Hi, I'm looking for this fic but I cannot find it anywhere in my bookmarks. Can you help me? All I can remember is that Scott wad being a bad friend to Stiles and Stiles ditches him and Jackson becomes his new best friend and tells Stiles that now that he's dropped Scott they can be friends. I can't remember anything else, do you know what fic this is. Thank you so so so much!!!
Hey!
Well, it sounds like this one?
stuck in reverse by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli) | 65.6K
Look, Derek is the worst. Everyone knows that. Their fearless leader is a total and complete failwolf.
Which means the rest of them? Are kind of the worst too. They’re a ramshackle, slap dashed, sorry excuse for a pack that’s about a half second away from getting one of them killed. And this is a problem, because Stiles would really like to survive high school. Thanks.
Still, no one deserves what Derek has gone through. Nobody.
Jackson: If I died and came back to life and you had already moved on and married someone else, would you leave them for me?
Isaac: Yeah, sure.
Jackson: I can’t believe this.
Isaac: What? I said I’d get back together with you.
Jackson: Who told you to get remarried, huh? You jackass. What if I didn’t have the ability to come back to life?? You were supposed to mourn me forever!
The teen wolf stans who ignore any canonical deaths but keep all the problems and none of the canon ships, they're my favourite. I love you all. Because of you I can never watch this show in good condition. I appreciate you dearly.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV)
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Characters: Peter Hale, Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski, Danny Mahealani, Jackson Whittemore, Lydia Martin, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd, Alan Deaton
Additional Tags: BAMF Stiles, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Alternate Universe, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Alpha Peter Hale, Alpha Derek, Hale Family Feels, The Hale Family, Rich Hale Family (Teen Wolf), Mafia Hale family, BAMF Peter Hale, Bad Touch Peter Hale, Dark Alan Deaton, Dark Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Rape/Non-con, No actual Rape/Non-con
Summary:
Stiles stilinski really really really wanted to be a pack emissary, but considering the various red flags on his emissary profile he knew this interview with his dream pack had to be a mistake.
For years he hadn't gotten a single interview to be an emissary, and had resigned himself to working a mundane job to cover the expenses that came with being a magical jack of all trades on the side. Now he had two interviews for a possible position as an emissary and he was struggling to stop himself from getting hopeful.
work out
stackson brotp, 600, ahead in the count: the college years
prompt: gratefulness
----
“Oh my God,” Stiles pants, sprawled out in the blistering Tucson sun, one arm flung over his sweat-streaked face. “Oh my God.”
“That was twenty pitches, you’ll see more than that in a real game,” Jackson scoffs, foot making contact gently with his shoulder. It’s late May and already suffocatingly hot, the dirt of the field burning his skin the longer he lays on the ground.
“And I hit all of them, so it’s more like twenty at-bats,” Stiles argues, pushing himself up to his elbows and glaring. A bead of sweat drips down his nose and he swipes at it in disgust, then flings his sweaty hand out in Jackson’s general direction.
“Mature,” Jackson says drily, tapping his foot with the bat. “Get the fuck up.”
“Fuck you,” he says. He flops back down and immediately regrets it, because now he has to come up with a way to get up without looking like he’s listening to Jackson. “Haven’t we done enough?”
“This is just the warm-up,” Jackson informs him, and Stiles immediately starts plotting his revenge. He wonders if a scorpion in Jackson’s shoe would be overkill and decides he doesn’t really want to have to catch one, but the tarantulas should start creeping out of their hiding places soon so that’s always an option. Nothing makes Jackson shriek like a little girl more than a spider in his bed, and Stiles has a decade of friendship to back that fact up with. “Isaac will be here soon for live batting practice, so get your noodle arms over here and hit some more.”
He groans dramatically and hauls himself upright, sagging against the chain link fence. “I’ll be dead before then.”
“God, hopefully,” Jackson says, shaking his head, but he looks slightly concerned when Stiles pushes off the fence only to immediately stagger and crash back against it. It wasn’t just the batting; it was the fact that they’d run from campus to the baseball field, four miles in 100 degree heat. “Just sit down, I’ll go grab you Gatorade. Text Scott and whine to him, I don’t want to hear it when I get back.”
The gatorade helps; so does Allison, who shows up with Isaac a few minutes later and immediately chastises Jackson for ignoring any sign of dehydration, although it’s not so fun when she turns and starts in on him for not drinking enough water. He can’t bring himself to care much when she insists that they relocate to the locker room to stretch—the air-conditioned locker room,where he happily plasters himself against the cool tile floor and breathes a sigh of relief as Isaac wanders away to get warmed up.
“We’re doing this again tomorrow,” Jackson says, and Stiles groans and flaps a hand at him. “I’m serious. I’m not leaving you behind because you were too lazy to learn to swing properly.”
He peels his cheek up off the floor and squints. “What do you mean, leaving me behind?”
“No one is drafting a pitcher who bats .184,” Jackson says. When he spreads his legs out and starts to stretch, Stiles pulls himself to sitting and follows along, despite how good becoming one with the floor sounded. “I didn’t choose to go to this college for the education, dumbass, and I’m not following you around just for you to wash out.”
Stiles stares at him. Scott and Jackson had been offered so many baseball scholarships they could hardly walk under the weight of them, but Stiles had only been offered two—one in Florida, and here, at the University of Arizona. He knows the majors are a longer shot for him than for the others and he’d sworn to himself that he’d do everything he could to improve those chances; he just hadn’t realized that Jackson was counting on it, too.
“I love you,” he says, sincerely, and Jackson makes a face at him. “You can have six hours of my week. Make them count.”
