The Scene In 5x10 Where Danny Is Very Emphatically Against Steve Being Set Up Is Often Highlighted Out

the scene in 5x10 where danny is very emphatically against steve being set up is often highlighted out of context but i think it's also interesting in context because it could be seen as rare example of steve fishing/scheming for danny's reaction with romantic intention, and reaction does he get

yep, that's 4 (FOUR!l) 'no's in a row

'let you'? does he own him? does he have some claim over steve? 😏 judging by steve's lack of protest to the wording he definitely doesn't mind.

steve may seem nonchalant as he appears to calmly listen to danny pull a very thin justification out of his ass for why he totally has a legitimate reason to caution his *friend* so strongly but the thing is ... he already said 'no' to ellie setting him up, multiple times, why would he even tell danny about it if it was a non-starter in the first place, the urgency in danny's response indicating steve made him believe he was,perhaps, considering it?

unless ...he wanted to provoke some kind of reaction out of danny (and, as a bonus, put him in a good mood by making it appear as if steve listened to his advice ;))

judging by the honest-to-god pep in his step and the smug look that danny cannot see, he got waaay more than he bargained for. if danny winds up to be so adamantly against him being set up with someone else, then maybe he has a chance, after all? maybe he has feelings for him too?

(if you happen to headcanon them having a secret relationship in s5, it could also work as steve fishing for some kind of indication out of danny that he doesn't want him to see other people because he can't bring himself to ask out right, because they would rather play 5 dimensional chess than talk about how they feel, but that's a hypothetical of course, everything else isn't out of the realm of possibility)

As french woman birth in 80s, and I song it at my sons, one french song jump in my head each time and it's: Cécile, by Nougaro.

And after that: Je t'aimais, je t'aime, je t'aimerais, by Francis Cabrel. (I loved you, I love you, I'll love you)

If you had to sing a child to sleep RIGHT NOW what would you sing and it CANT BE a lullaby it has to be a regular song

The one where none of Stiles' college friends believe his extremely hot, long-distance boyfriend exists.

For virtualcarrot for Valentines Day, who asked for future fic with Stiles studying Journalism. This ah… sorta went off on a freaking ridiculous tangent so… hope you like it anyway darling? (Oh my god I suck so bad)

- - -

The thing is, Derek’s really, really hot. Like, insane levels of attraction. What with the leather and the cheekbones and the stubble and the ass — oh god, that ass — Stiles can’t really be blamed, at all for freaking bragging.

The pope would brag if he was dating Derek.

So, by the end of his first semester at college, it’s fair to say about ninety percent of the people he’s come into contact with have had to sit through at least one session of Stiles waxing poetic about Derek’s abs. And Stiles would feel bad except, well, Derek's abs. Stiles dares anyone not to wax poetic about them.

The thing is though, apparently Stiles has been…too enthusiastic?

Stiles gapes. “Come again?”

Rob rolls his eyes. “Come on Stiles,” he says. “You’re a journalism major - it stands to reason you’d be good at making shit up.”

Stiles scowls. “Okay, first of all - that would be creative writing you’re thinking because journalism is a font of truth and integrity.” Stiles manfully ignores Rob’s snort, because he grew up with Lydia and nobody outdoes Lydia for dismissive huffing. “And second - you don’t believe Derek exists because I talk about him too much?”

Rob sips his beer and nods. “Yep,” he says, leaning closer and seriously, the bar is not nearly loud enough to warrant that sort of proximity and- oooohhh, shit. Rob smirks like one of those models in Rolex ads. “You’re over-compensating.”

“And you’re hitting on me?” Stiles squeaks. Sue him, this doesn’t happen. Hot people do not get all up in this grill. Unless hot people are Derek which, considering he’s the hottest of the people, Stiles figures it’s the universe’s way of compensating.

Rob does that one-eyebrow tip thing that makes him look like he’s just stepped off the cover of a men’s health magazine. Stiles has watched many-a freshmen fall to that eyebrow. It’s never been aimed at him though and now that it is, it’s fucking terrifying. “He finally gets it,” Rob says, tipping his head back to down the rest of his beer. The beer that he’s drinking in a bar. With Stiles. On a Friday night. Alone. Oh mother of fuck-

Stiles falls off his chair.

- - -

Derek glances down at the caller ID and can feel the smile. It’s a Friday night which means there’s a good chance that Stiles is drunk-dialing him. Something Derek will never, ever admit to actually loving a little bit. Stiles’ brain to mouth filter goes offline really fast when alcohol is introduced and Derek likes to count the number of times Stiles mentions the colour of his eyes.

