#lyrics from strawberry wine by noah kahan

[basslinecal]

✩ i'm in love with every song you've ever heard ✩

[bamboozledbird]

𝕚𝕗 𝕚 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕚 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 // stiles stilinski imagine

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Theo Raeken, Lydia Martin, Scott McCall Pairing(s): Stiles x fem!reader, Stiles x you (no use of y/n), Theo x fem!reader, Stiles x ofc Word Count: 7k (bbygurl got away from me oops) Tags: Hurt/a little, itty bit of comfort, angst is my lifeblood i fear, let's play a game of who can find all the noah kahan lyrics Warnings: Underage drinking/drug use (at least in america rip, they're all 19+), suggestive language, some light cheating, i think that's it?, sad girl summer :'(

Request: “You think I like being like this? Every time someone fucking touches you I want to rip their hands off!” for stiles please and thnk you!!!

Part II: after many requests, here’s the happy ending: part two A/N: i am well aware theo is way too nice, and me personally?? could never forgive him for hurting scott mccall, the light of my fucking life. but it's for the plot. the things we must do for the plot of it all. i might make a part two? but this was already long, and i liked the conclusion enough to stop. lemme know if that sounds interesting to y'all. ps: listen to strawberry wine and the view between villages for vibes.

That first night, you drove home—207 miles in less than 3 hours, sobbing the entire way. Didn’t matter that you were right in the middle of finals. Didn’t matter that you had Math 19 at 8:00 in the morning. Nothing mattered except for the ringing in your ears, the blistering echoes of, ‘I can’t do this anymore,’ over and over and over again until you stumbled into the house you grew up in—the house he practically grew up in. He was all over every room, all over your entire goddamn hometown, all over you, and you had this desperate, crawling urge to scrub your skin raw. Strip everything away with turpentine until the shadows of his hands and mouth were gone, until you couldn’t smell cedar and 15 years of summer nights and Sunday mornings. 

That night you cried so hard it scared your sister. She spent most of the night with her back slumped against your bedroom door, fingertips poking through the little crack underneath, just like she did the first night your parents brought you home. She had to know that you were breathing, had to make sure that your little chest was rising and falling in your sweet bassinet—if you were inhaling in-between your fractured sobs. You eventually cried yourself to sleep—like a baby, like a broken heart—and thrashed around sweat-damp sheets and dreams of him kissing someone else on his couch. 

Months later, you finally realize it’s a bit self-involved to think that the universe cares enough about your short, temporal existence to conspire against you…but it certainly feels like it when you tie it all together with red string. After Stiles stopped wanting you, everything just…decayed, rotted, died—so quickly, too quickly for you to bury any of the remains. You’re still grieving Allison, constantly, and currently failing at least half your classes, and, oh yeah, battling literal demons at least three times a week—but mostly, you’re just tired. You’re just so goddamn tired of it all.   

To put it plainly, you’re drowning. 

That must be why the neat lines of text in your Math 20 textbook are swirling into indecipherable whirlpools. It’s just so…frustrating. You get math. Math is your thing. Derivatives shouldn’t ever send you into a bout of angry tears—but you are, you’re angry. Angry at the numbers for blurring into something unrecognizable, angry at yourself for not recognizing them, for becoming a person you don’t know or like. Your lashes clump together, and few mascara-tinted tears drop onto the glossy pages. At least, the cloudy text isn’t a hallucination now. 

 “Are you okay?”

The library is quiet, so quiet that you should’ve heard him coming, but you jump at the sound of Theo’s voice. You don’t know him that well; Theo isn’t really the kind of guy you’d talk to, at least not before everything you knew slipped through your fingers. It’s not like you ever disliked him; it’s just…he’s always been everything you’re not—focused, organized, completely in control. He’s confident but not cocky, smart but not arrogant, ridiculously good-looking but just charismatic enough that you can’t really hate him for all the maiming and scheming he pulled last year. He’s been punished enough, you think, and sure—maybe a part of you feels that way simply because Stiles doesn’t.

You haven’t spoken to Theo much, not really. Scott does most of the talking when he shows up to the occasional pack meeting, and Lydia won’t let him within ten feet of you anyway. Frankly, you don’t realize that he knows your name until he says it. His voice is soft in a way that you know isn’t just because of library conduct. It’s his eyes, you think—they’re warm with a concern you aren’t sure what you’ve done to deserve.

You nod and then blink at the fuzzy pages of your math book, eyes almost vacant, “I just…I don't understand.”

Theo sits down next to you and leans forward, scanning the text briefly, “Which part?”

You flush, “...all of it.”

He doesn’t laugh or roll his eyes like you thought he might. Instead, he pulls his chair closer to yours and reaches for a pencil. “Most people will tell you that derivatives are the ‘instantaneous rates of change.’ That’s what the book says, and it’s kind of true, but you’re right—that doesn’t actually make any sense. Things can’t actually change in a single instant, right? Obviously, change happens between two instances, so what they actually mean is a derivative's the rate of instantaneous change measured as precisely as possible.” Theo’s voice is soft in your ear as he drags his finger across your textbook, connecting the vague definitions to numbers that actually compute through your teary haze.

You sit back and just watch for a minute, a little in awe, as he makes all the squiggles into numbers again—and you haven’t been found more than a few feet away from him ever since. You guess it’s because you’re hoping, against all odds, that he can do the same for your life. At least in some small way, maybe.

It’s definitely easier to show up to Lydia's party with his hand in yours. 

You’re all back in Beacon Hills for the summer, and it’s nice. It really is. During the school year, you’re spread all across the state for the most part—you, Theo, and Lydia at Stanford; Scott, Kira, and Malia at UC-Davis; Liam and Mason, the babies, about to start their senior year of high school (it makes you want to cry if you think about it too long); Derek in…wherever he ends up for a season (it was fun to visit while he was in New York, and you secretly hope he makes a return in the fall); and, of course, there’s Stiles. He’s all the way on the other side of the country for his Quantico internship, and you still can’t escape him. His hands are all over your scent, all over every important moment of your life since pre-school. Sometimes, you think that you’ll always be one breath away from choking on the memory of him. But it’s easier, you remind yourself; it’s easier to be a minute away from home with Theo standing next to you. 

The music is loud in Lydia’s front room, thumping through your chest and sharpening the anxiety crawling through your veins—gnawing at your corneas until a haze of vape and weed and flashing lights consume your vision: pink, blue, green, red, and then pink again.

Theo tightens his grip on your hand and gently pulls you into the kitchen. It’s still loud, but the air is clearer here, and the crowd is thin. There’s a couple you vaguely recognize from high school making out on the granite countertop, too enwrapped in each other’s tongues to notice the mixer-sticky surface, and a couple boys who were on the lacrosse team gather drinks for another round of beer pong behind them. 

“You’re psychic,” you hum, resting your chin against the little dip in Theo’s sternum so that you can grin up at him, “tell the truth.”

He laughs easily and wraps his arms around your waist. The solid weight releases some of the vague unease stubbornly clinging to your synapses. “I solemnly swear that my supernatural abilities end at claws and fangs. I just know you; that’s all.” 

You hum as he sways with you a little and shake your head, “It’s only been a few weeks. You’ve gotta have some help from the other side.”

Theo shrugs and lifts you onto the counter behind him—a non-sticky patch, thankfully—and brushes your hair out of your eyes, “Maybe I’ve been paying attention for a little longer than a few weeks.”

You tilt your head and purse your lips into a pout you hope is even half as cute as the wicked gleam in Theo’s eyes, “How long?”

He shrugs again and ducks down to murmur in your ear, “Maybe since the first grade.”

His breath is warm against your cheek, but you know that’s not the only reason your face feels hot. You push against his chest, pulling a little face, “Shut up.”

Theo laughs and grabs your wrists, kissing your knuckles, “I’m serious! You were so cute with your little pigtails and missing teeth.”

You whine a little, embarrassed as you are as pleased, and hide your face in his neck. It smells good, a little citrusy from his cologne and a little sweaty from the sheer amount of grinding bodies in the house—like a man, like he can and will take care of you. “Stop it. I hated those bangs.”

He pinches your sides a little, “And the way you’d always shoot your hand up first—with the right answer, of course—I was smitten.”

You pull away from his neck and arch your brow, “Was?”

