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The streets of Beacon Hills had never looked brighter.
The sun beamed high overhead, casting a golden glow on a colorful blur of rainbow flags, glitter, and the thrum of bass-heavy music that pulsed through the pavement. Pride had come to town in full force, and the Beacon Hills Pack—supernatural, human, and everything in between—marched right through the heart of it all with the kind of chaotic unity only they could manage.
Scott McCall, the ever-reliable golden retriever of the group, marched near the front, a massive rainbow flag flowing behind him like a superhero's cape. He waved it enthusiastically as he laughed and pulled Allison close by the waist, planting a quick kiss on her cheek.
Allison beamed, her bisexuality colors painted on her upper arms like warrior markings. She had a quiver strapped to her back—not full of arrows, but loaded with mini rainbow flags she passed out to kids watching on the sidelines. “Who needs arrows when you can arm people with pride?” she quipped, grinning.
Erica strutted nearby like she owned the road. Her leather ensemble left little to the imagination, cropped jacket unzipped to reveal a mesh bra with a rainbow underlay. Boyd trailed next to her in his “Straight but Not Narrow” shirt, unfazed as Erica leaned over and slapped a sticker on a fellow marcher’s chest.
“You need more sparkle,” she declared, handing the stranger a tube of glitter. Boyd smiled softly, pushing his sunglasses up his nose and offering his arm. Erica latched on with a sultry grin.
Further back, Stiles was shimmering. Literally.
Covered head to toe in glitter, he wore bisexual flag streaks on his cheeks and his infamous baseball cap that originally read “GETS DEREK’S WOLF DICK.” Except Isabelle—ever the dignity-saving twin—had duct-taped over the “DICK” part with haphazard, bright pink tape. It now read “GETS DEREK’S WOLF ♥,” which arguably only made it more scandalous.
Derek walked beside him, wearing his signature black outfit like he was allergic to color, but his hand was wrapped tightly in Stiles’. He looked stoic, broody, unreadable—until Stiles whispered something in his ear and Derek blushed so hard his ears turned red.
“Stop it,” Derek muttered, though the twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement.
Stiles, with a dazzling smirk, leaned in closer. “Make me, sourwolf.”
Peter Hale, of all people, was shockingly festive. He wore tight black jeans and an even tighter tank top that showcased his biceps and the rainbow Isabelle had painted onto his cheek with glitter gel. His look was equal parts ‘dangerous predator’ and ‘gay club heartthrob.’ In his hand, he held a rainbow flag, waving it occasionally with dramatic flair.
“I was threatened with abstinence,” Peter announced as he passed Lydia, gesturing toward Isabelle with a casual flick of his thumb.
Isabelle—barefoot, her jeans hugging her hips and rainbow tank top riding slightly up her midriff—turned to Peter with an arch of her brow. “Threatened? I believe I said I’d lock you out of the bedroom for a week.”
Peter leaned in and whispered something in her ear that made her blush furiously, even as she tried to glare.
“Oh my god, you two,” Lydia groaned, adjusting her stunning Progress flag dress. She looked like a walking statement—fashion-forward, fierce, and powerful. She was flanked by Jordan in his deputy uniform, the rainbow and queer supportive pins on his chest catching the sun like badges of honor.
Behind them, Chris Argent, Melissa McCall, and Noah Stilinski marched as a proud parental unit. Chris handed out rainbow bead necklaces with the skill of a trained soldier. Melissa had a fan that read “Love Wins” in swirling script, while Noah held a water bottle in one hand and waved to cheering spectators with the other.
“I’m going to be finding glitter in the station for weeks, aren’t I?” Noah asked Melissa dryly.
Melissa snorted. “You found mistletoe in the vents last year. This is fine.”
Liam bounced along beside Ruby, rainbow suspenders clipped to his jeans. He wore a Pride pin on his chest and let Ruby drag him from booth to booth. Ruby had a rainbow tutu bouncing with each step and a bisexual tee with a proud grin to match.
Isaac, looking a little more understated but no less present, had a small hand-stitched pansexual flag patch on his sleeve, fingers intertwined with River’s. River, paint-splattered jeans and black mesh top showing off the tattooed curve of their side, somehow managed to look like a piece of art in motion. Their wild hair, pinned and twisted and falling in elegant chaos, bounced as they laughed softly at something Isaac said.
Malia and Kira rounded out the back of the pack, hands laced together. Malia’s cropped tank top and tiny shorts screamed chaos lesbian energy, while Kira’s rainbow-splattered dress fluttered in the breeze. Every so often, Malia would yell out “GAY RIGHTS!” at the top of her lungs, startling passersby—and then flash them a fangy grin.
The crowd roared as the group passed, signs waving, flags flapping, bubbles floating in the air.
And in the center of it all, Isabelle spun barefoot in a lazy twirl, arms outstretched as she took it all in—the acceptance, the love, the joy. Peter pulled her back in by the belt loop with a smirk and murmured something filthy in her ear.
“I am going to use the abstinence threat,” she warned under her breath.
Peter kissed her rainbow-painted cheek. “You won’t. You love me too much, Belleza.”
She huffed, but didn’t deny it.
The parade kept marching. Their mismatched, found-family crew moved like a chaotic tide, waving, laughing, living boldly and out loud.
Beacon Hills had never looked more alive.