the morning shift customers have been giving Derek strange looks over the counter all day and Derek is about 900% sure that is has something to do with the drink recs board because he saw Laura doodling on it earlier before she cursed him out for “walking like a fucking ninja!” and shielded the board with her arm.
he’s 900% sure, but he doesn’t know what exactly it is that Laura wrote down that made three separate high school girls giggle uncontrollably and a business man give him his card in what Derek assumed was a sympathetic offer of different employment that didn’t involve his batshit sister. Like he was actually working here for money; that paycheck wouldn’t even cover his monthly gas bill, and helping out in her shop was the only way to keep Laura from dropping in unexpectedly at his loft at all hours of the night to make him watch Love Actually with her.
it only sort of works.
the point is that morning is rush hour in coffee shops, and Derek hasn’t had a chance yet to get out from around the counter with an excuse involving wiping down tables in order to see what she wrote. morning rush is almost over now though, only three people left in line, and it looks like two of them are ordering together anyway.
or rather, Derek amends in his head as he hands off a Chai Tea Latte drink order to Laura and the woman who ordered it steps off to the side to wait for her drink, and the two young men next in line step forward close enough for Derek to hear some of the salient parts of their bickering, one is ordering while the other tries to convince him that he doesn’t need anymore caffeine today, no really Stiles, “YOU DON’T.”
‘Stiles’ waves a hand dismissively under his friend’s nose and makes a comment about stimulants that makes Derek wonder if the guy is a drug addict or a chemistry major and finally drags his attention forward to order when.
when he stops. Stares at the recommendation board quietly for a moment, drags his astonishingly penetrating gaze up to study Derek with golden brown eyes, smiles this odd little half smile and orders a dark roast blend “as big as they come, man, load me up.”
his friend is glancing wildly between the recommendation board and Derek and has something akin to a traumatized look on his face. “STILES NO.” Stiles’ smile only grows more pronounced.
Derek rolls his eyes and rings the guy up, and Stiles pays him and drops something in the tip jar, but there’s no line now and Derek is not letting this moment slip away from him so he ignores the jar for now and storms out from behind the counter to find out what the hell Laura wrote on that stupid board and.
Laura has fished out a folded piece of notebook paper from where Stiles had dropped it in the tip jar and is too busy unfolding it to look up at Derek’s outburst. A moment later she coos, “aw, Der, he gave you his number, see?” She waves the sheet of paper in his direction and grins so fucking wide she looks like the Joker. “I knew that board would work!”
Derek throws his apron in her face and turns on his heel to storm out of the shop. A moment later the bell above the door rings delicately as Derek strides back in, walks up to the counter and snatches the piece of paper out of her hands before leaving again without a word.
“You need those to see?” Derek said, after they’d been working all morning, Derek holding his hips, his waist, turning him, Stiles following always half a beat too late, Derek’s frown deepening.
“Yes,” Stiles said reflexively, most of his attention on Derek’s hands, still cupping his hips, very loosely, touching him only with the heels of his hands, his fingertips. Derek’s eyes slid down over his face, unimpressed. “Um,” Stiles admitted, “For reading, I—”
“So, no,” Derek said, taking one step and then another, guiding him slowly back along the floor.
“Hey, I read a lot,” Stiles said, and Derek turned him deftly, but not before Stiles saw a faint flicker of amusement in his face.
“Take ‘em off,” Derek said, next time, looking up from where he was crouched next to the record player when Stiles came in.
“What?” Stiles said. It was hot in the loft where they practiced, and Derek usually stripped off his shirt halfway through, dropped it over the back of a chair like it was nothing, but Stiles wasn’t going to—to—
“Your glasses,” Derek said, dropping the needle on the record, standing up. “You can’t wear them when we perform; you shouldn’t practice with them.”
“Okay,” Stiles said. Derek reached for him, lifted the glasses off his face, his thumbs brushing fleetingly across Stiles’ temples. He folded them and tucked them up on a windowsill, drew Stiles up against him for the first figure of the dance.