“Am,” he concedes with a soft smile, cupping your cheek and thumbing along your lash line, “am completely smitten.” 

He dips in to kiss you, lips barely an eyelash-width away from yours, when a prim cough pulls him away from his spot in-between your legs. You peer around his shoulder and roll your eyes, albeit fondly, at the stern look on Lydia’s face. She’s always been protective of you, even more so after Allison and the whole Stiles debacle, but you’re a bit tired of the Theo Raeken witch hunt. 

You slip down from the counter and rock onto your tiptoes to kiss Theo’s cheek—mainly to see the pinch in Lydia’s perfectly tapered brows. “Can you put this in the coat room,” you hum against his skin, shrugging off your baggy leather jacket. He knows the real reason you’re sending him away—of course he does, sometimes it feels like he knows everything—but he goes with a smirk anyway because, despite Lydia and Stiles’s suspicions, he’s trying his absolute hardest to redeem himself. 

“You could be a little nicer, y’know,” you reach for a hard lemonade from the ice bucket dripping a puddle of water onto the tile floor. You uncap it on the lip of the massive island and fold your arms over your chest, “He’s been nothing but the perfect boyfriend so far.”

Lydia matches your stance, brows curving, “Boyfriend?”

Heat crawls up your neck to your ears. You haven’t actually discussed labels or exclusivity—you think it’s too early; don’t want to scare him off, but Lydia doesn’t need to know that. “Boyfriend.”

Her curls trickle over her shoulder like the strawberry wine in her cup as she tips her chin and purses her lips into a flat line, “Stiles is here.” 

You try not to react—aren’t entirely sure why you do—and hide your complicated frown behind a sip of lemonade. It’s extra bitter going down. “Okay?”

Lydia shifts her weight from one Jimmy Choo to the other and sighs heavily, “He’s not going to like it.”

A flare of irritation sparks in your gut that you chase with a tip of your bottle. “Okay?” you mutter, wiping the excess liquid away with the back of your hand. A smear of nude lipstick is left behind, and you feel the sudden need to leave some on Theo’s neck for everyone to see. 

“I’m just warning you; it’s going to be a whole thing,” Lydia waves her hand in the air as she takes a dainty sip from her cup. Her pink manicure shines under the lights, and you wonder briefly how she can make every color look good with her red hair.

You hum and lean forward, grin a little sloppy as you sidle up to her side, “That you’ll be on my side for. Obviously.”

Lydia watches you carefully, eyes heavy, and tucks some of the hair falling in your face behind your ear. “Obviously,” she takes your hand, squeezing it tightly, and you feel a little less giggly and a lot more tender. 

You let her pull you into the crowded front room for a dance. It’s a good song, you think. Happy, lots of bass to jump to, and you’re shiny-faced and giddy by the time it’s over. 

Meandering towards the back patio for some fresh air, you pull your tank top away from your torso, gauzy material sticky with sweat and someone’s body glitter. You aren’t entirely sure where Theo ended up, but you take it as a good sign that he’s mingling with your friends—which, bless his crooked little heart, is all he’s ever wanted. 

The night breeze is so nice against your clammy skin that you feel a little lightheaded. You collapse on a padded deckchair and kick your feet up onto a keg, empty, most likely, based on its current state of abandonment. After a moment of hazy tranquility, a red solo cup filled to the brim with an unknown, potent liquid blocks your view of the winking gold embellishments on your boots. 

“You look like you need a drink,” Scott smiles at you from his slight bend over your head.

You take the cup from Scott eagerly and down about half of it to soothe the rawness in your throat—asthma is a bitch in hotboxes, makes you almost consider asking Scott for the bite. “I need about ten,” you hum, licking the little dribble of cherry-something from the corner of your mouth. It’s too sweet, but the ice is easing the beginnings of a headache forming in your temples. 

Scott sits down next to you, and you grumble a little as he nudges your side with his elbow until he has enough room to stretch his legs out too. “You look happy,” he grins at you, eyes crinkly and sweet. “Been a minute since I’ve seen that.”

“I feel happy,” you lean against his side and rest your cup against your cheek. The condensation gathered on the plastic is a godsend against your flushed face. “For the first time in…way too long.”

“Good,” Scott's voice is sincere, in the most genuinely empathic way that only Scott McCall can be, and he gently nudges your foot with his, “I’ve been worried.” He pauses and looks down at the contents of his cup, watches the ice slowly melt into whatever he poured for taste alone—you don’t like the pensive squint in his eyes. “You know I want to trust Theo, right? I really want to believe that he’s changed.”

You sigh a little, but because he only ever wants the best for everyone and, well, because it’s Scott, you say, “But?”

He gives his hands a small frown and taps his finger against the side of his drink, “Not a but, exactly. I do think he’s different now.” The mostly goes unsaid, and you watch him closely, waiting for him to finish. “I just want you to be careful, that’s all. I don’t want you to…rush into anything after, well,” Scott scratches the back of his neck a little and winces, “you know.”

“After Stiles dumped me because, ‘he needed space,’ and then started dating someone new two weeks later,” you finish for him flatly. He hadn’t even been subtle about it. His new girl was all over his Insta within the month—and she’s still fucking stunning in his flannels weeks later. Your stomach turns, but you swallow another mouthful of your dri—rum and Cherry Coke, you finally place the flavor, smiling a little at the memory of getting tipsy on the same drink at Senior prom with Scott, Kira, and…Stiles. It’s a good memory, you decide. You won’t let him take it from you.

“Yeah.” Scott sighs into his drink and then takes a long chug, “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again, you know? None of us do.”

“I know,” you smile at him fondly and kiss his cheek, “and it’s very sweet, but I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.” 

Scott smiles, bright and puppy-like, and then his head cocks with his little sixth-sense tick—also puppy-like, you think with a smirk. Scott’s grin fades and he murmurs, “Three o’clock,” against the rim of his cup.

Your eyebrows furrow, “What?”

Scott laughs, but it’s strained, and then nods towards something across the pool, “To your right.”

You turn your head, expecting to see one of your friends doing something stupid, and freeze momentarily when you meet Stiles’s gaze. His eyes are a little unfocused, murky with whatever’s in his plastic cup, but they sharpen when he sees you. He backs down first, and you polish off your drink, craving the sweet burn in your throat. “I need another drink.”

“You need to talk to him,” Scott says, and he takes your empty cup away from you, like he’s worried you can magically refill it with the simple power of desire. “If you can’t do it for him, do it for me. His brooding is really getting out of control.”

You don’t bother bringing up that Stiles is the one who ended it or that he brought his new girlfriend home with him. “Maybe,” you shoot Scott a sly grin and try to snag his drink from his hands, but your clumsy fingers are no match for his werewolf reflexes, “I do love and cherish you very, very much.”

Scott laughs and ruffles your hair, approaching noogie territory. “Should’ve gone out with me.”

You can’t help but look for him through the fog rising above the heated pool. Stiles’s face is pale in the reflection of the lit water; the shadows ripple across his cheeks when he tugs his girlfriend into a sloppy kiss—Chelsea, you recall, proud that there’s only a little bitterness coating the thought. “Don’t I know it,” you finally say. It’s the churning reflection and the smell of chlorine, you reason; that’s why you feel a bit like throwing up your last couple drinks.

Scott frowns when you don’t swat at his side or make fun of him, like you’d usually do in the face of such ridiculous teasing, and follows your gaze. “But that was never going to happen, huh,” he says quietly. “Not with the…” he trails off, face scrunching as he searches for the right words, “throbbingly in love since birth thing.”

You laugh through the stabbing sensation in your chest. “Throbbingly?”

He waves his free hand as he takes another sip of his drink, “You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t think I do,” you say, a small smile twitching on your face as Scott spills most of his red drink onto his white t-shirt.

He sighs and pulls the soaked material away from his chest, head darting around as he looks for something to mop up the mess. “You guys were just like…always ahead of everybody from the beginning, you know? Brains, love, all of it. I swear you guys were actually born like 30 years old, or maybe it's some kind of reincarnation, soulmate thing—okay, it probably has more to do with the…” 

“Early on-set trauma?” you fill-in for him, sparing him the unpleasantness of bringing up dead mothers and mental illness.

