booth on top

The Sleepover

I realized that although I put the link on here for the A03 fic, I never actually posted the fic on here, so, without further adieu, a Bughead Sleepover.


“Hey!” Betty crossed the short distance to where Jughead was sitting in a booth at Pop’s. “I was hoping I’d find you here.”

Jughead had seen Betty coming through the door and hadn’t been able to wipe the smile off his face since. He picked up his coffee and took a sip, then set it back in it’s place. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I have a surprise for you.” Betty smiled. She got back up and stood at the counter. “Hey, Pop? Could we get an order of french fries please?”

Pop Tate smiled and nodded at her, and Betty turned to sit down with Jughead.

Jughead stared at her for just a moment before laughing. “Well? Are you going to give me a hint?”

Betty returned his smile. “No, you’ll just have to wait and see.”

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10

2016 bones challengeday 5: favourite season(s) ~ seasons 5 and 9
“Nothing in this universe happens just once. Nothing. Infinity goes in both directions. There is no unique event, no singular moment.”

Cherry Pie

Summary:  Waitress bored in a diner gets an interesting customer.

Characters: Dean x Reader, other customer

Word Count: 975

Warnings: none

A/N:  This is a drabble inspired by the lovely and talented @arryn-nyxx and her aesthetic Baby, Pie and Whiskey.  I hope I did it justice!

 

Working nights at the diner is usually boring, nothing but tired truckers or exhausted travelers.  You’re thankful for that; you’ve seen enough drama and misery to last five lifetimes.  The slow easy pace of a small town diner is just what you need.

The diner is especially slow tonight.  One man sits in the last booth along the window and all he’s ordering is coffee.  You’re filling the salt and pepper shakers along the counter when the rumble of a car engine breaks the quiet.  A moment later the bell dings as a tall, ruggedly handsome man walks through the doors.  His bowlegged stride is full of self assurance sending a ripple right through you.  He takes a seat at the far end of the counter lifting his chin toward you in greeting.  You make your way down to him trying to still the butterflies gathering in your stomach.  Unfortunately they only get more insistent the moment you look into the man’s dazzling green eyes.

“Evening, sweetheart,” he says leaning onto his elbows with an easy smile.

For a moment you forget how to blink or breathe.

“Good evening,” you say finally finding your voice.  Shaking yourself you ask, “What can I get ‘cha?”

“Sign says you have pie.”

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Cheese and Whine

not my gif



The wind whipped harshly around you, and it would have hurt the exposed skin of your cheeks and nose had they not already been decidedly frozen and numb. Walking twenty minutes to your favorite bar usually wasn’t an issue, but perhaps you should have checked the weather and grabbed a thicker scarf before heading out tonight. As you passed the RenCen, you took notice of the temperature; eighteen degrees. You vaguely recalled hearing someone mention in passing that temps would drop below zero tonight with the wind-chill and had considered, only briefly, that maybe you should enjoy the game from the comfort of your home. But, you reasoned, it was the last game of the season and they’d played so well every time you watched at the bar. If you watched from home and the game was a complete blowout, you’d feel personally responsible for the loss. So out in the cold you went. Never could anyone question your dedication or loyalty to your team. The frozen tip of your nose was evidence of all you were willing to sacrifice for a win.

As the wind howled around you, you struggled to pull open the door to the Greektown bar. A brief moment of reprieve from the wind allowed you to yank it open and finally find shelter from the elements. You were hit with a blast of warmth as you stood in the doorway that instantly began to thaw your frozen body.

Someone else was coming in behind you, forcing you to move further into the bar and that’s when you noticed how absolutely packed it was. All the booths and high-tops were full, servers buzzed around as quickly as they could in the sea of Honolulu blue. There were specks of gold and green throughout, but Lions fans easily out numbered the few cheeseheads. But of course the only empty spot you could find was at the bar next to a guy in a heavy brown coat, hunched over his drink with eyes intently on the screen, with a green and gold beanie pulled tightly over his head.

The game was about to start and you didn’t want to risk having to stand all night, so you reluctantly headed for the empty spot, fixing your own blue beanie to proudly display the logo so this guy would know that you were not going to be friends. You hoped against hope that perhaps this would be one of the few civilized Packers fans in the world so you wouldn’t have to listen to any taunts and could focus on the game in peace.

This game was a big deal. Not as big of a deal as it could have been, thanks to the Giants doing their job and winning earlier that day, but still. If the Lions won tonight, they’d be the champs of the NFC North, earn a bye week heading into the playoffs, and have home field advantage for the duration of the playoffs. If they lost, well, it’d be same day, different shit, playing the Packers again, but at Lambeau—a stadium the Lions managed to be completely incapable of winning in.

