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The town square in Beacon Hills had never looked so colorful.
It started with a banner—one Lydia Martin had insisted on ordering two months in advance—unfurled from the roof of the library:
“BEACON HILLS PRIDE - Love is Love.”
The rainbow flags fluttered across the streetlamps. Vendors lined the sidewalks with homemade art, glitter cupcakes, and Pride gear. Teens with face paint and couples of every orientation strolled past each other, laughter filling the air. The smell of fried food, sunscreen, and summer freedom hung heavily.
Scott McCall adjusted the flag he’d tied like a cape around his neck and looked down at the pile of pins he was distributing—he’d run out of the little bisexual pride ones, but there were plenty of pan, lesbian, and rainbow heart pins left.
Allison leaned over his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his waist, eyes sparkling as she whispered, “We’ve come a long way, huh?”
Scott turned in her arms, smiling. “Yeah. We really have.”
Across the square, Erica Reyes twirled beneath a rainbow of balloons, arms up in victory. “This is my Super Bowl!” she declared, dragging Boyd behind her.
Boyd chuckled, calm and steady as always, but there was no mistaking the way his smile deepened when he looked at her. He wore a black T-shirt that read “Straight but Not Narrow” with a little rainbow and trans flag heart patch sewn onto the sleeve.
“Think we can beat last year’s Glitter Tag record?” she asked.
“Only if you don’t get banned for aiming at the sheriff again.”
“Technically, that was Stiles’s fault.”
Stiles, for his part, was already glitter-bombed.
His cheeks were streaked in the bisexual flag colors, he was wearing his special yet inappropriate hat* on (his twin covered the vulgarity with duct tape - "This is a family friendly event!") and he had a whistle around his neck as he helped organize the parade lineup. Derek hovered nearby, arms crossed, eyes narrowed—but not out of disapproval.
More like... cautious husband energy.
“You could smile,” Stiles teased, nudging him. “Just a little? For the gays?”
Derek didn’t smile. But he did reach over and take Stiles’s hand. “I’m here. That’s enough.”
Stiles beamed. “It is. But also, you’re holding my hand in public. Which means—”
“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”
“Too late!” Stiles kissed him square on the mouth, dipped him, and shouted, “EVERYONE, LOOK AT MY HOT BOYFRIEND!”
On the bleachers near the community stage, Noah Stilinski sat with Melissa McCall and Chris Argent, all three sipping cold drinks under the shade of a rainbow umbrella.
“Did you ever think we’d be here?” Melissa asked, watching as Kira kissed Malia’s cheek and ran off to grab popsicles.
Noah exhaled. “I used to lose sleep wondering how I’d support Stiles if he came out. Turns out, he needed more help not coming out. He just... jumped out the closet like it was a trampoline.”
Chris smiled, eyes soft as he watched Ruby adjusting Liam’s rainbow suspenders. “Victoria would’ve been surprised by how far we’ve come,” he said. “But I like to think she’d be proud of us. Of Allison...at least eventually.”
Noah clinked his cup to Chris’s. “To proud parents.”
Ruby laughed when Liam tripped over his own feet trying to dance.
“Smooth, Dunbar. Really showing off those beta reflexes.”
He grinned sheepishly, pride beads bouncing on his chest. “I panicked! You winked at me.”
“I did more than wink last night,” she teased, waggling her eyebrows.
Liam turned bright red. “Ruby!”
“Happy Pride, baby.” She leaned in and kissed him gently.
Near the fountain, Isaac Lahey stood alone for a moment, watching it all unfold—flags, joy, safety.
He hadn’t labeled himself for years. He still wasn’t entirely sure he had to. But he wore a small, hand-stitched pansexual patch Lydia had given him anyway.
Someone tapped his shoulder. He turned to see Erica offering him a snow cone.
Peter Hale had not expected to be holding a tiny Pride flag, wearing a tank top, and letting Isabelle paint a rainbow across his cheek while kids ran past them squealing in happiness.
He also hadn’t expected to enjoy it.
“You look... colorful,” Chris said dryly, pausing beside him.
Peter gave him a tight-lipped smile. “I was threatened with abstinence.”
Chris choked on his drink.
Isabelle Stilinski-Hale, perched in his lap, finished the final stroke of violet and murmured, “Threatened?”
Peter cleared his throat with a forced smirk. “I welcomed the opportunity to support the community.”
“Better,” Isabelle whispered, pecking his cheek. She stood and held out her hand. “Come dance with me, Alpha.”
He glared. Public displays weren’t his thing.
But then she gave him that look.
He stood. And followed.
Lydia Martin took the stage in heels that made her taller than Jordan for once, her hair braided with colored ribbons and her voice clear as a bell.
“Welcome to Beacon Hills Pride! Today we celebrate identity, family, and love—however you define it. And remember—” she turned toward Jordan and smiled, “—the people who fight for love deserve to be seen, to be safe, and to be loud.”
The crowd erupted in cheers as the music started.
The pack danced.
Derek even smiled—once.
Stiles got photographic proof.
The Sheriff led a conga line. Melissa tried to stop him, failed, and joined in.
Ruby sprayed rainbow glitter into Liam’s hair.
Allison and Scott swayed together, eyes only on each other.
And Peter Hale?
He spun Isabelle in the sun, her laughter ringing like windchimes.
Because in Beacon Hills, June 1st wasn’t just the start of Pride Month.
It was a rainbow-stained reminder: that love, in all its forms, was something worth fighting for. 🏳️🌈