#i like gerards story much better

[grandwretch]

after rewatching Rosamund's vignette I think I finally have words for why I don't trust the Princess faction yet besides Bad Vibes

Brennan wants us to believe they are good so badly. I don't want to do a single thing Brennan expects of me this season. That monologue of railing against God was TOO good. Like come on we have so many episodes left. Theres got to be more for Rosamund to learn, here.

The way they're only focusing on Princesses.... And the insistence on them rewriting the stories instead of letting everyone choose for themselves. This could be an overreaction, but that line pinged something in me.

We haven't seen Snow yet, and I don't trust that she's not the Stepmother from a story where she won and ate Snow's heart or something. Also Cinderella has invisibility. That doesn't... feel good. Why are they both literally unseen.

This is a horror campaign. A future faction of helpful Princess allys feels... distinctly non-horror. Like, maybe thats what Siobhan wanted for her story, but horror narratives don't usually have vastly overpowered allies waiting in the wings. Imagine if at the end of your favorite horror movie, the final girl was like, "and now my cool big sister is going to kick your ass." Like... for what reason.

[centrally-unplanned]

Very much enjoyed Tracing Woodgrain's foray into the internet life of jilted ex-rationalist and Wikipedia editor David Gerard. It is of course "on brand" for me - the social history of the internet, as a place of communities and individual lives lived, is one of my own passion projects, and this slots neatly into that domain in more ways than one. At the object-level it is of course about one such specific community & person; but more broadly it is an entry into the "death of the internet-as-alternate-reality" genre; the 1990's & 2000's internet as a place separate from and perhaps superior to the analog world, that died away in the face of the internet's normalization and the cruel hand of the real.

Here that broad story is made specific; early Wikipedia very much was "better than the real", the ethos of the early rationalist community did seem to a lot of people like "Yeah, this is a new way of thinking! We are gonna become better people this way!" - and it wasn't total bullshit, logical fallacies are real enough. And the decline is equally specific: the Rationalist project was never going to Escape Politics because it was composed of human beings, Wikipedia was low-hanging fruit that became a job of grubby maintenance, the suicide of hackivist Aaron Swartz was a wake-up call that the internet was not, in any way, exempt from the reach of the powers-that-be. TW's allusion to Gamergate was particularly amusing for me, as while it wasn't prominent in Gerard's life it was truly the death knell for the illusion of the internet as a unified culture.

But anyway, the meat of the essay is also just extremely amusing; someone spending over a decade on a hate crusade using rules-lawyering spoiling tactics for the most petty stakes (unflattering wikipedia articles & other press). The internet is built by weirdos, and that is going to be a mixed bag! It is beautiful to see someone's soul laid bare like this.

It can be tempting to get involved in the object-level topics - how important was Lesswrong in the growth of Neoreaction, one of the topics of Gerard's fixations? It was certainly, obviously not born there, never had any numbers on the site, and soon left it to grow elsewhere. But on the flip side, for a few crucial years Lesswrong was one of the biggest sites that hosted any level of discussion around it, and exposed other people to it as a concept. This is common for user-generated content platforms; they aggregate people who find commonalities and then splinter off. Lesswrong's vaunted "politics is the mindkiller" masked a strong aversion to a lot of what would become left social justice, and it was a place for those people to meet. I don't think neoreaction deserves any mention on Lesswrong's wikipedia page, beyond maybe a footnote. But Lesswrong deserves a place on Neoreaction's wikipedia page. There are very interesting arguments to explore here.

You must, however, ignore that temptation, because Gerard explored fucking none of that. No curiosity, no context, just endless appeals to "Reliable Source!" and other wikipedia rules to freeze the wikipedia entries into maximally unflattering shapes. Any individual edit is perhaps defensible; in their totality they are damning. My "favourite" is that on the Slate Star Codex wikipedia page, he inserted and fought a half-dozen times to include a link to an academic publication Scott Alexander wrote, that no one ever read and was never discussed on SSC beyond a passing mention, solely because it had his real name on it. He was just doxxing him because he knew it would piss Scott off, and anyone pointing that out was told "Springer Press is RS, read the rules please :)". It is levels of petty I can't imagine motivating me for a decade, it is honestly impressive!

He was eventually banned from editing the page as some other just-as-senior wikipedia editor finally noticed and realized, no, the guy who openly calls Scott a neo-nazi is not an "unbiased source" for editing this page wtf is wrong with you all. I think you could come away from this article thinking Wikipedia is ~broken~ or w/e, but you shouldn't - how hard Gerard had to work to do something as small as he did is a testament to the strength of the platform. No one thinks it is perfect of course, but nothing ever will be - and in particular getting motivated contributors now that the sex appeal has faded is a very hard problem. The best solution sometimes is just noticing the abusers over time.

Though wikipedia should loosen up its sourcing standards a bit. I get why it is the way it is, but still, come on.

[lookingforhappy]

Extra Ordinary: My Life as Number Seven - Transcript

(note that there is a lot of random placements & repeated paragraphs. I've tried to connect as much of it as possible, and cut out repetitions to make it flow a little better. Hope this is enjoyable/interesting!)

as much content as I could find from Viktor's book transcribed in one post, picture credit to the TUA Prop Auction:

EXTRA ORDINARY MY LIFE AS NUMBER SEVEN AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY VANYA HARGREEVES Vanya Hargreeves is well known for her virtuosic skills as a violinist. Less understood is the role she played as one of Reginald Hargreeves' adopted children, standing alongside - but never counted among - the famous Umbrella Academy super kids. This is her story, in her own words. "An incredible read... a revealing portal into the amazing life of Vanya Hargreeves and the life she has lived. I couldn't put it down!" -Gerard Way

Vanya Hargreeves is well known for her virtuosic skills as a violinist. Less understood is the role she played as one of Reginald Hargreeves' adopted children, standing alongside - but never counted among - the famous Umbrella Academy super kids. This is her story, in her own words. Extra Ordinary: My Life as Number Seven is a tell-all autobiography by one of the central figures of Reginald Hargreeves experimental and tragic team of heroic children, collectively know as the Umbrella Academy team. In this book, Vanya, ready to expose the truths behind the Academy's operation prior to it's disbanding in the mid-late 2000's, goes all in. With stories and anecdotes from her many years in the shadows. Vanya Hargreeves pulls no punches. No stone is left unturned, and no other member of the team is left unmentioned, for good or for ill.

Chapter One Our parting was sad, but natural in the end. I think about the circumstances of out vastly different births all the time. I've read the newspapers. I've seen the evidence. But at the same time I can't believe any of it. Even if Allison, Luther and all the rest of them were born and collected like the papers say, how did I become a part of this extraordinary family? Was I a dud, an unfortunate super-child who wasn't set up with the right circuitry? Or did I even come from the circle of miraculously born children at all? It made the most sense of any of my theories: a young mother, terrified by a future with a child she couldn't afford, saw the world-wide birth announcement, followed by Hargreeves' request and reward sum. I went through life cursing my mother, determined she was a money-grubbing con artist who sold me away to an eccentric, cold man who couldn't even use me for the purposes he set out. I was carted off like cattle and sequestered to a young life of self-doubt, all because my mother had wanted a payday more than she wanted me. I only sought out my birth mother once. All these news stories kept the identities of the traumatized mothers tightly under wraps, of course, but those were in the upstanding

publications. I believe that any detail about human history, if salacious or powerful enough to cause harm, can be found with the right kind of determination. I found a list of names, and scoured each for signs: did she have a boy or a girl? What had she done with her earnings from Hargreeves? Had she had other children? Where was she now? Two of the women could have lined up with my birth: Allison and I were the only female babies "found" by Hargreeves. It was easy to narrow down once I found pictures of them both: the woman with my hair, and my nose, lived in a small town off the Southern coast of Russia. At least, according to what I could find. I convinced Hargreeves that we needed to take the team there to train, after extensively researching the area's high mountains and secluded trails. It was perfect, and miraculously, he agreed! Thinking back, I wonder if he knew exactly what I was up to and wanted to help. We stayed for five days, and as the others sweated and trained, I kept records, and occasionally went off on my own. For any of the academy members to question Hargreeves' strict schedule or participate in non-approved "free" time would have been unacceptable. But as for me, I wasn't on the schedule in the first place. We spent enough time in Russia for me to track my birth mother down. I took buses, spoke what broken Russian I could to locals, and finally came to the house where I had been told she would be. We spent enough time in Russia for me to learn that the mother I had spent years searching for had died. The family of hers, and I guess of mine, who greeted me there invited me in. They seemed harmless and even kind. But I couldn't stay. Whether my mother knew I wasn't special or not, I realized I didn't want to know. I didn't want to hate a dead person any longer. Now I knew she was gone, it seemed pointless anyway. I've found that focussing on the past can only hurt me further. It's not worth spending any more of my time on the people who have all but forgotten me. I haven't gotten a call

from Allison in years, Diego's out fighting crime, Klaus has been partying himself into a stupor ever since we left the house, and Five is gone. Luther's the only one of us who stayed. I envied him for so many years growing up: Number One, the group's true leader. But now I pity him. Luther could have been anything: he could have had the fame Allison did. He could have gone wild like Klaus. He could have taken to the streets and fought against evil himself like Diego... but he stayed to become Hargreeves' pet. In the end, there was nothing really connecting the seven of us. We weren't related. We were nothing alike. We were just seven strangers living under the same roof: destined to be alone, starved for attention, damaged by our upbringing, and haunted by what might have been. We all wanted to be loved by a man incapable of giving love. Our father never missed an opportunity to remind me that I was ordinary - a hard thing for a little girl to hear. But lately I've started to wonder - what's so bad about being ordinary? From the second we're born we're told to reach for the stars. To accomplish great things. But there is a value in life lived quietly. Going about our days, little by little. Finding contentment in small victories - a promotion, a friend, a beautiful day. Sometimes, the simple things are extraordinary.

so-called rumours about Allison and Luther, no pun intended, I can't say for sure. I'd like to think that what they have transcends words - when we were kids, it was just obnoxious. They spoke in code, swapped whispers. They were part of a world in which we weren't allowed. But as we got older I realised it wasn't some fantasy world they were playing in. Their minds were off somewhere else together. They shared looks and gestures that were meaningless to the rest of us... save maybe Klaus, who can be oddly perceptive when you least expect him to. But as for a romantic relationship between the two of them, that's none of my business. Frankly, I don't want to know. Adopted or not, if it were two of your siblings, would you want to picture that? Their secret conversations were the first sign of what was to come: watching the two of them so happy together, and acutely knowing I could never belong would become an intimate feeling in my life. Soon, they were together on missions. They were training all afternoon. And they were playing games I couldn't learn the rules to. It was all too obvious that there was a club for children with superpowers, and ordinary children like me were decidedly barred. I would say it was Dad who implemented all of this. He caused my alienation through procedures, through harsh rules that we all followed for fear of the alternative. And to an extent, that's all true. I can't forgive what he did to me - but sometimes I wonder where Dad's actions ended and my siblings' began. When you consider what a mind, especially a young mind, will absorb and harness when put into dire situations, it's not at all difficult to believe that my siblings learned cruelty from Dad until they eventually made it their own. It wasn't just the rules keeping me out of top-secret meetings anymore. It just made sense that I should sit at the end of the table, so Diego could help Five's technique, or so Allison could paint Klaus' fingernails. I became accustomed to sulking and watching them from afar - most of my morning oatmeal went uneaten and but thoroughly picked at.

Meals became the one time of day we were all forced to be together - and I met them with equal parts anticipation and dread. Would today be the day I engaged Allison? Could I stand up to Diego's taunts? Maybe I'd show Five the musical piece I'd been working on for weeks. Though prone to arrogance and outbursts, even more than the average preteen, Five was my sole confidante in the years before he disappeared. It almost seemed fitting that of all the siblings to leave us, it would be him who I fully trusted, and who fully trusted me. Five was almost always one step ahead of Dad's manipulations, and he didn't play into the games of favourites like my other siblings. Five always told me that ego was man's most unattractive weakness - he thought himself above competing for fatherly love and prizes. Even then he was beyond his years. I think about Five often, and where he is now. The others say he's dead, caught in a terrible accident, or shredded up in the time space continuum. But I know Five, and I know he was too smart for that. Reckless, maybe, but he's brilliant. I wouldn't be surprised if he were living it up in the seventies now... but hippie hash wasn't really his style. For all I know he's gone to the future and never looked back. If he has, and he's happy, then I am happy for him. I'm sure none of us can say we never had a moment where we wished we could escape. Not just run away, but also go somewhere where Dad couldn't track us down and pull us back into his web. Surprisingly, I only ran away once. Despite everything, it took so much for me to believe I could belong anywhere else but the home in which I was abused. Shortly after Five dissappeared, I took his lead. It was about time I saw what's out there. But I knew nothing other than what I had been taught about myself and my life: I was simply not special. But I asked myself on that day: What if I was special, to somebody else? The rest of the world was ordinary. Maybe the real world was where I belonged all along.

One morning, I left the Academy - my bag stuffed to the gills with clothes, snacks, and mementos I couldn't leave behind. I think I even brought a dream catcher, for fear of nightmares from home following me wherever I went. I only made it to a bus stop, and I sat there all day long - and strangely, for the first time in my life, it hit me that I was completely alone. I had thought I was alone my entire life, but this was something new and entirely different. I was afraid of what I didn't know, and would choose Dad's torment any day over the endless dark that stretched down our street. Buses came, but I waved the kind drivers away. That night, I walked back through the front doors, and no one knew I had ever left in the first place. I wonder how long it would have taken them to realize - the extra girl they never needed was absent. Would it have made a difference? To this day, I'm not sure. The next time I left that house was when we all did. After what happened to Ben. Our everyday existence was full of evidence that Dad had stepped into treating us like experiments. Not as children, but like animals. And what happened to Ben was the last straw that finally shattered the illusion for the others. I regret that though I knew all along what they realised that day, I didn't have the spine to leave on my own. It wasn't until Allison took off for Hollywood and Diego cursed out the old man for good that I realized we were, ultimately, a broken family.

I had always kept up hope that my family would accept me into the fold. I thought that as long as there was a club to belong to, one day they would notice me and invited me in. Everyone would apologize: Vanya, we can't believe we wasted so much time without you, you're our sister after all. But it was then that I realized something massive: there was nothing for me to aspire to be anymore. It was liberating - the life that I had wanted for as long as I could remember was had finally fallen apart. Without "The Umbrella Academy," I had the freedom to be whomever I chose. Suddenly, my violin playing wasn't stupid - it was something that made me special in the real world. It made me enough money to afford an apartment - it's small but it's mine. It got me into an orchestra, a position I got all on my own talents. This meant I could teach young people how to be special for themselves. Teaching became my passion - my own, personal super power. I treated my students how I had always wished my father had treated me: I trained them, I listened to their problems, and I made sure each of them felt loved in their own, special way. Teaching may seem such a small profession to many, but it became the best part of my life.

[earlycuntsets]

07/2005 rock sound

english translation:

"mikey's way" before hitting the road again, heading for Germany, the band members take a lunch break… The waiter asks them if they prefer sandwich bread or a "French baguette"? The Way brothers choose French bread. Once served, Mikey Way's face falls in front of his roast beef sandwich. "It's raw!", the bassist wonders. (the only time of the day when he spoke…) "That's normal, it's eaten like that!", his brother replies. "Oh? Okay…"

"It was unmanageable on the day of the concert. It's too much stuff in one day. As a result, we rarely have time to enjoy the places where we stop for more than a day." Gerard then joins the rest of the group in front of the Carrousel du Sacré-Cœur. Together, the five of them happily indulge in a photo shoot organized for an English teen magazine. The photographer is keen to take advantage of the very 'Frenchie' setting of the Montmartre district. Under the astonished gaze of a few tourists who wonder what is going on, the group takes their place in front of the merry-go-round. "This is the first time we've been asked to smile for a photo shoot!" laughs Ray Toro, guitar. A fan of Jean-Pierre Jeunet's film, the group then recognizes a few places seen in the film Amélie Poulain. The tour continues, with a few comments on French architecture and culture. As soon as they arrive at the first comic book store, everyone forgets their fatigue and doesn't waste a second rushing to buy the new Star Wars figurines and other comics.

A customer stares at Frank before asking him if he's in a band: "Do you play in The Cure?" Frank bursts into laughter and answers in the negative before going to tell the others his little story. After a few purchases (Misfits figurines, etc.), it's already time to get back on the tour bus. "We write a lot on our tour bus. We've practically converted the 'lounge area' into a studio! We've already written a few songs. We might even go back into the studio after the tour. It's a bit different, but it's a logical evolution since Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge," says Gerard Way, who recently did some backing vocals for Every Time I Die's new album. But the band's current news is on the road. "We're thinking of doing another tour in the United States in September," Frank continues. "For the moment, nothing is certain, but it could well be that we open for a big band with whom we've already played…" Green Day? "We can't say anything," smiles Gerard. In any case, playing with Green Day has taught us a lot. Just by watching them. They can fill stadiums and keep a constant communication with the audience. Billie Joe is an incredible frontman. We are much better on stage today, partly thanks to opportunities like these. It's amazing to go from 300 people to 10 or 20 times more. A real challenge for us and also the best learning for a young band. […] Otherwise, we really want to do splits with other bands. We were talking about a split 45 with Alkaline Trio, it will be done according to our schedules." Time is on your side!"

[party-lemon]

I've been wanting to make this post for a while and, in light of the absolute epic outfits at their first WWWY show, I thought this would be the perfect time:

My Chemical Romance is not the same.

When people think of MCR, they think of eyeliner and blood and vampires and red and black and doom and gloom. And, don't get me wrong, a number of Gerard's outfits show that we still get some of that:

But, nowadays, we also get:

And I'm not just talking about dresses. I'm not just talking about Gerard finally feeling comfortable to wear whatever he wants, because that could be from numerous other factors.

No, I'm also talking about:

They're having fun.

This band had been nonstop since 2003. They went from Bullets to Revenge to Black Parade to Danger Days without much of a break because they were great and they were expected to do something because that's what great bands do; they keep creating things, they churn stuff out for their fans and their industry, they bleed themselves dry for other people because that's their job.

My Chemical Romance thought they were done after The Black Parade. And then they kept going, only because they were desperately trying to rewrite themselves. To rid themselves of those crushing expectations to do something else great. But, no matter what they did, MCR couldn't escape them.

We don't really know the full story behind why they ended things. MCR is notorious for being rather cryptic. But I get the feeling that those expectations were too much. No matter how much they just tried to be themselves, to create things for themselves, to have fun, they couldn't. And constantly doing things for other people starts weighing very heavily. Expectations and threats are only separated by a fine line. And they were tired.

Did they always expect to return...who knows? Certainly not us. Like I said, MCR has always been cryptic. But I do know that they didn't come back the same as before.

My Chemical Romance came back and gave a big "fuck you" to expectations. I mean, The Foundations of Decay gives it all away. They've been playing a vast array of songs, some of which we've barely heard or they haven't played in years. Sister to Sleep, Fake Your Death, Mastas of Ravenkroft, Heaven Help Us, Bury Me in Black, Desert Song, Demolition Lovers. There's clips of Frank, Ray, and Mikey all playing in front of their kids. Frank and Gerard's piss and vinegar shirts, Ray wearing a Mikey Fuckin Way t-shirt, everyone hugging and laughing with each other, Frank literally saying he's having so much fun that he wants to keep playing, Gerard coming out in the most insane outfits, all of them just constantly smiling like a bunch of wonderstruck children.

So, no. MCR isn't the same. But they're having fun. And they're ridding themselves of what My Chemical Romance once was. There's bits and pieces still left that they'll still use but, for the most part, they're tearing down what once was and building something new. For all they knew, this could have all gone down in flames but they don't care because they're who they want to be. And they're giving the middle finger to expectations and to anyone who dares to say that MCR isn't good enough or was better before.

Nostalgia is no good when it blinds you to the better things in the present.

[brionbroadway]

It’s Ylfa who finds him.

She sits beside Gerard, hands in front of her on the floor, back in her wolf-form and back to herself. “Where is the Princess Elody?” she asks.

Gerard sighs, but sensing Ylfa flinch beside him, he tries to cover it by clearing his throat. “She needed a moment to herself.”

“But just a moment, right? She’s coming back?”

Gerard shifts his head to look at Ylfa, and notices the shift in her as well. She is no longer a meddling preteen, ready to give him a makeover and plan a grand gesture based on a limited understanding of love. In fact, Gerard wonders if that was ever a fair assessment. Ylfa knows love, perhaps better than Gerard ever has, and understands the power of its loss. He sees the same thing in her eyes that he saw in Elody’s when she spoke of finding his body—not sadness, exactly, but an emptiness that a preteen should still be too optimistic to feel.

“It’s not fair, Gerard,” she says, quiet, and Gerard realizes too late that he was too slow to respond. “No one came looking for you, but you went looking for Elody, and you’re still going to be alone. I can fight Death for you, but I can’t fight this.”

“First of all,” Gerard says, speaking faster than his thoughts to not give Ylfa’s the chance to fill in the blanks. “I am not alone. I would not choose anyone else to travel and fight alongside—though, you need to know that you are not responsible for fighting anything for me. You are a protector, much like Elody.”

“I’m like the princess?”

“Most certainly, and while that’s admirable, it’s also too much weight to put on your shoulders. Strong as they are.”

Ylfa flexes, and Gerard laughs, relieved. “The truth is,” he continues. “I left Elody long before she left me. We’d sit together the way you and I are sitting now, but we would not talk the way we’re talking now. And that was my fault.”

“But she’s still your family,” Ylfa says. “You just made a mistake.”

