!” 

You snap a quick photo, all too aware of how much he hates the attention. He gives you a subtle nod and continues down the tunnel behind Benny. 

Santiago Garcia is the next to make his entrance, his infectious smile perfect for a candid moment. Santi was the rookie outfielder last year, securing himself a spot in the All-Star Game with his defensive playing in center field against the stronger teams. You’ve never seen such an arm on someone, and the way he commands the field is wildly impressive. His gigantic ego and self-assurance are also quite impressive and sometimes a bit aggravating. But, you let it slide. He’s a sweet man through and through and has, thankfully, never hit on you. 

Unlike the majority of the sports world. 

Especially when it comes to women working in the media industry. 

You’re convinced Santi has some sort of sixth sense for the camera because the moment you line up for the shot, he’s already sporting a wide grin directed straight at you. 

“Hola, Red,” he says, waving in your direction.

“You know I have a real name, right?” You toss back.

“Whatever you say, Red.”

You roll your eyes as he walks past you, chuckling to yourself as you scroll through the photos logged into your camera. Making a mental note of which to select for the social media posts, you realign the camera back to eye level and squint through the lens. 

The team's newest addition walks straight down the tunnel, with his head low and eyes covered by the visor of his ballcap. Francisco Morales had been called up from triple just a week before opening day. You hadn’t read up much on him or his stats, but you know he’s done quite the work as the catcher for the El Paso Chihuahuas. There had been talks of who they’d have replacing Tom Davis after his season-ending injury last year, and Francisco was their best prospect. 

“Welcome to the team, Francisco!” You holler before snapping a photo.

He barely glances up, but you catch a rosy tint coloring the tanned skin of his face and a slight twitch in the corner of his lips. He’s dressed far differently than the other boys: loose khaki pants, a basic cotton shirt, and a suede bomber jacket. He doesn’t even carry a bag with him, just a plastic bottle of water gripped tightly in one very large hand. 

You’ve been with the team long enough to know his personality is far more reserved than the rest, a bit sheepish and uncomfortable, even. Maybe that’s just the game-day jitters getting to him. 

“Can I get one of you looking at the camera?” You ask before adding a polite please at the end.

He hesitates but ultimately obliges. Through the camera lens, you meet his eyes—the soft, warm brown of his irises boring into you so intensely it causes you to falter over the shutter button. Like any baseball player, he’s got that signature scruffy face, with a distinct mustache over his plush lips and a patchy beard covering his jaw. Despite his introverted demeanor, Francisco steals the air from your lungs just from a simple glance. It’s as if he’s giving you this one moment to capture who he is, and you take it without hesitation.

Point. Click.

“Thank you, Francisco. Good luck today!”

You’re acutely aware of how shaky your voice is, which is unusual given that he hasn’t even spoken to you. 

“Frankie,” he offers as he walks past.

The raspy low pitch of his voice reverbs inside your head, and you only manage to nod in agreement to his wishes. 

Frankie. You can do that. 

**

“So, what are your predictions for game one?” Ryan asks, nudging you slightly.

You’re both crouched behind home plate shooting pre-game warmup photos, the volume in the stadium growing as more fans trickle in. You switch out your sim card and set up your camera for action shots, too focused on getting the right angle of the outfielders to respond. 

Ryan has been your partner in crime on the media team since the start, and both of you got hired right out of college. While you focus more on the game-day action, Ryan usually tends to the off-day social media posts and team engagement with fans. It’s a fair trade-off, plus you’re far more invested in the sport than Ryan is ever willing to admit.

“Hellllooo?” He waves a hand in front of your camera lens.

“I don’t like giving predictions, Ryan. You know that,” you grumble.

“You and your weird superstitions, Red.”

“It’s not weird,” you counter. “Don’t you ever pay attention to the broadcasting curse? If I say something aloud, it’s bound to go the other way, and my hopes will be crushed.”

Ryan adjusts the focus on his lens, shrugging absently at your argument. 

“It’s the first game. Even if they lose today, there’s still six months left in the season.”

“No one wants to lose their first game.”

“You care too much,” he says, but there’s a lightness in his tone.

He knows you care more than you let on. Baseball has been something ingrained in you since you were just a kid. Your dad spent the greater half of his life as the pitching coach for UCLA, dragging you to nearly every game of the season since before you could even walk. You were raised sitting in the dugout with a handful of sunflower seeds in your hand and a baseball cap covering your red hair. Being a part of a baseball team in some capacity had always been in your future, but after your dad passed away when you were just starting college, you centered your entire life around it. You threw yourself into photography, taking every chance at capturing moments that could give you just a second of nostalgia. The photos weren’t just for school, a baseball team, or a social media page… they were for you. It was your way of coping. The longer you could stay on the field, the longer you could live in that bubble of the past. 

