#doggy daycare au

[kandyshoppe]

Heartslaybul doggies!

Riddle: look me in the eyes and tell me he isn’t a chihuahua. Sure, chihuahuas tend to be dumber than him (sorry chihuahua lovers, but every chihuahua I’ve met was an idiot), but he’s just as rage filled, and demanding of order. He’s top dog gosh DARNIT! He snips and snarls and can hold his own but when Floyd comes around he’s screaming and running to his owner. Adores his doggy stroller too, feels above everyone in it.

Trey: Labrador retriever, they’re just walking stomachs and with his love for baking and laid back attitude it fits well. When he gets super happy, he can and does leave full on welts cause he wags that log of a tail so fast and hard! Probably has bowled over several smaller dogs accidentally. Bet he is owned by a baker too, and delivers baskets of cookies to people sometimes.

Cater: Pomeranian, small, a bit yappy, and he has a bit fo pom-ittude. But just like a pom, he demands attention almost 24/7, yet is picky on WHO gives him attention. His owner is the light of his life, and he only wants praise from them! Everyone else is no touchy. Bet he’s a famous pet-fluencer too though.

Ace: as much as I want to say Affenpincher because of their toddler like personalities, I don’t think he would be a small dog, so let’s go with a border collie. When he isn’t given enough stimulation, he’s causing so many problems! He seems like he would be a door dasher too. He tries to herd Deuce, has learned that herding Riddle will get him screamed at and he doesn’t like that.

Deuce: American bulldog, hands down. They can be really aggressive, and protective of resources, but also the sweetest babies. I think he had not been trained well, but his owner learned and adapted and now Deuce is a good boy. He still has to be fed separately from other dogs cause he still guards his food though… his favorite toy is a stuffed chicken he brings with him to the vet

[rynekins]

A super precious adorable lovable PuppySun and Kittymoon commission by @garbagechocolate

Check them out! n_n

[littlelaurendraws]

My first Artfight attack! :3

REVENGEEE >:DDD @rynekins

Ever since I found it I’ve loved seeing your Superstar Doggy Daycare comic so have this!! :D

Can’t wait to see what happens next on it :3c

(Im so late to Artfight aa, but I’m finally able to draw more now >:3)

(Oh also that’s supposed to be glass btw idk if you can tell 😅)

[sourtomatola]

@rynekins surprise!! I'm your secret santa!! I love your puppy daycare comics!!

[appropriatelystupid]

"there's an au brewing in here somewhere" bro WHY would you do this to me now I'm gonna spend my whole day thinking about Kara driving a doggy day care bus and picking up Lean's pup every day as they slowly fall in LOVE, FUCK!!

oh see this is interesting because yes, kara driving a doggy day care bus is obviously in line with her character

but my instinct for an au was actually lena abandoning her family (leaning towards after having been ceo for a bit and just giving it all up) and moving somewhere to just exist as herself for a bit

so then she starts getting a little restless but isn’t really ready to science again so she gets this job because her therapist always encouraged her to get a pet but she’s not sure she could handle it full time (thanks to lillian obvi) but driving the bus she gets some excited puppy time but also only does the bus so their all day care is still someone else’s responsibility

and so at first she’s awkward with the dogs and doesn’t really know how to handle so much energy but one of the owners is a gorgeous blonde who’s dog krypto seems hellbent on getting her involved in puppy shenanigans and it eventually unlocks a relaxed part of herself she didn’t know she was capable of

(what she doesn’t know until much later is kara has spent every day since lena started talking to krypto about her and encouraging him to get close to her because she seemed sad but also so so pretty)

[rynekins]

AWAWAWAWWAWA SOooOOOooOO CUTE OMYDOOOOOOOOOOG precious fluffy babies all of dem thank you for participatiiiiiiiiiiiiing!!!

Happy Halloween @rynekins from your secret skeleton! ✨🎃

I had a ton of fun drawing your guys in festive little outfits💖 Thank you so much for hosting this awesome event for the DCA community!