Gerard understands what’s behind this conversation now, and wishes he’d recognized it the moment Ylfa sat down. Elody would have. “When you marry someone,” Gerard says. “You make vows to each other; it’s a partnership. I didn’t make a mistake; I made decisions that broke the promises I’d made to Elody. That is my fault.”

“When you have a child,” Gerard continues, before Ylfa can interrupt. “Of course, I have not had one, but as I understand it—you make a commitment to them. You love them unconditionally, no matter what mistakes or decisions they make. If a parent does not fulfill that, that is not the child’s fault.”

“Gerard, I’m sorry if this is disrespectful, but I don’t know if I believe that.”

“Honestly Red, I don’t know if I do either. That doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

Not for the first time, Gerard is aware of his role as an adult, despite not having the chance to properly grow into one. “Or,” he says. “How about this? I know that I am not your mother or father, or your grandmother, but as long as I am alive, I promise that we can sit and talk like this. And if we end up in different stories, I’ll look for you. You will always have a home with me, even if it’s just a bonfire in the woods.”

“I can light a match for us.”

“I know that you can.”

Gerard extends his webbed equivalent of a pinky finger, and Ylfa wraps a claw around it.

[bi-bi-buckleys]

Vincent Gerrard had made a mistake.

Probably the biggest mistake of his career. Hell, probably the biggest mistake of his life.

When Gerrard heard about Capt Nash’s heart attack and subsequent health sabbatical, he immediately volunteered to step in as the acting captain of the 118. I mean, he’d already BEEN their captain, and poor firefighter Wilson was too wrapped up in a battle with that congresswoman to even think of taking on more work. He’d be the perfect substitute.

That’s what he told the Chief anyway. His real reason was private, though he was sure the 118 had immediately figured it out.

It started at the award ceremony. The way his jab at Kinard didn’t seem to bruise too much what with Han and that Buckley kid acting as guard dogs. And speaking of Han, his snide remark about him keeping the floor clean being met with Han’s confident comment equating Gerard to filth really pissed him off. Then he saw Buckley and Kinard getting all lovey dovey with each other during the reception and that was truly the final straw. He once had this station under his thumb. No one wanted to go against him. Now it seemed they didn’t care what he thought. He wanted to make all of their lives hell.

At first, it started great! They seemed genuinely terrified when he walked in and announced he was taking over command. He could see the panic and resignation in their eyes. Even Buckley, Diaz and, Panikkar, who he never worked with. Han, Wilson, and Kinard must have told stories of him, which really warmed his cold dead heart. He had a legacy.

He decided to go after Buckley first. He didn’t know the kid, but since Kinard didn’t work at the 118 he figured going for his boyfriend was the next best thing. Almost better. Maybe he could plant some seeds and ruin their relationship.

That didn’t happen.

“So Buckley,” Gerrard started one afternoon while eating lunch. He was sitting at the head of the table, Buckley to his left, Panikkar to his right. Diaz was next to Buckley then Han across from him. They all stopped to look at Gerrard, wary of what was going to come out of his mouth next. He savored the moment for a beat.

“How long you been dating Kinard?”

Buckley met his eyes with a hesitant, untrusting look as he answered “About two months now.”

“Hmm,” Gerrard answered, chewing on his bite of sandwich before then asking “so were you always a queer or did he turn you?”

The whole table glared at him for what felt like ten years. No one with more vehemence than Buckley. But then…

“Actually!” Buckley said with a big smile, gesturing with the fork he was using to eat his leftover lasagna, “he was my bisexual awakening so I guess in a way he ‘turned’ me, but in the same way you turn a light on, you know? Like it was always there, it just took someone flicking the switch to light it. See, we met when Chim called him up for a favor, and, I can be honest about it now, my very first thought when I met him was “wow”, cause like, well you’ve seen him. He’s just so big, and dreamy, and his eyes are so pretty, and his smile is electrifying. And I called him up for a tour of Harbor ‘cuz I wanted to see him again and then I got jealous ‘cuz he was spending time with Eddie but then Tommy came to my apartment and we talked things out and we had this kinda deep conversation and then he KISSED ME and it was like “wow that’s what’s been bothering me lately, I want him!” And then we went on this date, and I acted dumb, but he was sweet about it and let me down easy ‘cuz he thought I wasn’t ready, then I couldn’t get him out of my head so I called him for coffee and he actually showed and I told him I wanted to give it another go and I invited him to my sisters wedding, which ok yeah I-I-I know that’s kinda crazy, but listen I can’t be held accountable for my actions when he looks at me with that really soft fond look and he’s wearing a well fitted grey tee shirt, and he’s got this adorable cleft chin, and- anyway- yeah so he agreed and he showed up to my sisters wedding even though he had spent the last, like, 12 hours fighting a wild fire because he knew it was important to me, and I MAY have jumped him in the entryway but you can’t really blame me for that. So yeah, he’s an incredible guy, and he’s shown up for me in ways no one I’ve ever dated has, and he makes me feel safe and secure, a-and happier than I’ve ever felt. Like, I can see a future with him, you know? Marriage, kids, the whole package. It’s early, like really early, I know, but hey, when you know you know right?”

And wasn’t that just a whole heap of information Gerrard hadn’t asked for.

Buckley was smirking at him. Not a lot, but there it was, a cocky smile. A smile that said “you think you can use my relationship against me, but jokes on you fuckface, I’m happy and more than willing to let you know all about it completely against your will.”

The rest of the table was staring at Buckley, Han and Panikkar in mild shock, while Diaz looked like a proud parent who just watched his kid dress down a bully, chewing his salad around a smirk of his own.

“Tommy is a pretty cool dude,” Panikkar noted, deciding that was the best way to break the tension.

“He really is, I’m glad I saved his sorry ass,” Han chimed in, pointing his own fork at Buckley and saying “you’re welcome for that, by the way.”

“Thanks Chim.” Buckley was actually blushing. Jesus.

“You guys have no idea how glad I am Buck’s actually dating someone I like.” Diaz said, earning snickers from the others. “Seriously! Plus, I can actually hang out with Tommy now without Buck trying to break my ankles over it! Thats growth, I’m proud of you.”

And damn if Diaz didn’t actually sound proud of Buckley for that; Gerrard hated the part of himself that wanted to know the story there, because what the hell?

The table fell into easy chatter while Gerrard wondered where he’d gone wrong.

It didn’t get any better. It was like Buckleys initial act of defiance opened the flood gate. Nothing he said was sticking to anyone.

He tried to make more comments to Han insinuating that all he was good for was cleaning the station, but that just led to Han ignoring him and instead talking about his daughter Jee Yun and gushing about how great of a person his wife Maddie is.

“And this picture is from the first time Jee Yun used a spoon by herself. She really is a natural at everything. Picks stuff up on her first try. She gets that from her mom. She’s so amazing. And by she I mean both of them. My girls are truly the most incredible blessings. Oh! Here’s a picture of them asleep on the couch together! Aren’t they cute?”

Gerrard refused to admit they were. He wouldn’t. They won’t break him.

He didn’t know Diaz from before, so he fell back on his tired trick of just being a straight up racist. Diaz decided that Gerrard must be talking about his Swedish half and started to educate him on Sweden. This led to him telling Gerrard about how his son Christopher did a report recently on Sweden. Which of course led to more information about Christopher.

“He’s really such a great kid. He’s smart, he’s funny, he’s kind, he’s a bit of a smart ass, he’s popular, and he’s got the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever known. I’m so lucky to be his dad. He’s saved me more times than I can count. Even at a young age, he just knew exactly what to say to make me feel better when I was down. To look into his eyes and know that I had a hand in creating this incredible life? It’s mind-blowing and so humbling. Here let me show you pictures.”

Gerrard was losing his will to live.

Wilson was more reserved. When he was in her vicinity, she would shoot him a look. It wasn’t necessarily dirty. It was more challenging. Daring. Almost asking for a reason to unleash some pent up fury. He didn’t even bother approaching. She was on the warpath already. A woman not to be messed with. A storm on the near horizon that sent chills down your spine. He remembered her speech from before. He remembered getting transferred out not long after. He was too tired to try it. It didn’t take long for Wilson and her wife to win back custody of their foster daughter and they were able to formally adopt her. After that, he was subjected to pictures of Mara and Denny. She was over the moon with happiness and love. He preferred warpath Wilson.

Panikkar tried to sell him a condo.

He gave up.

Vincent Gerrard was officially broken. It only took two weeks. These people were too happy. Too defiant. Too sure of themselves and their lives. They were also all so supportive of each other. It was sickening. He realized he couldn’t break them. He refused to admit defeat though, so he was subjected to six months of hell. Somehow he even got invited to the Buckley-Kinard house warming party when they moved into their new fixer upper. He had a feeling he’d be roped into putting up shelving. Or he’d be encased in a wall. He declined. Same way he declined the invite to the Han residence for Jee’s birthday and the invite to the Wilson’s for the adoption celebration BBQ. They just wanted to rub their well-beingness into his face and he had enough of that at the station.

Once the six months were up and Nash took the helm again, Gerrard felt he had aged ten years. He fully intended to put in for his retirement. He staunchly ignored the cheers and “Ding Dong the Witch is Dead” being played on someone’s Bluetooth speakers as he walked out of the 118 for the last time.

[centralperkspoison]

I Can See You - G. Way

PAIRING: Gerard Way x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: sexual references, a little fluffy.

SUMMARY: You and Gerard have known each other for years. When you finally confess to him, everything works out! But how do you keep it as a secret? (Based loosely on I Can See You by Taylor Swift)

WORD COUNT: 1.3k

OTHERS: me posting? whattttt?! this was highly inspired by the song I Can See You by Taylor Swift, so I recommend listening to that while you read. Also, I haven't posted a fic in like a year this is crazy. also!!! not my usual work, not that much fluff just more back story. idk i have wrote in a while so im sorry!

---

YOU KEPT EVERYTHING PROFESSIONAL. You and him only showed your true emotions behind closed doors. You'd brush past each other in the hallways most of the time ensuring to not let anyone catch on.

Of course, you and Gerard were friends to the public eye. You and him were the two lead singers of My Chemical Romance, but what happened behind closed doors stayed there.

You'd moved next door to the Way family when you were fairly young, quickly becoming friends with the two brothers despite the slight age differences; Mikey was three years older than you and Gerard was six years older, which is why in the beginning everything had to be quiet. But of course, you had kept your feelings for the nerdy older brother hidden since you were six, so that wouldn't be too hard.

When the band began recording for Bullets you had just turned eighteen and Gerard was almost twenty-five, which is when it first started.

-

"Why don't I understand basic song structure," You groaned. "You clearly have it down."

Gerard scoffed, "I do not have it down whatsoever, I just actually ask for input unlike someone who's stubborn as hell." He laughed. 

It was only the two of you on the bus, the rest of the guys were inside a restaurant buying breakfast while before you traveled four hours to only record half the album for Bullets.

"Here, bring it over so I can look at it." He said, sitting up on the couch on the bus. You slowly walked towards him, hoping he wouldn't realize who it was about. You silently hoped he couldn't tell, then sat next to him and handed him the lyrics you had written so far. He began analyzing them and handed them back to you.

"It's good, but the bridge should have more meaning. You've described this person in such a beautiful light, then the bridge is just happily ever after? Include some of the struggle in the relationship." You nod, beginning to write. He watches you closely from over your shoulder causing you to face the other way and lay down on him so he could get a better view. This was nothing unusual for you two, it was normal for you to lay on him or anyone else in the band.

You took his words into consideration, then started writing lyrics along the lines of 'If only he knew,' and 'I could see you being my addiction, you could see me as a secret mission.' along with some more context.

"Hey, (Y/N)?" He called, you could feel his heart speed up from your spot on his chest. "Yes, Gee?" You say, looking up at him. "Who is this about?" He asked quietly, playing with your long hair. You dropped your pencil and sat up, facing him. "Is that really important right now?" "I mean not really, I'm just a bit curious." He says with a slight smirk across his face. You just shrug and walk to where you were sitting previously to the whole song structure conversation. Once you sit down, he began speaking again.

"I mean of course the description sounds a little similar, short black hair, hazel eyes, crooked smile," He says, walking behind your chair and gripping it and looking down at you from over the back of the tall chair. "I would say Frank, but his hair doesn't exactly fall under that category anymore, and when you think about it, I'm the only one with short black hair now." He smirks. He already knew, but he was just trying to play around and have a little fun before he had to make his own scary confession.

"God, okay Gerard, the song is about you." You roll your eyes trying to make it come out as if you're not afraid to say it. "Wait, you're actually admitting it?" "Yes, I have a big fat crush on you, now can you please just turn me down already so I can get over it sooner." You sigh, and he walks around your chair so you two are facing each other now. 

"(Y/N), I'm not rejecting you," He smiles. "C'mere." He says, opening his arms for a hug, and you quickly throw yourself in his arms. You two linger in the hug for a while before you take a step back and look up at him. You two were so close your noses were touching. 

"May I?" He asks, moving his hand up so he's cupping your jaw. You lean into his touch and nod.

-

After you two established your feelings, your situationship turned into a relationship that ranged from sweet moments to insanely sexual ones, not that you had a problem with that, of course. It was just difficult keeping it from your best friends.

Eventually, fans began sniffing the two of you out. How you would always sit next to each other in interviews, when you were on stage you would always seem as if you were singing to him and he was singing to you, when they watched Life On The Murder Scene every time there was a video on the bus you'd have your legs sprawled out on top of his or you'd be laying on him, and even away from the bus he'd always send you looks.

You started seeing the fans reactions on Twitter in the two of your comment sections.

(Y/N)(Y/L/N): Day off with my boys! <3

mcrlover616: OMG R U AND GERARD DATING

frerard4li4e: Gerard belongs to Frank, girl. Back off.

bugmomma24356: You and Gerard are so cute ug! <3

After trying to cover up everything to the best of your abilities, nothing made them believe you, even your own band mates started thinking the two of you were together, so you two had to act more distant. 

No more laying on him, no more lingering hugs, and definitely no more making out on stage just to "make the crowd go wild". 

-

The two of you had to be entirely secret for almost a year now, and it was the first night of your new tour, Rise Against the Black Parade. 

Gerard brushes his shoulder against yours in the hallway while you two walk into the dressing room, shooting you a look. "Oh sorry, (Y/N)." He says quietly and slides his arm across your back before sitting two seats away from you in the dressing room. 

Makeup took a while, but you and Gerard were the last to finish. Once your artists left the room he sprung up to lock the door, and quickly met you in the middle of the room. 

He rested his hands on your hips and you hand your arms on the back of his neck, while he pressed his lips to yours aggressively. You parted from him for a moment, "Now don't go messing up our makeup," You smirked. "We can fix it ourselves." He grunts, picking you up and placing you on the counter.

The two of you were in there for a total of five minutes before someone started knocking on the dressing room door, causing you to jump like two teenagers caught by parents. "Hello? Who's in there, we need to change!" You hear Frank say from the other side of the door. The two of you quickly check your makeup to make sure it wasn't messed up, then you walked to the door to unlock it before turning to Gerard.

"You know, if stopped hiding... it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world." You said and he began to shake his head. "The age difference, (Y/N)." "It's six years, Gee. At least it's not like twenty or thirty like some other couples." You say, causing him to shrug. "I guess it's not the worst thing in the world." 

You walk over and unlock the door allowing Frank to come in with the costume cart. Once he realized it was the two of you he gasped. "You?" He said pointing to Gerard, "And you?" He said pointing to you. You turn to Gerard and tilt your head. "Yeah yeah, big deal." He said walking over to wrap an arm around your waist.  That night was one of your best shows yet. You two started showing affection on stage once again, you put your emotion back into your lyrics, and you even got a chance to preform the song you wrote for Gerard that started the whole relationship.

[zabala0z]

TMA S3 makes me want to cry and like shake around the characters in a fun box. Anyways hi!!! I’m here like 5 mins later.

MAG 102:

“I’ve been trying to give you the information you need”

“Sure, when you’re not bashing its head in with a pipe” GAGGED.

I want to know what happened though with Helen and Jon???? Like did they talk, what did Jon do?? I need to know. Is Michael like fully dead? I guess he can’t die really. I can’t fully grasp the situation with Michael-Helen-The Spiral.

Anyways, I guess that’s why Not! Sasha was going to the wax museum. That’s where the Unknowing will happen. Cannot blame Melanie for trying to kill Elias again. I’d do it too. So, this French guy had like a pretty similiar situation to Jane Prentiss, with the whole “bugs love me and I love them, etc”. Crazy Gerard and Gertrude worked together??? The weirdest duo ever. Goth guy and old woman. I wanna know Gerard Keays deal. I need to hear his voice

Not much on MAG 103. Guess that’s why Gertrude went to New Zealand. Jon is cooking up a plan with Daisy and I’m praying it goes well. Another meat statement. Whatever the meat entity is, I want nothing to do with it. I also realized that when Leitner mentioned his assistant getting consumed by like a pile of meat, that’s like connected to MAG 18. Toby Carlisle. I’ll edit that post. (EDIT 9/2: I just realized when reading over MAG 58 that the cannibalistic guy is named Benjamin Carlisle. Jesus. This meat theme went through generations. Ill edit that post as well)

MAG 104: Sneak Preview

I hate this so much, I want to like give Tim a nice blanket. Everyone in this podcast needs a damn blanket.

The fact the theatre was destroyed by fire twice makes me think The Desolation had something to do with it cause y’know fire. The clown being Joseph Grimaldi is interesting. A real person being applied to the podcast, I think that’s cool. I mean bros dead it’s a free real estate. Also I’m a bit worried about Tim and his “mild” suicidal tendencies now.

Didn’t glean much from MAG 105 but a lot of death (of course, it’s about war) and like the undead. Xiaoling was sweet. Interesting the institute has a sister institute?? I hope they come up more

MAG 106: A Matter of Perspective

Oh hey, it’s the other guy from Personal Space! Apparently he didn’t have a better time than Carter Chilcot. Pretty sure this is another like The Vast statement y’know. The whole nihilism thing. I want to see Manuela’s story because it was said her fingers were burned, her eyes were red and she was withdrawn I believe so clearly something happened with her. No idea what was blocking the stars.

Elias. I swear, I swear I hate this man so much 😭 the fact Mealnies dad was in Ivy Meadows (MAG 36) is unlucky. Smoke inhalation would’ve been the better death. God I love Melanie like leave her alone Elias

Anyways! That’s all I got. I stopped taking my daily synopsis’s of every episode because school started up and while I love this podcast, I got things to do unfortunately 💀 so I’m just relying on my brain and my 10/10 memory.

[lemotmo]

I love it when people who at least have an idea of how these things work get questions like this.

Q. Did you hear Ryan's podcast? I'm vibrating at this point 👀👀👀

A. Haha, I did listen to it, anon. It was a good reminder of why podcasts usually turn out to be the better interviews. If you're not aware, in 99% of print interviews the questions have been pre screened by the actors/show so they go into the interview already knowing pretty much everything they're going to say. It's why so many of them are repetitive. Podcasts tend to have a little more leeway. They usually only have to get topics pre-approved. So even though they know what topics are going to be discussed they don't usually know the specific questions. Now obviously those interviews come with greater risks because if your actor doesn't know how to edit themselves they could say something epically bad. Obviously this one was pre-recorded so he had a little bit of a safety cushion but it didn't appear to be heavily edited content wise. I love that he touched on the racist/bigoted thing. Even though this came prior to the entire Gerard nonsense, I'm glad he got a chance to tell those people how incredibly wrong they are where he is concerned. I hope he hasn't seen most of it, but given everything he has been tagged in I fear he has seen more than he should have ever had too.

He's in the position now that Oliver was last year. He's the one doing the promotional interviews, but he's just out of canned answers he can give, lol. There's nothing left for him to say except the 'thing' he can't yet say. So you can tell he's trying to make the same answers sound somewhat new and for the most part he was able to do that. It was though just one more thing that kind of made you go, yeah it's going where we think it's going. I just think the show is all out of later. They can't keep pushing the story to 'next season'. And I think that's why we're seeing so many winks and nods from ABC and the show. The comments they replied to yesterday were intentional. Yes, they deleted them but they knew the people who they were intended for would see them and remember them. It's time. Let's go.

Thanks Nonny!

Ah yes! Hard agree on everything here! I haven't seen/heard the whole podcast yet (I'm planning to listen tomorrow when I'm relaxing), but I've seen all of the videos, snippets and quotes about 911 and Eddie that were posted online.

Everything is aligning and people are noticing the change. There is this tentative surge of emotion of 'Oh wow, this is it. It's actually happening this time. No more clowning,' going around in fandom and even beyond the fandom. Love that for us.

So yeah, the time is right.

The time is now.

Let's go!

IMPORTANT! Please don't repost this ask and/or a link that leads straight to my Tumblr account on Twitter or any other social media. Thank you!

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[takaraphoenix]

Home at the Hale Farm

Tags: m/m/m, polyamory, post-Nogitsune, PTSD, Stiles leaves Beacon Hills, Spark Stiles, fluff, hurt/comfort, Erica Lives, Boyd Lives, Allison Lives, Pack Alpha Peter, m/f, f/f

Main Pairing: Peter/Chris/Stiles

Side Pairings: Boyd/Erica, Jackson/Lydia, Malia/Kira

Teen Wolf Characters: Mieczysław 'Stiles' Stilinski | Stiliyan 'Stiles' Gajos, Peter Hale, Chris Argent, Derek Hale, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd III, Isaac Lahey, Jackson Whittemore, Lydia Martin, Allison Argent, Malia Tate, Kira Yukimura, Cora Hale, Noah Stilinski | John Gajos

@writersmonth Prompts: fur + farm

Summary: Theo is the last straw for Stiles, Scott believing Theo over Stiles. Not knowing how else to get out of Beacon Hills, him and his dad fake their own deaths. And it's the right choice, they're finally free and out of that hell-town. Stiles only has one regret, that he doesn't know where the Hale Pack lives and never had the chance to let them know that he's still alive. Until him and his dad move to London.