Your dad was gone, but you still had baseball. And you’d never give it up. 

“Think Morales is gonna make his mark on the team?” Ryan asks, steering the subject in a different direction.

You tense up, locked on the memory of Frankie’s big brown eyes. There’s something about him that skyrockets your heart rate, and you aren’t sure if it’s in a good way. You search the field for those dark curls, looking at everybody on the field,  trying to spot him during the warmup. Crestfallen, you give up your search and resume snapping photos.

“I think he’ll do just fine,” you say dismissively.

“His batting average in the minors was insane,” Ryan rambles. “Just hopes it sticks here in the big leagues. You know how it is sometimes.”

You did know. Too often, have you seen star minor league players appear on the big stage and choke. Something about Frankie Morales makes you believe he won’t end up like that. There was something in his eyes that told you otherwise, a seriousness that showed this game meant something to him. 

You liked that. 

“Where’s your station for the game?” Ryan asks.

“First base. I might have to step into the bullpen for some shots if they let me.”

“I’m sure the boys will love that,” he teases.

“Oh, fuck off. They’re harmless.”

“I don’t know, Red. I see the way they look at you.”

You deadpan, giving him an icy stare. None of the boys thought of you that way, and you didn’t think of them differently. This was a job. They played the game; you took the photos. 

That was the end of it. 

“I think you’re seeing things,” you argue.

“I mean, Benny is giving you fuck me eyes from across the field right now,” Ryan shrugs.

You steal a glance out to the in-field to find Ryan is, in fact, correct. With his free hand, Benny tosses you a flirtatious wave before throwing the ball back to Santi across the field. 

“He flirts with everyone,” you say pointedly. “Did you see how many girls he brought back to his hotel rooms last season?”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind adding one more.”

You punch Ryan in the arm, clearly annoyed with his pushy behavior toward the subject. Grabbing your equipment bag from the ground, you toss him a quick finger and haul your stuff down to the media room under the stadium. 

**

Frankie isn’t in the right mindset when the National Anthem concludes before the game. He’s not one to get nervous before playing, but something about seeing Petco Park sold out for opening day has him fidgeting. The only saving grace is having Santi playing alongside him. 

He and Santi met back in college, playing together from Sophomore year until Senior year when they got drafted to different teams. Santi was selected in the third round by the Houston Astros and was traded a year later to the Padres. Frankie got drafted by the Padres right away in the fifth round. He spent the last four years in the minors, just waiting to get called up.

Now, the moment is here, and he’s terrified.

Frankie doesn’t like to admit it often, but he holds himself to a higher standard. He’s fucked up in life a few times, and it’s cost him his happiness. He doesn’t want to fuck up now. Not when the entire world is watching. 

“Estás bien?” Santi asks Frankie as they head into the dugout. 

“I’m fine,” Frankie says, but his tone says otherwise. 

There’s a haze over his mind, a fog he can’t shake. Santi claps him on the back, giving him a comforting smile.

“It’s just first-game nerves, Catfish. It’ll pass after the first at-bat.”

Frankie doesn’t respond. He’s got a lump in his throat, and he can’t quite swallow it. The last thing he wants to do is disappoint his closest friend—or the team. He can’t be a disappointment. He has to be good. He has to be the best. 

He has to prove himself.

Frankie runs out onto the field, securing his catcher's mask over his face. The weight of his gear feels like a comforting anchor, leveraging him to keep his mind focused. There’s a roar from the crowd as he takes his place behind home base, and the applause and cheers only make things worse. He’s under the lights, he’s got thousands watching, and this is his one shot. 

The first pitch comes fast, a sinker that falls perfectly into his glove. Strike one. Will is on the mound, his face stoic and focused on the batter standing to the right of Frankie. There’s still some trust to gain between them both, and Frankie hopes he proves himself today. Will throws a slider next, down low and right past the bat. 

Strike two. 

Like a well-rehearsed dance, Frankie and Will waltz between batters. An easy one, two, three, and they’re out of the top of the first. Frankie runs alongside Will as they head toward the dugout, the tension in his shoulders relaxing.

“Great job out there, Morales,” Will says. “Welcome to the show.”

“Thanks, Miller. You’re solid on the mound. Those sliders are insane,” Frankie commends. 

“Gotta keep them on their toes. Now, get ready for the bottom of the inning. Show them what you can do out there.”

As Frankie steps into the dugout, he nearly collides with a body nestled into the corner of the steps. Her red hair is tousled into a ponytail, the bill of her Padres ball cap shielding her eyes from the setting sun.

“Shit, sorry,” she mumbles, stepping out of the way.