Scott nods and licks his bottom lip before continuing, “I remember this kid had a huge crush on you, like way back in elementary school, and even at nine years old I knew he didn’t have a shot. It was just obvious, you know? It was always going to be the two of you. It was just always gonna end up that way.”

You almost laugh at the sight: Scott dabbing at his shirt with a pink beach towel and oh-so casually confirming that your worst fears aren’t only valid but in fact a reality. Maybe, you really can’t love someone else, not the way you loved him. Maybe, you’re just kidding yourself when you talk about it in the past-tense. Maybe, it really is just the two of you, even if it’s all in your head now. 

“I’m definitely not drunk enough for this,” you try to sound flippant, but your words are as shaky as the hand you're raking through your hair. It’s already a mess, but you can’t stop. Your hands need to do something. 

“Then you’re really not gonna like what’s coming next,” Scott says as he jerks his thumb towards something behind him.

You turn your head, and your eyes widen when you see Stiles trudging towards the two of you with his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets. The chair’s metal frame squeaks with Scott’s shifting weight. He clamors to his feet, mumbling something about cleaning his shirt, and you give him your most intimidating glower, “Scott, if you walk away from me right now, I swear to fuckin’ god, I’ll never—Hi.” Your tone is clipped, short and to the point, when Stiles stops in front of you.

“Hey,” Stiles’s voice is dull, void of emotion, and so is his face. He stares at you, and you wish you knew what was really flickering behind that burnt umber and citrine honey. There was a time when you would’ve known—when you always knew. It’s so strange, you think, so strange how quickly someone can become a stranger.

You clear your throat and tuck your legs underneath yourself, tugging on the hem of your short skirt to maintain some semblance of modesty. His eyes still dart to your upper thigh, lingering on the strip of skin that’s bared when you sit upright. It’s only for a split second—but it’s enough. He’s seen it before, after all. Felt it with his long fingers and open palms. Dragged his lips across it, and left wet, open-mouth kisses along every inch—but he still looks like he wants to sink his teeth into the supple flesh one last time. 

You swallow, hard, and stand, “So…how’ve you been?”

“Fine,” he replies flatly. “Obviously not as good as you.”

Your lips purse as your eyes narrow, “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“First Theo Raeken, now Scott McCall: True Alpha, God among werewolves, Messiah of Beacon Hills. I’m genuinely impressed—bottom of my heart, babe. I mean, s’quite the body count if we’re talkin’ claws and body hair alone,” he spits. Despite the slight slur in his words, his consonants are barbed and serrated at the edges. They prick your skin and sting long after he finishes, and you know they’re going to follow you all the way home.

“Don’t be a dick,” you snap, wrapping your arms tightly around your biceps. The chill isn’t so pleasant anymore.  

“What? I’m just giving you the props you’ve so clearly earned. You’ve got the magic touch.” Stiles cants his head in a way that distinctly reminds you of someone else—a monster who stole the face of the boy you loved a lifetime ago. “I’d ask how good the sex is, but I already know. It’s that thing you do with your tongue, right? When you’re givin’ head? That’s how you get ‘em, huh. Suckers—” his drink spills on his shoes when he lets out a sharp chortle, “suckers. Didn’t even mean to do that.” 

You stare at him, eyes burning, and try to determine exactly how drunk he is. “Stop it.” You do your best to look more annoyed than devastated—the last thing you need is to start crying like you still care. He can't win; you won’t let him, not like this. “Just stop. It’s pathetic—you’re pathetic.”

Something complicated rolls over his face, and Stiles clenches his fists, “Whatever. Guess it’ll be too late to say told’ya so when he rips your heart out and broils it—or whatever the fuck psychopaths do for fun these days.” 

Your face crumples a little—not because you think Theo would ever actually hurt you but because Stiles sounds so ambivalent about the possibility. Sometimes you hate him, sometimes a little, sometimes a lot—but you’ve never stopped caring, not once. You never stop worrying about if he’ll make it out alive, if he'll survive with all his breakable bones and fragile skin intact. You find yourself staring at the ceiling until the sun rises, dwelling on all the horrific, life-or-death situations he’ll end up in when he graduates from the Academy years from now. Stiles was your best friend years before he was your boyfriend. Did all that really not matter now? Just because of something as stupid as a breakup? It’s just so…high school. You really thought it’d been…more. 

Everything. You used to think it was everything.

“Stay the fuck away from me, Stiles,” you shove past him, stumbling a bit over your boots’ chunky heel and a little too much rum. 

He doesn’t follow you, and you should be glad. You should be happy that he isn’t there to witness the black smears under your eyes or the snot you’re trying to hide with a few discreet sniffles. You should be grateful that he doesn’t see Theo pull you into his side and take you home, grateful that he can’t ruin the soft kisses Theo rains down on the crown of your head and the way he doesn’t push to come inside after you say your parents are gone.

But you aren’t, and you hate yourself for it. 

You barely manage to wipe off what’s left of your makeup with a damp towel and throw on some clean clothes before you tumble into bed. You’re still sweaty, grimy with tears and a night of dancing, but the rum is hitting hard, and you just want to go to sleep and forget he ever existed.

You’re halfway between sleep and consciousness in the early hours of the morning when you hear a loud thud against your bedroom window. The thudding continues, and with a great sigh you slip out of your sheets, hissing when your bare feet land on the cold floor. You slowly shuffle towards the bay window, trying to forget it's where you had your first kiss, and kneel on the cushioned bench. You have to rub at your eyes a few times when you see Stiles trying to break into your house. You only unlock the latch after you convince yourself that you’re going to push him off of the roof into the rose bushes two stories below, and then, of course, you sit back on your heels so that he has room to crawl through the narrow opening. 

“When the fuck did you start locking your window?” Stiles stumbles into your room and catches himself against the floor with his palm, feet still dangling over the windowsill. You take great pleasure in shoving his legs off of the window seat and watching him fall face-first onto the carpeted rug. He grunts when he lands and rubs his jaw as he sits up, “Guess I deserved that.” 

His lips part when he gets a good look at you, backlit by the moon and all his worst mistakes. You’re in an old t-shirt from middle school, bleach stains all along the left shoulder, and a pair of baggy sweatpants with ratty holes around the hem from years of dragging against the ground. Your face is still tacky with tears, eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, and Stiles is pretty sure he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.

You shift uncomfortably, pull your knees to your chest, and shiver as the night air drifts through the open window, “Still drunk?” 

“Not so much,” he holds up a mostly steady hand.

“Still a fucking asshole?”

“Probably.” Stiles bites his lip and shrugs, “Definitely.”

You stare at him, sniffling quietly, hoping that he can’t hear how pathetic it sounds, “Stiles, what are you doing here?” 

He drums his fingers against his thighs and shrugs again. You want to smack him. And hold him. And maybe drink some more liver poison until the school year starts again. “Dunno, just started walkin’, n’ I ended up here.” Stiles closes his eyes, and his lashes are so strikingly dark against his pale skin. “I always end up here,” he whispers like a vow, like a prayer, like forever. 

You dig your toes into the bench and swallow a hiccup. “Don’t,” your protest is weak, and you blame it on your sore throat. “You can’t say shit like that. It’s not fair.”

“I know,” Stiles rubs a hand over his face. He’s in need of a shave, you notice, or…maybe not. You kind of like the stubble the more you get used to it—your tipsy, sleep-deprived mind stupidly wonders what it’d feel like between your thighs. Stiles sighs, returning your attention to far more unpleasant thoughts, “But I just want to.” He leans onto his palms and tips his head back between his shoulders, shaking his head at the ceiling. “I just wanna say it all, all the things I thought while you were gone. Knew I would the second I saw you.”

“You’re—” your tongue is thick as you struggle for words over the conflicting emotions wrangling each other in your throat, “you’re so fuckin’—you can’t just come here and act like—” You rub aggressively at your eyes and push yourself to your feet, “You need to go, Stiles. I want you to go.”

Stiles stands with you and cards his fingers through his hair. It’s long, curling around his ears, and you turn your gaze away from him, staring at the wall and digging your fingers into your forearms to stop yourself from reaching for him. “Can we just…talk?” he whispers, whether it’s for his sake or yours, you’re not entirely sure. He looks small, scared, but you can’t tell if he’s afraid for you or of you. “Just for a little bit. I need…I just need another minute. That’s all, and then I’ll go. Promise.”

