DENNYS

[quickied]

It's late. Like, 3 AM late. You're hungry as fuck, but nothing is open.





Except Denny's.

RULES

1. Post to the meme.
2. Find somebody to eat with. Figure out why the hell you'd do this to yourself.
3. Okay, you have no excuse to be here because Denny's is doing delivery now. This is the age we live in. Denny's delivers. Dear god.

Comments

yuri lowell | tales of vesperia

[evervigilante]

Oof.

[ yuri pokes his stack of pancakes. which was on the rubbery side. ]

Is this edible?

Matt Murdock | MCU | OTA

[thedevilsworkisneverdone]

[Listen. It's been a long night and sometimes that means that even masked vigilantes have to stop for a Moons Over My Hammy. Don't ask questions.]

[spectacularing]

[ the safer streets initiative has been rough.

every one of her students that gets into a fistfight after school is potentially a suspect. she’s always had to keep an eye over her shoulder, but these days, it feels like penelope’s doing nothing but. and it turns out that her rogues don’t care about breaking curfew: the task force managed to pick up the scorpion and the shocker, but a lot of the others are out of their league.

it means she’s having to be a lot smarter, a lot more hit-and-run. it’s exhausting, but at least she’s not in it alone. would she rather have better company than daredevil? sure, but beggars can’t be choosers.

she’s wearing the mask - as well as a long overcoat and a hood, to hide it as much as possible. (it makes swinging trickier, but she’s pretty sure she looks cool as hell.) spider-woman drops into the seat opposite him without fanfare. ]

We’ve got ten minutes before the AVTF is crawling up our ass. Whaddaya got for me?

perpetua ( ghost )

[peacefield]

[ slumped down in a booth with his feet on the opposite cushion, sipping a strawberry milkshake, still in full skull makeup and mask. why is he there??? maybe he's having a minor crisis, it's fine. it's probably even tradition in his family.

anyway, he's looking over the rest of the menu, too, seeming a little alarmed. ]

.. Fuck me, I just realized I can order off the 55-plus menu. That's upsetting.

Delia Battista ✨ Star Trek OC ✨OTA, 21+ for any shipping or smut

[attackpatternbattista]

[Basic gist: Largely faction-neutral Orion mercenary in her mid-thirties, can be adapted into most any Star Trek timeline point for ease of RP, flirty, easy to get along with, but extremely observant. Pilot, mercenary, ship captain. Also comes in various Starfleet AU flavors as desired.

It's some Weird Hour in the evening or morning, and Delia's settled in a booth, working on eating a burger, and has several PADD's on the table with her, she's reading one, and tapping in a command, every so often, before swapping to another]

Dr. Jack Abbot - The Pitt - ota

[comfortindarkness]

[Early in the morning, late at night, when you work the night shift time means different things. Jack is at his own table in rumpled scrubs, exhausted after a swing shift, or another long night in PTMC's emergency department. He's got his right leg propped up on a chair, drinking bad coffee like it's a religion.

The plate in front of him is full of food, a good old fashioned Grand Slam and orange juice.

What? It's easy to forget to eat when you work through the chaos of an emergency room night after night.

But he's approachable. Tired, but willing to talk.

.. just don't ask him to look at anything because he's a doctor.]

Oni Girard | w:ta garou oc | ota

[naturaldisasster]

[ Bent forward in the booth, her forehead resting on the suspiciously-sticky tabletop, Oni can easily be mistaken for asleep (or deceased?)

That is until the waitress brushes past, filling her coffee cup as if on automatic, which prompts a noise out of the she-wolf. ]

Sraugh. [ What was that, hun? ]

Struw . [ Come again? ]

[ She lifted her head, the sclera of her right eye a dark, crimson red. Beneath it, a square of gauze taped to her cheek is stained through with blood in three conspicuous lines. Claw marks, perhaps. Not quite neat enough to be the work of a blade. Jesus, Oni. ]

Straw.

steve harrington / stranger things & dead by daylight.

[wsqk]

[ it's late - somewhere between the witching hour and dawn; the sky is a mottled purple, bruised and bitten and bleeding black. the stars are still out, if only visible when you squint. steve blinks back dryness in his eyes, one knuckle folded as he rubs his left. the coffee is steaming, the smell of it invading his nostrils. he needs it, so much, the night's events still evidently going, despite the tiredness that he feels down to his bones. his marrow screams to enter sleep, every inch of him heavy with exhaustion. the coffee should help, or, rather, he hopes it does.

looking up at his companion across the table, steve lowers his hand, leaning back against the vinyl booth. it's worn, but comfortable, so he folds his arms and tilts his head just so. he gazes, wondering, then glances around. it's been almost a half an hour since they ordered, and seeing as the denny's is nearly deserted - steve purses his lips. more to himself than anyone, he mutters: ]

I wonder where the waiter went.

Paul Atreides | Dune

[desertpowered]

[Paul is hunched in the corner of the Denny's with a couple of blueberry muffins and some orange juice for his breakfast. He's grabbed a newspaper and is reading it as he listens to conversations going on around him, occasionally sipping his drink or taking a bite out of his food. It's always good to listen, especially in an unfamiliar place surrounded by strangers. Paul learns to adapt. He won't speak unless spoken to.

His clothes are suspiciously formal for where he is, dark green with gold accents and military-styled. There's a badge of a red hawk on his uniform - the symbol of House Atreides, and the only obvious signifier of who he is.]