He recognizes her from earlier, the media girl in the tunnel. Frankie was so wrapped up in his thoughts earlier he hadn’t noticed how beautiful she was: bright eyes, a gentle smile, and a face covered in freckles. 

“All good,” he huffs, too flustered to choke out any more words.

“You look good out there,” she smiles. 

Frankie runs a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, no doubt looking a mess. He needs to focus—needs to move—but he can’t seem to make his way past her. 

“Be careful with Akin’s pitches,” she adds. “He tends to throw his fastballs up in the corner of the zone.”

“Thanks,” Frankie nods. He’s surprised at how much she pays attention.

“Yo! Catfish!” Santi calls from down in the dugout. “Get your ass over here now.”

“I’m assuming you’re Catfish?” She asks.

“Unfortunately,” Frankie grumbles. “Sorry, I’m just gonna go see what he wants.”

“It’s all good. I’m moving down to first base, so I’ll be out of the way.” 

She rises to her feet and gives Frankie one final smile before stepping onto the dirt. Frankie watches as she walks away, her ponytail swinging behind her with every step. 

Focus. 

**

Halfway through the batting order, you’re already onto your next sim card. You usually space out the amount of footage you take, but the game is electric. The Padres are up three to zero, thanks to a home run from Benny—obviously—and a few quick plays made by Santi and Chris Holmes. 

With two outs in the sixth, Frankie is up to bat. His first plate appearance was abysmal, with a groundout to third base. You saw his shoulders slumped as he walked off the field; he didn’t take it lightly. It’s just the first game, you tell yourself. He’ll do just fine. 

Akin throws the first pitch, a fastball, just as you expect. Frankie takes the strike and readjusts himself for the next pitch. It’s outside the zone, and he tracks it carefully. You hold your breath as he hits a full count, three balls, two strikes… and wait. Akin places a screwball down low, but Frankie manages to get a piece of it and sends it sailing into center field for a double. You startle yourself with how loud you cheer, watching his muscled body run past first and onto second base. You’re so caught up in watching him you forget to snap a photo.  

You scold yourself for missing the opportunity to capture his first hit for the team. Why are you so fixated on him? None of the other guys have ever caused you to miss a shot; no one has ever tripped you up this badly. But Frankie… there’s just something about him. He’s not self-assured like the rest. He’s not cocky in the slightest. Honestly, he looked terrified when you ran into him after the top of the first inning. Before your mind starts wandering off, you check the settings on your camera and return to shooting footage. 

The team wins five to zero. Fireworks sparkle through the night sky as the stadium begins to clear out, and you start to return to the dugout. Benny and Will are in a tight embrace as you step under the awning, your camera gear slung over your back. 

“Great win, boys,” you say, giving them each a high five. 

“Did you ever doubt us?” Benny teases, giving you a smug grin. 

“Not for a minute.”

The Miller brothers make their way down into the clubhouse, leaving you standing alone in the dugout. You peel off your ballcap and remove your ponytail, letting your hair fall down your shoulders. 

“Thanks for the advice on Akin.”

The voice startles you, and you search through the shadows to find Frankie sitting alone at the end of the bench. He’s got his glove resting beside him and his bat propped between his feet. He should be celebrating with the team down in the clubhouse, yet he’s here by himself under the stadium lights and swirling shadows. 

“I’ve got plenty more if you ever need it,” you tell him. 

Frankie doesn’t respond, but his eyes stay locked on yours. The stadium lights illuminate the rich chocolate inside his irises, making it nearly impossible to look anywhere else. 

“Shouldn’t you be with the team?” You wonder. “I’m sure they’re all celebrating the first win of the season.”

“Just wanted some time alone, I guess. Soak it all in, you know?”

You walk toward him, cautious on whether or not to get any closer. You aren’t sure if he even wants company, but you can’t seem to steer yourself away. 

“Was it everything you hoped for?” You ask. 

“It could’ve been better.”

Frankie moves his glove into his lap, offering you a space beside him on the bench. Though you feel reluctant, something inside you forces your legs to move. You want to be nearer to him, to get close enough to see past this wall he’s built up. You’re used to some players being quiet and shy, like Will. At least with Will, though, he’s fun when there’s no stress on his shoulders. He relaxes a bit from time to time and lets his guard down. Something you’ve yet to see with Frankie. 

Sliding onto the bench beside him, you adjust your camera into your lap and lay your ballcap over your knee. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Frankie’s head tilt slightly, his eyes trained on your legs. There’s still a healthy gap between you both, yet the warmth of his body swarms around you. 

“Are you with the team full-time?” He asks. 

You glance at him, studying the way his hair curls around his ears and at the base of his neck. There’s a tension in his jaw that flexes under his beard, a simple twitch that happens after every time he speaks. Despite the timid exterior, you can’t help but to notice the softness in his eyes when he looks at you. 