I need. I need. I need. It’s always what he needs on his time. You cross the floor with wild eyes and snap, “What do you want to talk about? Huh? How you left me for someone else, or how I’m such a fucking whore for moving on?”

He grits his teeth and grabs your wrists, long fingers overlapping around the delicate bones when you try to yank away from his firm grip. “You think this is what I want?” He doesn’t yell. Somehow, that’s worse. “You think I like being like this? Every time someone fucking touches you I want to rip their hands off!”

You thrash in Stiles’s arms, and his pained expression is blurry through your wet glare, “You had me! I was yours! I was so fucking in love with you, and then you—you just ended it and moved on, like it was nothing.” Your chest heaves, a stark contrast to the gentle quiver in your bottom lip. Your voice drops to something almost inaudible; it's the only way you can get through this while you're crying, the only way you can force the words through your tender throat, “Like I was nothing.”

Your cries turn into sobs when Stiles pulls you into his arms, and they wrack through your entire body when he kisses your hair and whispers sweet nonsense in your ear. You struggle for a moment longer, and then there's nothing left. You've given him everything. You sag into him, legs sinking with your full weight until he wraps his arms around your waist and presses you tighter to his chest. “I got scared,” Stiles whispers against the crown of your head when your cries peter into hiccups, and your next whimper shudders through your shoulders. He rests his palms against the small of your back and inhales the sweet scent of your shampoo, ducking his head down to kiss your forehead, “You were so far away, and so, so perfect, and I missed you all the fucking time.”

Stiles pauses, but it’s not for you. It’s a stall; you can feel his knee bounce and his fingers twitch. You wait, face buried in his collarbone, too busy trying to breathe to even think about speaking. After a moment, could’ve been seconds, could’ve been hours, he squeezes you—almost until it hurts, and it feels like he’s terrified that you’re just another one of the shadows on your bedroom walls. “I couldn’t ask you to transfer from Stanford to some fuckin’ state school in Virginia, so I fucked everything up ‘cause I guess...at least then it was my choice—and I know that just makes it worse. I know that. Because that means I chose to ruin it, I decided to hurt you…and I’m so fucking sorry. Just so unbelievably, life-ruiningly sorry.”

And there it is. The apology you’ve been waiting for, dreaming of, fantasizing about in every shower, in every cafe line, in every early morning class—and it’s just so…hollow. It sits between the two of you, heavy and horridly inadequate. “You found someone else,” you whimper into his shoulder, clasping at his t-shirt and wetting the white collar with your tears and runny nose—and you wish, more than anything, that this could be enough. “How could you find someone else that quickly?”

Stiles freezes, stops rubbing your back and rocking you from side-to-side, and it’s just jarring enough to remind yourself how dangerous it is to be in his arms. You step back and wrap your arms around yourself instead, and Stiles watches you with something hopeless all over his face. “I was just trying to prove that I didn’t make the biggest fucking mistake of my life,” he says, but he says it to his shoes. You wonder who he’s hiding from: himself or you. “Didn’t work, obviously.”

You just stare at him, arms limp by your sides, and shake your head a little. “What are you doing here, Stiles?” your voice is clotted with mucus and defeat, and it breaks halfway through along with your knees. You lean against the wall and close your lids so that you don’t have to see his eyes: so vast, so deep, so damn pretty—you’re suffocating in them. “What do you want from me?”

He’s relentless. Stiles steps forward, and there’s nowhere for you to go. “I want you.” And that’s the thing, isn’t it? There’s the rub. It’s always hunger, no sating. No happy ending. 

“Nothing’s changed.” You tilt your head and wring your fingers in the hem of your t-shirt, tugging every so often, “I’m still going back to Stanford, and you’re still going back east in the fall.” UPenn. Criminology, obviously. You never got the chance to congratulate him. 

“I know,” he’s right in front of you now, waiting for you to push him away. You don’t.

The back of your head hits the wall as you tip your chin up to look at him, “And I have Theo, and you have…her.”

“I know,” he braces his hands next to the sides of your head, watching your lips move without any shame, breath hot against your skin. 

“Stiles…” you plead with him through your lashes, asking for mercy, on hands and knees begging him to turn around and leave.

“Tell me you don’t want me.” Stiles rests his forehead against yours, “Tell me it’s over, and there’s nothing I can do to fix this.” 

“You already know,” you close your eyes and shake your head, nose rubbing against his, “you know I’d be lying.”

“You love me.” It’s not a question. He knows. He’ll always know.

You shake your head again, and Stiles can taste the salt on your lips, “Doesn’t matter.”

“I love you,” Stiles whispers, carding his fingers through your hair.

“Too late,” your lips brush against his, feather-light, and catch on the chapped center of his mouth.

He kisses you, cups your jaw like you’re ineffably precious, and you feel like you can breathe for the first time in months. Stiles tilts his head a little, and his tongue is gentle in its prodding, almost sweet—but he grabs onto your hips like he wants to eat you alive. You just might let him, you think, when you feel his stubble scrape against your neck as he trails a balmy line of kisses towards your collarbone. 

You wind your fingers in his hair and tug to keep yourself on your feet. “We ca—ah,” he licks along your pulse, on purpose, and you shiver, “we can’t do this.”

Stiles hums against your cheek. “And yet, here I am, sliding my hands under your shirt, trying to cop a feel.” His fingers dip under your shirt. They’re cold on your bare stomach, and you flinch a little. Dizzyingly, you remember where you are, who you’re with, and who's going to text you in the morning to make sure you’re okay.

“We really can’t do this,” you whisper, slipping your hands from his hair to his arms. You pull them away gently and tip your head back from his persistent mouth, “I’m not going to hurt Theo the way you hurt me, and I’m not going to let you do this to someone else.”

“It’s not the same,” he says, gravelly and thick. He turns away from you, paces the length of your room a few times, and throws his hands around like he can change your mind if he gestures hard enough, “You know it’s not the same.” Stiles stops abruptly and shakes his head, seemingly at nothing—and then he’s back in front of you before you can catch your breath. He places his hands on your shoulders and then slides his palms to your biceps, just holding onto you. Not clutching, not squeezing, just a light touch that you can’t seem to break away from. 

“You’ve been my best friend for 15 years,” Stiles licks his bottom lip, and you watch him with wide eyes and a blitzing heart, “and I’ve loved you for well over half of ‘em—just plain wanted you even longer.” He slips his hand down your arm to your hand and tangles his fingers with yours, lifting them to rest over his skittering heartbeat, “You’re mine, and I’m yours. That’s how it is. That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it should be.”

You want to say it back, you do, but you just can’t. Not with all the unresolved details wriggling in your ear. “You brought her home, Stiles. You can’t just…just introduce her to your dad and cheat on her all in the same day.”

“Technically, cheat on and then dump,” he tries to smile, but it’s not convincing. Not with the guilt dimming his eyes.

“That’s not funny,” you snap, but the guilt is good. He wouldn’t be the man you know, the boy you grew up with, if he didn’t feel at least a little guilty about the whole thing.

“Dad’s out of town,” Stiles admits quietly, and for some reason, that means more to you than his apology, than his kisses, than his hand in yours. You didn’t realize how much the thought had been bothering you until now—destroying you one post at a time. “I only brought her because I knew you were going to be here with…him.” He shrugs a little, “Frankly, I think she knows. She aced behavioral science.”

You roll your eyes and huff, “You’re an asshole.”

“I know,” he concedes and kisses the back of your hand, continuing along the row of your knuckles, “but I’m in love with you, and it’s become abundantly clear that I always will be.”

Your bottom lip trembles with the desire to give in to what you want, but your hand twists away from him with what you know is right—even though it feels so horrendously wrong. “I can’t do this to him, Stiles. He’s been through so much, and he’s been so good to me, and he’s trying so hard to—”

“But you don’t love him!” Stiles hisses. It’s the loudest he’s been all night, but you don’t flinch from the volume. It’s the truth of it all, the vile honestly you can’t hide from that makes you recoil.