[nefelegies]

kissie kiss

12/28/2022

[grapehyasynth]

au where wilmon don't get back together in the series finale. wille keeps trying the crown prince thing but does, eventually, still leave the monarchy. simon is living in lund; he has a dog and a job at the university. one day he picks his dog up from doggy daycare and one of the employees tells him that his dog has a best friend and they'd be happy to connect him with his dog's friend's owner so they can do dog play dates. ... reader, i think you know where i'm going with this: the other dog's owner is wille

[gallaghersgal]

Vacation au + ❛ you're such a fucking tease, you know that? ❜ with Lip

sonia u rlly cooked with this one ngl 🤞 nsfw 18+. quick sex, doggy style, dom/sub dynamics, single mom reader + single dad lip. cruise au! lots of expo

vacation au + “you’re sick a fucking tease, you know that?” part of my 1,500 follower celebration (closed)

"mommy mommy!" your daughter lydia runs up to you the moment you step into the ship daycare center, ready to take her to lunch and enjoy a mommy-daughter day after a morning of mimosas and spa treatment. "can i go play in the pool with my new friends?" two adorable redheaded kids run up after her, one tugging a man around your age behind him.

"it's time for lunch baby," you tell her, kneeling down to get on her level. the other two kids plead with you, and you look from their sweet faces to the man standing behind them. "well, if..." you trail off, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"lip," he supplies.

"if lip says its okay, they could come get lunch with us?" you smile, standing again so you can offer your hand to lip. he shakes it as you introduce yourself, his son tugging at the hem of his tee.

"pleaseeee dad?" he asks, nudging the slightly older girl beside him.

"yeah, please uncle lip!?"

he concedes to their begging, reaching down to ruffle his son's hair, and the five of you head over to the on board burger joint. lydia and her new friends—freddie and franny, you learn—play together until dinner time until lip tells them it's time to leave, bringing a pout to both their faces. but he promises the kids they can play together again before the cruise is over, so they share an adorable little group hug and you take your daughter back to the cabin.

later that evening there's a 70's themed party, which you weren't planning on attending. but your younger sister insists you go after telling her about the man you'd met earlier. she even lets you borrow the dress she had brought along for the party, staying behind to watch lydia.

the dress has a deep, rounded v-neck, in a bright shade, but it doesn't matter much. ten minutes in the club with lip sees the pretty thing bunched around your hips in his cabin.

"y're such a fucking tease, y'know that?" he purrs in your ear, tip nudging at your center through the thin cotton of your panties. why didn't you wear lace? at least the lights were off.

"you're the one teasing'," you respond in a pout, ass pressing back against him. he responds with quick fingers, pulling the elastic band and snapping it against your back. cool air floods your core just as quickly, his fingers tugging your panties aside to run his length through your folds.

one strong hand presses your back into a perfect arch while the other guides his cock inside you. "hhng- shit! s'tight," he mumbles, picking up the pace after allowing you a bit of time to adjust. the cabin fills with quiet grunts, the slap of skin on skin and the melody of your moans, muffled into the soft comforter.

calloused hands grip your ass, pulling away for a second to land a smack to the area, your pitchy whines are like music to his ears. "lay down, princess. on'ya stomach, legs over the bed," lip whispers. he guides you into the position, lays his cheek against your shoulder blade, and starts to rock his hips into you again. "tha's it mama, fuck, y're so wet."

"lip, ohmygod, lip!" you cry out his length pressing into your wet heat over and over. your toes curl and you crane your neck up to catch his mouth in a kiss.

he lets out a startled "mmph," but kisses you back regardless. his tongue pushes past your lips and licks at you in a needy manner. one strong hand cradles your jaw as he pulls back to ask, "'re y'close baby? y'gonna cum on my dick?"

your voice cracks embarrassingly when you manage to respond "uh-huh!"

"c'mon, use y'words," lip encourages, his strokes slowing while his lips brush tenderly over your brow.