“Mostly just for home games,” you explain. “I only really travel with the team if they invite me on the road. They like having extra media presence for the bigger series, and whatnot. If I could be at every game, I absolutely would. Sitting on the sidelines beats having to watch it on the TV or listening to the radio.”

Frankie nods along as you talk, his lips pursed as if he’s thinking of what to say. Avoiding any more awkward silence, you flick on your camera and scroll through the photos, presenting him with a few you’d taken during his first appearance at the plate. His arm brushes yours slightly as he leans in closer, staring at the photo far longer than you expect. 

“I kind of fucked up and forgot to take a photo of you after that double in sixth,” you admit. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” he shakes his head. “I like this one.”

It’s a photo of him swinging at a curveball, his bat posed perfectly in the center of the box, and his muscular thighs flexed under his pinstripe uniform. You have to admit, it is a good shot—and he looks amazing mid-swing. Your eyes flick up to his, realizing he’s already looking at you. Thank God for the shadows inside the dugout, or else Frankie would see the way your face warms at his words. You don’t ever share your footage with the guys until it’s posted on the social media pages, but it feels different with Frankie. It strangely feels nice. 

“I feel like an asshole, I don’t think I’ve even asked for your name,” he says. 

“The guy’s normally just call me Red,” you shrug. 

“But that’s not your name.”

You tell him your name, and listen to his gentle voice echo it back. It’s rare you hear your name nowadays. Everyone just refers to you as ‘Red’, like it’s who you are. It doesn’t bother you, necessarily, but finally hearing someone acknowledge you makes your stomach flip. Frankie’s eyes never leave yours, and you realize how close you both have gotten. His leg is pressed against yours, and you can still faintly smell the turf on his uniform. He must notice it, too, because he clears his throat and shifts his legs inward. Shutting your camera off, you let it rest in your lap between your hands. There’s a quiet buzz between your bodies, a comfortable cocoon of shared silence that seems to swell with each passing second. 

“I, um, I should probably head down there with the guys,” Frankie says after a while. 

“Yeah, of course. I’m sorry if I kept you too long.”

Frankie rises from the bench, his thick fingers wrapping around the neck of his bat. He offers you a hand, and you shrink under his height as you move to stand. 

“I didn’t mind the company.”

There’s a hint of a smile on his face, just an easy curve of his lips as he stares at you a moment longer. You should move. You should definitely move. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Frankie,” you say. “Great job out there tonight.”

“Thank you.” He says your name, again, emphasizing it as if to prove a point. A gentle reminder that you’re more than just a nickname. 

**

“What took you so long, Catfish?” Santi yells from across the clubhouse. 

He’s already showered and got on his casual clothes for the drive home, something Frankie should have been doing. Instead, he had been helplessly wasting time sitting next to the photographer he had seen around all day. 

Frankie tears his baseball cap off his head, tossing it into his locker as he unbuttons his uniform. He’s still mentally picking apart the day—what he did wrong, what he could improve on—but in each thought, her shiny red hair and doe eyes make a reappearance. Shaking his head, he strips off his undershirt and searches through his stall for a fresh one. 

“Got to chatting with the team photographer,” he says, shrugging the shirt over his chest.

Santi leans against the locker stall, his mouth quirked up in a teasing grin. Frankie already knows what he’s going to say, and he regrets ever mentioning it. 

“Distracted by Red, huh?” Santi teases. “She’s got that affect.”

“She’s not distracting,” Frankie defends. “She just came down to show me some of the pictures she took, and we talked a bit. That’s all.” 

He hopes his clipped words are enough to steer Santi away from the conversation, but Santi can see right through him. 

“Red never shows anyone her photos. None of us ever see what she’s got on that camera until they’re online.”

For some reason, Frankie loves knowing he’s the exception. He saw the way she lit up as she scrolled through the footage, clearly proud of her work. Hell, he doesn’t even care she missed his big play. She spent that time in the dugout with him while his mind was a mess, and gave him a reprieve from the clouded thoughts that the game left him with. Was it awful that he was only looking forward to tomorrow’s game so he could see her again? 

“Maybe she feels bad for me, I don’t know,” Frankie huffs.

He slips on his jacket and runs a hand through his hair before putting on his hat. Santi watches him suspiciously, tracking the tense movements Frankie makes as he gathers his stuff to leave. 

“She’s a nice girl, you know, and she knows her shit, too. Hell, half the guys have tried to grab her attention the last few years, and she’s never been interested.”

“What makes you think she’s interested in me?” 

“I don’t know,” Santi drawls out the words. “Guess we’ll just have to see what she posts tonight.”