“You think I should stop wearing them?” Stiles asked, when they were done. It had started to rain halfway through, rattling on the roof while they practiced, while Derek turned him around and said “Again,” touched Stiles’ neck, the small of his back, places he couldn’t remember anyone ever touching before.
“What?” Derek said.
“My glasses,” Stiles said.
“Why are you asking me?” Derek said roughly. He yanked his shirt back over his head, leaving his hair sticking up in angry spikes, and said, “No.”
“No, don’t wear them?” Stiles said.
“No,” Derek said. “Why would you stop wearing them? You like to read.”
“Maybe I’d look different if I—”
“You should look like who you are,” Derek said.
“Right,” Stiles says. “Got it. Four-eyes.” The first night they’d met Derek had dragged his mouth up Stiles’ throat, murmured, “What’s your name?” in his ear, quietly, under the rolling music, but he hadn’t done anything like that since, always dropped his hands off Stiles the minute the music stopped, like he could barely stand to touch him.
“No,” Derek said. “That’s not—. Who calls you that?”
“No one,” Stiles said. “People, sometimes,” he said, when Derek didn’t say anything. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, ashamed. Werewolves couldn’t hold public office, had curfew or mandatory lockdown during the full moon in 25 states still, real problems, not stupid kid stuff.
“You look nice,” Derek said. He was putting on his jacket, not looking at Stiles, and then he was gone.
"Hot" Magazine Interview excerpt with Colin Morgan and Bradley James (Guest Starring Origami)
is that how you pick up girls?
I actually pick up girls with various displays of origami.
You do not.
Yes, I do. It's quite a famous tactic here in England. The better you are at origami, the more women you attract.
And you're sure it's not because they recognise you from the show?
Well, generally they're too distracted by the origami.
Yes. My house is origami. I've got a car that I drove here today that is made from origami.
It must be very environmentally friendly.
Yeah, big time.
Alright, Colin, coming back to Merlin - do you believe in magic?
After watching Bradley drive around in his origami car, I believe in everything.
Okay. Do you own anything origami?
No, I'm an origami wannabe. I've actually started up a support group because some people have a deficiency in their systems where they can't actually fold things. I'm a part of that group, and it seems to affect people from Northern Ireland. Anyone prone to paper cuts shouldn't even enter the origami game. It's a rough industry and certainly if you don't have thick skin, you're going to lose.
Let us guess, we're your first interview of the day, aren't we?
And this is how you like to start your day?
The other story I want is the one where Stiles is in college and he and Derek start dating, because I always want a story where Stiles and Derek start dating. But! In this one, Derek’s hanging around at the Stilinski house a lot, and Stiles is spending the night at Derek’s place a lot, and Sheriff is like, “Sure are spending a lot of time with Derek Hale,” and Stiles is like, “Er. Yes?” But that’s as far as the conversation goes, because Stiles is of legal age and also the Sheriff is kind of busy boning the hot single mom who moved in across the street last year. Boning her a lot, and very competently. Maybe even sometimes stopping by on his lunch break, with his gun on his hip and—wait, what is this story about? ANYWAY.
So one night Stiles and his dad are eating dinner at home, which they do just the two of them every Wednesday, and Derek stumbles through the back door. Without knocking!And he’s bleeding all over! And carrying a rifle!
Sheriff yells, “Stiles, run!” and goes for his sidearm and flips the dining room table onto its side and crouches behind it with his gun aimed at Derek and Stiles is like DAD WHAT ARE YOU. HAVE YOU LOST YOUR. OMG DAD!
But then Derek sort of collapses onto the floor in slow motion and the rifle goes skidding under Stiles’ chair, and Sheriff is yelling “Stay away from him!” but now that Stiles has gotten over the shock of seeing his dad spill Frito pie and Diet Mountain Dew all over the dining room he notices that Derek’s got all these arrows sticking out of him, and at least one bullet wound and oh fuck, Stiles recognizes that kind of bullet hole. Derek’s been shot with a wolfsbane bullet, and he brought the gun to Stiles.