This Fic on FFNet | This Fic on AO3

Home at the Hale Farm

Stiles Summer Stories 2024

If asked when everything had started to go to shit, Stiles would probably pinpoint the Gerard Argent take-down as that moment. The very first time Scott had gone against Stiles, acted without even consulting Stiles. The first real crack in their friendship. Sure, they had drifted apart more and more since Scott had gotten together with Allison and prioritized his relationship over his friendship, but that? That betrayal had caused a rift between them. One that Stiles spent months trying to ignore, trying to mend, before it frayed more and more.

Additionally, that had been the last day Stiles had been a part of the Hale Pack. With Scott's betrayal, Derek turned his back on them. And Stiles didn't hold that against the then Alpha. But if that hadn't happened? If Scott and Stiles had stayed in the Hale Pack, maybe everything else wouldn't have happened. Maybe if Scott had been a proper beta, he would have never risen to being a True Alpha and then all of this wouldn't have happened and Stiles would still be happy with the Hale Pack, with Boyd and Erica, with whom he had forged a bond in that basement, with Isaac, who was just a big puppy, with Peter, who was—Stiles shook his head, trying not to think of Peter.

Scott became a True Alpha and, always the loyal best friend, Stiles became part of his pack. Derek gave up his Alpha spark to save his sister's life and the Hale Pack seemed to fall apart. Isaac, who had been drawn closer to Scott for months now, easily joined Scott's pack, together with Stiles and Lydia. The McCall Pack formed. But the Hale Pack wasn't done yet.

Peter Hale had too much ambition and he had lost too much in the past to give up the Hale Pack, to let it die fully. No, with so many spare Alphas running around, he had an easy time killing one to regain the Alpha spark for himself. This time, more sane and without killing a family member, the red eyes suited him much better, in Stiles' opinion.

But now there were two packs in Beacon Hills. Two Alphas with as much history as Peter and Scott? That was bound to blow up in all their faces. Tension rose, more and more. The two packs edged on and Stiles could see this escalating if someone didn't give. Peter gave.

"We're going to leave Beacon Hills, Stiles," Peter had told him back then, voice hard.

He'd stood with his arms crossed in Derek's loft. Derek, Cora, Boyd and Erica behind him, all avoiding Stiles' gaze. Looking like guilty puppies. It had made Stiles' heart clench so all he could do was nod at the Alpha, at the pack – the pack he once belonged to.

"I think it'll do you good," Stiles had offered softly. "There's so much trauma in this town. It's tried to kill every single one of you in the past. Heck, it did kill you, Peter. I hope… you'll be happy."

Peter had looked at him with an unreadable expression. "We're going-"

"Don't tell me," Stiles had requested, shaking his head. "You want to get out of here, get a new start. You don't want anyone in Beacon Hills know where you are. And I don't want to be the one to drag you back here. You gotta… leave it all behind."

"We don't want to leave you behind," Erica had looked at him with tears in her eyes.

"I'll come back for you, sweetheart," Peter had rested a hand on his cheek. "Day of your graduation, I am coming back and I will ask you to make the choice that I can't ask of you right now. But I trust Scott to fuck up badly enough to make this choice easy for you."

Stiles wondered if Peter had really known just how true his words would turn out to be, or if he'd just been a prick with a complex back then. Either way, Stiles had agreed to that and he had hugged them all. It had hurt, seeing them leave, but he knew it was the right decision for them and that was all Stiles wanted. For them to be happy, to not be dragged down by this damn town.

The McCall Pack gained two new pack-members, in the supposedly reformed former Alpha twins. That was when the crack in Scott and Stiles' relationship grew more, because he'd vetoed that. They had helped capture Cora, Boyd and Erica, had helped nearly kill them, but Scott was giving them a second chance? Not just by letting them go, but by offering them a place in their pack?

Next up, Malia Tate and Kira Yukimura joined the pack, as Stiles' life started falling apart. He got possessed by the Nogitsune, it used him to kill people, so many people. He'd killed Aiden and – and he killed Allison, even if nobody knew, because he'd poured all of his magic, all of his Spark, into saving her life as she bled out in his arms. She had still been gravely injured, had spent weeks in the hospital to recover, but she was alive and that was all that mattered. Or so Stiles thought.

It was the final straw for Chris to leave, as soon as Allison was discharged from the hospital. He'd only stayed after the rest of his family had died, one by one, because Allison insisted. This? This had been too close a call, Chris was done (Chris had no idea just how close and if Stiles had any say in it, Chris would never know that Stiles had actually killed his daughter). Stiles understood it. This town had taken so damn much from Chris. And Stiles was sure neither Chris nor Allison wanted to look at the boy who'd 'nearly' killed Allison. Stiles couldn't even look at himself, after all. Isaac left with them, left with his girlfriend and the man who'd been looking over him.

The last member of the Hale Pack left Beacon Hills and Stiles felt something inside him break.

If he'd known that this was just the beginning of the end? Maybe he would have packed up and left too. Not with them, he understood that the Argents would never want to have anything to do with him. If Stiles thought the possession was bad, the aftermath of it was even worse.

He couldn't sleep, ate less than he used to, pulled away from the pack, because the pack – Scott – pulled away from him. Couldn't even look at Stiles anymore. Asked Stiles' opinion less and less.

And then Gerard fucking Argent had returned. Which, brought him back to the beginning. The Gerard take-down was when things started coming apart, because Scott's stupid plan had left the man alive and nobody tracked him down to kill him, so of course had the vengeance obsessed bastard come up with a revenge plan. A deadpool on all the supernatural of Beacon Hills.

Stiles and Scott had fought about it, a lot, until Stiles started giving in, because he was so tired. He didn't sleep enough. He didn't get enough physical comfort. His dad was trying. Malia was… Malia was being a really good friend, was trying too, she understood physical needs, understood pack in a way that Scott never would, that Scott refused to learn. But Malia was also still struggling with being human and she had her new, shiny relationship with Kira, so she couldn't be there for Stiles 24/7 either. Lydia was trying, but whenever Stiles looked at her, he flinched away in guilt. He'd heard her Banshee scream for Allison the night Stiles had killed Lydia's best friend.

Theo was Stiles' breaking point. Theo, who waltzed into their pack and became Scott's right-hand just like that, had the Alpha's ear and trust and so easily filled a role that Stiles had always thought was his. The worst part was that Stiles knew Theo was up to no good. Was planning something. Theo knew Stiles knew, he kept taunting Stiles about it.

And then Donovan had happened, Stiles had killed him and Theo twisted Scott into accusing Stiles of murder. They didn't kill in Scott's pack. He didn't tolerate a killer in his pack. And Stiles, he knew it was about more than Donovan. It was about the people Stiles had killed. It was about their argument in regards to Gerard Argent and how they should have killed him.

"Kiddo," his dad had looked at him with broken eyes when Stiles had broken down in front of him that night. "Tell me what you need, tell me what I can do to fix this, please."

For months, he had watched his son fall apart, bits and pieces being chipped off Stiles. The possession had broken him, truly broken him, and Stiles was fighting every day to survive, but now he was losing what little stability he had – the pack.

"I need to get out of here, I'm drowning, dad," Stiles had sobbed into his father's shoulder, clinging onto him. "I'm treading water and I can't keep going, I can't, I'm going to drown if I don't get out. And I know he's not going to let me out, he won't, he'll kill you, he threatened you, I can't-"

His father's eyes had hardened. Determination. He'd lost his wife in this damn town, he wasn't going to watch his son die before his eyes. Not if there was anything he could do to help.

Two days later, the Stilinskis died in a tragic car accident.

Stiles' pack bonds had already been severed by Scott so there was nothing to worry about. If Scott didn't want to believe him that Theo was a threat? Fine, then. He could get himself killed. Stiles no longer cared. All he cared about was his dad, his dad's safety. Theo had made the wrong move threatening his dad. So they faked their own deaths and, with some skills Stiles had learned from Danny, started new lives, under new names. John Gajos and his son Stiliyan Gajos, so Stiles could keep his nickname, he couldn't shed himself fully.

As the two of them drove out of Beacon Hills and Roscoe stood in flames with two unidentified bodies they'd borrowed from the morgue, the only regret Stiles had was that he had no way of contacting the Hale Pack and letting them know he was fine. Maybe… Maybe even ask them if he could come live with them. His heart ached at that thought. No. Why would they want him, he was broken beyond repair, he'd killed his own pack-mates. No, this was better. Just him and his dad.

/break\

They'd traveled through the US for a couple months. Never staying anywhere for more than a couple weeks. They moved to Canada and lived there for a few months, giving Stiles the chance to settle and heal at least a little. As he healed, his Spark started to ignite again. Tiny, a fraction of what it used to be, but he could feel its warmth in his chest again. And that warmth pulled him away from America, over the ocean. He told his dad that it felt like his magic was pulling him and his dad had simply shrugged and started packing. They were doing this to be together, the destination didn't matter. It had made Stiles smile ever so softly. So the Gajoses packed up again and moved across the pond to London, because that's where his Spark was pulling Stiles.

The entire flight to London, Stiles sat curled together on his seat on the plane and he kept sketching in his notebook. He wasn't one for drawing, really. He took notes, used words. Words were his weapon of choice. But he'd felt restless since they left Toronto, since take-off.

His dad kept looking over his shoulder. "What are you drawing, kiddo? What is that?"

It startled Stiles out of his thoughts and made him actually look at the page. Swirls. Countless swirls. Always three swirls facing each other, meeting in the middle. The Hale triskele. Stiles' heart skipped a beat as he saw it over and over again on his page. In between, there were a couple of little arrows too. Arrow-heads between triskeles. A smile twisted on his lips.

"Nothing," Stiles muttered and turned the page. "Just something… that was important once."

Noah's – John's – eyes narrowed at him, but his father had mercy on him and didn't force him to explain. How could he? Arrows for the Argents, the man he'd been developing a crush on over the months after the Hales left, the girl who'd once time been a close friend and then Stiles had killed her. Guilt, shame, desire, loss, all knotted up into one twisted strange emotion. And the triskele. Longing, home, family, hope, friendship, belonging, loss, rejection.

London was going to be a new start for them. London was going to be good, Stiles just knew it. He didn't know how, but he knew that this was where him and his dad were going to get a proper fresh start. Beacon Hills kept casting a long shadow that had reached even all the way to Canada and Stiles couldn't, he couldn't, he could not be tempted to go back. London would be safer.

/break\

John sighed tired as he entered their apartment, gaining Stiles' attention. He tilted his head to look at his dad. They shared a small apartment, two bedrooms, a kitchen barely big enough to turn around. But they had to leave everything behind when they left Beacon Hills, including any money they had. All they had saved was a thumb-drive, with all of Stiles' work and all of their family pictures on it – they had both been grateful for fourteen year old Stiles' hyperfixation on scanning all their analog family photos one summer – and the clothes on their backs. Stiles hadn't been able to leave his red leather jacket behind, it was the last thing he'd gotten from Peter, a parting gift when the Hales had left Beacon Hills three years ago. An unspoken promise, since leather jackets were a Hale Pack thing, like they were a gang and not a group of werewolves. Stiles had worn it with pride, even when Scott would glare at it. He couldn't let that go up in flames back then.

With all their worldly possessions and all their savings going up in flames, they'd spent the months of traveling through the US doing odd jobs, anything to get enough money to keep them moving. Living from the hand to the mouth. They were able to gather some small savings during their time in Canada, but that was entirely burned on the move to London.

"Hey, dad," Stiles greeted, returning his attention to the newspaper.

"Hey, kiddo," John stepped up to his son, ruffling his hair and kissing the top of his head. "What are you doing? Looking for jobs again? ...Anything interesting?"

So far, since moving here, Stiles had been working as a waiter in a café. His dad had found a job in a private security company. He couldn't bring himself to join law enforcement, not under a fake name. Mostly, his dad worked nights, which meant they didn't see each other too much, but they needed to make ends meet and his dad's job at least paid enough to keep them afloat.

"I don't…" Stiles trailed off as a name caught his eyes.

His heart jumped into his throat. Hale & Associates. It wasn't a rare last name. There were tens of thousands of Hales in the world. Still, seeing that name made something warm unfurl in his chest. A law firm. The named partner was looking for a private assistant and secretary. Was it silly? To want to apply to a job he had no experience or qualifications for, solely based on the firm's name?

Oh well, the worst that could happen was that he got yet another rejection. Who knew, maybe the name would be his lucky charm, maybe they could catch a break with this. He was going to try.

/break\

Chris smiled bemused as he walked into his husband's law firm, their daughters trailing after him, arguing the entire time. Allison and Malia had adjusted horribly to being step-sisters, taking all the worst quality of siblings. He reached one hand out to ruffle Malia's hair.

"Christopher, what have I told you about bringing the girls?"

Peter heaved a long-suffering sigh as he looked up from the file on his desk. Chris loved that office, it was huge, with a large window front behind him, overseeing all of London. A display of power, something his husband had always loved. Smiling, Chris approached and grabbed Peter by the neck, pulling him into a kiss while the girls set up lunch.

"We aren't girls anymore," Allison pointed out. "We're twenty. Well, I'm twenty-one."

"Don't play the older card again," Malia rolled her eyes.

"Why are they arguing?" Peter asked, turning to Chris.

Mh. Chris blinked repeatedly. He actually had no idea, he'd fully tuned them out.

"We're arguing about the new menu at Stiles' Sweets!" Allison huffed. "Boyd let Erica talk him into adding something absolutely abominable that is not edible. Everyone in the pack knows not to let Erica make any food decisions. But his mate looks at him with the big, brown eyes, he caves."

"I think it's good," Malia glared. "It's weird, but that's good. Stiles liked weird. Stiles would have liked it a lot, so we should keep it on the menu."

For a moment, Chris couldn't breath, his hand grabbing Peter's shoulder to cling onto his husband. Peter wrapped an arm around Chris' waist, pulling him close. Even without seeing Peter's face, Chris knew there was a twist of pain on it. It had warmed their hearts when Boyd and Kira had opened their little café and honored their lost, beloved pack-mate by naming the café after him. But every time the boy came up in conversation, it still hurt the Alpha pair. It hurt a lot.

Peter had left first and he had chosen to not force Stiles to make a decision, had left Stiles behind and promised to come back for him. He never got the chance to. Months before graduation, Stiles and his father had died in a horrible car accident.

Chris felt the same. When he'd left that wretched town, with Allison and Isaac, he had left Stiles behind, had thought it would be wrong to force the boy to leave, thought Stiles would be safe and comforted by his pack. That that was where he needed to be to heal.

Now Stiles was gone forever and they could have prevented it if they had just taken the boy.

"What are you working on, Peter?" Allison asked in a soft voice, changing the topic.

The Alpha lifted his head to offer his stepdaughter a forced but grateful smile. "I'm looking through applicants. Since someone insists on me getting a personal assistant."

"The entire pack agrees that you need a personal assistant, babe," Chris huffed. "I love how much you are flourishing in your work, but you absolutely need someone else to organize it for you and to allow yourself to step back some. You have duties to this pack and this family."

Peter simply grumbled at that, making Chris smile a little. When the Hales had left Beacon Hills three years ago, they'd moved to London, to join the one member of the Hale Pack who had been forced to leave before them – Jackson Whittemore, dragged away by his parents when he had barely become a werewolf. With no ties to any other place, Peter, Derek, Cora, Boyd and Erica had decided to move to London, and Jackson had finally gotten to officially join the Hale Pack. With Jackson's father being a lawyer, Peter got a foot back into his old job, from before the fire. He'd worked hard to build a reputation and ultimately opened his own law-firm. Chris couldn't be prouder of his husband. Well, he could be, if Peter would delegate a little more.

"Show me," Chris ordered, grabbing one of the files.

Both Malia and Allison also perked up, walking around the desk to come to stand on either side of Peter. The smallest smile spread over Chris' lips as he watched Malia bump her hip against Peter's side, gently scent-marking her father. It had taken a lot of time, but the loss of Stiles had brought father and daughter closer together. Lydia had called Jackson, choking on tears as she told him about Stiles' death. They hadn't even bothered to pack anything, they'd left London with the clothes on their backs, not wanting to miss the funeral. The Hale Pack came back with two more members than they had arrived with. Lydia, who'd gone for an early graduation, and Malia, who had nobody and nothing left but her mate, had eagerly left Beacon Hills with her estranged family, now that Stiles was dead. Malia's mate Kira had followed them, right after graduation.

"Stiles," Malia whispered, drawing the attention of her family. "That's stupid. I'm sorry. I just…"

The other three turned toward the file she was looking at. Stiliyan Gajos, twenty years old. Currently working as a waiter. In fact, all his previous jobs were mostly customer service jobs. Nothing in the realm of being a secretary or working with a law firm. But his introductory letter did open up with him preferring to go by Stiles and Chris understood her impulse, that feeling of yearning at hearing that name. Chris heaved a sigh and held onto Peter a little tighter.

"Why not," Peter huffed with a bitter smile. "None of them seem perfect."

"You can't hire a stranger just because it'll mean you'll get to say his name again."

Peter fully ignored Chris' glare. Heaving an exasperated sigh, Chris went to sit down and eat before lunch would get cold. After exchanging a look, Malia and Allison joined him. The girls both had to go back to college after lunch, after all. They didn't have all day, as much as Chris would love that. He was proud of his girls, of both of them. Malia had really struggled with school, but she'd been determined to go to college, because Stiles had helped her so much, had been behind her education so she was trying to live up to his expectations, trying to make him proud even in death.

They all had a Stiles shaped hole in their lives. Their pack had a Stiles shaped hole.

/break\

Peter smiled bemused as he read up on the pack group chat. Erica and Cora were in an all-out brawl about Erica's latest idea for the menu on Stiles' Sweets, while Malia was trying to get some help on an assignment and Lydia, fully ignoring Cora and Erica, kept answering her questions.

It was strange, when Peter had learned the truth about Malia, about having a daughter, he hadn't expected to ever have a real relationship with her. He didn't know how to be a father. She didn't know how to be a human. It'd been stilted and awkward and distant. Until they lost Stiles. Peter had loved that boy and Stiles had been so important to Malia too. That loss had united them.

It had also brought them Lydia, something Peter had never seen coming. Yes, Jackson and Lydia still had their bond. A love that could literally break a curse wasn't something that easily faded, even if both of them pursued different sexual partners when Jackson moved to London. They stayed in contact, all this time. But she had her parents, and the McCall Pack, to keep her in Beacon Hills. It was Stiles' death that had made her leave, no longer able to look Scott in the face. She sought the familiar. Jackson and Allison, Malia had become a friend to Lydia too so her going to London had been another incentive for Lydia to leave. She was brilliant and scary and she would make a terrifying lawyer once she finished her education, Peter couldn't wait to see her in a courtroom.

Knocking on his door interrupted his thoughts, just as he typed a snarky reply to Erica's suggestion. Right, he had that blasted job interview. Heaving a sigh, he put his phone down. He didn't want a personal assistant, but his pack was probably right. Ever since he'd opened his own firm, he had been buried in work and he had other responsibilities too. A personal assistant would go a long way in organizing his appointment and keeping an overview, maybe even help him delegate.

"Come in," Peter called out, leaning back in his chair.

He liked to project an air of authority, threat and predator. After all, he was an Alpha wolf. Let's see how the Gajos boy would do. Peter had interviewed two others already, not impressed by them. And though the boy's preferred name should really not have swayed him, he couldn't help it. Even two years after Stiles' death, there was still a hole in Peter's heart. He loved Chris, loved Chris dearly, had fallen in love with Chris when the man had moved to London for the sake of Isaac, not wanting the boy to become an omega and seeking out Isaac's old pack for comfort. But regardless of how much he loved Chris, Peter doubted he'd ever stop loving Stiles.

"Thank you for having me, I…" Stiles Gajos trailed off, making a startled sound. "Peter?!"

Peter's head snapped up, his attention dragged back to the present day by that voice. That voice. His breath hitched as he looked at the young man in front of him. Messy, brown hair, longer than he remembered, but those moles, that cute upturned nose, the tempting, bow-shaped, pink lips and, most of all, those big, brown doe-eyes with the long lashes.

Peter couldn't breath. He stared at the phantom in front of him, before he growled viciously, his eyes flashing red as he jumped out of his chair and stalked up to the boy, backing him against the door, pinning him with Peter's hands on either side of his head. Doe-eyes widened in fear.

"I don't know what you are, or who you think you are, but you are crossing the wrong Alpha by daring to walk in here wearing his face," Peter snarled, shaking.

Fear melted into confusion, before realization set in. Those eyes, they may be fake but they were good fakes. They looked so real. Peter could see the cogs working behind them, the way he had always loved with his clever boy, so easily putting things together.

"You think I'm dead," the shapeshifter or face-stealer or whatever he was spoke. "Oh no."

"Stop playing games," Peter growled, putting a hand around the intruder's throat to hold him in place, to stop him from escaping. "He died. I was at his funeral. So what do you think gives you the right to use his face to taunt me. I'll make it hurt, I promise."

"Peter," the not-Stiles spoke softly. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't know how to contact you. I was stupid, when I told you to leave and not tell me where to. I didn't… I couldn't call you, any of you, to tell you that I'm alive. I faked my death, to get out of Beacon Hills."