Frankie rolls his eyes, shoving past Santi and out of the clubhouse. He steers clear of the other guys as they walk together out to their cars. No one has said much to him yet, and he’s okay with it. Frankie knows he’s the new guy and it’ll take some time for everyone to warm up to him. The only person that seems to be welcoming so far, was Red. Maybe that’s just who she was, but Frankie found himself working Santi’s words over and over inside his head. Red never shows anyone her photos. What made Frankie so special, then? Was he right to think she felt bad for him? If she hadn’t been interested in anyone else, then why did she spend that time with him? 

The apartment is pitch black when Frankie opens the door. Flicking on the lights, he takes in the empty space. Moving boxes scatter the hallway, leading into the renovated kitchen. Frankie barely got the keys to his new place in San Diego two days ago, leaving him little time to settle in before opening day. After this series he’ll be on the road for a week, without any time to get acclimated. Traveling never bothered him, but he wished he could just stop and breathe for one minute. You wanted this, he reminds himself. He’s worked too hard the last several years to let this opportunity pass. The boxes can wait, at least for now.

Tossing his jacket onto the back of the sofa, Frankie slumps against the cushions, scrubbing a hand over his face. He’s been itching to look at his phone since he left the stadium, but he held off. Guess we’ll just have to see what she posts tonight. Digging out his phone from his pocket, Frankie opens Instagram and refreshes the page. Sure enough, the media team already made a post-game slideshow…with Frankie’s at-bat being the first photo. 

The same one he told her he liked the most. 

His thumb hovers over the post as he debates whether or not to look at the rest. He’s already got his one photo, there wouldn’t be any need to give fans more. Yet, as he slides his thumb left over the screen, there’s another photo of himself—from the pre-game walk through the tunnel. Even though his eyes are staring directly into the camera, he knows that wasn’t what he was looking at. His entire focus had been on the girl behind the camera. 

Frankie opens the team’s Instagram page and scrolls through the ‘following’ tab, searching for her name. It’s just innocent curiosity, that’s all it is, but as he finds her name down the list, he’s tempted to press the button. The blue Follow button taunts him, begging him to make the move. Her profile picture is a simple mirror shot, half her face covered by her camera. He wants to see more, like this odd desperation to know her past the lens she hides behind. Before he talks his way out of it, Frankie taps Follow, and sends his phone sailing across the room. It hits the carpet with a soft thud, and sits there silent on the ground. He tips his head back against the couch, pitching the bridge of his nose. God, he feels stupid. 

A soft buzz resounds through the room. Frankie slides his eyes toward his phone, seeing the carpet illuminated by the screen. Just a coincidence, he thinks. Despite the denial he spews inside his mind, he moves from the couch to retrieve his phone. 

Red has accepted your follow request. 

Red started following you. 

Frankie stares at the screen with a stupid grin on his face. He scrolls through her page, finding a surplus of photographs of the stadium, the beach, and a few cityscape shots from various cities. There isn’t a single photo of her, though. He studies each photo, wondering what she saw through the lens of the camera, wishing he could see just one of her face. As he makes his way down her page, a message notification pops onto the screen. 

Red: I hope it’s okay I posted that photo of you. 

Frankie: Absolutely. 

Red: Ok, good. I liked it, too. 

Frankie: Santi told me you don’t show anyone your photos. 

Red: Of course he did. LOL. I’m just protective over my work. I like to keep things private.

Frankie: Why’d you show them to me? 

Frankie watches as text bubbles appear and disappear over and over for at least a minute. He half considers turning his phone off for the night to avoid her response. He shouldn’t care why she showed him, but the thought of it would keep him up all night, wondering why he was deserving of it and not anyone else. His phone buzzes in his hands, and Frankie quickly opens the message. 

Red: I don’t know. You’re the only person I really felt like sharing it with. 

Frankie: I feel honored. Any time you want to share them, I’m always around. 

Red: I’m holding you to that. 

Frankie thinks of a million things to reply with, but his fingers don’t move; all he can think about is seeing her again tomorrow.

[bibucktrashpanda]

Princess Part 2

Okay this plot bunny won't leave me alone and all the notes and reblogs made me happy so I am just going to write while inspiration strikes. I am not sure if there will be more of this but I also didn't know there was going to be a part two. Warning for language. Not beta'ed, we die like Buck's heterosexuality.

Summary: Tommy loves his boyfriend and honestly it's not fair that he now has two sets of puppy eyes to resist. Link to part 1 below.

Princess Part 2

Tommy knows that he is fucked the moment he sees the photo from Eddie. 

It’s almost 4 am and he has just gotten home from a rough shift but he isn’t tired. He just wants Evan but knows Evan won’t be home for a few hours. 