"i-i'm gonna cum, lip, please," your hips press pathetically back against him, wordlessly begging him to move faster. his lips curl into a smile as he fucks you at a relentless pace. words escape you completely, nothing but broken moans and babbles of his name and 'please' leave your lips.

lip shoves two fingers past your lips, soft lips hushing your garbled protests and soft gagging. as quickly as the digits were pushed past your lips they disappear. they snake under your body to circle your clit and the stimulation sends your orgasm washing over you.

he pulls out soon after, muffling his deep groan with a bite on your shoulder. thick ropes of cum paint your back, just barely missing the fabric of the borrowed dress.

[rynekins]

Dawwww, lookit thembs! They're super cute, thankies! Hope you have a good Valentine's Day!

Valentine Gift for @rynekins for @thecourtjester12's gift exchange. Hope the two of you like it!

[palmrrclaymore]

@bzjohndory created an au where the human brozone brothers work and own a diner together. They mentioned that Rhona, normally a trusty armadillo van, would be a dog and my brain went to her being a bernese mountain dog.

My hc is that she's a big cuddly dog that doesn't always remember shes huge, she's great at being there for jd emotionally and physically as she can be protective of him and his brothers when need be. I of course had to draw jd being the strong man that he is picking up Rhonda for a picture.

Rhonda can't be left home alone because she breaks out of her crate then proceeds to destroy things around the bros home. To fix this Jd sent Rhonda at the insistence of his brothers to a doggy daycare/training facility. Her personal trainer is my troll oc Raina, whenever Rhonda is at the day care Raina becomes her favorite person.

After taking Rhonda to the Rainbow Bridge daycare for a while he started to form a friendship with Raina as she would often help him learn how to keep up Rhondas training at home. Raina will often visit the diner when she isn't working or if she just wants to get a quick coffee in before work. She's mostly there just to watch jd work though, she has a crush on him but doesn't want to ruin their friendship.

[rynekins]

You probably have a lot on your mind right now. Please remember to be kind to yourself. Next Previous First of Season 3 First of Season 1 First of Season 2

[xnewtiebooty]

Newt headcanons for Newt day!

Canon-verse:

Newt will step up to the plate, take on a leadership role when the situation calls for it, but honestly dreads it. He hates feeling that kind of pressure, those expectations placed on him. He feels inadequate and like he falls short where others (Thomas and Alby) have succeeded. He prefers his role as second-in-command. It gives him a platform for his voice to be heard, and be taken seriously, and he can still assist where needed, provide advice to the others and keep them in check. (Honestly, as far as I'm concerned this is just canon.)

Newt is a (power)bottom.

AU:

Newt, to everyone's shock and disbelief, is more of a coffee drinker than tea. He enjoys the occasional cup of tea, of course, but simply drinks coffee out of habit. He'll usually just take it with cream, but definitely enjoys adding Irish cream or peppermint syrup on occasion. 

Newt's favourite colour/s are blue and purple. He also likes deep reds.

His favourite season is fall. The colours of the trees changing and the smell of fallen leaves, as well as the scorching heat of summer finally dying off and the approach of Halloween and the other holidays are all reasons for this. 

Newt often wears turtlenecks and jumpers - partly because they're simply comfortable and versatile, but also to hide his scars. He hates it when people stare as if he won't notice, his brokenness physically displayed for everyone to see.

Newt plays the violin.

Newt always enjoyed running at night, before he broke his leg. It felt like he could breathe easier, run faster in the cool night air.

Now, he's more of a swimmer. It's therapeutic for his leg, and he enjoys being in the water.

Newt pierced his ears himself when he was 13.

If you were to ask any of them, his friends would compare Newt to a cat, personality-wise. However, he's both a cat and dog person.

Newt prefers wine over beer, mostly. With some exceptions, beer, in his opinion, tastes like piss.

Newt enjoys reading, listening to music, and drawing. He dabbles in writing too, on occasion. It gives him purpose to create something and put it out into the world, makes him feel like he's contributing in some way.

When he was younger, Newt wanted to be a veterinarian. However, he didn't end up pursuing it because he realized he wouldn't be able to cope when he lost patients. Yet, he still helps in other ways. He likes to volunteer at the local animal shelter, and works at the doggy daycare.