You look at the ceiling through your lashes, an old trick to fight the tears welling in your tear ducts. Some girl in middle school told you about it in the bathroom, and you try to remember her name and what cloying body spray she was spritzing instead of thinking about how easy it would be to let Stiles crawl into your bed and make you forget about everyone and everything that isn’t him. “I should,” you finally murmur throatily, biting on your lip, “maybe I could…someday.”

Stiles whips his head towards your face and takes a little stumbling step backwards, “You don’t believe that.” You’re sure that he wishes he sounded more confident, but he gives himself away with the hand rubbing the back of his neck, “Say you don’t believe that.”

“You need to go, Stiles.” You clutch at your arm with your other hand and step back towards your bed, further away from him and the wet film over his eyes. “I’m serious. I need you to leave.”

He opens his mouth and then scrubs his arm over his face, wiping away the incriminating wet gleam on his cheeks with the sleeve of his flannel. “Okay,” his throat bobs with the strength of his swallow, “yeah, okay.”

You wait until he reaches your bedroom door to crawl onto your bed. You curl in on yourself, like a child, ad press your face into your legs, your knees to your chest, your back against the headboard—but Stiles pauses before you can really fall apart.

Stiles rests his hand against the doorframe and chews on his cheek, on his words, on the thought of you, and then he says, “I’m still breaking up with her. You don’t…you don’t owe me anything—that’s fucking putting it lightly, I know—but I’m still breaking up with her.” He lifts a shoulder and smiles, a little sad but so true, “There’s no one else for me. There’s never going to be anyone else…just thought you should know.”

He’s gone by the time you look up from your kneecaps. Good. You were this close to giving in. This close to throwing yourself over the edge for someone who’s dropped once before, and you’re still cleaning up the mess he left behind. You should be proud of yourself, happy that you weren’t weak enough to say yes, yes, a million, billion, trillion times yes.

But you aren’t, and you hate yourself for it.

[nvtstvrns]

𝙸'𝚖 𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝙾𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚖𝚎d

Matt x fem reader

In which y/n is a competitive dancer and she’s practicing over and over for her dance competition tomorrow and she injured her hip flexer and it hurts to dance but she needs to be perfect.

TW: angst, anxiety, crying, mentions of injuries.

A/N: I’m a dancer but I’m not competitive so I get this feeling very very often, I always feel overwhelmed so I decided that I needed to create a fan-fiction about it. Also I’m gonna link the song that I imagine y/n is gonna be dancing to.

𝔼ℕ𝕁𝕆𝕐𝕐𝕐

I’m a dancer. A perfectionist dancer. I need this dance to be perfect tomorrow. I need to win for my studio. Lyrical is my strong suit and I can do it. But I can’t. I injured my hip flexor and I can’t do my kicks high enough. I restart my music again, turns, leaps, jumps, and kicks. I was in so much pain and I just wanted it to go away. I take a long drink of my water.

“Y/n? We’re home,” I hear Matt say as he walks through the door. They went out to eat with some friends. I was so happy Matt was home but I wasn’t going to go to him. I needed to finish this dance and I needed to be satisfied with it before I do anything.

My ribs were hurting from all of the backbends I was doing and the arial’s definitely hurt me even worse. I was trying my best to do it right but I just couldn’t.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” I say to myself hitting myself in the head.

“Woah…what’s up love.” Matt says as he walks into the living room catching me calling myself an idiot.

“I just can’t do the dance right…” I say holding back tears.

“Do ya wanna show us?” He asks as Nick and Chris sit down on the couch. I nod my head and I give Matt my phone to start the music. I count the music in my head and keep a solid expression on my face the whole time. At the ending pose I smile and the triplets clap for me. I put my leg down and I start limping. My hip flexor was really hurting me. I limp over to Matt

“What’s wrong love?” He asks as I sit on his lap.

“My hip flexor hurts and every time I do a kick it feels like someone’s stabbing me. And my dance looks absolutely horrible, I’m not gonna win Matt! And this is nationals I have to win!” I say as I start to cry.

“Oh my god girl. You’re so emotional. Your dance was actually awesome.” Chris says patting my shoulder.

“You have too much talent babe…” Matt says holding me closer.

I smile and I feel a little confident about tomorrow.

At competition the next day I try my best, my legs are straight in all leaps and turns and my body stays upright in the right posture. When I’m finished I walk offstage and begin crying, I find Matt Nick and Chris in the audience and I lay on Matt’s shoulder.

“I was terrible.” I say crying into his shoulder.

“Terrible? No you were beautiful up there y/n. You were better than anyone I’ve seen all night.” He says as he kisses the top of my head, I smile, I love that Matt always supports me,

When I get on stage for the awards I sit and shake my leg. We get to the top 10 and my name hasn’t been called yet, which sounds like a good sign. My body is shivering from nerves.

“And overall winner is y/n y/l/n with Strawberry Wine!” I looked around in shock and I went to get my tiara and the trophy. Matt stands up clapping for me and I smile at him.

When I get off the stage I run to him and jump in his arms.

“I knew you could do it pretty girl.”

[softhairedhotch]

↳ noah kahan lyrics that aaron hotchner would relate to

stick season

"so i thought that if i piled something good on all my bad" - him becoming a lawyer and then joining the fbi to stop criminals and save people. that's him trying to do good in a world that he knows is full of so much hate and pain, especially with how he was raised and the job his father had

"that i could cancel out the darkness i inherited from dad" - his greatest fear is that he'd end up just like his dad

the last two lines would be about haley :(

young blood

this is so him talking to elle in that one scene </3 "i could tell you the truth, that this life takes a toll on you"

and the "in the mornin', i'm bulletproof" could be what he tells himself each morning before he goes to work. that he'll survive the day and go home to his wife and child. that he'll be alright. that he won't leave them stranded. if he tells himself that, he believes it, and if he believes it, he can get through anything.

bad luck

he thought he was gonna die young bc of his dad :( and then because of work :(

i feel like this is something he'd have said to haley or to a partner of his

nothern attitude

"you lose your wife" :(

"i was raised out in the cold" because of his father and his traumatic childhood.

call your mom

this just makes me think of him standing and waiting in the hospital when a team member gets hurt :(

strawberry wine

when he met beth ("like a stranger in the park") and immediately thought of haley ("for a few moments, i see you")

[onyourowndaisymae]

obey me brothers as songs from noah kahan's "stick season"

i don't really have any excuse for writing this over the million other things i need to write, i just really fucking love this album i beg of you please listen to it so i have a void to scream in

content warnings: season 1 and 2 plot spoilers, discussions of death, minor nightbringer spoilers

Lucifer - Strawberry Wine

"strawberry wine, and all the time we used to have // those things i miss, but know are never comin' back // for you, darlin', for you //// no thing defines a man like love that makes him soft // and sentimental like a stranger in the park // for a few moments, i see you"

a soft song about grief centered around alcohol? so painfully lucifer

strawberry wine (as far as i'm aware-- and side note that all of these interpretations are semi-official and semi-speculation) is about losing someone you loved

makes me think of his grief surrounding lilith as her older brother. in nightbringer, he talks about how he used to laugh off her visits to the human world and how that was a mistake. every time he discusses her brings this sort of softness, this melancholic haze of regret and love.

that's what strawberry wine is to me. it's love and regret and pain all mixed together into a sense of yearning for something you know is long gone.