You settled into the barstool next to the cheesehead, and he straightened a bit, shuffling closer to the wall to give you more space. Before taking a swig of his beer, he tipped it in your direction and smiled. “May the best team win,” he said, finishing his beer. He had an accent, but not that of the typical Midwesterners that traversed this area. He was British. And beautiful, you noticed, as you let your eyes linger on him a bit longer than necessary. His dark hair was just peaking out from under his hat, curling at the ends, and he had these dark pink lips that settled into a charming smile.

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TalesFromYourServer: Learn to control your children

Obligatory “I’m on mobile” warning. Also this might be kind of lengthy so I apologize.

I used to work at a family restaurant that serves breakfast all day. I was relatively new when this took place. It was a Sunday night, and about an hour before close, this party of 7 gets sat in my section. 2 grandparents, 2 parents, and 3 young kids. I only had one other table in my section, so I was actually happy to have something else to do. I go up to take their drink orders, and the mom says, “The kids are hungry, so we want to order their food now.” No worries! We get that all the time. The kids want pancakes and soda. The table demands the kids’ drinks be in big glasses, not kids cups with lids. Fine. I go put the pancake order in, fill the drinks, and return to the table maybe 3 minutes later. Immediately, the oldest kid (I’d guess he was about 6 or 7) SHOUTS: “Where’s our food??!” I paused for a second, expecting one of the parents to say something. When they didn’t, I smiled and said, “It needs to finish cooking!” He starts pouting and says, “I want it now!” Still nothing from the parents. I tell him, “I will bring it out as soon as it’s done cooking!” I take the adults’ food order. A few of them ordered our 3 course meals which come with soup or salad. I get their soup/salad ready and bring it over to them. When I get to the table, it’s COVERED in soda. The kids had spilled their drinks all over the table, the carpeted floor, and themselves. I set the food down and bring some rags and extra napkins, and some new drinks. They still don’t want kids cups with the lid. Shortly after, I bring the kids their pancakes. By the time the adults’ food is ready, the kids have syrup all over themselves, and the parents had undressed one of the smaller children so he was only in his diaper. The other 2 kids decide this means that they can also take their clothes off and start running up and down the aisles between the booths screaming at the top of their lungs. The parents sat and ate as if nothing was wrong. Being kind of new, I had no idea how to handle this. I went to my supervisor, who basically said there was nothing we could do. Just had to wait until they left. Ok, man. I go to check on my other table and ask if I can get them anything else, and the man says (quite loudly), “Yeah, can you get these people to leave?” No idea how to react - I just laughed awkwardly and apologized. Spoiler: this table tipped like shit because of the party of 7. So the group finishes dinner, and I ask the adults about their dessert for their 3 course meals. The oldest kid wants ice cream. The parents suggest that he can have their ice cream because they don’t want it. No….He wants his own. So they decide ice cream for all the kids is a good idea. We had one option on the kids menu for ice cream: vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce, whipped cream, and 2 peanut butter cups. The oldest kid throws a fit and shouts about not wanting peanut butter cups. Ok, we can leave off the peanut butter cups. (He didn’t have an allergy or anything…He just didn’t want them). I ring in the ice cream order, and a few minutes later go back to grab it. Our KP lady, who had just had surgery and was working her butt off, accidentally made all the kids’ ice creams with the peanut butter cups. She offered to redo it, but I (very stupidly) told her don’t worry about it. He could just pick the peanut butter cups off. I bring the ice cream out, set it in front of each kid, and the oldest kid screams, “Where’s mine?!” I told him it was the one I’d just sat down, and tried to explain that it was vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce like he wanted. I didn’t bother offering to remake it at this point because honestly I just wanted them gone. He throws a fit, and ends up eating his parents’ ice cream anyway. I should also note that while these kids were not eating or spilling things all over the place, they were relentlessly​ screaming at the top of their lungs. Finally, they leave (with the biggest mess behind them), and the mom goes up to the front to pay. The check is probably $75-$80 for everyone. After she pays, she comes up to me, apologizes for her children, and hands me $7. Granted, it’s not the worst tip I’ve ever received, but still. Less than 10% for dealing with your demon-spawn? No thanks.

TL;DR: three young children spill things, take their clothes off, run around and scream bloody murder.

By: Jumbojimsgrapescotch

8

TOP 10 BONES EPISODES → #4: aliens in a spaceship
↳  “ Dear Agent Booth, you are a confusing man. You are irrational and impulsive, superstitious and exasperating. You believe in ghosts and maybe even Santa Claus and because of you I’ve started to see the universe differently.
How is it possible that simply looking into your fine face gives me such joy? Why does it make me so happy that every time I try to sneak a peek at you, you’re already looking at me. Like you, it makes no sense, and like you, it feels right. If I ever get out of here, I will find a time and place to tell you that you make my life messy and confusing and unfocused and irrational and wonderful.“