Peter felt himself wavering, hope and despair twisting together. His hand around the boy's throat tightened. But those doe-eyes kept staring him dead in the eye, not afraid. A fake would be afraid at this point. The only one who'd never be afraid of him, not anymore, was Stiles. His Stiles.

"I need you to look at me, Peter," the voice was firm, was so much like Stiles' no-nonsense voice. "I'm wearing your jacket, the one you gave me before you left Beacon Hills. Last time you saw it, it was all new and shiny. It's worn, from years of usage. If I were some shapeshifter or whatever you think, then how would I know about that, how would I know to fake this detail. On top of knowing things that a simple face-stealer wouldn't know. You can only copy a person's memories perfectly if that person is still alive, so if I – Stiles – were dead, then there could not be a perfect copy here, smelling like the real deal, looking like the real deal, having detailed memories."

Smelling. Peter leaned in and the boy willingly, with no reluctance, bared his throat for Peter. Why would he, any werewolf could easily tear out his throat but an Alpha even more so. Making himself this vulnerable, why would he. Peter buried his nose in that long, pale neck, inhaling deeply. That scent of cinnamon, ink and lightning was the most unique blend he'd ever smelt and he would never forget it. A growl ripped from his throat, his hands both going down to grab the boy by the waist, clinging onto him, clinging onto the hope of this being real.

"You can't be unreal," Peter whispered, a near plea. "If this is a trick-"

"It's not," the boy rested his hands on Peter's chest. "I'm real. I… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't… I never wanted to hurt you, any of you, I just didn't know what else to do…"

Peter pushed off, hard. He walked back to his desk, grabbing his phone, typing out a message even as he turned around to get back to Stiles. Emergency pack meeting. Right now. Sending the text, he grabbed Stiles by the wrist, holding tight and pulling him along.

"I will be out of the office for the rest of the day, cancel all my appointments," Peter barked at the receptionist as he dragged Stiles with him into the elevator.

"Uhm, why are you kidnapping me? Where are we going?"

"Pack," Peter forced out, his grip on Stiles tightening. "I need others to see you, I need to make sure you're real. I need to know that I'm not losing my mind again."

"Okay," Stiles' voice was soft. "You're real too, huh?"

Peter's eyes flew down to the boy and he noticed movement. He was pressing his thumbs against the pads of his other fingers, one by one. Peter stilled, sucking in a sharp breath. Malia, Lydia and Kira had told them about this. That after the possession, Stiles had started counting his fingers that way, whenever he was doubtful if something was real or if he was dreaming. A face-stealing creature wouldn't know to do this and Peter's subconscious wouldn't know to add this detail to the hallucination, since he'd never actually seen Stiles do it.

"I am," Peter confirmed after a moment. "There is a lot that needs to be explained, on both sides."

Stiles hummed softly in confirmation, still counting his fingers. Peter's phone rang, startling them both. With his free hand, Peter fished his phone out of his pocket, noting that he had about two dozen notifications from the group chat already, before he accepted the call.

"Hello, love," Peter greeted, trying to breath and calm down.

"Don't 'hello, love' me like that, Hale," Chris barked out. "You can't just call for an emergency pack meeting and then drop out of the chat like that! Do you know how much you scared me? Are you hurt? Are you alright? Are you somewhere safe? Do I need to get to you?"

"I'm sorry," Peter winced. "I could have used more words. I'm fine, I'm not hurt, I'm not in any danger. I have… I have big news, I do have something urgent and the whole pack needs to see. Please organize the pups and herd them back home, I don't care if they still have classes. Tell Boyd and Erica to close the café early today."

Next to him, Stiles stilled at the mention of Boyd and Erica, doe-eyes widening as he stared at Peter with something like hope and longing. Peter clung onto Stiles like a life-line. He needed to be real.

"Peter…" Chris inhaled loudly. "This better be really important. I'll do it, I trust you, but…"

"I understand," Peter assured him. "I… I don't want to tell you over the phone. You need to see…"

If he told Chris that their boy was alive, he didn't know if Chris would be safe to drive home. And maybe Chris would think Peter had lost it, which Peter himself was still wondering.

"I love you," Chris declared gruffly. "Stay safe."

"Always," Peter smiled softly. "I love you too. I'll see you soon."

The call disconnected and Peter put his phone away, aware of Stiles' eyes on him. Curious and prodding, the way Peter remembered them. How much he had missed that inquisitive mind.

"Love, huh?" Stiles raised his eyebrows.

"At home," Peter shook his head. "Please."

Stiles nodded, understanding the need to digest. Probably needing that himself too right now. Stiles seemed as rattled by seeing Peter as Peter himself felt. His hand slipped from Stiles' wrist to properly take his hand, interlacing their fingers, holding onto the boy. Stiles squeezed his hand.

"The jacket looks good on you," Peter noted, looking at his boy. "I knew it would."

A quirk of Stiles' lip, that broad half-grin of his, all crooked and mischievous and beautiful. Peter's heart started racing as he got lost in that grin. He loved this boy so much. He'd missed this boy so much, he hadn't even realized just how much. Like he had lost a part of himself.

/break\

It wasn't a coincident. Peter was such a common first name and Hale wasn't a rare surname either. Why would Stiles expect to meet Peter Hale in London, after all. He'd never considered that the Hale Pack fully left the US. But when he walked into the lawyer's office, that was undeniably Peter Hale sitting there behind that imposing desk, looking handsome as ever.

Not going to lie, getting threatened by Peter had taken him by surprise at first, but when he realized that Peter had spent the past two years thinking Stiles was dead? Damn. It figured that the wolf would think him to be some kind of trick. Not that Stiles didn't think the same. He instinctively counted his fingers, unsure if this was real, if Peter was real.

"Where are we going?" Stiles asked as they drove out of the city.

"Home," Peter replied simply, voice warm and filled with love.

It made Stiles' heart ache in envy. He missed having a home. He had his dad, his dad was his home, but a place that felt like home? He did miss that. Folding a little smaller, he let himself be driven out of the city and onto a farm. His eyes widened at the beautiful, huge farm house.

"Welcome to the Hale Farm," Peter smiled as he parked the car. "Come."

Hale Farm. They had a farm. Oh, that somehow made Stiles happy. Large enough lands, a bit out of town so the wolves could roam free. Climbing out of the car, he eagerly looked around as much as he could see, even while Peter led him into the house.

"Uncle," Derek growled from somewhere once they entered the house. "What is…"

Derek. Stiles' eyes widened and he eagerly pushed past Peter to run in the direction of the voice. He hadn't seen Derek in years. Before they'd left, Derek had practically become his best friend after Scott. Rounding the corner, Stiles entered a spacious living room with three couches and two love seats and there stood Derek. He looked more mature and a little softer than Stiles remembered him, but it was Derek. Without thinking on it did Stiles launch himself at the wolf.

"Derek, holy shit, I missed you," Stiles gasped out.

The wolf beneath him was frozen, not moving. Oh. Right. Probably had the same reaction as Peter. Stiles really hoped nobody was going to rip his throat out today. Slowly, he peeled himself off Derek and took a step back. The look on Derek's face was wrecked. Fully heartbroken.

"No…" Derek's voice actually croaked. "This… This can't be… You're dead."

"I can explain, I will explain, please don't threaten me for thinking I'm a shapeshifter, your uncle already did that," Stiles blurted out. "I'm real. I'm alive. I didn't die. I'm not dead."

Whines drew his attention to the couches and he noticed the other wolves in the room. Erica was sitting on Boyd's lap, next to them was Isaac. On the other couch were Jackson and Cora. Stiles' heart jumped as he looked at the Hale Pack, a bright smile lighting up his face even though he was surprised to see Jackson here. But then he did dimly remember that four years ago, when Jackson had left, his parents had moved to London, Lydia had said something like that.

"A… Are you really real?" Erica asked in a shaky voice. "Are you really our Stiles?"

Our Stiles. Stiles' heart clenched and he blinked away tears as he nodded. The next second, he found himself in the middle of a suffocating puppy-pile. All five betas got off the couches and were suddenly hugging him – even Jackson. They were crying. Crying because they'd missed him, because they thought he was dead. Holy shit. He was sobbing himself, burying his face in Boyd's chest while Erica rubbed her face against his neck. This felt like coming home.

"Peter, you better have a good reason for this."

The voice was gruff and Stiles vaguely recognized it but couldn't place it. It had him tense.

"I still have two more classes," Lydia. "I got out of class early for this, make it good, Alpha."

Lydia was here. Why was Lydia here. Lydia was part of Scott's pack. Stiles' heart-rate picked up, and not in a good way. The betas clinging onto him let go reluctantly as the new arrivals entered the room. Stiles froze, fear gripping him as he saw Lydia, Malia, Kira, Chris and Allison enter.

"S… Stiles…" Lydia's voice broke, her eyes widening. "I knew it. I knew it. I would have screamed for you, if you had died, I would have screamed for you, I knew you couldn't be dead, I knew it."

The next second, the redhead was clinging onto his neck, nearly throwing him off-balance. Stiles couldn't help but flinch, more wary. Not necessarily because of her but because she wasn't Hale. She was McCall. So were Malia and Kira. Why were they here? Was Scott here too? Had they found him? Had they been looking for him? Was everything for naught now?

"W… Why are you here?" Stiles asked, voice a little frantic as he stared at Lydia, Kira and Malia. "Is… Is Sco… Is Scott here too? Is the rest of his pack here?"

"We're Hale Pack," Malia replied, tilting her head with a frown. "We left Beacon Hills with dad and the others, when they came back to Beacon Hills for your funeral."

Stiles' heart clenched at that. "Y… You came back for my funeral…? But… But…"

"Lydia called me," Jackson shrugged, not looking at him. "Lyds and I stayed in contact this whole time. She didn't know the Hale Pack was here though. Peter said he promised you not to let anyone in Beacon Hills know where they were, so I never told her. But I told them, when she told me about your… about your death. We came back for your funeral."

Everyone was staring at Stiles and his heart was racing. Between the Hale Pack – the Hale Pack he knew about – and the former McCall Pack members and the Argents, he was completely overwhelmed. Judging by the looks on their faces, they all were as overwhelmed though.

"Kira and I were at the grocery store," Chris spoke in a detached voice, his eyes not leaving Stiles, sounding like he was on autopilot. "We went to pick up the girls from college."

Chris and Allison approached him and he couldn't help but flinch away, half hiding behind Derek. They must hate him. How could they not hate him. He'd killed Allison. He'd killed Allison. His heart-rate picked up as panic took over, tears burning in his eyes. His thumbs pressed hard against the pads of his other fingers, one by one, counting. He couldn't look away from Allison.

"Stiles…?" Allison spoke softly, like she was talking to a spooked animal.

The others took a careful step back from him, like they were trying to give him space. This wasn't real. This couldn't be real. Why would the Argents be here? The Hale Pack, maybe, maybe that could be real. But Lydia, Malia and Kira? That was too much, they had been the only ones he'd still relied on in the McCall Pack. But Chris and Allison? Why would they be here?

"This isn't real," Stiles whispered frantically to himself, aggressively counting his fingers. "You're not real. You can't be here. Why would you be here. This is just… just in my head."

Tears ran down his cheeks at that realization. Of course it was. He should have known the moment he walked into Peter's office. Why should he get to see Peter again? Why should he get to see Derek and Boyd and Erica and Isaac again? He didn't deserve that. His knees buckled.

"Stiles," Lydia's voice was sharp as she knelt down in front of him. "Listen to my voice. This is real. We're real. We're here, okay? Can you do something for me? Can you focus on your surroundings? Can you name four things you can see?"

Stiles' eyes flew around the room. "T… Table. Couch. Fur. Fireplace."

There was lamb fur in front of a fireplace. It looked so comfortable. The thought was jarring.

Lydia smiled at him. "Okay, good. And three things that you can here?"

"Birds," Stiles blinked repeatedly. "Your voice. Peter growling."

His eyes found the Alpha who stood tensely close by, looking like he was holding himself back.

"You're doing great, sweetie. Can you tell me two things that you can feel?"

He pressed a hand down onto the wooden floor, the other holding his jacket. "Wood. Leather."

"Good," Lydia's smile grew. "One last one? Can you read something for me?"

She pointed over toward the book-shelf behind Peter and Stiles jerked when he saw the book-titles. Could read the books titles. Ten fingers. Words. This was real. He took a shaky breath.

"A Midsummer Night's Dream," Stiles whispered, eyes on the book in the shelf.

"Good," Lydia brushed a hand through his hair. "You're doing great. Do you feel better?"

Stiles shook his head. No. He felt like throwing up what little he had in his stomach. His eyes went back to Chris and Allison, who stood there, frozen in the spot, looking at him with horrified expressions. Of course they did. He was a monster. He killed her.

"I'm sorry," Stiles voice broke, pleading with them. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I-"

"None of that," Lydia grabbed his face firmly, redirecting his attention to her. "I have no idea what's going on in your head right now, but you are not slipping into another panic attack, do you hear me? You'll breath, slowly, and calm yourself down enough to articulate what's wrong."

Stiles curled together, making himself small as he sat on the floor. The pack started moving slowly, like they didn't mean to spook him, sitting down on the couches. Stiles saw the way Peter slipped a hand into Chris' and wrapped his other arm around Allison in comfort. A sparkle on their linked hands caught Stiles' attention. Wedding bands. His breath hitched. Oh, this so could not be real, not only should the Argents not be here, but the two men he'd been in love with were married? Last time he had seen them interact, they were barely keeping from ripping each other apart.

"I need…" Stiles took a shaky breath. "I need you to make this make sense, I need you to explain why A… Why they are here, how this… Why you're here. I need you to make this feel real. Because it's just overwhelming and bizarre and unreal to me and that frightens me."

"Right. He's the one who died but we have to explain ourselves first," Jackson snorted.

There was an accusation in his eyes too and Stiles knew it was a deserved accusation.

"Jackson," Isaac snarled, eyes flashing, while Erica and Malia were right behind him.

"What?" Jackson snarled right back. "He died! We were at his funeral! We cried over his fucking grave and he's just here, alive, and we have to explain first?"

"He's also the one with possession-induced PTSD," Kira spoke up gently. "And all of us being together, without him understanding how, is currently making him question if this is even real."

Stiles folded himself even smaller, legs drawn up against his chest. He wrapped his arms around his knees, turning his wrist over to read the sentence etched into his skin – This is real. You're awake, Mischief. Written in his mother's handwriting, pieced together from his mother's cook-books. His heart clenched at the thought that he had left them behind. He had them scanned, on his drive, but the physical books, they couldn't take them when they left Beacon Hills. He started shaking.

"When we left Beacon Hills," Peter's voice was even, forcibly even. "Me, Derek, Cora, Boyd and Erica, we left and came here, because of Jackson. Because he was a beta of the Hale Pack, even as he'd had to leave. We had no other place to go, so we followed Derek's first beta."

Stiles sucked his lower lip in, regarding the core Hale Pack and Jackson. "Okay."

"When we left Beacon Hills," Chris spoke up and Stiles instinctively flinched at his voice, causing Chris to hesitate for a moment before he continued. "We went to France for three weeks, more a vacation, really. But Isaac needed a pack, and I figured that he would be more stable, more happy, with his pack, so I spent our weeks in France tracking down the Hale Pack."

Stiles blinked repeatedly, looking at Isaac. Isaac, leaning against Boyd and Erica. The first three Hale Pack betas. Stiles knew how much Isaac had missed them. After the Hale Pack had left, Isaac crawled into Stiles' bedroom many nights, seeking solace, knowing that he couldn't talk to Scott about how much he missed the Hales, knowing Stiles missed them too. This made sense.

"Okay," Stiles nodded, not looking away from Isaac, not looking at the Argents.

"You died, Stiles," Lydia's voice wobbled. "We all thought you died and I called Jackson, I told him, I cried on the phone with him for hours, and they came. They came for the funeral. It was… tense, it nearly escalated into a fight with Scott's pack, but they came. And when I saw Jackson again, after all this time, when he held me while we stood at your grave, when I thought that… that you were gone forever, I didn't know what else was holding me in Beacon Hills. Allison, Jackson, they were both in London and you were dead and I had graduated early anyway, so I packed my bags and left so I could have my boyfriend and my best friend."

Stiles' lips quirked as he watched Lydia reach for Jackson's hand. He always knew those two would find each other again. A love that could defy a curse, how could it not withstand the distance.

"Lydia and you were like my favorite people in the pack, after Kira," Malia frowned. "And then you were dead and Lydia said she was leaving and I… You always told me that I should try and rekindle my relationship with my dad, it was… it was so important to you and it felt like… like something I could do that would make you proud, so I gave him a chance and went with them."

The tentative smile turned into a genuine, bright smile at that. He'd bugged her for months, wanting her to give Peter a chance, knowing that post-resurrection Peter was a better man. He also knew what it was like to lose family and he thought that she shouldn't miss out on the family she still had – the father and the two cousins that she never bothered to get to know.

"I stayed in Beacon Hills until I graduated," Kira tagged on. "And I eased my parents into the idea of me moving to London after graduation and, yeah, I… I followed Malia and Lydia and got to know the Hale Pack and then I joined it and now we're… now we're pack."

Okay. One by one, these made sense. Their reasoning made sense. Stiles took a shaky breath.

"This is really real? You're really all here in one room?" Stiles asked one last time.

"It is, sweetheart," Peter promised gently. "Will you tell us how you're alive now?"

Stiles went back to chewing his lip, hard. He wished he didn't have to. He'd tried so hard not to think about any of this for the past two years, pushing it down as far as he could. His eyes landed on Allison for just a moment before he quickly averted his gaze again.

"I think things between me and Scott had… had been crumbling for a long time, maybe since the bite," Stiles started softly, pulling himself closer together. "But something between us broke when I… when I killed Allison. He couldn't really look at me anymore, we stopped hanging out, and I can't blame him for it. I couldn't look at myself anymore."

"Stiles, you didn't kill me," Allison interrupted concerned. "I'm right here. I'm alive. Is… Is this something that the demon made you think? A nightmare?"

Stiles' face twisted into a grimace and he tried to make himself even smaller. "I killed you."

"No, you didn't," Chris' voice was firm and serious. "The demon stabbed Allison, but even it didn't kill her. Stiles, look at me. You did not kill Allison."

Stiles couldn't fight the command in the hunter's voice and he looked up at Chris, tears running down his cheeks. "I did. It stabbed her and it made me watch, a… and… and she died. When Lydia screamed that day, she… she didn't scream because someone might die, she screamed because Allison did die. She died in my arms and I was too late. I could fight for control but it was too late and Allison was dead and I killed her and it was my fault-"

"Allison isn't dead, sweetheart," Peter interrupted him firmly. "This was some trick from the demon. I'm sorry it made you see that, believe that, but…"

"No," Stiles shook his head frustrated. "She died but I couldn't let her stay dead. I used my Spark. I poured all of my magic into her to pull her soul back. It was… I… I think in the end, that's why we managed to exorcise the Nogitsune, because it had been feeding off my magic, but… I didn't have any magic left after that, there was nothing there to sustain it anymore."

"Y… You… I died? And you gave up your magic to bring me back?"

Stiles reluctantly turned toward Allison, tears staining his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I killed you, I didn't, I wasn't strong enough to stop it, I couldn't stop it, I'm sorry."

"You gave up your magic to save my life, Stiles," Allison's brows furrowed and she shook her head. "You have nothing to apologize for. What the demon did wasn't your fault, nobody blames you for what the Nogitsune did. But you chose to give your magic for me, I don't know how to thank you."

She threw herself at him, hugging him close and tight, burying her face in his neck as she also started crying, her body shaking with her sobs. Stiles just sat stiffly in her arms. Why didn't she hate him? He had killed her. She should hate him. That was why they had left, after all.

"W… Why are you hugging me," Stiles asked unsure. "You hate me. You should hate me. You left. Because I killed you. You left to get away from me."

There were surprised gasps, but all Stiles could do was look at Allison with fear and confusion. "Stiles, no… We didn't leave because of you. We left because this town killed everyone in our family. My aunt, my mom, my grandfather – they may not have been good people and they have brought it upon themselves, but they were still our family. And now this town nearly killed me. K… Killed me, apparently. Isaac was the same, he lost his mom, his brother, his father. We left to get away before this town could also kill us. That wasn't about you."

"I wanted to take you with us," Chris added reluctantly. "I wanted to get you out of this town too, after what it had done to you. But you had your dad, you had… Scott, his pack."

Stiles flinched, this time not because of Chris' voice but because of the mention of Scott. "Yeah, well… that didn't last. What happened, what I did as the Nogitsune, it… it drove a wedge between us. We drifted more and more apart, gradually… And I get it…"

"Is… Is that why you pulled away from me? From us?" Lydia asked softly. "Because you thought we blamed you for what happened with Allison? Or for Allison leaving?"

Stiles shrugged and frowned, not looking at her. The next moment, he had Lydia, Malia and Kira hugging him tightly from three sides, clinging onto him. He sat there still and overwhelmed.

"Is that why you… what exactly happened even?" Boyd asked with a frown. "What happened?"

"Theo…" Stiles frowned, checking the others' faces to see if they knew who he was talking about. "Theo got into Scott's head, he gained Scott's trust to a degree that… that Scott trusted him more than me. I kept trying to warn him, for months I tried to warn him."

"We know," Lydia heaved a sigh, furrowing her own brows in guilt. "I'm sorry. We didn't… He was very charming, we thought you were… you were in a fragile state of mind."