Newt enjoys surrealist horror and mystery, and has seen David Lynch's complete filmography. 

His favourite shows are Twin Peaks, Hannibal, and The Following. 

Newt often has candles or incense burning in his room. It helps him to de-stress and creates a calm, relaxing environment. 

Newt's history hyperfixation was Ancient Egypt.

Newt loves the smell of petrichor, and particularly enjoys cold, dewy mornings after it rains.

Newt is a Cancer + Virgo moon.

Newt drives a 1956 VW Beetle (black.)

[weirwoodsugar]

acceptable modern au jon jobs:

-worlds okayest lawyer but not a cool tv lawyer with a nice apartment like a depressed millennial public defender with a novelty coffee mug that says defender of the innocent-ish

-target manager. 90s au blockbuster manager. whatever

-doggy daycare guy

-accountant

-non-unionized (yet!) trade job

-he can be a teacher but it has to be first grade and he has to be on the edge of a nervous breakdown

-ebay scams or weed

-not a fucking cop! yuck!

[sikacangijo]

I don't think I will Finnish this one.

Drawing One of my AU. I called it alternative jobs (I know the name sucks)

The AU I made a year ago and I completely forgot about it.

Basically in this AU the trio never joined the government. But they are childhood best friends.

And they had other jobs. Ellie is a racer, Henry is a barista (he just opened his own café, Dave also works there btw. He still got fired even if Henry never there lol), and Charles works at doggy daycare.

In my AU Henry used to have long hair, but he cut it after first time breaking out of jail. But in this AU he never went to jail so he still has his long hair.

Here the original sketch for Charles.

[whereonceiwasfire]

I saw @theshadowrealmitself's post the other day about what if a supervillain outed their secret identity becuase they infodumped to the cashier (who happens to be the hero) and you know I had to do a DP oneshot for it. It's a few different kinds of AU, so you just have to roll with me here.

Without further ado:

THE CUSTOMER'S ALWAYS RIGHT (EXCEPT WHEN THEY'RE AN EGOMANIACAL SUPERVILLAIN)

Automatic doors slide apart with a woosh as Danny bursts through the entrance of Hattie's Haunted Hardware Emporium, unzipped backpack barely caught in the crook of his elbow, one arm stuffed through the armhole of the gaudy yellow vest of his uniform. 

He's out of breath as he scrambles past the customer service desk, gives a frantic, “I'm here, I'm here!” to the startled employee behind the computer as hops the counter. He’s sprinting past stacked boxes of returns for the door with a STAFF ONLY sign slapped askew across the chipping green paint when a voice stops him in his tracks. 

“Danny Fenton.” The words drip cool disapproval, and Danny's shoulders immediately hunch toward his ears, his fingers uncurling from around the door handle. 

So close. 

“Y-yes?” He slowly turns around, his expression sheepish as he comes to face Hattie herself. 

She stands, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed, a MANAGER tag pinned to the chest of her tucked in shirt. The polo is the same hideous yellow as Danny's vest but has the Hattie's Hardware logo—a floating hammer surrounded by a ghostly glow—sewn onto the breast pocket. A funny gag, no doubt, when the place decided to open in the heart of haunted AF Amity Park. Less funny, probably, now that the store room is in disarray every other day because some low-level specter keeps casting stock haphazardly about and flinging empty boxes everywhere.

“You're late,” manager Hattie says, expression pinching. “Again.” 

“Aha. Yeah. About that.” Danny scrubs the back of his neck with a palm, teeth bared on something that's more a grimace than a smile. “The bus was behind schedule?” 

She doesn't look particularly like she believes him, which is entirely valid, since it's a bald-faced lie. But what is he supposed to say? That he got sidetracked by his new archnemesis, that freaking Plasmius ghost, because the guy somehow managed to compel an entire doggie daycare to do his bidding? What that crackpot needed a canine army for, Danny didn't even want to know, but he wasn't about to just let it go down. Stopping ghosts is kind of his whole shtick as town hero, after all. 