Mammon - Orange Juice

"honey, come over, the party's gone slower // and no one will tempt you, we know you got sober // there's orange juice in the kitchen, bought for the children // it's yours if you want it, we're just glad you could visit //// feels like i've been ready for you to come home for so long // that I didn't think to ask you where you'd gone // why'd you go?"

this song literally makes me scream

orange juice is about seeing someone again for the first time in awhile and finding out that they've changed and worked to better themselves in their absence-- all while you never noticed them struggling in the first place. it's pity and regret and sympathy and hope all mixed together into a mocktail of emotion that KILLS me.

mammon is a busy guy. something is constantly on his mind. s much as he loves the people around him, it wouldn't be that hard to hide your struggles from him.

it makes me write this fanfic in my head about mammon seeing a newly sober mc a few years after the exchange program and coming to terms with the fact that as much as he cares for them, he's not always been there for them in the way they need. i have a vision so clear in my head. maybe i'll write it someday

shoutout to the "are we all just crows to you now?" lyric that i can't listen to without thinking of mammon. the disappointment and earnesty in the way he says it makes me lose my MIND

Leviathan - Come Over

"i know that it ain't much, i know that it ain't cool // oh, you don't have to tell the other kids at school // my dad will strike it rich, we'll be the big house on the block // someday I'm gonna be somebody people want //// but I'm in the business of losing your interest // and I turn a profit each time that we speak // don't you know there's a coffin buried under the garden? // was there when we got here, will be there when we leave"

come over is a song about feeling so small and out of place, about yearning for something greater feeling foolish all the while. it's insecurity, knowing you're not what you want to be, but hoping that the person you hold so dear can look past the things about you that make you squirm.

this one is my roommate's fav song, btw, so i hope i do it justice.

i see levi here in the song's insecurity, in the almost apologetic tone for not being "enough". it's all yearning for someone you worry will be ashamed of you. the song practically shuts itself down before it even starts, and this to me reminds me of that envy that keeps itself coiled around levi when he interacts with mc or groups of his brothers

the lyric "the sad kid in the sad house on Balch Street", my mind immediately pictures levi, head ducked, avoiding the spotlight most of his other brothers embrace

Satan - Northern Attitude

"if I get too close // and I'm not how you hoped // forgive my northern attitude // oh, I was raised out in the cold //// if the sun don't rise // 'til the summertime // forgive my northern attitude // oh, I was raised on little light"

i feel so passionate about this one, i feel it in my BONES

if satan wasn't from hell i could absolutely see him as a northeastern sad boy from a rainy town

northern attitude is a song about being a fuckup from fucking nowhere. the chorus (quoted above) is a plea for the listener to forgive them of their social transgressions, of not being good enough to be around, because they weren't raised with warmth and love, but rather in the cold and the dark.

satan was never an angel, unlike his brothers. they had time to roam and grow up in the celestial realm, a land of light and virtue. satan's home is the devildom in all its dark, sinful glory. that place is all he as himself-- not as an extension of lucifer's memories-- knows.

satan is also well aware that he is the avatar of wrath and clearly that is off-putting to a lot of people. especially after meeting mc, this song to me is satan trying his damnedest to go against his nature as a reckless demon and be someone they can love

Asmodeus - She Calls Me Back

"if only i could wake you up // if only i could fall asleep // i'll love you when the ocean's dry // i'll love you when the rivers freeze //// does it bite at your edges? // do you lie awake restless? // why am i so obsessive? // hanging onto every sentence // this town's the same as you left it // your page is blank but i read it // i still dial 822-993-167"

i don't think asmo, at least aesthetically, fits into stick season very well. the whole album is very rainy and depressed, unlike him. but. there is one song that stands out to me sonically, just like the way asmo stands out from his brothers. hence why she calls me back and asmo are a good match

i like asmo most when solmare decides to acknowledge his depth as a character. one of those dimensions i think is very interesting is this sort of obsessive aspect to him where he needs everyone to like him and to always be perfect all the time. it's like he uses this perfectionism to generate enough love and praise to cover his insecurities.

the first and only person asmo loves as much (or more!) than himself is mc. noting that obsessive part of him, i think that everything they do sort of eats at asmo. he's never been in genuine love before, so i think that everything about loving mc feeds into this obsessiveness. like the popularity contest where he's fighting so hard against lucifer, where simeon eventually pointed out that people want to look good in front of those that they love? that. that is the feeling i'm getting at.

when the chorus gets to the "everything's alright when she calls me back", that reads as the relief. asmo won't worry about what mc thinks or if they like someone better in those moments because there, above everything, is the feeling of love he has from just being around them.

Beelzebub - Everywhere, Everything

"would we survive in a horror movie? // i doubt it, we're too slow moving // we trust everyone we meet //// two bodies riddled with scars from our preteens // intertwine in a car's dirty backseat // stare at a drive-in screen //// we didn't know that the sun was collapsing // 'til the seas rose and the buildings came crashing // we cried, 'oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh'"

everywhere, everything is a song about wanting to stick by someone that you've grown up and grown together with through the end of the world-- or the end of yours, specifically.

beel comes off to me as SUCH a family person. i'm sure that's canon too, i just can't think of anything specific to quote atm.

this song to me seems like a reflection on the journey of the past as it mirrors the journey ahead. to me, with beelzebub, his previous life in the celestial realm came crumbling after the great celestial war-- yet he came out the other side with (most of) his loved ones to stay by his side.

i think he's willing to follow the twists and turns of fate to jostle him around, take what they need from him, so long as he gets to keep his remaining family.

when mc comes around, i think they're immediately woven into that same protective field of his. he'll go through hell and back again as long as they come out the other side with him.

Belphegor - The View Between Villages

"passed alger brook road, i'm over the bridge // a minute from home but I feel so far from it // the death of my dog, the stretch of my skin // it's all washin' over me, i'm angry again //// the things that i lost here, the people i knew // they got me surrounded for a mile or two // the car's in reverse, i'm grippin' the wheel // i'm back between villages and everything's still"

this is, unquestionably, my favorite song on the album. by a lot. it just means so much to me. the extended version WILL kill me this summer.

the view between villages starts slowly with an acknowledgement of growth while painting a picture of a slow drive through the backroads home. it's all peace and love, all growth.

then the second half of the song kicks in (quoted above) and it just hits you like a sledgehammer, picking up intensity until the final line where the world stills again. it is so, so good. the latter half is the feeling of being back home and being mobbed by your ghosts, of realizing that maybe you can't just up and walk away from your traumas like you thought you could.

to me, this feels like belphegor's experience in lesson 16. when confronted with the truth about lilith's death, all of the pain and anger and fear rushes back to him, and he just... breaks down. the swell of the music mimics that rush of emotion as it overwhelms you past your breaking point. it's the influx of righteous anger at your loss, the pain of yesterday finding its home back inside you. it's bitterness and anger and pain melding with the person you've grown to be. it's a new beast entirely.

god this is such a good fucking song

[photmath]

28, 12, 5

Another 28, lord. You should do a 28 for real, matter of fact, you're about to get an ask in a second from me.

5. I think I'll give you the saddest song on my playlist LMFAO. At least lyrical wise to me. "Hope" by Old Sea Brigade.

That song is not for the weak because PLEASE that opening line starts off strong with a "I wanna feel hope when I die, so I know what I left behind." I don't listen to lyrics and will probably listen to the first line only of a song, so when that song came up on my shuffled playlist, needless to say I was all ears because my gosh what an attention-grabbing line. And then he just continues to sing "I wanna feel peace when I rest, So I know that I passed loves test" and AHHH. It's like him saying that the only time he *might* be and accept that he's loved is as he dies and that is just so like, bro how could you write that?? I swear I just wanted to give him a big hug and tell him he's loved by me at least because AHHHHH.

12. the amount of playlists you’ve made

I have 23, but only listen to about 4 regularly!

28. rank the songs in an album

You're killing me, Belly.

So there's probably one more full album that I've listened to and it's called "Stick Season" by Noah Kahan. It's not that very sad, I think, although clearly my judgement isn't great. But it is kind of more folk-pop so a little head nod or whatever.

The View Between Villages (the best)

Northern Attitude

All My Love

Stick Season

Everywhere, Everything

Strawberry Wine

She Calls Me Back

Come Over

New Perspective

Homesick

Orange Juice

Growing Sideways

Still

Halloween (it's ehh, solid)

[wayward-sherlock]

for the homesick ask game... 🍂

eee i cant wait to read!! based on the emojis i am very excited 👀

HEHE HELLO EL !!! :D

🍂 : what is a lyric that sums up the fic?

so i actually answered this one here, BUT another lyric that sums it up is… “all the time we used to have / those things that i miss, but know are never coming back” from strawberry wine by noah kahan because AREHDHDHDHDGEG a big theme in this fic is mike’s struggle with growing up and losing will to the big city so…YEAH!!

homesick ask game

[monstrsball]

my favorite line in each song on noah kahan's stick season (we'll all be here forever)

this will be long so i am just putting it all under the cut <33 if you haven't, you should listen to stick season by noah kahan btw

Northern Attitude

"Forgive my northern attitude, oh, I was raised on little light."

Stick Season

"And I'll dream each night of some version of you That I might not have, but I did not lose."

honestly really hard to narrow it down for this one because i love so many lines in this long... "I'm no longer funny cause I miss the way you laugh" is another one i really like.