"Paranoid," Stiles offered, raising his eyebrows at her. "I was paranoid. It's just that I wasn't paranoid about that. That was real. And… And Scott's not the only one into whose head he got. It was like Theo knew exactly where my weaknesses laid. It was so easy to believe him because he didn't say anything I wasn't already fearing myself. That Allison and Chris left because of me, hated me for what I'd done, that you hated me for what I've done, that I should give up on trying to find the Hales because I'd just be a burden, I was suck a fucking mess I'd just be too much work for anyone, that… that it would have been better if you'd just taken the Nogitsune out instead of trying to save me because then so many people would still be alive, Aiden would still be alive, I wouldn't have killed Allison, everything would have been better if you'd just killed me."

There was a near painful silence in the room, all eyes so unbearably heavy as they stared at him. Pained expressions, aborted motions, mouths opening and closing, lost for words.

"Stiles, we would have never given up on you," Chris' voice was steady and honest. "We would have always tried to save you, letting you die was not an option and you can't think-"

"It's okay," Stiles heaved a sigh and leaned back, resting his head against the couch behind him. "I know that. Now. But I'm telling you what happened two years ago. I… I know now that that was the survivor's guilt and the way Theo was gaslighting me, twisting me up. I went to therapy, you know. When dad and I lived in Toronto, I started seeing a therapist. I'm… I'm good, I mean better. Generally I am better, I'm not always such a fucking mess like I am right now. This is just all… a whole damn lot of triggers at once, okay? But I am in a… better place, overall."

"Toronto," Cora repeated, staring at him.

"Right," Stiles ran a hand over his face. "So, yeah. Theo was really getting into my head, and into Scott's head, and I was… barely part of the pack anymore already by the time he sent Donovan to kill me and I… killed Donovan in self-defense. But… Scott didn't believe me. Scott believed Theo over me, loaded it over my head that in his pack, we don't kill and it was… it was so loaded. It wasn't just about Donovan. It was about killing Peter, about our fight over how we should have killed Gerard for good the first time around, about Allison and Aiden. We've been drifting apart for a long time and so did our morals. I've never had a problem with killing if it was necessary, because sometimes it is necessary, and he… hated that. Everything has always been black and white for him. But once you've been possessed by a millennia old chaos demon, you gain a much better understanding for all the shades of gray in the world. And I already had a good grasp on it before."

Stiles relaxed a little, stretching his legs out in front of himself and stuffing his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. "Donovan, when he was trying to kill me, talked about the way he was going to kill my dad and that's when I knew I had to get out. Because Theo sent Donovan. To intimidate me. If I didn't stop, Theo was going to have my dad killed and… most ikely, also get me killed. I… I didn't know what to do. Theo had effectively isolated me from pretty much everyone, Scott didn't trust me anymore, I thought you didn't trust me anymore, I had no means of contacting the Hale Pack, I… I didn't know what to do. I knew he wouldn't stop until we're dead, so… so we died. We faked out deaths and we left Beacon Hills."

Taking a shaky breath, Stiles relaxed a little more. "We made our way to Canada, very… very… slowly. I mean, we had to leave everything behind, so nobody would suspect we left. No money, no car, nothing but the clothes on our backs. So we hitchhiked, we walked, we… worked every odd job we could to make enough money to stay in motels. We stayed in some towns for a couple weeks, saving up, until we could finally afford a car. Shitty car that barely made it to Toronto."

Stiles was aware that he'd snuggled more into his jacket when talking about the clothes on their backs, he was also aware of the way Peter was watching him. "We lived in Toronto for the longest. Before we came here, to London. I've… I've only been doing odd jobs, waiting tables, customer service, grocery stores, anything I could get. That and, well, healing, I guess. Therapy and all that."

Heaving a sigh, Stiles tilted his head forward to look at Peter. "I didn't expect it to be you. The name caught my eye when I was looking for a job and it… made me feel nostalgic. But even when I read your first name, I still… I figured it was a coincident. What were the chances, after all. I didn't think you left the US, much less that you'd end up in England."

Sitting up, Stiles started tapping his fingers against his knee, a small grin spreading over his lips. "Guess it wasn't a coincident at all. While we were living in Toronto, when I… finally got to breath again without jumping at every sound I heard… When therapy started showing some effect, my Spark started… returning. Really weak, but I could feel it again for the first time."

Allison gasped softly and there were gentle and excited looks on the others' faces. Stiles rested a hand against his chest, like he was physically trying to grasp his Spark. He could feel it pulse.

"That's why we left Toronto," Stiles continued. "Because my Spark was pulling me to London. And now, I think, that my Spark's what drew me to that ad and made me go to that job interview."

"Are you saying your Spark likes me?" Peter offered a playful grin.

Stiles blinked at him with curious eyes. "Of course it does. It first ignited when I was part of the Hale Pack. My magic is inherently linked to your pack, so it was pulling me here."

"Oh," Peter swallowed and looked at him wondrously. "That… I didn't know that."

A shrug, and then Stiles averted his eyes again. "There's an interplay between the Nemeton, the Spark and the pack. I guess… Beacon Hills is now fully fucked, the Nemeton was already dying, the pack left and now its Spark left too… But yeah. The Hale Pack is the rightful pack of Beacon Hills and I'm the rightful Spark of Beacon Hills, so… we are tethered together."

Silence fell between them as everyone let things sink in. That was a lot to digest, on both sides. Stiles yawned and arched his back, causing it to crack in multiple places. This had been draining. His phone rang, the sound immensely loud in the silence of the farm house. Yelping, Stiles dug his phone out and accepted his dad's call and shit how much time had passed?

"Stiles," his dad sounded frantic. "Your job interview should have ended two hours ago, but I just got home and you're not here, it doesn't look like you were here at all and you didn't leave a note, please tell me you're just out somewhere celebrating your new job and you forgot to text me, because if something happened, if someone found you-"

"Dad, dad, slow down!" Stiles hunched over, wide-eyed. "I'm fine. I'm sorry. I'm fine. Nothing happened, nobody found me. Mischief's honor."

He could hear the relieved shutter of his dad's breath. It was their code. Mischief's honor, to make sure Stiles wasn't under duress and forced to lie. Stiles took a slow breath himself.

"Where are you, kiddo? When will you be home?"

"I… uh…" Stiles blinked doe-eyed, looking around the tense pack. "I kinda… ran into some friends. I don't know when I'll be home. I'll text you before I leave, I promise. I'm sorry I worried you, I didn't mean to worry you. Kocham cię, tatusiu." [Polish translation: I love you, dad.]

That also relaxed his dad some. It always did. He knew Stiles was safe if he was comfortable speaking Polish. They had too many contingencies and codes. Paranoia still had its hold on them.

"I love you too, kiddo," John sighed. "Tell me how the job interview went, before we hang up?"

"Uhm…" Stiles tilted his head. "Honestly, I have no idea. My potential boss kinda threatened tearing out my throat and then kidnapped me, so mixed vibes?"

"Stiles," his dad barked out in distress. "Are you trying to kill me, son?"

"I'm sorry," Stiles laughed, loud and genuine. "I could not resist. Remember when I said it was a weird coincident that the guy's name was Peter Hale? Yeah, that was not a coincident. I'm with the Hales right now. The threatening was, uh, well, I mean he thought I was dead."

Silence and he could just imagine his dad rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Peter Hale? As in, Derek Hale's uncle? The guy who got us into this whole damn mess by turning Scott?"

"My apologies for that, sheriff," Peter called out loudly. "I spend every day regretting it."

Another beat of silence. "And you're really okay, kiddo?"

"Yeah," Stiles smiled, a real smile. "I promise. I'll text before I head back home. Mischief's honor."

The call disconnected and Stiles pocketed his phone again. The pack was looking at each other, having silent conversations with just looks. Derek and Peter did a full eyebrow conversation and fuck, Stiles had missed that. The Hale eyebrows. He couldn't help but smile.

"What are you guys doing here?" Stiles asked after another moment. "I mean, actually doing. Peter is a lawyer. But what about you all…? How… How have your lives been?"

"I am on my way to becoming a lawyer," Lydia smiled like a shark. "And my future father-in-law and my Alpha are fighting over who gets me in their firm."

Peter grumbled at that, glaring. "David can fuck right off. I'm your Alpha."

"Me and Boyd opened a café together," Kira smiled brightly. "Did you know that Boyd is a brilliant baker, actually? You have to come by some time, on the house!"

"Yeah?" Stiles grinned, looking between them. "What's it called."

Silence, awkward silence, before Boyd cleared his throat. "It's called Stiles' Sweets."

At that, Stiles actually had to blink some tears away. "Oh. I… Well, then I have to come by."

"I work there too, mostly waiting tables, barista work," Erica piped in before the atmosphere dropped. "No interest in being the boss, but having a lot of fun with the menu."

"You are a menace and should not be allowed near food," Allison pointed out dryly.

Erica flipped her off and threw a pillow at her, causing Allison to laugh and oh. They were friends now. Pack. This was new and strange to Stiles, but he still felt warm at it. At some of his favorite people actually getting along, being friends.

"I'm going to college," Malia straightened, looking proud.

"You are?" Stiles brightened and reached out to nudge her. "I'm so proud of you, I always knew you had it in you, girl. I'm sure you're rocking it."

Malia practically preened at his words, making Stiles smile even more. Allison smiled at him.

"I'm also going to college, I'm a business major. I want to open a store, for outdoors activities like archery and hunting. The Silver Arrow, it's gonna be named," Allison replied.

"We," Isaac pointed at himself, Derek, Cora, Jackson and Chris. "Work at the farm."

"So this isn't just a gig for more space to roam free? It's an actual farm?"

"Yeah," Derek grunted, proud look on his face. "We grow apples, we sell our chickens' eggs and our vegetables at farmers' markets in the city."

"That's awesome," Stiles grinned at him.

"How about food?" Cora suggested after a moment. "It's getting late."

There was an awkward pause in which Stiles didn't really know if he should excuse himself, before Erica and Malia wrapped their arms around him from either side and maneuvered him up and toward the very spacious, very beautiful kitchen. Guess he was staying for dinner.

"If you think we're letting you go again, you are mistaken," Erica whispered, nudging him. "We should have chloroformed and kidnapped you back when we left."

"You're so loving and kind, I feel so cherished," Stiles rolled his eyes.

"She isn't wrong," Peter spoke behind him, face and voice serious, his eyes filled with regret. "I should have insisted. I shouldn't have waited, I shouldn't have left you behind."

The rest of the pack started fussing around the kitchen, getting ingredients and pots and pans out and preparing dinner in what was clearly a daily routine. Stiles turned around to face the Alpha. Peter's arms were crossed over his face, a deep frown aimed at him.

"I would have resented you for it," Stiles replied honestly. "I had so much faith in Scott, so much loyalty toward him. And I had my dad and… and mom's… grave. I would have resented you if you'd tried to force me to leave back then. You did the right thing, Peter. You and your pack got out when you had to and you… promised me a chance. It's just that… it never came to that."

Stiles blinked back tears, swallowing a lump in his throat. "I wanted to wait, I endured it as long as I could, I… I kept hoping that you would come. But… I couldn't. I had to get out, I… don't think I would have survived until graduation. Either Theo would have killed me, or… well, or everything else would have killed me. I wasn't sleeping, I wasn't eating, I couldn't focus. I lost so much weight and I was… really losing my mind, I think my body would have given in before graduation."

It was harsh, but he knew it was the truth. Something clattered behind him and he didn't care to see the despair on the pack's faces. He kept his eyes on Peter's hand. The wedding band.

"We should have noticed," Lydia's voice was filled with pain and guilt.

"I did everything I could to cover it up," Stiles shrugged. "And I did pull away from you. I don't blame you for not rescuing me, Lydia. That wasn't your job. That was nobody's job. I had to rescue myself. And I think… I really do think that I needed to do that myself, because with the Nogitsune, I had all my agency taken from me. I needed to regain control. And I did."

"And we're proud of you for it," Chris spoke, keeping his voice soft.

Still trying not to spook him, which… fair enough, considering his earlier reactions. Stiles winced, rubbing his face. He turned around, away from Peter, so he could face Chris. Damn. That man aged like fine wine in the past two years, much more gray in his hair, fully owning the silver fox look. Broader shoulders, stronger arms, which made sense with the physical labor around the farm.

"I really thought you'd hate me," Stiles frowned at him. "But you… really didn't leave because of me, huh? I'm sorry. It was just… It was easier to believe that you hated me than to think you could forgive me, because I couldn't forgive myself and I… hated myself, for a long time. Maybe still hate myself a little bit, but considerably less than I did back then."

Chris heaved a sigh, a sad and devastated sound, as he stepped up to Stiles. "Can I hug you?"

That gave Stiles pause, but after a moment he gave a reluctant nod. He gasped softly when he was pulled into a broad, strong chest, arms tight around him. It took him a second to return the hug, but damn did this feel good. It also reawakened stupid, old feelings. Feelings that had grown after Peter and Derek had left, when Chris had become the sole adult voice near the McCall Pack. Still deeply in love with Allison, Scott had consulted Chris a lot, trying to show his respect for the man. And due to that, Stiles had worked together with Chris a lot, growing closer. Falling for the older man.

"We're all very proud of you, Stiles," Chris whispered, voice rough and breath hot against Stiles' neck. "For working through your trauma, for getting out all on your own. We're proud of you."

And just like that, Stiles started crying. Tears of relief and joy and confusion. And Chris simply held him, stroking his back through it until Stiles was calmed down again, and even after. Once Stiles regained his bearings, he gently tapped Chris' arm, at which the man reluctantly let him go.

"What about your fake name," Allison asked once things were calmed down. "The Stiliyan, because you could nickname it to Stiles. Which… Which is why Peter picked you to get a job interview. When we were going through the applications, yours stood out because it made us think of, well, of you, and… that made Peter nostalgic. But what about your last name?"

"Mom's maiden name," Stiles grinned weakly. "Not the best kind of fake name, I know, I know, but… but I had to sacrifice Roscoe and we had to leave the place where she is buried and… we wanted to take a part of her with us. Our first names are fake, we figured that'd be enough."

Chris rested a hand on his shoulder, gently guiding Stiles to sit at the very large dining table. Cora and Kira were setting the table, while Derek was filling wine glasses. Peter took a seat to one side of Stiles, sitting close. Close enough that Stiles could feel the heat radiating off the wolf. There was a tenseness to his body, like the Alpha was holding back something.

"You can scent-mark me if you want," Stiles offered after a moment.

Peter startled, looking like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Are you sure?"

"I can see how much you want to," Stiles huffed amused. "It's… been a while since I had a wolf want to scent-mark me last, but if you want to, you can."

The tension seeped out of Peter as he reached out, running a hand through Stiles' hair, down his arm, resting it in his neck. Damn, Peter was not being subtle or short. Apparently, the Alpha really had the urge to scent mark him. That should not make Stiles feel as pleased as it did. He really thought he had gotten over his infatuation with Peter, back when he started falling for Chris, or at least in Toronto, when he had been with a girl, who had been so sweet.

"I really hope you're not limiting that offer to Peter," Chris chuckled, motioning at the counters and stove. "Because the betas look ready to burst and if you deny them they just might."

Stiles followed the motion with his eyes, noticing how Derek, Cora, Malia, Boyd, Erica, Isaac and even Jackson were looking at him like he was the juiciest steak they could imagine. It made Stiles grin, his heart skipping a beat and a warmth unfurling in his chest.

"How about this, after dinner, we have a big puppy pile and everybody gets to scent the Stiles however much they want?" Stiles offered amused. "But after dinner, because I am actually starving. I haven't eaten all day, I was way too nervous this morning and we kind… missed lunch."

Peter growled lowly and Chris grunted displeased and Stiles looked between them startled. What?

"You shouldn't skip meals, Stiles," Peter glared at him.

Stiles rolled his eyes at that. "Yeah, believe me, I know. Took me long enough to regain the weight I lost over the Nogitsune. I didn't mean to skip breakfast, but I have a system. I carry cereal bars with me and I do… I rather skip a meal when I know my nerves are just going to make me throw up. So, the plan was to get through the job interview, eat my cereal bars and then have lunch somewhere. Didn't get around to steps two and three there due to the minor kidnapping happening."

To his amusement and surprise did Peter actually look guilty at that. How adorable. Leaning closer, Stiles bumped shoulders with Peter, trying to ease some tension. This was going to take some getting used to. For too long, his dad had been the only one to care about him. Now, there seemed to be people in his life again who cared about him and judging by the way they were all looking at him, they were not going to let him slip away again.

/break\

Chris grunted as he hefted a crate of apples up. He turned around with it, rolling his eyes when he saw Allison, Lydia and Kira all sitting together and watching them. Lydia's eyes were glued to Jackson, delighted to see her fiance do physical labor, while Kira was more subtle in sneaking glances at Malia, flushing every time she felt like she got caught. Allison grinned at her dad, waving. Her and Lydia were technically doing school work and Kira was working on the work schedule for her café. Meanwhile, Erica, Boyd and Malia were helping out at the farm right now. They always did when it was time for harvest, because in the end, it was their family business.

Chris took a deep breath. That still felt good to think. That he had a family again. Not just through his husband, with their daughters. But being the Alpha Mate, he had developed a whole different kind of appreciation for a wolf pack, unlike how he had felt toward the McCall Pack. These betas? They were his betas, they were his family. They'd helped him recover.

"Stiles texted," Lydia called out delighted.

It made Chris snort, the way all betas immediately perked up. Ever since Peter had run into Stiles last week and a half, they were all pretty much obsessed with the boy. At least two betas managed to see Stiles every day, they had lured the boy back to the farm once already for dinner, Stiles had gone to have lunch three times at Stiles' Sweets over this past week. Quite frankly, Chris was impressed by their self-control. Every night, Chris had to fight Peter on how much the Alpha wanted to go and just drag Stiles into their den and not let him leave. Last time Stiles was over for dinner, on Saturday, the Alpha – and his betas too – hadn't wanted to let the boy go again.

"Well, don't keep us in suspense," Jackson growled, nuzzling her neck.

Partially to be close to his mate, partially to look over her shoulder at her phone. It made Chris chuckle, the way the betas were practically circling Lydia, waiting for more information.

"He said that him and his dad would love to come over for dinner on Friday."

"Yes," Erica actually fist-bumped the air.

"At which part do we show him his bedroom and then just lock him into it?" Malia asked.

"No," Allison gave her step-sister a glare. "We are not doing that, Mal. We talked about it."

"We did," Malia nodded. "And I still don't agree with your point of view. The whole pack lives in this house. But Stiles has only been over twice. I only saw him four times in the past ten days, that's just not enough. That's wrong. He needs to be here."

Erica, Boyd, Isaac and Cora sat down in front of them on the ground, with Erica leaning against her mate and putting her feet into Cora's lap. Boyd's fingers gently carded through Erica's curls.

"And we all agree with you on that, Mals," Erica assured her, heaving a long-suffering sigh. "I just want to hug him and never let go, now that we know he's alive. It's like I'm afraid that it was just a nice dream after all, every time he leaves again, that we won't get to see him again."

"But," Kira redirected, pressing a soothing kiss to Malia's cheek. "Stiles has been through a lot and we don't want to push him. We want to ease him into this, into joining our pack."

Shaking his head, Chris walked past the betas, leaving them to their debate – a debate Chris has had with both Malia and Peter repeatedly over the past week, father and daughter very much agreed on their preferred method of keeping Stiles. Inside the house, he found his husband, sitting in the living room on the fur in front of the fireplace, his laptop on his thighs. He wasn't working though, he was very clearly listening in on the betas' debate outside.

"Babe," Chris grunted, sitting down next to Peter and wrapping his arms around the Alpha's waist. "No, we are not kidnapping Stiles and keeping him."

A grumble that had no right to be as cute as it was came from the wolf. "You are no fun, Christopher. He is alive. He is here. He should be ours."

Not like Chris could argue that. Losing Stiles was what had driven the two of them together. They'd cried and screamed and fought – physically fought – blaming each other for not getting their boy out of there. Heated kisses with more biting than tenderness had followed. Rough sex that was more hate sex than genuine passion for each other. Over the following months, that hate sex turned into something filled with love, as the two held each other through the loss. They both had been in love with Stiles, still were, a traitorous part of Chris' brain supplied, and they had lost him. That loss had made Chris and Peter who they were now, had brought them together.

"I love you, Christopher," Peter spoke fiercely, pressing a kiss to his temple. "I can see your thoughts on your face and him being alive does not change anything between us."

The smallest smile played on Chris' lips as he nodded. "Okay. But it does change something, doesn't it? Seeing him again, seeing him alive, having him in our home, with our pack…"

"It does," Peter admitted, leaning back against Chris' chest. "But I'm… As selfish as I may be, I don't need him to be mine, I just need him to be back in my life."

"Not need, but want?" Chris asked, a small, teasing smile on his lips.

He nuzzled Peter's neck, the Alpha shuddering in his arms. "Of course."

Of course. Chris chuckled, relaxing against his husband. Of course.

/break\

Stiles was eager as they drove onto the farm. Giddy. Coming here, even though this was only the third time he was actually at the farm, felt like coming home. It shouldn't and the intensity of it was near scary to Stiles, but oh it did. Ever since Peter had kidnapped him to the farm for the first time, not a day had passed without him interacting with someone from the pack. They'd gotten his number, during their puppy pile after dinner, and they texted him daily. They put him into their pack group chat and Stiles tried not to see any implications in that.

Stiles' Sweets was beautiful, Kira's touch was all over the place and the food Boyd made was delicious and Erica, whenever not busy with a customer, would be so stupidly cute with Boyd. Her hair was shorter than it used to be, while Boyd actually had hair now, wearing it in chin-long twists, stubble dusting his strong jawline. They'd grown up. And they were happy. Not just with each other, though they were so clearly so deeply in love and Stiles just knew that Boyd was hiding an engagement ring somewhere, waiting for the perfect time, but they were also happy where they were. With their business, their pack, the place in their life.