He’s just lucky the whole thing didn’t take that long—once Danny managed to snap his fluffy foes out of their trance, they kind of took care of Plasmius for him. Guess they weren't too happy about being mind controlled. Go figure.

But again, Danny can’t exactly just come out and tell his manager, well, any of this. As far as everyone knows, Danny Fenton is a very normal, very human kid—one who maybe isn’t great at the whole being punctual thing and has a penchant for running to the bathroom when ghosts show up—but otherwise exhibits no symptoms of being undead. He’s hoping to keep it that way.  

Manager Hattie’s eyes narrow, as if she can tell what he’s thinking, but she just gives a curt jerk of her chin in the direction of the staff room. 

“Don’t let it happen again,” she says, and he gives an overzealous nod of assent as he lets out the breath trapped in his chest. 

“You got it, boss!” he says, giving her a two-fingered salute and throwing himself into the back before she can change her mind. 

***

“That’ll be eight twenty-two. How will you be paying for that?” It comes out a bored drawl as Danny shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“It’ll be cash—just—give me a sec. I know I had change in here somewhere.” 

“Sure, no problem.” 

Danny crosses his arms over the chest of his garish vest and tips his gaze toward the industrial ceiling, trying to find literally anywhere to look so he’s not the overly intense cashier staring at the woman across the counter as she rummages through her oversized, bubblegum purse for a couple of nickels.  

He hadn’t even wanted to get a job—staying on top of school, protecting the town from ghosts, and keeping his secret identity from everyone in his life was enough of a struggle, nevermind trying to fit his weekend sentences at Hattie’s Hardware into the mix. But turns out if you break your phone (in a ghost fight), lose a couple of backpacks (after dumping them in an alley so you can go stop a bank robbery), mysteriously misplace articles of clothing (AKA, throw them away because ectoplasm apparently doesn’t come out in the wash), or otherwise ask your parents to replace your crap enough times without a decent explanation, they’ll stop paying for it.

So, as much as he’d love to not be watching stacks of nickels, pennies, and dimes grow on his counter—the bottle-blonde slapping each coin down with a decisive clack before thrusting her arm back into the depths of her bag—he really can’t get fired. Not only does he desperately need a new pair of shoes after stepping in a suspicious puddle Cujo left behind (please just let it have been radioactive drool), but he has to prove to his parents that he’s responsible, even if he’s going through a bit of a “destructive phase” with his belongings.

“Eight twenty-two!” the woman declares proudly, hiking her purse up onto her shoulder and beaming down at the skyscraper diorama of coins piled up on his counter. “I told you I had change.” 

“Yes. You did,” Danny says with a defeated breath, scooping the first stack of nickels into his hand, and spreading them out across his palm. 

Five, ten, fifteen…

“It’s eight twenty-two. Trust me.” 

“Sorry, policy. I have to double check,” Danny says with his best apologetic grimace before turning his gaze back down to the coins in his hand. 

Five, ten, fifteen…

“Well, that’s kind of unfair, don’t you think? Isn’t the customer always right?” 

“Right, of course.” 

Twenty, twenty-five, thirty…     

“This is a bad look. It makes it feel like you don’t trust your clientele.” 

Danny gives a half-hearted shrug, not lifting his eyes from the coins. “Sorry. Not my policy.” 

Thirty-five, forty, forty-five…

“Well, I never.” 

Danny makes the mistake of looking up as the woman tsks, gripping the strap of her bag and giving him a scandalized glower.

“Sorry,” he says again, shoulders slumping as he lets out a sigh, his gaze falling back to the mess of nickels in his hand.

Five, ten, fifteen…

***

Danny’s fellow cashier heads up for their lunch during the mid-afternoon lull, leaving Danny up front alone, standing at his till, pretending to be busy in case Hattie wanders past. He types random SKU numbers into the computer to see if it’ll bring up anything, he flips through the binder of faded lumber codes, he sprays his counter down with a bottle of something that smells like death and wipes it away with paper towels that come away gray with grime, he sorts the air fresheners that hang on a display beside his counter. And after all that is done, he’s managed to kill about seven minutes. 

It’s almost a relief when a customer finally wanders up to his till. Almost. 