All My Love

"Now I know your name, but not who you are."

(runner-up: "If you need me, dear, I'm the same as I was" )

this is one of my favorite songs on the album in general because it's just so... relatable, idk. like this is a song about a past relationship but it makes me think about the friends i lost touch with after i graduated high school. makes me emo.

She Calls Me Back

"I still dial 822-993-167"

the pre-chorus just tickles my brain... i enjoy it a lot but specifically this line. idk man. otherwise i don't have like strong emotions tied to this song or anything but i do like it.

"Oh, there was heaven in your eyes. I was not baptized" is also good though... really love the way he sings it too

Come Over

"Someday I'm gonna be somebody people want"

New Perspective

"You and all of your new perspective now Wish I could shut it in a closet And drag you back down"

Everywhere, Everything

"Everywhere, everything, I wanna love you 'til we're food for the worms to eat"

Orange Juice

"Are we all just crows to you now?"

there are so many parts of this song that i absolutely adore... it's so hard to pick one. the post-chorus is genuinely incredible. my favorite part of the song.

Strawberry Wine

"No thing defines a man like love that makes him soft"

Growing Sideways

"I'm terrified that I might never have met me."

Halloween

"But the wreckage of you, I no longer reside in And the bridges have long since been burnt"

Homesick

"I got dreams, but I can't make myself believe them. Spend the rest of my life with what could have been And I will die in the house that I grew up in"

as i've said before.... this song seems to perfectly sum up what being in your 20s is like lmao. (it's very much about growing up in new england but it's also so 'what being in your 20s is like' to me)

Still

"You miss something that you can't place but you can't deny it"

The View Between Villages

"The things that I lost here, the people I knew They got me surrounded for a mile or two."

The View Between Villages (extended) <- technically the last song on the album but i'm putting it here so it goes with the original

"I'm back between villages and everything's still"

okay i was going to pick a lyric that was unique to the extended version but i couldn't. i just love this one, i have to represent it.

Your Needs, My Needs

"I'm naming the stars in the sky after you"

however, the bridge is also INCREDIBLE and perhaps my favorite part but i don't want to just write the entirety of it. and i think what makes it my favorite is less the lyrics and just the way he sings it and the way it... intensifies and gets louder?? idk. but it makes me crazy.

Dial Drunk

"'Son are you a danger to yourself?' Fuck that sir, just let me call"

another one where the bridge is my favorite part of the song and i didn't want to just write the entirety of it lol. this line IS from the bridge though

Paul Revere

"And the world makes sense behind a chain-link fence If I could leave, I would have already left"

No Complaints

"Yes, I'm young and living dreams In love with being noticed and afraid of being seen"

Call Your Mom

"I'll drive, I'll drive all night I'll call your mom"

once again, the bridge is the best part of the song imo but this line gets to me too. this whole song makes me tear up though... had to force myself not to cry one time when it came on while i was in the car with my dad.

You're Gonna Go Far

"We ain't angry at you, love You're the greatest thing we lost"

this is the hinata shouyou song to me... so ofc this is my favorite line. <33 i think about him and karasuno whenever i listen to it and it makes me so so so emo, i want to cry. hinata fans gather and listen to this song.

also have recently started appreciating "Making quiet calculations where the fault lies"... makes me think about a certain ship that i'm sure you will never be able to guess [sarcasm] <- world's most predictable girl

[meteormoss]

hello!!! so your fic he curtains pulled out of the wall got me into the stick season album and my brain chemistry is forever changed

anyways do you have any like?? specific song associations for chapters or characters?

This ask is harder than you think to answer. My actual answer I'm going to keep just to Stick Season songs (+1 other noah kahan song because its too perfect) but the playlists feature some other songs. I'm going to link them at the end, feel free to give them a listen or look. Dirt roads earned all these empty scars playlist is still a WIP tho

The very last chapter of the curtains pulled out of the wall (and im thinking the 2nd chapter of dirt roads earned all these empth scars) is heavily inspired by The View Between Villages. Specifically the transition of feelings, but i referenced it as well with how he sits in his car. This song specifically makes me oh so ill, and i think it means a lot to the entire story.

New perspective is more of a characterization of the town and cleo and the relarionship (mostly with cleo tho) through bdubs' eyes, but it's not quite on the nose with it.

Stick season is straight up a bdubs song. Like literally everything in it heavily helped me characterize him. That is a bdubs song. Even if a lot of the characterization isn't directly discussed. (Oh, btw, for those of you who are curious, the season of the sticks is winter, cuz thats all you see, i didnt get it at first either)

Homesick just generally makes me think of the story abd enviorment, the very beginning lyrics are of course a reference to cleo. "I got dreams but i cant make myself believe them, spend the rest of my life with what couldve been, and i will die in the house i grew up in, im home sick" is both bdubs and etho.

Come Over is a bit of the first chapter, a bit of enviorment, a bit of bdubs, a bit of desperation to not get left irrefutably alone. "Someday im gonna be somebody people want" should stick in your mind

All My Love is a lot of the very first chapters, especially from the pov of the curtains pulled out of the wall, very much less so for dirt roads earned all these empty scars and thats because of the differences of perspective. I cant even pull out a lyric to emphasive this because that whole chapter is so much this song. "Now i know your name but not who you are" is a really important line for both fics, and both povs, and all the characters. Its just one to remember.

Still is a lot of the thought going into writing the final chapter and thr funeral chapter. It didnt really go into the actual writings as intensely but i would confidently say it bled in. But for me personally those chapters and this song are intrisically tied.

Strawberry Wine is nostalgia for bdubs, its the reason he's not moved on as well. This is such a bdubs song. "We buried your bones in plywood" is such a complicated line theres a reason it's the series title. It's simultaneously a reference to the state of cleo and etho in this. Cleo is nothing but old pictures shoved in a wooden box in the attic, something buried in dust and anger. Inaccessible. Etho's literally got his bobes buried in a wooden box. He's dead, also entierly inaccessible.

Northern Attitude is the cleo song off of Stick Season. That's literally her. She built everything there and uprooted it too. She's realized she's callused and notably mean because of her original enviorment and it stands out where she is now. She reflects sometimes, but mostly she pushes it all off.

And then we come to the song that i need to mention because of how it explains Cleo. Paul Revere by Noah Kahan. This ones going to heavily inspire chapter 2 of her side of this, dirt roads earned all these empty scars. Chapter 2 is gonna be very similar to chapter 2 of the curtains pulled out of the wall, but the timings will be a bit off from each other, it'll be the heading to bdubs' that this song really represents. But it's also the cleo song ever. It characterizes the time before she left, when she left, and when she's been gone. It discusses how she hasnt moved on or let go, she just doesnt cling as bdubs does. Shes hurt and angry but she understands she doesnt need or want it and it's such a fight between forces inside her and it tears her up. "If I could leave I wouldve already left" is such an essential line to her character, shes physically removed, but pieces of her are still out there in the cold.

Sorry some of these are a little more broad than you asked, i just think they're just as essential. You have to understand the enviorment on a level to understand the characters.