And Kira! Kira had gained so much confidence, she loved her business so much and if possible, she had become even more badass. On Tuesday, Stiles, Kira and Lydia had taken out a ghoul together and it had felt exhilarating. For so long, he'd avoided all supernatural threats, fearing that it would just trigger him. But with his friends at his side? It was exciting.

He'd gone to the university library with Allison, Malia and Lydia and he might have fallen a little in love with that library. It was so big, so many books, urgh. Knowledge. He hadn't even realized how much he missed absorbing knowledge. He never stopped his research binges, but they were random, unfocused. This? This reminded him just how much he loved it, missed it.

Lydia, Erica, Cora and Allison were so busy planning Lydia and Jackson's wedding and they'd shown him all the folders and plans on Thursday. Her dress, the venue, the cake. Every little detail meticulously planned because of course it was, this was Lydia Martin's wedding, after all.

He'd started talking to Jackson. Three days after his first visit at the farm, Jackson had called him. For a bunch of minutes, they simply shared silence. Before Jackson started talking. About the kanima, what that had been like and oh. For the first time, Stiles could talk to someone who understood. At the very least understood what it was like to have your body controlled by someone else, used to murder innocent people. Something in his chest eased at that. They'd been texting daily about the kanima and the Nogitsune since then and over the course of a week, Stiles started to feel such a close kinship with Jackson in a way he never expected.

Isaac and Derek bullied him into helping them on the farm, during his second visit. But it was actually fun. The three of them played around and he got to see them both laugh freely in a way he never had seen back in Beacon Hills. It made him realize just how much things had changed.

The toughest were Chris and Peter though. They had taken Stiles out to lunch four times, to dinner twice. Never together though. They hadn't brought up their marriage yet either. And it was impossibly confusing, because every time he went out with one of them, it felt like a date. Maybe that was just his hopeful mind, clouded by old feelings that came back with a vengeance.

"You're going to love it, dad," Stiles grinned as him and his dad got out of their car.

John looked skeptical, even as he surveyed the farm. "It looks gorgeous."

The grin on Stiles' lips widened. The two of them headed for the main house and even before Stiles could knock, Isaac opened the door. The blonde puppy grinned and immediately went to nuzzle Stiles, scent-marking him. Stiles hadn't realized how much he missed the casual affections of pack, but he relished how affectionate the pack was with him. Isaac grabbed his hand and dragged him into the kitchen, where the dinner table was already set and half the pack was comfortable while the other half was working on dinner. Stiles barely got through the door before the pups lounging about got up to scent-mark him, Boyd and Jackson shoving each other to get Stiles first.

"Stop fighting," Stiles laughed. "There is enough Stiles to go around for everyone."

"We wouldn't have to fight over it if you would just live here and we could scent-mark you every day," Malia growled displeased, rubbing her chin against his.

Stiles stilled between them, even more so when Peter growled low in warning at his daughter. Stiles didn't know what that meant. He really tried not reading anything negative into that growl, like Peter not wanting him in the pack. Thankfully, his dad noticed the tension and cleared his throat.

"My son's not the only guest you're having, you know."

"Sheriff," Chris forced a polite smile, reaching a hand out.

"Not the sheriff anymore," a thin smile on his dad's lips. "Mister Argent."

"Chris," Chris corrected. "First names, if you don't mind? Noah."

"John," his dad corrected bemused. "I got… very used to the name over the past years."

"John," Chris nodded, shaking hands with John. "Welcome to our home."

Stiles let himself be pulled down onto Jackson's lap, the former kanima resting his chin on Stiles' shoulder. If someone had told him five years ago, he would ever willingly sit on Jackson Whittemore's lap – well, okay actually he would have on account of his giant bisexual crush on the jerk, but still, the point stood. He grinned as he leaned against Jackson and reached out to run a hand over Cora's arm, scent-marking the youngest Hale.

"I made apple crumble for desert," Boyd noted. "You said you liked that when you were at the café earlier this week and we just harvested fresh apples yesterday."

Stiles perked up delighted. "Erica, you need to lock that down or else I will propose to him."

Boyd flustered and laughed. Hah. Stiles just knew the big guy was hiding an engagement ring somewhere. If he got a chance, he would be snooping around the house to find it. He smiled softly as he relaxed into the pack. It was so easy to feel comfortable and at home with them.

/break\

John heaved a deep sigh, his hands wrapped around his mug of coffee. He'd been up since five AM even though it was a Saturday and his day off. However, yesterday was still laying heavy in his stomach. Seeing Stiles with the Hale Pack was the first time in years – even before they'd left Beacon Hills – that he saw his son genuinely happy. Smiling in a way that lit up his eyes. The ease with which Stiles interacted with them too, the casual touches and caresses and straight up cuddling. He sat in Jackson Whittemore's lap for ten minutes before dinner and spent dinner pressed up against Derek Hale. After dinner, when everyone went to the living room for the apple crumble (the best damn apple crumble John had ever eaten in his life), Stiles had practically been passed around between the pack, the spots to his left and right changing people every five minutes. By the time the night ended, Stiles was on the floor in front of the couch, Peter and Chris on either side of him, their legs pressing up against his arms and he looked so content.

"Da—ad," Stiles drawled the word out when he entered the kitchen. "Is something wrong?"

"Sit down, son," John motioned at the other chair. "I think we need to talk."

They only had two chairs in their kitchen, because there was never another person. Stiles hadn't made friends since they got here, much less shown romantic interest in anyone. It had been just the two of them for too long now and yesterday had reminded him that it shouldn't be that way.

"What's wrong?" Stiles asked, looking tense now.

"Malia spoke about wanting to keep you at the farm yesterday," John spoke slowly. "I saw the look on your face, even while you were trying to hide it from them. That was… pure longing. You wanna live with them, don't you? I haven't seen you this happy in far too long."

"I…" Stiles wavered slightly. "I don't know. To be honest, I'm just… really overwhelmed by it all. I spent too long thinking that at least half them actively hated me. I didn't think I would ever see any of them again. I'm still… I'm still working my way through that? Learning to accept that they do want me in their lives, that they don't blame me for what the Nogitsune did?"

John's face twisted and he refrained from commenting on that. He'd spent too long trying to reassure his boy that it wasn't his fault, but Stiles accused him of parental bias. Maybe they could convince him. Hopefully they could convince him.

"Tell me what you're thinking, then," John prompted.

"I need more time," Stiles' eyes were sharp, thoughtful. "I… I think I do want to… I love the farm already, I love being with them. But I need more time with some distance to actually deal with this and with all these… feelings that they've stirred me. All the guilt and pain and… and love. Yeah. I can't deal with that if I were already living with them, but… I do think that's where it's headed."

"Okay," John nodded. "You'll tell me, when you realize you're ready?"

"Yeah," Stiles offered a small smile.

"Can we talk about the two middle-aged men you kept gravitating toward?"

Stiles stilled, looking at him like a deer caught in the headlights. "I don't know what you mean, I have been gravitating toward everyone equally yesterday, I literally sat in Jackson's lap and in Malia's and I was laying draped over Cora and Isaac."

"Mhmh," John pursed his lips, crossing his arms and leaning back. "None of them made you blush though. When you were sitting between Peter and Chris though, you looked… serene. And you did tell me about your feelings on them, don't think I forgot."

The past two years had brought them so close, they'd shared things with each other they may never have shared back in Beacon Hills. At one point, Stiles had opened up about his sexuality, about being bisexual, about how his dad's dismissal all those years ago had hurt him, about his feelings for Peter Hale and Chris Argent. Stiles had promised his dad that nothing had ever happened with either of the men, but that he had had feelings for them both. That Peter leaving had broken his heart and that Chris leaving had broken his heart all over again. That was the important part, the part he'd wanted to share with his dad. Loss, but in a different way.

"They're married," Stiles pointed out, looking at the table. "To each other."

"That's not an answer to my question," John pointed out, eyebrows raised.

"But it is," Stiles shrugged, raising his eyes to meet John's. "They're married to each other, I don't know, maybe if I had run into just Peter and the Hales, I would have… I might have tried my luck? I mean, I'm twenty, I'm a legal adult very much capable of making my own decisions. But Peter and Chris are married, so there's nothing there to pursue. I'm not a home-wrecker, dad."

"Would never accuse you of that, kiddo," John chuckled, shaking his head. "Forget it."

He wasn't going to push, not if Stiles couldn't see it himself. His son said he needed to digest all the feelings and memories that this had stirred in him, so John didn't want to rush Stiles. His boy was clever, sooner or later Stiles was going to notice the way Chris and Peter looked at him.

/break\

Tension in the Hale Pack was growing with every passing day. Peter was acutely aware of that, as the Alpha, but he also knew there was nothing he could do (regardless of how often Malia suggested to just keep Stiles). The betas kept seeking out Stiles more and more.

"You can not walk in there without an appointment, Mister Hale is very busy-"

Peter raised an eyebrow at the high voice of his new secretary. The door to his office opened and Stiles walked in like he owned the place, followed by said new secretary.

"It's fine, he can stay," Peter dismissed her. "Hello, Stiles."

Stiles grinned broadly and walked over to the desk, even as the secretary huffed and closed the door. Part of Peter had wanted to hire Stiles, just to have the boy close. The other part of him knew that he couldn't employ Stiles, that wasn't going to work out for him. Too distracting.

The boy climbed onto the desk, sitting there like it was the most natural thing in the world, his feet on Peter's chair, on either side of his lap, his knees temptingly apart. Peter raised an eyebrow at the cheeky Spark, but he wasn't one to miss an opportunity. He leaned forward, crossing his arms on Stiles' thighs, getting comfortable, hands resting on those tempting thighs.

"What can I do for you, Bambi?" Peter asked, looking up into those big doe-eyes.

"You can reign your puppies in," Stiles frowned, looking actually annoyed. "I am about one puppy away from losing my job. I like hanging out with the pack, breakfast, lunch dinner, meeting the girls on campus, going shopping, what have you. But lately, they've been loitering around at my place of employment. And that would be fine, if they were just there, eating and spending time there. But they keep trying to talk to me and my boss really doesn't like that while I'm on the clock. So. I need you to Alpha up and reign your puppies in before I lose my job."

Peter frowned displeased at that. "I will talk to them. But I can't make promises."

"You're the Alpha," Stiles snorted, motioning at Peter. "Do the sexy red eyes flashing and a bit of growling and tell them to stop costing me my job! My dad and I kinda need the money to afford the apartment, you know. Living in London is fucking expensive."

"You find the Alpha eyes sexy?" Peter raised one eyebrow, smirking immensely pleased.

A blush spread over Stiles' cheeks in a tantalizing manner while the boy rolled his eyes. "Not the point. You're the Alpha. Be a proper Alpha and make sure your pack behaves."

The leisure touch on Stiles' thighs tightened, squeezing just a little. Peter was startled by the moan it earned him, making him stare up at the Spark in stunned silence.

"I have sensitive inner thighs so if you could not squeeze them," Stiles muttered embarrassed.

Peter blinked at him, eyes red, but he removed his hands from Stiles. "I apologize."

He swallowed hard, the sweet, intoxicating scent of Stiles' arousal heavy in the air, especially considering Peter's place between Stiles' knees. Clearing his throat, Peter pushed his chair off and got up. Putting some physical distance between himself and Stiles.

"I can try to talk to them, but you must realize that even I can't make them go against their instincts," Peter raised his eyebrows at Stiles. "The entire pack lives together, spends their time in our shared space that smells like all of us. They only get to see you every other day. Their instincts don't like that, don't like not knowing where you are and if you're safe. You also keep gathering smells of other people, other places, and they get to scent you too infrequently for their liking."

He could hear the jump of Stiles' heartbeat. Peter stood beside his large bookshelf, watching his boy. Stiles furrowed his brows and drew his legs up, now sitting cross-legged on the desk. Still acting like he owned the damn place and it should not please Peter that much.

"So it's time we have this conversation, huh," Stiles whispered to himself.

He was fidgeting with his fingers and then looking at Peter. Expectantly. Peter raised an eyebrow.

"What conversation are we talking about here, Stiles?"

Stiles tilted his head. "The one you promised we'd have at my graduation."

It was Peter's turn to feel his heart jump in his chest. "Are you sure? I don't want you to feel pressured into it by my pack being… pushy."

A small smile spread over Stiles' lips and he shook his head. "I wanted to have this conversation since before I left Beacon Hills. I… did need some time, to myself, after I ran into you. But it's been a couple weeks now and I've talked things through with my therapist. I feel more… settled."

That made Peter nod slowly. "Stiles, I want you to be a part of my pack. Will you join?"

The way Stiles was beaming at him nearly took Peter's breath away and then the Spark bared his neck to him. "Yes, Alpha. I want to join your pack."

Peter was on him in less than a second, sinking blunt human teeth into that pale neck, biting him. Claiming him as Hale Pack. Peter breathed out hard through his nose as he felt the pack-bond with Stiles snap into place. It was so bright and so warm and a beautiful turquoise color.

"Fuck," Stiles gasped, collapsing forward against Peter, clinging onto him. "Holy shit."

"It's okay," Peter wrapped his arms around Stiles. "Just breath. I know it can be overwhelming."

To Peter, the one new pack-bond was intense, but for Stiles? Twelve new pack-bonds were either snapping into place or reigniting where they had been severed before. Stiles started shaking in his arms, sobbing into his chest. Peter gently caressed his back until the Spark calmed down some.

"I missed them," Stiles' breathing was still labored. "Derek and Boyd and Erica, it's been so long. Isaac and Allison and Lydia and Malia and Kira, I… I missed them… I missed them, I was so cold, Peter, I didn't realize it was because I was missing this warmth, I didn't…"

Stiles continued babbling on and Peter simply held him, kissing the top of his head. It took Stiles nearly half an hour to properly calm down and Peter had to send his new secretary away with a withering glare at one point, his appointments be damned. His new pack-mate was more important.

"That… was fucking intense," Stiles tilted his head, resting his cheek against Peter's chest.

"You know that you and your father wouldn't have to worry about the money for your apartment if you were to move to the farm," Peter offered after a moment. "Pack takes care of pack."

"My dad too?" Stiles looked up at Peter, unsure.

"Your father is more than welcome to be a part of this pack, if he wants to be, and to live at the den. Why don't you go and talk to him about this and then tell me what you decide, mh? Though… do expect to be smothered by the betas most likely as soon as you step out of this office."

"Oh yeah, I am bracing for that," Stiles snorted amused, rubbing at his chest. "I can… feel their excitement. Good thing I don't have any plans for the rest of the day."

/break\

Chris was in the orchards when Stiles found him, a day after the boy had joined the pack. The pack-bond had hit Chris like a brick-wall, to be able to feel Stiles in his soul was more overwhelming than with any of the betas. Peter had been so ecstatic when he got home last night, kissing Chris until the former hunter was breathless and then Peter started talking about sensitive thighs and things escalated into much more than just kissing.

"Can we talk, Chris?" Stiles asked when he approached the former hunter.

"Sure," Chris grunted, putting his crate down and turning toward the house.

Stiles grabbed his upper arm, shaking his head. "Not… where the nosy puppies are. C'mon."

Raising one eyebrow, Chris let Stiles lead him deeper into the apple orchard. Along the way, Stiles stole an apple from a branch, throwing it a couple times before taking a bite. Chris wondered what this was going to be about. Peter said that Stiles and his dad were going to talk about moving to the farm, but this wasn't something Stiles would share only with Chris, was it?

"I don't know how to do this in a non-awkward way, so…"

Stiles trailed off and then grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it off over his head. Chris froze, his brain going into all kind of dirty directions of pinning Stiles against the nearest tree and doing all the things him and Peter whispered about in their bed at night. And then his eyes landed on Stiles' chest, on the tattoo over the boy's heart. An arrow-head, and above and beneath it, We protect those who cannot protect themselves. Chris didn't know what to do with that, aside from being oddly turned on by seeing his family motto and a representation of himself on Stiles' chest.

"Ye—eah," Stiles cleared his throat awkwardly, scratching his neck. "I felt like we should talk about this first, before I move to the farm and it comes up unexpectedly because I'm eating breakfast in my boxers and you walk in. I, uh… I got it, after we left Beacon Hills. As a reminder of Allison, of… killing her. Sacrificing for her. Maybe partially to punish myself, but also to remind me of what I had overcome. But I realize it's… I figured you should know."

Chris swallowed hard, nodding. This was going to haunt him for months to come. He wanted to lick it. He needed to show it to Peter, oh this was going to drive the Alpha wild with jealousy. Thinking about it, Chris could imagine Peter taking a sharpie to Stiles to draw the triskele on him. The thought inexplicably made Chris laugh out loud, startling Stiles.

"Okay, not the reaction I was expecting," Stiles raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry," Chris chuckled and shook his head. "I just imagined Peter's reaction."

"Well, considering it made you laugh, I am hopeful it won't include him possessively ripping my throat out for having his husband's family motto on my chest," Stiles quipped.

Chris sobered up a little bit, clearing his throat. "No, it's more likely to make him use a sharpie and draw the triskele on you to make it even. He's a bit possessive."

Confusion passed over Stiles' face. "Yeah, hence the ripping throat out?"

"Of you," Chris corrected with gentle eyes. "He's a bit possessive of you, Stiles. Always has been."

"W… What," Stiles stared at him with those pretty, large doe-eyes.

"Damn, Peter's right you really are Bambi," Chris muttered beneath his breath. "Listen, you just said you want to move to the farm. And I think that there is something that you deserve to know before you move into a house with me and Peter. We have both been in love with you… longer than we've been in love with each other. I know you've been wondering on how we got together and we've so far ignored your curiosity, but you should know before you move in with us. We got together over our shared grief for you, because we were both in love with you. Still are."

Stiles stared up at him with even wider eyes – how was that physically possible? Even without being a werewolf, Chris could tell that Stiles' heart was doing overtime. He offered the boy a small, albeit sad smile before he took a step back, away from Stiles.

"I'll get back to my work. I didn't mean to overwhelm you," Chris offered softly. "I just wanted you to know, so you can make an informed decision. If this makes you uncomfortable, you and your father would still be pack even if you don't live at the farm with us, Stiles. All we want is have you in our life, that would be enough for us. Both of us."

/break\

"I just fucking froze," Stiles groaned, tilting his head back. "He told me that him and Peter were in love with me and I just froze and gaped at him like a stupid fish, dad! Ouch!"

John grunted, an amused look on his face. "I still think that this is an extreme reaction, son."

Stiles turned to throw his dad a deep glare. "You know me! I work in extremes. Ouch."

Another grunt and a shake of his head. John did appreciate that his boy trusted him and confided in him. That he'd decided to take John with him here. Though then John had been there for each one. He reached out for Stiles' hand, taking it. Running his thumb over the tattoo on his wrist.

"And you're really okay with it?" Stiles asked in a small voice. "All of it, I mean? Living with them, both of us living with them, and me… maybe… being with them? You're okay with it?"

"Stiles," John heaved a sigh. "I love you, kiddo. With all my heart. All I want is for you to be happy. And ever since they got back into your life, you have been… so much brighter than in years. If they can make you happy, I will not judge. But if they ever hurt you, I will hunt them down."

A broad grin spread over Stiles' lips as he looked at his dad. "I wouldn't expect any less."

/break\

Stiles was giddy and excited and nervous when he carried a box of his belongings into the farm house. The rest of his pack – his pack – was carrying the rest of his and his dad's stuff inside. While they were laughing among themselves, talking and busy with their task at hand, Stiles wandered upstairs in search of their Alphas. He might have been impulsive, after Chris' confession yesterday, but he'd been in love with them for so many years. He hadn't spoken to Chris and Peter yet, too busy packing the last of their belongings and also getting his surprise done. They let the lease run out, it didn't even matter to them, they could finally leave their apartment behind and move into a real home, filled with warmth and family and pack. And with the men Stiles loved.

He—ey," Stiles knocked on the master bedroom and then entered. "You guys hiding from me?"

"Well," Peter cleared his throat. "Christopher told me about your conversation and we… didn't want to pressure you into an answer of any kind. We're just glad you're here."

"Honestly, I didn't know what to say yesterday," Stiles admitted, flustered. "I've been dreaming about that for so long, it felt too unreal when it happened – unreal in a good way. I've been… I've been in love with you two for so stupidly long. Oh and, uhm, Chris gave me an idea yesterday and you know me, I am impulsive and all of that, but it felt fitting even in a broader sense I mean I am now Hale Pack, after all, so I got this and I hope that's not too weird but-"

He grabbed the hem of his shirt to lift it up enough to show the triskele set over his hip-bone. The growl from Peter was darker, louder and more primal than anything he'd ever heard before. It startled Stiles so much, he jumped a little. The next second, he was pinned against the closed bedroom door, the Alpha all up in his face, fangs and red eyes and all.

"You can't just put an Alpha's symbol on you like that," Peter growled. "You have no idea-"

"I do," Stiles held Peter's gaze, grinning a little. "Did you not hear the part where I said that I'm stupidly in love with you guys? I mean it. And I know."

Peter rested a shaky hand over the see-through film on top of the still very fresh and raw tattoo. Peter's claws were out too and it shouldn't thrill him that much. Stiles tilted his head to the side, a broad, cheeky grin on his lips. The Alpha buried his nose in it, inhaling deeply. Peter pressed a hungry kiss to Stiles' lips, leaving the boy breathless. Stiles' hands pawed at Peter's chest near desperately, his cheeks flushed when they parted.

