This is an expansion of the following idea, written by the lovely @artemis69:
the coffee!AU, where John goes to the same coffee shop every day, and there is this very grumpy, quiet barista that always makes him amazing coffee and keep the best pastries for him. And one day the Sheriff learns that Derek is the one to bake them all, so he decides: this will be my son in law, I need a reason to have this man in my family for at least forty to fifty years. Then he matchmakes with no subtility whatsoever, basically offering his only son on a silver plate, Stiles spluttering all the way (but he takes Derek’s number anyway because the guy is just amazingly cute)
John’s on his regular morning stroll when he stops in his tracks and takes in the brand-new coffee shop, complete with a banner advertising their opening day. The little corner space has been boarded up for over a year, and John had no idea it was opening today.
Any new businesses are a boon for Beacon Hills, especially family-run ones like this one is rumored to be, so John ducks inside. It’s warm and homey, and there’s a pair of young dark-haired people behind the counter, close enough in features that they’re probably siblings. The quiet bickering points that direction, too.
They stop, though, when they see the Sheriff—the uniform tends to have that effect—and he pastes on his public servant smile. “Hi there. I saw this place was open and wanted to come on in and introduce myself. Sheriff John Stilinski.”
“Oh, it’s so nice to meet you,” the woman says, holding out her hand for a shake. A nice strong grip—John likes this girl already. “I’m Laura Hale, and I own this place with my brother Derek, our resident grumpy barista-slash-baker.”
Derek rolls his eyes at Laura, but his smile to John is genuine, if small. “Hi, Sheriff. Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise, son,” he says, perusing the case full of tempting sugary treats. “You made these?”
He nods. “Can I get you anything?”
John hums. “A medium coffee, and…any one of these delicious-looking goodies. You pick. Just don’t tell my son,” he adds, and Derek looks up at him.
“I have slightly elevated cholesterol,” he says, stressing the word. “Nothing to worry about, honestly. But he polices my diet. I don’t think he knows about this place yet, though, so this is great.”
Derek hums. His tongs hover over a muffin—lemon poppyseed, it looks like—before moving to another one. Raspberry-almond, according to the sign, and well, John isn’t picky. Derek drops it into a little bag and hands it over.
“Happy to help,” he says.
John thanks him and opens the bag. Laura’s still pouring his coffee, but it smells so damn good that he can’t resist.
“Wow,” he says, his mouth full. “This is delicious.”
Derek looks quietly proud, and Laura claps him on the shoulder as she reaches over to hand John his coffee. “On the house, today, Sheriff,” she says. “Thanks for stopping by.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he promises.
“Thanks, Nina,” John says dryly, leaning back so she can put his plate in front of him.
“You’re welcome, Sheriff,” she says with a friendly smile, ignoring his stink eye.
Stiles just grins at both of them and digs into his French toast. He insists on having their weekly father-son breakfast at Paulie’s Diner because no matter what John orders, Nina will only bring him an egg-white omelet with a dry English muffin. Stiles must have some serious blackmail or be paying her off somehow, and John is, he has to admit, grudgingly impressed.
“Don’t look so bummed out, Pops,” Stiles says, around a mouthful of what’s surely syrup-drenched deliciousness. “At least I let you have turkey bacon.”
“It’s not the same,” he says grumpily, poking at it. “But at least I’m getting a steady stream of baked goods now.”
Stiles glares at him. “Are you serious? From where? I thought I had paid everyone off.”
He knew it. “I’m not telling you,” he says, a little displeased with how childish he sounds.
“Fine,” Stiles says, sniffing. “I’ll figure it out, you know I will.”
He will, John knows. Goddamn, he loves his kid, even if his life goal seems to be depriving John from any and all delicious food. “And speaking of, I met someone the other day,” he starts, and Stiles gasps theatrically, his hand coming up to cover his mouth.
“Is this you crapping all over my dream of having Melissa as my stepmom?”
John sighs at the reminder. Melissa is…well, she seems happy with that Argent guy. Whatever. He’s not bitter.
“Not for me, Jesus,” he says, shaking his head. “For you.”
“Oh my god,” Stiles says, slumping back in the booth. “Eye roll” is too mild, John thinks. It’s more of a whole head roll. “Seriously, Dad, I’m only 25. You don’t have to marry me off quite yet. You’ll get your grandchildren someday, I promise. Stop trying to set me up with people.”
“I’m just trying to be helpful!” John protests. “He seems nice.”
And makes really good treats, he adds in his head. That’ll be a good trait for a son-in-law.
“And who exactly is he?”
John pauses. “I met him at the aforementioned undisclosed location.”
Stiles snorts. “Find out if he actually likes dudes, then get back to me.”
Warnings: Fluff, MECHANIC!DEAN, Minor Mention of Sex.
Summary: After months of struggling, an impulse decision puts you on the road from Sioux Falls to Lawrence Kansas, hoping that your father, Bobby Singer, will take you in for the summer. A breath of fresh air. A change of scenery. But little did you know, this summer was going to change your life forever.