The man wordlessly plops a length of cord, a roll of duct tape, and a box of garbage bags down on the counter—doesn’t even bother to glance up at Danny, just rolls up the cuff of his dark suit jacket and checks his watch as though the point five seconds he’s been waiting is already too long. 

Danny manages to plaster on his best customer-service smile, hoping his eyes don’t give away the “not this asshole again”  that he’s thinking. 

Nearly once a week, buddy here shows up—way overdressed, with his smarmy ponytail and his suit—acts put out that he has to breathe the same air as the rest of Amity Park’s peons, then proceeds to purchase some of the sketchiest shit Hattie’s Hardware has to offer. Danny’s always left wondering if he should be calling the police instead of ringing up the serial killer’s checklist of supplies on his counter.

But, honestly, he does not get paid enough to keep tabs on Hannibal Lector over there, so he lets it slide. 

“Find everything you were looking for today?” Danny asks as he tips the garbage bags on their side and scans the code on the bottom with a beep.

The man gives the vaguest grunt of acknowledgement, and just before his sleeve falls back in place over the face of his Rolex, Danny notices the fresh scratches marking the man’s pale forearm. 

His brow furrows, but instead of prying, he just plucks up the duct tape and cracks a friendly joke as he twists the roll to find the barcode. “Already got the shovel and axe at home, hunh? Good for you.”

The beep is the only thing to split the silence, and when Danny glances up, it’s to find the man’s dark gaze pinned on him, lips pursed on a thin line. He is very much not laughing.

“Just ah—a joke.” Danny blanches as he gestures weakly at the items on the counter. “Because uhm. You know. If you had a shovel and axe, this would look kind of like you were, ah…”

“I get it,” the man answers frostily.

“Okay,” Danny answers, chastened as he drops his head and picks up the rope. 

Immediately, he can tell Sketchy McBillionaire completely ignored the sign in the hardware aisle asking customers to get an employee’s assistance with the custom lengths of cord—there’s absolutely no SKU or length written anywhere, but Danny makes a show of turning the rope in his hand anyway. 

“Shoot. It looks like your label must have fallen off?” he says, doing his very best not to sound too accusatory, just in case the guy really isn’t above murder. 

“I’m sorry?” the man asks pointedly, brow arching, and it is so very clearly not an apology. 

“Uhm. Well. Since you grabbed a custom length of rope instead of a pre-measured spool, there should be a tag on here somewhere. I need that to ring you up,” Danny tries, gesturing uselessly at the cord.

“Are you serious?” the man asks, teeth gritting. “This is just what I need right now.” 

“I can, uh, page someone from hardware to get us the number?” 

“No need. I’ll go get a pre-measure spool.” The words drip with derision, as if this is somehow Danny’s fault, as the man snaps up the rope and twists on his heel. 

“Actually—” Danny cuts in, withering under the man’s icy gaze as he snaps his head back around. Sheepishly, he continues, “Once the length has been cut, we can’t really keep it…” 

The man’s shoulders heave with a deep breath, his grip curling tight around the cord between his fingers.

“Fine,” he snaps, tossing the looped rope back onto the counter with a thud. “But make it quick. I’ve already been significantly delayed today.” 

Danny gives a curt nod, picking up the receiver beside his register and paging for a hardware employee, his crackly, amplified voice sounding weak as it reverberates through the store. Which is so stupid. He’s a literal superhero—can punch a ghost three ways into next Thursday—so why is he cowed by some guy strutting around the hardware store in a suit?

Maybe because he knows punching this dude isn't an option unless he wants to get fired.

Ugh, why do bad things always happen to him?

Danny tries to play nice—determining not to piss the guy off or lose his job—and schools his features into an affable smile. 

“It’ll just be a couple minutes,” he says.

The man gives a tight “hmmm,” crossing his arms over his chest, brows dropped low over cold blue eyes.

As the silence stretches between them, Danny awkwardly drumming his fingers against the metal till top, the urge to claw out of his skin grows unbearable. Against all better judgment, he finally blurts, “how’s your day going so far?”