"Peter," Chris growled annoyed. "Learn to share."

With a grumbling noise did Peter step aside enough to allow Chris to also crowd Stiles against the door and damn yeah, Stiles was definitely into getting cornered by them and stuck between them, this was fun. He rested one hand on each of their chests while Chris kissed him hungrily.

"Stiles," Derek called out from upstairs. "Where the hell are you. We got your stuff."

A shit-eating grin spread over Stiles' lips. "Just bring it to the master-bedroom."

Both Peter and Chris gave him surprised but hungry and pleased looks at that. Stiles grinned broadly, leaning against the door as the feeling of being home fully settled in, here, in their arms.

~*~ The End ~*~

[typicalopposite]

Soooooo this story has been kicking my BUTT mainly this first chapter and the build up to the actual story 👀 but i finally finished so does manyone wanna read chapter one of angsty break up/helicopter crash fic?

PLZ READ TAGS FOR TRIGGER WARNINGS

𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝙸 𝚃𝚛𝚢 𝚃𝚘 𝙵𝚕𝚢 (𝙸 𝙵𝚊𝚕𝚕)

BuckTommy Fic | M | Chapter 1/? | 6713 words

Link to Prologue | ao3

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙾𝚗𝚎: 𝚠𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚞𝚙… 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚂𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜

In all of Buck’s thirty three years there has never been another time that he recalls feeling so secure and at peace with his life. So at ease with not just himself, but with the happenings around him. Which is saying a lot given everything going on around him.

Gerard makes work miserable with his constant passive aggressiveness, and his snide comments… Buck knew to expect racism and sexism. He also knew to prepare himself for the blatant homophobia. It still wasn’t enough to prepare him for the first time Gerrard called him princess.

They have all filed complaint after complaint. Bobby is working tirelessly with the fire chief (whose head was gone over in bringing Gerrard back to the 118) to get him reinstated and back home. The team is rallying around each other to lessen the blows made at each of them by the person who is supposed to lead them, but only cares to bully and berate them.

But… at the end of his shift, Buck has Tommy to run home to. Not that they are actually living together— they do spend almost every night they have off together, though. He is the light at the end of a long dark tunnel. The calm after Buck’s 12, 24, or 48 hour storm. He is the breath of fresh air after inhaling far too much smoke. He is… just perfect.

Buck can’t believe how happy he is, how in love he is. The true meaning of happiness? Well Buck thinks it might just be tucked away safe in that soft loving smile Tommy is always giving him. Buck sees their whole lives flash before his eyes when he’s gifted that smile. Years and years, and years of living with this happiness? He definitely could get used to that. He is so lucky.

Or so he thought….

Their shift is (finally) almost over. Buck is laid out on the couch, staring at his phone. He isn’t even aware he’s smiling at his text thread with Tommy until Chimney comes up and knocks his feet off so he can sit down. “There’s only one person I know that could have Buckaroo smiling like that,” he says, his own cheesy grin taking over his face. “You heading over there after work?”

“Reverse,” Buck answers, hoping if he’s nonchalant enough the ridiculous blush he still gets talking about Tommy won’t show up. “He’s at my place—he’s uh… getting dinner started.” And there’s the damn blush anyway, running up his neck.

“I thought you said Tommy was a terrible cook,” Hen says, joining them and sitting on the arm of the couch behind Buck’s head. She tries to sneak a peek at the conversation but Buck drops the phone to his chest.

He sits up and looks at her offended. “Okay, one… eye’s to yourself, thank you very much.” She rolls her own eyes and picks up the throw pillow to hit him with. “Two… I would never say that!”

“And yet you’re not saying he’s not,” Chimney says with a smirk.

“He’s— he’s improving.”

The bell goes off. They all groan. “Better tell the wife you’re gonna be late Buckley,” Gerrard calls from the foot of the stairs.

The ride to the fire is quiet.

No one can ever say anything without Gerrard chiming in with his unwanted two cents. So they sit in silence unwilling to give him anything to use as fuel for another of his hate-filled remarks. Except today, Gerrard decides to initiate the conversation. “So Buckley,” he says; his lips curl up into the beginnings of one of his snarky smirks. “Have you ever lost someone on the job?”

His eyes zero in on his target; the bait to what Buck is certain will be some kind of trap dangling in front of him. “Haven’t we all? Kind of par for the course with this line of work,” Buck answers.

“Yeah, well, you have your typical run of the mill losses on the job; then you have the ones that tend to be a little more—” he pauses to lick his lips, like he’s savoring what he’s about to say. “—personal.” He continues to stare at Buck, whose skin feels like it's crawling under the intensity of it. He waits a beat and then: “Kinard ever tell you about his?”

There it is… the other shoe, heavy as it drops.

Buck doesn’t respond. He has heard a couple of Tommy’s work related horror stories; Buck has shared some of his own. Mostly they just leave work at their respective stations and spend the limited amount of time they get together not dwelling on the bad aspects of being a first responder. “Yeah I’ve heard them,” Buck says, hoping it will be dropped at that; or maybe they will get to the fire… He doesn’t think it’s ever taken this long to arrive on scene before.

“So he’s told you about Jay, then?”

Buck feels his face drop. He feels his brows furrow in confusion and his mouth pulls down before he can stop it. Everyone in the engine looks confused.

Gerrard, on the other hand, looks overly amused. “Ohh, guess he still doesn’t like to talk about him,” he says, and the engine screeches to a stop.

The fire is pretty intense, and everyone is drained afterwards. Thankfully, Gerrard doesn’t mention Tommy—or this Jay person—when they load up for the ride back to the station.

“Get out of your head, Buck…” Hen says quietly. He stops fumbling with the things in his locker, and looks back over his shoulder at her. “You’re letting him get to you. You can’t do that.”

“Yeah, kid, he’s a leech, he feeds on your emotions,” Chimney adds from beside him.

“B- but neither of you know who he’s talking about?”

Hen shakes her head, Chimney shrugs. “Tommy was here before either of us, maybe it was from back then.”

“He’s never mentioned this guy to you?” Eddie asks Buck.

“Never.”

“Then it’s probably no one important,” he continues. “Come on, it’s Tommy! Why would he keep something supposedly big from you?”

Buck’s tongue feels heavy. He wants to say: Maybe because I’m the one who’s not important enough to share it with. He knows that will not go over well with them, so he tucks it away with his other negative thoughts. “You’re probably right…” he does say.

“Of course I’m right,” Eddie smirks.

“I don’t know about you guys,” Ravi calls out to them as he walks backwards out of the station. “But I’m ready to get out of here! I love you all, but I need my two days of not seeing you.”

“I’ll see you boys later,” Hen says to Buck and Eddie. She is going to meet up with Karen and Denny so they can spend the day with Mara at the Buckley-Han household. It’s all she has talked about almost the entire shift.

Once Hen and Chimney are gone Eddie walks over and leans on the locker next to Buck’s. “Hen’s right, you know,” he says. “You gotta get out of your head about this, man. Before you start overthinking it.”

Buck sighs. He hangs his uniform up, and closes the locker. “Yeah,” he finally replies. “Yeah, I know—I will. It’s fine… I’m fine.”

~~~

A shift passes, then another. Soon it’s been a couple weeks. If Gerrard has plans to follow up his questioning about Tommy, and the accident, and Jay… and Buck not knowing about any of it, he hasn’t acted on them yet.

Maybe everyone was right. Maybe it was just something to get under Buck's skin; plant the seeds of doubt that had never once been present before and set in motion the derailment of the most stable relationship Buck knows he’s ever had. He decides to remove it from the bin of thoughts that he randomly goes through and obsesses over, and fully let it go…

Or, that was the plan, anyway.

By mid September—following a lengthy investigation into exactly how Gerrard was put back in charge of the 118; that ended with multiple people losing their jobs, Gerrard included—Bobby was finally reinstated as their captain. It should be a joyous day. Gerrard is cleaning out his—well it’s no longer his—office. The whole team is gathered outside, ready to give him a great big good riddance for the final time.

Gerrard walks out, passing by each firefighter as if they weren’t even there, head still held high. He stops just as he is about to step out of the station, turns and locks his sight on Buck. “You ever ask Kinard about that accident?” He asks, narrowing his eyes menacingly. “Or are you too scared you might learn Prince Charming isn’t quite as Charming as he seems.”

Buck tenses his jaw, holding it firmly in place, fully prepared to not indulge in his taunting. He’s about to be gone for good; he only has to deal with him for a little bit longer.

Gerrard raises his brows, his smirk bordering on becoming manic. “Don’t believe me? Just ask your buddies. Han and Wilson have plenty of stories of their days as probies working with the real Tommy… before he went sweet.” Again Buck can feel his face furrowing in confusion before he can stop it.

“Don’t listen to him, Buck,” Hen says, putting herself between him and Gerrard. Chimney joins her, their backs to Gerrard who has made no more effort to just get lost (like Buck, and everyone else, wishes he would). “I told you he is just trying to get—”

“Oh, come now Henrietta,” Gerrard scoffs. “Don’t act like he didn’t put you down, and treat you like the maid, and less than him… just like everyone else—well, save for Han of course.” Gerrard turns his attention to Chimney, who is still not looking at him. “You haven’t told him about how Tommy treated you when you started… and only let up once you saved his life.”

“Alright that’s enough,” Bobby says, making his way to the front of the group, right up to Gerrard. “I don’t know what your motive is here, but I think it’s time for you to leave.”

There’s a short lived, but still intense, staring battle between the two men, with the entire team watching and holding their breath. Gerrard flicks his eyes from Bobby to Buck and his damned smirk returns. He doesn’t say another word, just turns and walks away. Ravi lets out a ‘whoop whoop’ causing an uproar of cheers and laughter from the entire 118.

It was a summer of hell under Gerrard, but now it’s over. Life can finally get back to normal… except— except now a can of worms has been opened. “What was he talking about,” Buck asks once the crowd disperses, and it’s just their little group standing by the engine.

Hen groans. “Buck, you’re letting him get to you.”

“But you’re not denying it—”

“Because it’s not important,” Chimney interrupts. “By the time I started Tommy had already been under Gerrard for a while; that man had his hooks so deep in him—in all of them. Besides, he has more than apologized for how he acted back then.”

“You do know he’s part of the reason Gerrard had to leave the 118 in the first place,” Hen adds. “He reported his behavior towards me. That’s the story you should care about, Buck. Or how he helped us with that neighborhood fire; saved Eddie and that kid's lives. Or how he risked his job to help us find Cap and ‘Thena… Not the things he has done that he has long been forgiven for.”

Buck knows it’s a losing argument; he doesn’t think he really wants to argue with them about it anyway. They’re right. Why let all this stuff an old bigot tried to resurface from Tommy’s past dictate their happy present. It shouldn’t matter; it doesn’t matter… if Chimney and Hen forgive him, that’s all that matters.

Except…

Except he knows himself well enough to know he isn’t going to be at ease until he at least figures out what the deal with this accident is all about, and who exactly Jay is.

~~~

“Babe, can I ask you kind of a personal question?”

Tommy leans out around the opened hood of his truck to look at him. “Of course,” he says, furrowing his brows slightly. Buck knows he has probably turned a shade of green from how sick to his stomach he feels about actually approaching this. Especially after being told repeatedly that he shouldn’t. Tommy sets his wrench down and grabs a rag to clean off his hands, walking out of the garage to Buck. “Is everything okay?”

“Uh—yeah, well, that’s just it… I don’t—” Buck pauses, takes a deep breath and just spits it out: “Tommy, who’s Jay?”

Tommy blinks. His face shifts from concerned to confused to something somewhere between anger and annoyance. “Where did you— How did you…” he sighs. “Let me guess. Gerrard?”

“Mhmm,” Buck hums with a small nod.

“That’s just—” Tommy starts, huffing out a sarcastic laugh as he roughly wipes the oil and grease from his hands. “That’s just great,” he finishes, angrily tossing the cloth at the floor. Buck waits patiently; he thinks he owes Tommy that much seeing as whatever—whoever—this is, it’s clearly something Tommy isn’t happy about Gerrard sharing. “I–” Tommy looks at Buck, his eyes suddenly turning red and he quickly wipes at them. “I’m sorry, Evan. I can’t…”

“You can’t?”

Tommy shakes his head hard. “I can’t talk about this–about him, not now… not yet. I–” He inhales sharp and it comes back out a broken sob. Buck is so taken aback, because Tommy rarely ever cries; Buck doesn’t think he’s ever seen him shed more than a few tears, and those were over happy moments.

One time was during some sappy—but with the saddest ending—romcom. Once when he found a dead cat in his backyard. And maybe the most emotional was when Buck slipped up during a particularly passionate kiss and told him that he loved him. Tommy’s face went so red, and Buck began to panic and then profusely apologize until Tommy took his face in his hands and said it back a single tear falling from his eye. Buck wiped it away and leaned back in to continue kissing him.

“Hey,” Buck says, feet quickly moving him across the cement toward Tommy. He slips his arms under Tommy’s, wrapping them around his back and pulling him into a hug. “It’s okay… you don’t have to.”

“I’m—I’m sorry… It’s just… it’s too—”

Buck can feel the tears soaking through his shirt where Tommy has pressed his face to Buck’s shoulder. He feels like such a jerk. “No,” he says, rubbing his hands up and down Tommy’s back. “No, I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have asked. I was letting Gerrard get in my head—I was being stupid…”

“You’re not being stupid, Evan,” Tommy says, muffled against the fabric of Buck’s shirt. “You were curious. I understand… It’s just–” Tommy pulls away, taking a step back. He wraps his own arms around himself, and it shocks Buck how small he seems right now. He slowly lifts his eyes to Buck’s, he looks broken (Buck hates himself for it) but mostly he looks worried. “This is—it’s really personal…” he says. “And I’m just not ready to share it yet.”

“That’s okay,” Buck quickly responds. “I understand, and I won’t bring it up again. You can tell me when you’re ready.”

A wave of relief visibly washes over Tommy’s face. The worried frown turns back into that familiar soft smile, and Buck tells himself he is one hundred percent fine with how this whole conversation turned out.

He is fine not knowing.

He is fine.

~~~

Time passes and it feels like the universe is playing the ultimate prank on one Evan Buckley.

On the outside everything has returned to normal. Everyone’s lives seem to have fallen back in line. Bobby is once again leading them, Hen and Karen get Mara back, Eddie convinces Christopher to come home (and they are both regularly going to therapy about the whole Kim/Shannon of it all), Chimney’s latest appointment shows no lingering effects of the encephalitis… but Buck— Buck is… struggling. He is struggling, and he feels so guilty about it, but he can’t get past it.

If it’s not seeing the name Jay in—damn near constant—passing, it’s hearing random stories about the people Tommy has saved (and knowing somewhere out there is a story of someone significant he didn’t). It’s the little signs, and the messages, and the ads he keeps seeing; an online quiz on ‘how well do you know your partner’, a billboard about getting out of an untrustworthy relationship, a commercial about not keeping secrets.

They mean nothing, he knows that. He’s self-sabotaging, he knows that.

It doesn’t stop him from collecting each one like trading cards and adding them to his bin of thoughts until it’s full and he has to do something or it’s going to overflow and drown him.

“You planning on spending your day off here, Buckaroo?”

“Hmm…” Buck blinks, breaking from his thoughts and looking up from his phone—more specifically from the text that just came in. Chimney is standing in front of him, arms crossed, brows pulled together. “Oh, hey Chim—I was just watching—” but the TV is now off. “Huh? I was watching TV.”

Chimney hums, tucking his hands further under his arms. “Is everything okay,” he asks. “You and Tommy… you good?”

“What? Yeah. We’re— Why— why would you think we weren’t? Has he—”

“Whoa now; calm down,” Chimney laughs, putting his hands up in defense. “Tommy hasn’t said anything. You just seem… distracted. Ever since—” He pauses. “I just want to make sure you’re not still dwelling on the crap Gerrard said.”

“Oh, I—” His phone feels extremely heavy in his hand now. He gets the reminder of the unread text. He should probably say something before Chimney gets suspicious. “I’m fine,” he lies, and it makes his stomach sour instantly.

Chimney doesn’t move—doesn’t look away. “You sure about that?” Buck nods, thinking he might be sick if he tries to say another word. “Okay,” Chimney sighs. “You know, Buck… we all have done things we aren’t proud of. I know I have…” Buck is reminded of an angry fist, and a swollen black eye Chimney apologized for everytime they were alone for almost a year.

He is reminded of a lawsuit he still regrets, and a tipsy kiss that unintentionally spiraled him into his second serious relationship. He is reminded of sudden nerves burying him deep into a closet he hadn’t even realized he had been in all along. He is reminded of reaching out for help spying on his boyfriend because he can’t get out of his own head about something that could very much be nothing.

His phone vibrates; another reminder he has an unread text.

He waits until Chimney disappears down the stairs to look back at his phone.

I’ll be home at 8… see you then

~~~

Buck parks his jeep outside the apartment complex, takes the stairs up to the third floor, and stands awkwardly outside apartment 3C contemplating turning around and running back down before he is spotted. He doesn’t, and instead lifts his hand to knock.

A couple days ago his thought’s overfilled the bin … a couple days ago he could no longer ignore his curiosity … a couple days ago Buck came to one of the only people who doesn’t know Tommy enough to be emotionally invested in this … investigation … Buck decided he needed to go on.

A moment later the door is pulled open, and May is in front of him. “Hey,” she says, her smile mirroring Athena’s. “Come in!”

“Uh— Hey,” Buck says back, subconsciously wiping the sweat forming on his hands, off. “So did— did you find anything?” Her smile fades, she shifts on her feet. “You did… Is it — is it that bad…” he asks, wondering if he will even be able to hear her response over the sudden pounding of his heart.

“It’s not necessarily good,” she replies. He wishes he actually hadn’t been able to hear her. He feels himself start to deflate.

May walks to her room, comes back with her laptop, stalls just as she’s about to hand it to him. “Wait,” she says, pulling the laptop back to her chest and holding it there. “Are you sure you want to do this? I mean… why make trouble in paradise when there isn’t any?”

“Is it really paradise if he’s hiding stuff from me?”

May sighs, and opens her laptop. “I guess not,” she says once her password is entered and everything she found is pulled up.

The first thing she shows him is the article released the day of the accident.

Tragedy on the Vincent Thomas Bridge

Unidentified man jumps from bridge into LA Harbor late Tuesday afternoon.

LAFD station 118 responded to calls that a man had climbed over the bridge railing. Witnesses say Thomas Kinard (Pictured above) a firefighter with the 118 was on scene trying to talk the man off the edge before he let go, falling 186 feet into the Harbor below.

Buck looks at the picture of a much younger Tommy, dazed and disheveled, one hand running through his hair. He thinks, I know that look… I’ve had that look. He thinks of Devon falling to the ground from the roller coaster. Suddenly he is regretting everything about this. He clicks to the next article anyway.

LGBTQ+ Community Speak Out On Bridge Suicide

Following the death of Jay Pridgen, a member of the LGBT community, rumors began of prejudices within LAFD Station 118, who were present at the scene of the accident. The rumors are calling the stations Captain, Vincent Gerrard, out for repeatedly exhibiting biased behaviors when dealing with minority groups. When asked, Gerrard had no comment. Also under fire is the first responder who was on the bridge with Pridgen. Kinard is being accused of stalling rather than actually trying to get Pridgen off the edge.

Fire Chief Releases A Statement on Alleged Homophobia Within Station 118

Bridge Tragedy Officially Ruled An Accident

While it’s unclear what Pridgen’s original intentions were when he climbed over the railing of the Vincent Thomas Bridge, Firefighter Thomas Kinard went on record Friday insisting Pridgen did not jump but instead fell to his death. Kinard states he was trying to get to him but was unable to before he slipped from the edge. While there are some who still are hoping for an investigation into LAFD, specifically station 118, Captain Vincent Gerrard says he hopes this new cause of death will allow everyone to move on from this clear and complete accident so his team can get back to their jobs without having to deal with the torches and pitchforks coming for them daily.

“Wow…” Buck says softly. “That’s— That’s a lot.”

“That’s… not all,” May admits, clicking on yet another link. “So even though the accident itself is really terrible, it felt weird that he would hide it from you. I mean Tommy’s part of the community, it’s not like he really let this guy fall because he’s gay… right? So I kept digging and I found… this.” Buck holds his breath, May pulls up a picture. It’s an army Platoon, and upon closer inspection it’s Tommy’s platoon.

“I don’t understand,” Buck says.

“Once I had Jay’s full name I searched it together with Tommy’s… just to see if there were any more articles on the accident, but I found this picture instead.” She scrolls up to reveal the names of the soldier’s; the man in the middle next to Tommy, arm draped over his shoulder holding Tommy tight to his side… is Jay Pridgen.

“Oh my god… they— they knew each other?” And well that definitely adds a whole new layer to how traumatic Jay's death must have been. Buck sighs and closes May’s laptop. He thanks her for going through all the articles and everything for him, even if it feels wrong to thank someone for invading Tommy’s privacy.

He rides home in silence, gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white. He feels crappy, and insensitive… he collapses onto his bed the second he reaches it. Maybe he can sleep on it and his head will be clearer in the morning. Honestly he thinks he would like to just forget about this whole thing; that sounds like a very good idea.

His phone dings.

A notification that Tommy tagged him in a photo. He opens it and is met with himself and Tommy, standing in front of a gorgeous sunset on the beach; bodies pressed against each other, noses touching and their lips just a breath away from a kiss. Yeah, he’s all mine <3 Buck feels the smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he double taps the image watching the red heart bloom out from his thumb.