Climbing into bed without his lover is anathema for him after a shift that was filled with casualties and so he decides to catch up on some chores. He knows better than to fuck around with Evan’s kitchen so he doesn’t do much more than helping himself to a Tupperware of leftovers that have his name in a heart on a sticky note on top of it. 

He is about to eat it standing at their counter but than hears even’s voice lecturing him about respecting the animal that gave its life for the meat in the lasagna even if it had come from the farmers market from a small farm owned by a lesbian couple in their 50’s that Evan has charmed and has been invited to visit. Evan had gone on a research binge on industrial farming and by the end Tommy hasn’t even been able to look at packaged meat in the grocery store without feeling nauseous and heartbroken. 

So Tommy takes his food to the unfinished breakfast nook and sits down to eat it, mindfully. He snorts thinking about the ‘demure’ meme that even has been quoting nonstop for weeks after learning about it from Christopher. 

He is just finishing when his phone chirps with an incoming text. The preview is just a gaudy gif of an “It’s a girl” banner. Confused, he clicks on it to see a photo of Evan cradling a tiny puppy to his chest which looks massive next to the tiny pup. A follow up text from Eddie reads “Congrats on becoming a dog dad. Her name is Princess and nothing is going to pry her out of Evan’s hands. You are so fucked.”

Tommy has to agree. The focus of the photo is the puppy but Tommy can still see the expression on Evan’s face, one that he is familiar with because Evan looks at him like that all the time, pure love. 

He is so fucked. 

Because he can be a bitch he texts back to Eddie “I mean I’m not fucked at the moment but Evan generally is very thorough. Let me know which vet you end up at?” And while Evan is the notorious list maker out of the two of them, Tommy can appreciate a good list and starts making a list of supplies they need for their newest family member, while ignoring Eddie's response of "MY EYES". 

**** 

An hour later he gets a text from Evan with an address and a request. “Her throat is bruised from her collar, can you swing by a store and pick up a puppy chest harness? This is one has good reviews and should be in stock at this  24 hour Petco and meet me at the vet?”

He smiles and responds “You’ve been busy. Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He is already moving to the door when he gets a response from Evan. It’s a photo of Evan, changed out of his turnouts, pouting, holding up the puppy, who is clean and awake. Both of them are staring at the camera with two sets of blue eyes and surprisingly the puppy has a black patch of fur over her left eye which almost matches up with Evan’s birthmark. 

Christ, he’s whipped. How is he supposed to hold out against two sets of puppy eyes one of which is from an actual puppy??

The text below the photo reads “Please, Daddy?”

He is so fucked. “Not in front of the kid!  Fine, you brat. See you in a little bit.”

The next photo is Evan grinning as the Princess licks his cheek. 

He is just getting to the store when he gets another text. “Uh, since you are going to the store anyway, pretty please?” with the pleading face emoji  and a list of supplies that pretty well matches the list he jotted down earlier. He sends Evan a photo of his list resting in the small basket of a shopping cart with the eye rolling emoji. 

The sky is just beginning to brighten when Tommy pulls up to the emergency vet, he should be exhausted but he finds that he is excited to meet Princess and to see Evan. 

The receptionist looks up as he enters with one of his shopping bags. “You must be Tommy?”

He nods and raises an eyebrow at her. “Mr. Buckley said to imagine the most gorgeous man i have ever seen and then double it. I can see what he means.” 

He chuckles and follows as she leads him back. “I mean I would describe him the same way.” 

Before she can respond they enter a room where Evan is sitting on the floor bad leg extended out, puppy snoozing pressed up against the inside. Evan is lightly petting her with one hand and scrolling on his phone with the other, humming softly. 

Tommy’s heart melts into a puddle and he quickly snaps a photo before Buck looks up. 

“Hey.” He says softly, crouching down next to Buck to give him a quick peck. 

“Thanks for coming.” Evan smiles at him. Tommy smiles back. “Of course.” It’s become a thing, echoing this exchange from what Evan calls their actual first date. In the back of his head he is toying with the idea of getting ‘of course’ engraved on the engagement ring he has had picked out since just after the Billy Boil incident. He stood at the  edge of that grave, listening to his ridiculous boyfriend eulogize a man who had been dead for over a century and knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wanted to spend the rest of his life indulging this man whose heart seemed to have infinite capacity. 

“So what happened?” He asks, wrapping an arm around Evan who leans into him. 

“I found her tangled under a bush as I was doing a check of a yard of a burnt out house. She was cold and crying and couldn’t free herself. Turns out she belonged to the family that lived there and didn’t make it. The one relative the police could find hates dogs and was just going to drop her off at a shelter.” Evan turned to him “I couldn’t let that happen, not when bully breeds don’t have a good adoption rate! She’s already traumatized.” His voice is distressed and Tommy presses a kiss to his birthmark. “Shhhh, of course you couldn’t.” He murmurs against the pink skin which is one of his favorite things about Evan. 