Derek marks his place in the grimoire he’s working through (because Harpies, agh) and flips open his phone. “Stiles.”

“Oh my god, I think I went on a date with someone,” Stiles says, and Derek feels the entire fucking bottom drop out of his universe.

“I-” Derek stops, presses one hand over his eyes and tries to breathe. “Okay…”

“Okay?!” Stiles yells, and the panic in his voice is enough to pull Derek up long enough to listen. “This is not okay! People think you don’t exist! They think I’m making you up because you’re too hot to be real! Which is fucking tragic because you kinda are! And then I went for a drink with Rob and no one else was there and he did that stupid fucking eyebrow thing at me and-”

“Stiles,” Derek says sharply, because if there’s one thing he’s learned over the years, it’s that Stiles doesn’t so much wind down from rants as just continue on until he dies. Derek listens to the tell-tale shift and breathe Stiles does when he’s re-setting and feels the familiar punch of longing that comes of needing to touch; sooth Stiles’ pulse with hands and low hums.

Long distance relationships are a fuck.

“Okay,” Stiles says. “Okay I’m good.” Derek opens his mouth to say…fuck knows actually, but Stiles is suddenly continuing. “Actually, y'know what? I’m not. Can we just- I know you have the thing with the Harpies and we were going to wait until the break but can you just-”

Derek tosses the book onto the coffee table. “I can be there by three.”

Stiles breathes out, slow and easy. “Good, ‘cause I just really need you to fuck me up against a wall or something okay?”

Derek groans. “Stiles-”

“Bruises,” Stiles says determinedly. “I want to be covered in them.”

“Fuck.”

- - -

If there’s one thing college has taught Rob it’s that trying to survive an essay without coffee is fucking impossible. Which is why he’s lined up at The Brew on Sunday afternoon, squinting up at the menu board and trying to decide if he can justify a toastie with his long black.

He hears Stiles before he sees him - the same exuberant laugh that had drawn Rob to him in Ethics 102 in the first place, now turning him towards the back corner. The back corner with all the booths and the cushions and the ridiculous hippy candles that are lit even during the day. If coffee shops were 1940s townships, the back corner of The Brew would be makeout point. Which is why when Rob sees who Stiles is back there with, he kinda wants to fall over.

Dark hair, leather jacket and – Jesus, how are cheekbones like that even real? Even the the look on mystery-man’s face — slightly stupid and soft as he watches Stiles laughing — isn’t enough to kill the impression of features you could shave with. The dude looks like porn.

The dude is also looking at Stiles like Stiles hung the fucking moon or something, which- oh holy fuck.

Derek. This is Derek. Derek who’s very real and possibly even hotter than Stiles ever described and Rob is going to fucking die because the dude has serial killer written all over him and Rob hit on his boyfriend.

Rob watches as Derek leans across to swipe at something on Stiles’ bottom lip — cream, fucking drool because Stiles has the hottest boyfriend in the universe, who knows — and Stiles grins at him before- Jesus fuck. Rob barely keeps his wounded noise in check as he watches the pad of Derek’s thumb disappear between Stiles’ lips and how, how is anything in the world fair?

Derek eyes go half lidded and those fucking tea-light candles must reflect off one of the millions of decorative chimes and shit they have back there because his eyes almost seem to flash red.

Rob watches as Derek’s fingers curl under Stiles’ jaw, pressing slightly until Stiles tips his head and wow – holy shit, that is like, the biggest hicky Rob has ever seen in his goddamn life. That must hurt. Obviously not in a bad way though because when Derek presses three fingers into it, just over Stiles’ pulse point, Stiles’ eyes flutter closed like he’s in fucking heaven or something.

Rob turns back to the counter just in time to order a tripple shot and two toasties. He figures he had a near death experience on Friday. He’s allowed this.

Derek: My phone got smashed in a fight. I was going to use Stiles's, but his contact list is nothing but emojis, so I'm just going to start howling until someone finds me.

Objectives for today and tomorrow

Catch up on my fanfiction rec reading and comment to death on everyone! lol And finish translating my fic, Butter Coffee. And some fanart I've in progress. That way I can let Muse monopolize me afterwards, to write stories. I've some ideas for Sterek and McDanno again.

If you receive a comment, sorry but not sorry. Also, I'll let just some hearts, I love you guys and your works and I'll read you, promise, now or later, but I'll read your work.

Its starting to smell like fall!!! 

Just a small dood of Crowley and Aziraphale enjoying a little early fall picnic.:) (I think that they would often do that once they move together at the cottage!)