(Here Stiles takes a moment to get a little nostalgic over everything they’ve been through together, and a little dewy over how far they’ve come in the years since this happened the first time. But just a moment. Not long enough to, like, severely impact Derek’s chances of survival.)
Meanwhile, Derek’s clawing at the floor, trying to get to the gun, and his eyes keep flashing red and Stiles is like IXNAY ON THE EDRAY BRO as he grabs the gun. His dad is yelling at him to get away, but Stiles is yelling back, “Dad, chill out! I need to—” and he fumbles the bullet out and does the thing with the lighter and Derek does the thing with the writhing on the floor and whoops there’s some nostalgia again, and also some other things that are very inappropriate at a time like this. Then Stiles helps Derek pull the arrows out and when it’s all over his dad is standing there next to him staring down at Derek with his gun held limply at his side.
Derek leaps to his feet and says, “Thanks. I gotta go,” and runs back out the door.
Stiles stands up, crushing a bunch of Fritos under his sneakers, and says, “Um. There’s something I need to tell you about Derek.”
And Sheriff holsters his sidearm and sets the table back on its legs and says, wearily, “I know. He’s a cyborg.”
And Stiles is like, “Exactly! Wait—what?”
Sheriff gives his kid an eye-rolly Come on, I’m not an idiot look and says, “I saw what just happened. He healed all those arrow and bullet wounds instantly, and his eyes kept lighting up red. He’s a robot assassin or something. Like the Terminator.”
And then while Stiles is like, “Uhhhh….” Sheriff sits down and rubs his face with both of his hands and makes this frustrated ARRRRRRGGGGHHH sound and then he looks at Stiles and sighs and says, “So tell me the truth, Stiles. Is he here from the future to protect you? Is that why he’s been hanging around so much?”
And Stiles stares at him and then says, “Yeah. Got it in one, Dad,” and then they hug and when Derek comes back to face the music, even bloodier than he was when he left, and possibly with a human ear in his pocket—shhh, don’t say anything—Stiles is like HEY SO I’M THE FUTURE LEADER OF A REVOLUTION AND YOU’RE MY ROBOT GUARD DOG. JUST GO ALONG WITH IT. AND MAYBE MAKE SOME BEEP BOOP NOISES OKAY.
But Derek will not go along with it, and so he says, “Actually, I’m a werewolf,” and Sheriff sets a plate of Frito pie down in front of him—the part that wasn’t under Stiles’ sneakers—and says, “Yeah, right.”
And Stiles kicks Derek in the shin and slurps up some Diet Mountain Dew through his straw and says, “BEEP BOOP!” and Derek hates him, he really does.
Actually, screw the story. I want this to happen on the show.
Fix all my terrible mornings with BEEP BOOP DEREK fics please.
Ignoring Cas’s blunt and completely hilarious sense of dry humor for a moment, think about what he’s actually saying here. Castiel is the name given to him by God. Castiel translates roughly to ‘my cover is God’ or ‘shield of God’ in Biblical theophory—the ‘el’ suffix means ‘God’, and ‘iel’ means ‘of God.’ Cas is the name given to him by Dean. Deliberately or not, Dean removed the part of Cas’s name that means ‘of God’, and left him with ‘shield’. Castiel isn’t actually a Biblical angel—it’s a variant of the name ‘Cassiel’, who was an archangel in the Kabbalah responsible for observing the Earth with no interference. Making it up as we go, indeed.
I WANT TO MARRY THIS META
ALSO CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE FACT THAT DEAN NAMED CAS WITHOUT THE “IEL,” AND NOW CAS IS THE SHIELD NOT OF GOD, BUT OF DEAN? I MEAN
WHYYYYYYY can’t I find the Sterek vid to “Love Is a Battlefield” by Pat Benatar that surely must exist? (Actually, you could make a completely fucking awesome all couples vid—absolutely including Chris Argent/Victoria Argent, Lydia Martin/Peter Hale, and Kate Argent/Derek Hale ow ow ow omg the…