He settles in next to Evan and stares down at the puppy who is blinking awake. Closer he can see that she resembles a pitbull or at least mostly pitbull, with black freckles on her white nose.  The rest of her seems to be white except for the tip of her tail which looks like she dipped it in an inkwell and is wagging so quickly he almost expects to see a cartoon cloud of dust poofing up. 

“Hi Princess.” He holds his hand by her, letting her choose to come to him. She stumbles over and all but shoves her head into his palm. She is soft and Tommy already loves her. 

“Taking after your pop with that grace.” He teases stroking her back. Evan makes a noise and he looks up to see Evan gazing at him smiling softly.

He looks back down at Princess who is trying to climb up his leg and gently picks her up to cradle her between him and Evan. 

“Welcome to the family, honey,” He whispers as Evan brings a hand up to stroke her. They have a lot to do and he can feel the exhaustion settling into his bones, but there is nowhere in the world he would rather be then here, cuddled up with the love of his life and their new puppy. 

[bonni]

today was crazyyyyy oh my god. I still went to my ASL class this morning, because I was waiting to hear back from the vet, the vet called me during class and told me I could bring the cats in for treatment after my class was over. so without stopping for lunch, I went home and took them straight to the vet.

after the vet, my mom met me at my apartment and we prepped for the exterminator tomorrow. my rich girl hoarder adhd lifestyle really bit me in the ass here, I have so much crap and it's all strewn across my floors, we had to clean up all of it. all my laundry went into bags, even the clean stuff, to be washed and dried on high heat. my bed had to be taken apart so that I could sweep and vacuum under it (the cats basically nest down there lol) and all my sheets had to be changed, we were cleaning for easily 4 hours straight and I never would have gotten it all done on my own so I'm really grateful for my mom's help.

then I had to run out to petco to get capstar, and of course when I got home I had to shower. and finally, after surviving on nothing but a protein shake for breakfast, I can rest and eat dinner 😭 tomorrow is going to be equally hectic, but hopefully less strenuous

[southsidestory]

I hate to ask, but my cat is sick and I have a vet appointment for her in two days that I can’t afford.

I don't even have enough money to make rent (again) so I'm at the end of my tether.

Goose, my year-and-a-half-old sweetheart, is an active girl not quite out of kittenhood whom I love with my whole heart. She seems to have Pica and is constantly trying to eat things that aren't food. In the last week she's regurgitated a variety of items I won't list for the sake of everyone's own stomachs.

I know two people whose cats had to have emergency surgery to treat bowel obstructions for this exact problem. I've done my damnedest to keep danger items like hair ties out of her reach, but she's sneaky and determined.

My heart will break if anything happens to Goose. I lost my beloved Butters to cancer in 2021, and I decided never to have another pet because the heartbreak was too painful. But then my best friend adopted Goose's kitten, and despite my best efforts to resist, I couldn't leave her in a cage in Petco. Not when I knew in my heart she was mine.

If you're strapped for cash yourself, I'd never ask you to donate, but a reblog would be much appreciated. And anyone who can donate and would like to, you're my hero!

[babynest80]

Happy dog, Basset, New Dog Video, Funniest Dog Video, Cutest and Funniest Dog #cocomelon #Babynest80

[sacrificialcrisis]

okay so today i need to do some packing, set up utilities for the new place, unlock my debit card, place my ikea order, check my email re: vocal scholarship, text the vet about miss girl's prescription, and call petco customer service about the repeat delivery mixup

[a-dinosaur-a-day]

Mammal bias is certainly A Thing. It's honestly kinda gross ngl. Insofar as the fact it's easier to find suppliers of needed items, I'm lucky to only have a bird. It's so frustrating to see "pets" sections in stores and only have cat and dog* food/toys. Even pet stores like Petsmart/PetCo etc have a horribly limited section. I went to PetCo a few months ago to look for (wild) bird seed, and no shit their bird section was 2ft by 4ft. They didn't carry toys for much bigger than a cockatiel and the treats were all shit. No actual bird seed, for pet or otherwise. I'm very lucky that I've always lived rather close (under a 40 minute drive) to parrot specialty stores the whole time I've had my bird, and thank fuck he's never needed urgent medical care. I don't want to have to go through the process of going to vets, finding out they won't see a bird, and then having to find an exotic animal clinic in my area.