“You want to know how my day is going?” The man’s tone drips vitriol, teeth bared as he steps in closer to the till. There’s something hysteric in the twist of the words as he repeats himself. “You want to know how my day is going?”

Danny tries to backpedal, jerkily shakes his head no, but it’s too late. The man gives a laugh somewhere just left of unhinged (why does it almost sound familiar?) and is off on a tangent before Danny can stop him.  

“My day started with a very unwelcome intrusion, weeks of hard work thrown out the window because of some insolent boy and his need to stick his nose in where it doesn’t belong. My day found me bitter and behind schedule, interrupted at a crucial moment because someone has decided to treat my work like some blasted video game. My day”—the man’s eyes dart to the nametag on Danny’s vest, heedless of the way he’s stiffened, heart beating hard in his throat—“Daniel, has left me thwarted, again, an extension of a dismal several months in this wretched town, a string of one disappointment after another. And now I’m delayed once more, stuck waiting here with you, for someone to perform a menial task on my behalf since you can’t identify a length of rope. So tell me, boy. How do you think my day has been going?”

It’s how he spits the word boy, the cadence of the diatribe, the implication behind the words.

Danny just stares at the man, wide-eyed, any kind of response at all sticking in his throat as his palms brace against the back of the till.

It's then the employee from hardware comes bounding over, her cheery, freckled face split on a smile, oblivious to the weighted silence. “How can I help y'all?” 

“I need a price on this.” The man practically snarls the words, snatching the cord and thrusting it at Poppy or Penny or…Genevieve?

Crap. Danny has got to get better at remembering his coworkers’ names.

“O-oh,” she stammers.

“The SKU actually,” Danny manages, and her expression softens with relief—that that’s all he needs, that she doesn't have to put up with this nightmare of a man before them.

She pulls free a small notebook from a pocket in her ugly vest. Thwipping through the pages, she drops a glance to the rope in her hands, flips a little further, then reads off some digits from her hand-scrawled notes. Danny taps them in obediently as Poppy/Penny/Genevieve turns the rope forward and back. 

“Probably about twelve feet,” she guesstimates. 

“Awesome, thank you,” Danny says, the price coming up on screen as he taps in a one-two and thumbs enter.

The man has barely moved, his expression all hard, sharp, unimpressed lines as he stands back and watches them with crossed arms. Poppy/Penny/Genevieve flickers a glance in his direction, then away. 

“Noproblemhereyougotalktoyoulater,” she says, the sentence coming out in one hurried breath as she drops the cord on Danny's counter and bolts. 

With her gone, it's just Danny, the silver-haired man, and the suffocating tension between them once again. 

Danny knows he should focus on getting the purchase rung through and getting the guy out of here, but can't help the beat too long he stares at the man.

He's about the right height, the same goatee, the graying stripe parting his long hair. 

“I don’t have all day.”

“Right!” Danny starts, shifting his attention back to his till’s screen, his pulse fluttering in his chest. Could it be? “Uhm. That comes to—” 

“Yes, yes, it’ll be on credit,” the man interrupts, thrusting a black card at him. 

Danny catches the card against his chest, holds it there as he mashes the man’s total into the debit machine. Before swiping the card, he turns a glance down to the plastic in his hand, his eyes roving past the long string of numbers and the expiration date to find the raised silver lettering beneath.

Vlad Masters. 

His gaze lifts, and he finds the man—Vlad—watching him impatiently. Danny jerks his eyes away as he swipes the card, hands it back, places the printed receipt on the counter to be signed. 

Vlad huffs—doesn't say a word as he fishes a pen from his inside pocket and scrawls a quick, jagged signature.

The arch of his brow, the condescending weight of his gaze, the impatient snap of his movements...

As the man gathers up his supplies, scowling, and pushes through the exit, Danny picks up the merchant copy of the receipt left on his counter. His gaze fixes on the V. Masters on the till paper, his lips twisted on a frown. 

He doesn't know how it's possible, but he thinks that man—Vlad Masters—is his archrival. 

Which means…Plasmius is a half-ghost?