He is so happy. Why is he trying to ruin that for himself? He clicks on Tommy’s account, looking through all the pictures Tommy has posted of him, and of them together. A visual confirmation of the true meaning of happiness that Buck has finally found. Buck has liked them all already, so he just scrolls through them.

Next thing he knows he has gone back to before they met. Tommy didn't use social media that much, at least not in the recent years before they got together. He only has a handful of images from each year and some years there’s gaps where he didn’t post anything.

Buck doesn’t think he’s ever gone so deep into Tommy’s account before. He decides to go all the way back to the beginning and scroll up. He can’t help but laugh at how tiny Tommy looks in the very first pictures he posted; horrible quality shots of him showing off his baby muscles (compared to the ones he has now anyway), giving his best smolder for the camera. As he starts scrolling through them it’s so reminiscent of his own earlier days on the app, just thirst trap after thirst trap and Buck is kind of loving the experience.

He goes through them, liking each one, before he notices something that has him sitting up in his bed.

It’s a picture taken up in the snow; a picture taken in NorCal. Tommy's mom lives in NorCal so that’s not surprising… what is surprising is the top name on the list of likes. It’s Jay. Buck blinks at the name thinking the letters might shift and he’ll realize he’s just reading the username wrong; it’s JPridge82, he’s definitely not reading it wrong. He scrolls up to the next picture. Tommy with his mom; liked by JPridge82. Tommy in his 118 turnouts; liked by JPridge82. Tommy in bed clearly wrapped around another body, his eyes are half-lidded and tired, the caption reads wake me up before you go go; liked by JPridge82, and a comment… but you're so cute when you sleep, baby! Tommy replies: oh shut up! XD

It easily could be read as banter; he and Eddie play flirt like that all the time. Next picture: a restaurant table Buck recognizes oh too intimately. Think I found my new favorite Italian restaurant; liked by JPridge82 and replies: sameee

A picture of two shadows holding hands. Take my hand, take my whole life too. It’s askew enough you only see part of the bodies and then their hands (enough you can’t see their heights are the same, Buck thinks. That would have raised questions for sure.) Liked by JPridge82; aww baby look at us xoxo. Tommy replies: my god you are ridiculous

The inside of Tommy’s old truck, two coffee cups in the holders. Let’s get out of this town <3. Liked by JPridge82.

The next picture is a new thirst trap, of sorts. Tommy standing in the mirror shirtless. He isn’t flexing, or posing. Just standing there. No caption. No like by JPridge82, but there is a comment from Sal. Not the mopey instagram posts! She wasn’t for you, man! Let it go, you’ll find new ass in no time. Tommy didn’t respond.

The pictures slowly turn from selfies, to work related, to memes. Some of which are extremely questionable; putting down women, or minorities. Some are downright hateful. They are so unlike the Tommy he knows now. They are definitely giving Buck a look at this person Gerrard was referring to when he made the comment about Buck not knowing the “real” Tommy. He thinks of what Chimney and Hen said; that he has profusely apologized for how he was back when they started. Why hasn’t he taken them down then.

He sets his jaw, trying to not let the annoyance building set him off, and goes back to the last picture Jay liked. He clicks on the username. “Dammit,” he mumbles out loud. His account is private.

He gets an idea.

It’s one that on a typical day he would be annoyed with himself for having… but it’s almost three in the morning he is running off pure adrenaline now and he isn’t thinking like he typically would… he logs out of his own Instagram and logs into Tommy’s.

It’s not that he was being sneaky and eavesdropped on Tommy entering his password, Tommy literally typed it out right in front of him. He had taken a picture of them and needed to log in to post it. He is always saying he has nothing to hide from Buck… Seems like he had one thing to hide.

Buck’s heart is pounding into his ears as he opens Tommy’s followers list. Maybe they weren’t even following each other anymore, Buck thinks, his thumb lingering over the search bar. Maybe he should just back out of this while he’s still somewhat in the dark, before he brings to light something he doesn’t want to know.

JPridge82.

Buck feels his heart completely stop beating. He shouldn’t do this. Hell, he shouldn’t be on Tommy’s instagram in the first place. He clicks on the name anyway. Immediately his suspensions are answered. Private accounts come with freedom; freedom to share whatever you want because you control who can see it. And Jay didn’t have that many followers, so they likely all knew the truth.

Jay’s photo bin looks eerily similar to how Tommy’s account looks now, except its picture after picture of Tommy and Jay together.

One in bed, Tommy’s head resting on Jay’s chest. One from what must have been a hike, far from any peeping eyes; a kiss in front of a waterfall. Their hands clasped together over the center console of one of their cars. A movie date; Buck and Tommy have still never made up their missed movie date, never had the time. He doesn’t mean for the jealousy that starts to bloom deep in his chest, but it’s there and he is too drained to even attempt to push it away.

He wonders why Tommy wouldn’t tell him about such a pivotal time of his life.

My Forever <3 Jay captions a picture of Tommy staring out at the ocean, his hair wet and tousled like he just came out of the water.

Buck looks through the pictures, each one feeling like a stab to the chest—this was not meant for him to see. This was something beautiful Tommy had… and lost… and he wanted to keep it to himself. But Buck can never leave well enough alone, and he took that decision from Tommy.

He is about to close his phone when he sees Jay’s last post isn’t a picture but text.

I wish I had been enough of a reason for you to stop lying about who you are. Posted — August 8, 2010. A week before the accident.

Buck closes his phone, but he doesn’t—he can’t—go to sleep.

~~~

There’s a knock on his door.

Buck wishes he could just hide under his covers and pretend he doesn’t hear it; he knows exactly who it is.

He spent his first day off avoiding Tommy. He had hoped Tommy hadn’t caught on; he was working a 24 and from the already scarcity of his calls and texts, it seemed the shift was a busy one. Usually as soon as Tommy is suspicious of Buck’s behavior he will go hide somewhere so he can call—and will repeatedly call—to figure out what’s wrong. He hasn’t pressed once as Buck went through literally every excuse in the book as to why he wasn’t able to talk, and he has seemed just as unfazed by the lack of enthusiasm in all of Buck’s texts.

He should have known it wouldn’t be that simple.

Another knock. He could continue to ignore it, but Tommy has a key.

Buck groans and pushes off his bed, taking the steps one at a time for once; no reason other than to prolong reaching the door. “Hey baby,” Tommy says, cheery and bright, the second Buck opens it. “Were you sleeping?”

I wish, Buck thinks. “I… was,” Buck lies. “What’s all this…”

In Tommy’s hands there’s a huge, beautiful bouquet of flowers, a bottle of wine, and a card. He hands Buck the card first. “Uh— let’s call it an… it seems like I’ve done something and haven’t realized what it is yet… surprise.” Buck can’t help the laugh that escapes him. What does he say to that… yeah you have, I just haven’t rationalized whether I truly deserve to be mad at you about it or not. “So… go on, read it.”

Buck sighs, finally looking down at the card in his hands. My forever is written in Tommy’s small ridiculously neat handwriting with a heart at the end. He stares at the card, his mind going right back to a private account and a picture captioned My Forever <3.

“I— I know… cheesy right?”

Buck breaks his eyes away from the words, bringing them up to Tommy’s. “Why— why would you put that…”

“Uhm—” Tommy looks at him confused, if not a little hurt. “I mean… I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to be so on the nose… but that is what I see with you… if you don’t—”

“Is that what you saw with Jay too?” Buck asks before he can stop himself.

Tommy’s eyes widen, he steps back. “What…”

Buck has been here before. Putting himself in an awkward situation and so yet his mouth still starts moving against his better judgment. “I mean… that’s what he saw with you… but maybe it was only one-sided.” Tommy doesn’t speak, continuing to stare at Buck like he has grown a second head. Might as well rip the bandaid off, he thinks; shrugs. “You didn’t want to talk about him… so I just found out myself. It’s not like it’s hard to pull up an old news article.”

“You— but how did you get on his—” Tommy blinks, a new look crossing his face; he knows what Buck did. It should make Buck feel bad; it does make him feel bad… but it also makes him feel defensive. He deserved to know—if only he truly believed that.

“I’ve told you everything, Tommy!” He snaps. “I’ve told you all about my past, all my relationships, Daniel. Every sad, and hard, and embarrassing, and traumatic experience… I told you. But you... You’re this big mystery. You don’t talk about anything. The only thing you’ve told me about your past is that it makes you jealous of mine…” The tension in Tommy’s face has gone slack, and he’s just taking the lecture with calmness; meanwhile Buck’s heart is about to pound out of his chest and his skin has gone hot and numb. “But did you ever think that maybe the reason we’re like a family is because we treat each other like equals. Instead of like some of them are beneath us...”

That gets him a reaction; finally, he thinks. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t act like you and Chimney and Hen always got along… like you didn’t follow Gerrard’s lead when they first started…” Tommy looks at him like a kicked puppy; Buck internally screams at himself that it’s enough. It’s not enough, he adds: “Not to mention all the crap you used to share. That you probably got a good laugh about with all your buddies at the expense of others.”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Tommy cries.

Buck sees red, throwing the unopened card down on the table and storming up to his phone. He doesn’t even log out of Tommy’s account, just finds the memes and shoves them in his face. “This is what you think is funny?”

“Evan, these are— do you even realize how long ago this was?!”

“What difference does that make!?” Buck screams back.

Tommy sighs, and hands Buck back his phone. “No… you’re— you’re right. It doesn’t make a difference… it doesn’t make it okay.”

Buck thinks he’s said enough. He has revealed what he knows. “So is that what happened with you and Jay…” he says instead… the words sliding their way out of his mouth and he can’t stop them. “He couldn’t live a lie any more… couldn’t live your lie anymore.” It’s rolling off his tongue so easily, it actually disgusts him. But the words pass his lips and he watches the exact moment they slap Tommy across the face and the man gasps like he’d actually just been assaulted. His eyes instantly fill with tears and he has to break his eyes from Buck in an attempt to blink them away.

“You— you have no idea what you're talking about, Evan. You had no right to…”

“To what? Question if I really know the man I was considering spending the rest of my life with? I’ve been through this, Tommy, too many times. You think you know someone… and it turns out you don’t.”

“How can you even say that?!” Tommy all but screams, rubbing the back of his hand—still holding on to the bottle of wine—over his eyes and nose. “Okay yeah, I didn’t tell you about a really hard time in my life… and maybe given everything surrounding it I should have. Maybe I should have even told you about how it was when Howie and Hen first started. And yes, I should have gone through and deleted all those posts a long time ago… But to say you don’t really know me? Those things don’t define me!”

“They sure say a lot though…”

Tommy goes silent. He takes a few calming breaths, fresh tears in his eyes and trails running down both cheeks. “So— so what is this— what are we— what does this mean, then… for us?”

Buck shrugs. “That maybe I'm not your forever,” he says, tightening his jaw so it won’t betray the stone cold persona he is trying to uphold by trembling.

Tommy freezes, the bottle of wine and roses he’s still holding suddenly seem so out of place. “You don’t mean—” he starts; he searches Buck’s eyes like he’s trying to find a different answer. He doesn’t seem to find one. “Really?” Buck doesn’t nod, but he doesn’t take it back either. He just swallows around the lump forming in his throat and manages to hold his composure. “Okay… if that’s—” he shifts on his feet, breaking away from Buck’s eyes; Buck is grateful for it. “O- Okay.”

He sits the roses and wine on the table by the card and turns for the door. “You— you don’t need to leave those…” Buck manages to say; it sounds so petty, it disgusts him.

Tommy opens the door and turns back to the roses. “Think of it as… a goodbye gift,” he says, quietly, giving a halfhearted laugh. He turns his head farther, so he is again looking at Buck, giving him one more chance to take it back. He doesn’t. “Good-bye, Buck,” Tommy says and pulls the door closed behind him.

[actualbird]

//ms 15 trailer

here's a quick translation of trailer via me (i've merged lines together so it flows better)

Jerome: Miss Lawyer, it's me, Jerome. I'd like to invite you to be my attorney. You'll come to meet me, right? Jerome: My teacher Wilson Sorge seems to have been kidnapped, the police suspects I had a hand in it. Luke, I think: You say your teacher went missing, but how come you don't look worried at all? Jerome: Of course I'm worried. It's just that i'm not accustomed to expressing it. Luke (I think): He says he's very grateful, and looks up to Wilson Sorge. Yet he didn't sign the adoption application. Darius (I think): The blood analysis result is out. It doesn't belong to Wilson Sorge, but it also doesn't belong to Jerome. VIncent: Young master, Gerard disappeared! Marius: Disappeared? What do you mean by that? Not sure who this is…: We were never the same type of person, it's just that you guys were never willing to believe it. Jerome I think??: Meaningful events can be viewed in completely different ways depending on your perspective. Maybe someday in the future, what I seek is correct. ???: Q-Quick! Call the police! Marius: Freeze, or else I'll kill you right now! [gunshot] ???: P-Please spare me! Marius, I think: So you still refuse to talk? Wilson Sorge or whoever it is: You know, you're not happy with the way I experiment on those patients. But I'm different from your dad… Jerome: So to me, my teacher is my savior. Jerome: It's very satisfying to chat with you. Unfortunately, the time is up. It's time to say goodbye, lawyer…

OH THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS TRANSLATION OF THE PV oh ohhh oooooOHHHHH it sounds so thrilling.....luke investigating jerome OOOOOHHH, and marius saying he'll kill someone is kinda hot ngl

and DAMN THAT ENDING. I NEED THIS STORY NOOOWWWW (<- user will have to wait a whole year for this story and is very upset about it)

[alexwilltellyouthings]

Entirely self indulgent rating post about the top 10 TV shows that made me fucking insane for some reason

10. Sense8

God, this was so good. Such a blessing. I saw part of the cast during a Pride Parade and it's one of my favorite memories. I felt every possible emotion with this show, I love it.

9. The Last of Us

This is kind of a cheat, because the obsession comes from the games, but it is what it is. It's one of the few games that had a big impact on me and I closely relate it to my relationship with my dad. Can't wait to cry my heart out at season 2.

8. Good Omens

It's a given, isn't it? That stupid angel with his stupid demon and their stupid God. GRRRAAWW. A lot of thoughts and feelings came from the fandom, I have to point out. It's been very nice.

7. The Umbrella Academy

I have the first issue of the comics autographed by Gerard Way!! I mean, yes, it's because I'm a MCR fan, but it became even more precious after I got into the show. I'm rewatching right now, preparing for the last season. I'll be a mess when I say goodbye to them. Can't even really think about it too hard or I'll cry right now.

Continues under the cut

6. Our Flag Means Death

LISTEN THIS CHANGED EVERYTHING TO ME. What do you mean we can have a show THIS queer? It's all I want now. I ate it up. I smiled so much. I wanted this so badly and had no idea.

5. Interview with the Vampire

Feels like it should be top 3 honestly but I'll get there. This is also a cheat, I've been reading the Vampire Chronicles since I was like 15. Growing up with Anne Rice probably messed me up but hey at least I have great taste. And seeing them on screen? The way they made it BETTER? And Lestat?? Who has been haunting me for 15 years on and off??? And the second season and their reunion and and and?????????? I'm STILL insane about them and will be forever, I'm afraid.

4. Doctor Who

Listen. Listen. Okay. Yeah. What can I say? If you get into it, you're doomed. And I have been doomed for 10 years at least. I stopped watching for a while and got back last year, and it hit me all over again. I love this dumbass genius alien in a way that's calm, even. Just a permanent part of who I am now.

3. The Untamed

The year was 2022, it had been a while since I had a proper fixation and I didn't think it would happen with this danmei live-action, but then came Wei Wuxian. Guys, if I tell you I fell in love. Couldn't stop thinking about him. Everyday I was plagued by his smile and red ribbon and tragic backstory, yadayadayada. I really like other characters too, and their stories, but WWX did something to me that I still don't quite understand.

2. Queer as Folk (US)

This was a looong time ago and it didn't really persist over time like the others, but it was my first actual obsession. I was clinically insane over these gays. I had no one to talk to about them, so for every episode I wrote several pages of notes to comment to my (only) friend at school the next day, the poor thing. It was pretty much all I talked about because I spent EVERY MINUTE we had to talk going over the notes and explaining the episode. Like, between classes, during breaks, everything. Months of that. She held on firmly because she was a good friend, but I'm aware it must've been terrible. Like I said, insane.

1. Dead Boy Detectives

Maybe I'm putting this up here because it's my current hyperfixation? Maybe. But I don't think I have felt something hit as strongly as this since QaF over there. This time I can participate in fandom so I don't need to write every thought I have because it's all a big talk anyway, but I'm still pretty much having those thoughts all the time for *checks notes* nearly three months. I'm writing more than I have in years. I'm back at Tumblr after I don't know how long. I'm staring at GIFs over and over like I have the fucking time for that. I'm distracted at work daily. I talk about it in therapy. I have the main cast's notifications on. I'm getting involved in fandom discourse sometimes even knowing I shouldn't. It's a nightmare. I love it. I love them.

If you read all of this, congrats! Now you know how my mind works, kinda!! I'm open to talk about any and all of these shows. It's amazing how they mess us up. It's also scary, but anyway.

[mikeywayarchive]

Photo: Jawn Rocha

Mikey Way debuts his Dark Horse Comics series, Christmas 365

Anna Zanes | July 24, 2024

Full article under the cut:

It might still be sunny out, but Mikey Way is stuck on Christmas. Alongside co-writer Jonathan Rivera and illustrator Piotr Kowalski, with Brad Simpson on colors, the My Chem guitarist-cum-graphic novelist (Electric Century, Collapser) has announced Christmas 365, an upcoming series with Dark Horse Comics, also home to Gerard Way’s Paranoid Gardens and The Umbrella Academy. This oddly feel-good story, bizarre and magical as it is loaded with gallows humor, follows the arc of Peter Rockwell and his family as they navigate the treacherous holiday season, aided by some words of wisdom from a strip mall Santa. Way describes the surreal satire astutely: “Like most kids growing up, I would often fantasize, ‘What if [Christmas] never had to end?’ That very thought was what sparked this story.” Though it's got the spirit of The Nightmare Before Christmas and the kooky suburban charm of Better Off Dead — this team has created a series that’s fresh, surprising, a bit spooky, and entirely their own. 

In speaking to their process, AP connected with co-writers Way and Rivera. “Finally being able to tell this story is a real dream come true! The idea came about a decade ago, and there were plenty of starts and stops in the process,” Way shares. “Putting it in comic form felt like the perfect way to tell the story exactly how we envisioned it after so many years of wanting to share it with the world. Let's be honest, I don't think there's a kid alive who hasn't wished Christmas would never end. Haven't we all fantasized about it being something we got to live day after day?” He continues, “I saw this as an opportunity to tell a funny but heartfelt story, in the vein of all of the classic ’80s and ’90s Christmas movies that I loved so much. I remember watching Home Alone and National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation back to back one night and wondering, ‘What story is left to tell?’ An hour or two later, the framework for Christmas 365 was born.”

The connection between co-writers has been an ongoing one, though this project sees it come to fruition. “It's been really fulfilling getting to finally write a story with Jonathan Rivera, who is one of my best friends — I think we've known each other over 20 years now,” Way says. As for the rest of the highly experienced team, “Piotr Kowalski and Brad Simpson brought the story to life exactly as we imagined, giving it the feel and imagery of a ’90s Christmas movie through and through. Daniel Chabon has been a terrific editor to work with and really helped us keep the story focused. I am sure this goes without saying, but it has been a real honor to be able to put out a comic under the Dark Horse banner. The folks over there have always been super kind and supportive to me, and have a rich history with my brother. So to be joining the ‘family’ with my own story to tell is pretty surreal!” 

Rivera, also known for Cave Carson Has a Cybernetic Eye, adds, “Mikey and I had been talking about this story for a while, but it really started to come together as a comic during the pandemic. We’re living in stressful times, so it felt so cathartic to work on such a sweet and strange story about forgiveness and spending time with the people we love. It’s also the type of story we rarely see in comics, and that made me really excited as well.” 

For the writer, a goal has been achieved with this project. Dark Horse has long been a northern star in the industry for Rivera, who caps the chat off with, “I’ve been a fan of Dark Horse comics since I picked up their first Aliens vs. Predator miniseries as a kid. I later worked with them when I ran the official Myspace for The Umbrella Academy back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth. So it brings me great joy to come home again with a book that means so much to me!”

Dark Horse Comics

Dark Horse Comics

[oldmemoria]

I feel like if Leafpool and Squirrelflight were sent on that quest together instead of Brambleclaw and Squirrelflight a lot of the narrative issues surrounding their relationships with other characters would be fixed

For one, Leafpool would be given a lot more screen time with Crowfeather, so it wouldn’t feel so weird and sudden that they got together and why they both seemed to care so much about what seemed to be just a fling and nothing else.

Squirrelflight wouldn’t have to deal with bramble and the really strange relationship with them could be kept to a minimum, also just having a medicine cat would have been really helpful on that mission. Also just more Squilf and leaf being together??? We don’t really get to see them bond a lot when it isn’t the really important plot points (tm) and I really think they would have carried the story better.

We need a perspective in ThunderClan? Keep bramble, sure I hate reading about him but if we really need someone keeping an eye on ThunderClan I feel like Brambleclaw would be a good perspective. Not only would he be away from Squirrelflight (the best option 😒) but we’d also get to see him mesh with characters like Hawkfrost. Maybe we could go in depth about their arcs better? Perhaps? Please.

Also replace stormfur with Mothwing on the quest cough but that isn’t as important I just think stormfur is boring-

Idk I was listening to drugstore perfume and since that song gets me in a CrowPool mindset I thought of this kind of.. au? In a sense?? A rewrite?? Idk