As a bit of a tangent but still related, it's infuriating how chain pet stores sell the most horrible bird toys. You can bet your ass that aaaaaaallllll the cat and dog toys have been certified safe, but the bird toys? Flimsy plastic everywhere, cheap bells, those STUPID MINKY HAMMOCKS* It's fucking disgusting and is setting up bird owners who don't know any better to have their birds hurt. To be fair, anyone owning any pet should do their research before hand (I'd been doing pretty constant research for two or three years before I got my cockatiel), but that's not an excuse. There's people who won't do that. And even if they did, what if someone else goes out to get something for the bird and they don't know better?

And all this from just a bird owner! Birds are one of the more common "exotic" pets! I can't imagine what it's like for someone owning a reptile, or literally anything else

*Yes, I understand it's because they're the most popular pets. that doesn't mean other pets don't exist, or that they don't deserve as much care * If you're unaware - Minky is a type of fabric, it's very short and is very soft. It's very easy for birds to get their claws stuck in this material and end up hurting themselves

I have nothing to add to this other than complete agreement as a fellow bird caretaker. It's a mess. A wholeass mess. I will simply leave this here for posterity and education.

Our birds deserve better.

[fereldanwench]

pet health cw

so it's been a goddamn week since we first reached out to our vet about getting ares meds refilled, and we called like 4 times over the past week trying to get a hold of him and we've just keep getting promises that he'll call us back and HE HASNT

we even tried calling the urgent care place to see if they'd help us, also nothing

i ended up submitting an order through petco and when doing that, they ask for the vet info to get the prescription verified, but that was on friday and i know a lot of vet offices have limited availability over the weekends so who tf knows when or if that'll get answered

in a last-ditch desperate effort i found some supplements online that look like they can help in the meantime, but those won't be here until tomorrow

meanwhile ares last had his meds on tuesday, and that was just half a dose, and now he's back to not eating and vomiting so im just

and husbando has just completely shut down so it's all on me at this point

im kind fuckin losing it

[heystephen]

it’s 4th of july weekend and as a 10 years long animal shelter volunteer, i am obligated each year to throw out some reminders because we tend to get a 40% increase in lost and found animals from july 1-6.

do not let your pets outside unattended, even the ones that you think have never had a bad reaction to fireworks before. you just never know with animals, and it takes one particularly terrifying boom to send a normally relaxed dog or cat into flight mode. i cant stress how much i recommend leashing your pet even in a fenced yard during these few days, even a smaller dog will scale a fence if it’s terrified.

if your pet is chipped, please please PLEASE make sure it’s chip is actually registered and up to date! a lot of times, people get their pets microchipped and don’t know that the chip isn’t actually registered with the company, or that their adopted pet’s microchip is registered to a former owner instead. your local vet or animal shelter can scan it for you to check, it takes like two seconds and can make the difference between you reuniting with your pet if it does get lost. also make sure that your pet’s collar tags are up to date, if your pet wears a collar! you’d be surprised how many lost animals we get wearing tags that say to call a number that’s been out of service for years, or to return the pet to an address it hasn’t lived at in years.

if your pet does happen to get lost, don’t panic yet, there’s a myriad of resources you can use. of course call your local shelters and report your missing animal first, i also recommend utilizing pawboost and petco love lost to get the word out about your pet. on top of that, many communities have facebook groups dedicated to lost and found animals that you can join- if somebody sees your pet or happens to have captured it and is looking for you, they might post it there (same with pawboost and love lost!)

[saesyndrome]

uh oh pet food discourse! anyway i think most of the time veterinary diets are fine but EXTREMELY COST PROHIBITIVE because there are only 3 brands that have a corner on the market of prescription food. also, prescription food RARELY actually contains any medicine. it's just a different formulation of food that, because it's more precise, may be more expensive. that said, its fucking unreasonable for any 10lbs bag of food to be over $100.

petco had a variety of food that was hydrolyzed salmon protein. it wasn't necessarily to the caliber of the veterinary diet hydrolyzed protein, but it was THE ONLY NON-PRESCRIPTION HYDROLYZED PROTEIN FOOD. recently they completely discontinued it, presumably because the Big Three threatened to pull their products if they didn't discontinue it. because $60 for 25lbs is a lot more affordable than the aforementioned $100 10lbs bag.

i think especially in the case of vet diets involving the kidneys and for diabetic animals, prescription food makes sense. but most of these vet diets DON'T ACTUALLY CONTAIN MEDICATION. THEY SHOULD NOT HAVE THE BARRIERS TO ENTRY THAT THEY DO. it is LITERALLY because purina, royal canin, and science diet want to milk as much money out of people with sick pets as they can.

[stillmadaboutpetra]

i had THE most fuckass failed interaction trying to take Rogue, the adult female cat i picked up, to the petco/vetco for MAYBE shots. trying to get this cat basic medical care isimpossible. im literally goign to have to go to a fucking emergency vet at this rate.