A/N: I hope y’all enjoy this part as much as I do! It’s one of my favourites. It would be wonderful if you could leave me some feedback. This series lives on it. I am also not responsible for dental bills.
You walked in the front door with the biggest grin spread across your cheeks. It was just after one thirty in the morning when Dean dropped you off from your exciting weekend together. A summer music festival a couple of cities over was too good to pass up and Dean managed to get tickets for the two of you. You spent the whole weekend together enjoying the summer sun. Your dad on the other hand, was going to be pissed at you for coming in this late. You probably would have been better off staying the night at Dean’s but you didn’t have any clothes for work in the morning.
A series of poems, sentences, and other works that describe the oddity of the English language. Have fun reading these out loud!
I take it you already know Of tough and bough and cough and dough? Others may stumble but not you On hiccough, thorough, slough and through. Well done! And now you wish perhaps, To learn of less familiar traps?
Beware of heard, a dreadful word That looks like beard and sounds like bird. And dead, it’s said like bed, not bead- for goodness’ sake don’t call it ‘deed’! Watch out for meat and great and threat (they rhyme with suite and straight and debt).
A moth is not a moth in mother, Nor both in bother, broth, or brother, And here is not a match for there, Nor dear and fear for bear and pear, And then there’s doze and rose and lose- Just look them up- and goose and choose, And cork and work and card and ward And font and front and word and sword, And do and go and thwart and cart- Come, I’ve hardly made a start! A dreadful language? Man alive! I’d learned to speak it when I was five! And yet to write it, the more I sigh, I’ll not learn how ‘til the day I die.
Verbs: The Past Tense
The teacher claimed it was so plain, I only had to use my brain She said the past of throw was threw. The past of grow -of course- was grew, So flew must be the past of fly, And now, my boy, your turn to try. But when I trew, I had no clue, if mow was mew - Like know and knew Or was it knowed Like snow and snowed
The teacher frowned at me and said The past of feed was - plainly - fed. Fed up, I knew then what I ned: I took a break, and out I snoke.
She shook and quook (or quaked or quoke?) With raging anger out she broke: “Your ignorance you want to hide? Tell me the past form of collide!” But how on earth should I decide If it’s collid (Like hide and hid) Or else - from all that I surmose, The past of rise was simple rose, And that of ride was surely rode So of collide must be collode?
Oh damn these English verbs, I thought The whole thing absolutely stought ! Of English I have had enough. These verbs of yours are far too tough. Bolt upright in my chair I sat, And said to her “That’s that. I quat!”.
The bandage was wound around the wound.
The farm was used to produce produce.
The rubbish dump was so full that it had to refuse more refuse.
We must polish the Polish furniture.
He could lead if he would get the lead out.
The soldier decided to desert his dessert in the desert.
Since there is no time like the present, he thought it was time to present the present.
A bass was painted on the head of the bass drum
When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes.
I did not object to the object.
The insurance was invalid for the invalid.
There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row.
They were too close to the door to close it.
The buck does funny things when the does are present.
A seamstress and a sewer fell down into a sewer line.
To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow.
The wind was too strong to wind the sail
After a number of injections my jaw got number.
Upon seeing the tear in the painting I shed a tear.
I had to subject the subject to a series of tests
How can I intimate this to my most intimate friend?
There is no egg in eggplant nor ham in hamburger; neither apple nor pine in pineapple. English muffins weren’t invented in England or French fries in France (Surprise!). Sweetmeats are candies while sweetbreads, which aren’t sweet, are meat.
Quicksand works slowly, boxing rings are square and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig. And why is it that writers write but fingers don’t fing, grocers don’t groce and hammers don’t ham?
If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn’t the plural of booth beeth? One goose, two geese. So one moose, two meese? Doesn’t it seem crazy that you Can make amends but not one amend. If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it? Is it an odd, or an end?
If teachers taught, why don’t preachers praught? If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat? In what language do people recite at a play and play at a recital? Ship by truck and send cargo by ship? Have noses that run and feet that smell? How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites?
You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn up and down at the same time and, in which you fill in a form by filling it out, and in which, an alarm goes off by going on.
Why do you drive on a parkway and park on a driveway. English was invented by people, not computers, and it reflects the creativity of the human race, which, of course, is not a race at all. That is why, when the stars are out, they are visible, but when the lights are out, they are invisible. And while we’re at it, why doesn’t “Buick” rhyme with “quick”?
I flew back to the States on a business trip yesterday and am spending Easter weekend with my parents out in the country. Jetlag woke me up around 5am this morning and I was starving, but didn’t want to wake the rest of the house by going down to the kitchen. So I decided to unpack the snacks I brought back from Japan, which included this bag that was perfect for breakfast… Eggs Benedict Tortilla Chips! Not sure why they’re not labeled as Doritos, but I have to say, these were definitely some of the best tasting chips I’ve ever eaten out of Japan!! The egg, cheese and ham flavors are all quite prominent, and there’s even a hint of lettuce to them, which they even call out on the packaging! I’m truly amazed at how they so perfectly captured the complexity of a dish like eggs benedict in the form of a corn chip!