[seasonal-writes]

Okay okay for the music thing:

#4 fish inside a birdcage by fish inside a birdcage has SO MUCH Jimmy energy it’s painful. Like you even have the Codfather+canary just OUGH

In case yoy don’t live forever by Ben Platt is so very ranchers, so is Lemon Boy by cavetown

YES OMG!! i literally have Fish Inside a Birdcage on my golden rings AU playlist because of that, FOR jimmy specifically. aND THAT BEN PLATT SONG ALSO MAKES ME FALL TO THE FLOOR WHEN I APPLY IT TO RANCHERS AGH /POS also we love a good Cavetown song. you're SO RIGHT pARIS THESE ARE SO GOOD-

song for you!! if you like ben platt generally, i'd totally recommend "dance with you" by him as well :D the whole Reverie album is less piano-y but MAN does it still have that sense of his lyricism. my other favorite from that album is "i wanna love you but i don't"! uhhh you can also haaaave "Strawberry Wine" by Noah Kahan!! which is. HUGE rancher coded song for me. a mutual of mine literally wrote a fic based on it and i'm just- i'm ILL (/pos) over it oh my god<3

[sab3rto0thed]

i saw a post recently, on instagram. it was made by my sixth grade literacy teacher. it was a celebration of her daughter's birthday. her name is claire. in the post, she is called "little safari girl," because she loves animals.

sixth grade was eight something years ago, and i have not spoken to this woman since she taught me at twelve, aside from the occasion al "hello" exchanged in the supermarket, or that one time i was with my friend and we saw her at the park with her little safari girl. i made it a point to avoid her at all costs for a long time, because i loved her.

when you are twelve, love is a formless shape, like the one noah kahan sings about in his song strawberry wine―if i was empty space, he writes, and you were a formless shape, we would fit. that lyric has always resonated deeply with me, because often i don't even feel worth a speck of dust―i am just empty space in the body of a girl, and my eyeliner is the occasional glancing of moonlight in the dank little corridor that i exist in.

my best friend tells me that song reminds her of me. if i was empty space (i am) and she was a formless shape (she's not) then maybe we would fit. the thing is this―i met her freshly after my seventeenth birthday, when i could define love more sharply. so my love for her is very defined, all narrow edges and soft corners and steering wheels. it is a very sunny day in a very secluded mountain area. it is a few wildflowers stowed away in my pocket, so i know this day has counted.

love was not like that at twelve. but i did love my sixth grade teacher, quite possibly more than i loved anyone else at the time. she did not have kids yet, so i think, in a way, i was sort of her like makeshift child. i am very good at being a makeshift thing―a friend, a child, a lover. i cried a lot. i always listened when she spoke. she sent me out into the hall when i had a headache so i could lay down, away from the light. she always saw me as a person―she would give me books, because she knew i loved reading. that was her last gift to me when she left at the end of the year.

i didn't know i loved her until she was leaving. she wrote us all a letter about the resilience of jellyfish, and not a single soul in that classroom was crying except for me. it's not something i can explain in a solid, meaningful way. i just remember sitting on a desk and clutching that paper so hard in my hands that i tore it. and my throat hurt all of the way down to my ribs.

i was nobody's favorite girl―my hair was tangled, my teeth were unbelievably crooked, and i was unloved at home. but for that brief year, it felt very much like i was her favorite girl. she liked what i wrote, even though i was twelve and i didn't capitalize my letters properly. she lit up when she saw me at school. she trusted me. it has always been very important to me, to be able to earn trust.

i visited her briefly, only once, at her new job. and then i learned she would be having a child, a little girl that was going to be named claire, and i left her alone after that. i avoided her at all costs. she knew i had loved her. i cling when i get sad, and i was always so sad. but my mother always told me that having children ruined her independence as a person, smothered her, turned her husband mean. i figured my sixth grade teacher did not need my added strain in her life. it was better if i stayed away.

when i met my best friend, i was freshly seventeen. a few months in, when i realized i loved her, i shied away. i tried to leave her for the better part of a year. she didn't understand about me―the wasteland of my home, the way i clung like a beached cargo ship, like the titanic and an anchor. i did not need to be anyone's responsibility. i was my own responsibility, and that was troublesome enough.

she likes being my anchor. it took me a very, very long time to accept that. sometimes, it is okay to be someone's responsibility―if they love you, that is.

a year before i met her, i met the man that would later become the best teacher i'd ever had. i ditched the majority of his class that year, but the next year, when he had me again, he said, "i'm glad you're coming to school this year." later on, i asked him why he gave a damn where i was. he said, "you can write. i saw that. you have potential."

he had a gift, i think, of being able to make kids feel seen. throw anyone at him―a nicotine addict, someone who cupped a razor in their palms, a kid with scraped elbows. he knew exactly how to talk to teenagers in dire straits.

he must have felt really lucky, i guess, to have me in his classroom, because my straits were rather dire. i was climbing out of the worst hole of my life. over the next two years, i would spend a lot of time with the suicide hotline in my hands. i was a mess. i threw up every time i got anxious. the rest of my teachers all hated me. i was a walking joke.

they say one person can make a difference, which i never bought until him. because he cared for me in such a way that my dead beat dad, who was in an out of jail, and my alcoholic mom, who hadn't spend a night sober in a month, weren't able to.

i can't pinpoint the exact moment where i began to cling. maybe it was the day his class was so empty that he sat down with me to help me do my math homework. (his wife was a math teacher, a very lovely one.) maybe it was when he asked me why i had been gone for so long the previous year―maybe it was the way he always expected more of my writing. everyone else thought i was an idiot.

i can't say when it was that i stopped lying to him, but the day he and his wife were moving―quitting, yes, like they always did, i was empty fucking space―i came to her classroom crying uncontrollably. here i was, seventeen, and i had friends now, but my mom hated me half the time and i had no parents to go home to, no one that would hold me. and it's not like i can explain why i fell in love with them―it's just that, when i saw his wife in the hallways, i would tell her, "i'm like your own personal disease," and she would say, "you already said that." they never thought i was horrible, even though i tried very hard to scare them away.

it didn't matter how far away they went. they loved me all year―they sent me emails. he would tell me "i was just bragging about your writing yesterday," and they would email me over the holidays, and they would always sign off with "we love you." i had a thousand sleepless nights and i hated school, but when i graduated, they were the only people i thought of. they had invested more time and energy into me than anyone else. they were more my parents than my own parents were, and i loved them irreversibly. i was like their daughter―their favorite girl.

and that sort of thing never ceased, no matter how much i expected it to. they offer to buy my drink when i see them next and they look at me like i am a person, still, not just a feeble collection of words or a bad joke. and as they help me with college, as they tell me they want to keep seeing me, i can define this love. it is unyielding and determined. i always tell them that i don't want to be their responsibility, but he never stops visiting me at work. he says "i was thinking of you" and here i am, because i thought i was the only person who did the loving here. i cling, after all.

in the summer, they will have their first child, a little girl. i was one of the first people they told. they don't know what they'll name her yet, but i know―oh, i know that they will be great parents. the very best. and i am still, selfishly, a little heartbroken―i will never be their favorite girl again. i am a fill-in, a makeshift, make-pretend thing. it wasn't as if a shaky sixteen-year-old would ever fill in for a real child.

i know their love for me doesn't change with a child. i know that's not how these things work. but i look at my mother, smothered, and how we hate each other half of the time. and i think of the fact that i am seeing them less and less, that i have stopped receiving texts and visits. and i know when it is time for me to step back.

they have created a foundation for me, a concrete jungle of irreversible love and care and connection. they have shown me the steps, and i still have those emails as ancient relics of unconditional seeing. and i am a writer, now―passionate, determined. i grit my teeth. in august, i am going to college. and i would not have done it without them. without them, i am not sure i would still be here at all.

i know they will always love me. but sometimes i wake up in the morning, and for a moment, that confused sixteen-year-old resurfaces. she has no idea what she's doing, and she is terrified. and she misses the people that used to be her favorites―the ones that hugged her very tightly whenever they saw her in the supermarket.

i am no one's favorite girl. that is a reality i used to struggle with, but i accepted it a while ago. it's not something that truly matters―plenty of people love me. it's not as if i'm lacking anything.

sometimes, though, the nights get heavy. i think of how my sixth grade teacher writes about her daughter so passionately―her love of animals and music and people. and i wonder why the hell my parents didn't love me like that. i wonder why i came out so wrong, a fish out of water.

i wonder why they never wanted to know if i liked animals. i wonder why they never wanted to hear my ideas, why they never had the time to read my writing or talk me through a panic attack. why they always wanted someone else to take care of me. why, now that i am adult, it is me who is almost solely responsible for my cat that is dying of cancer, and how i can't even do that right. sometimes, i wonder why i came out at all.

i am going to be okay. it just stings a little―it might sting forever, i think.

[formulaforza]

hiiiiii i am ur biggest fan pls notice me.... 📷 and 🎤 

i always have time for my fans 😘

what is your phone lockscreen and are there any songs you know all the lyrics to

my lockscreen is a waterfall on mt. rainer in washington state, about five minutes from where my sister got married last october (i’ll put it under the cut) and there are too many songs i know all the lyrics to lol. some recent additions to my liked songs on spotify are strawberry wine by deanna carter, homesick by noah kahan, and love is letting go by ashe (ft diane keaton)

[the-mess-of-a-dreamerrr]

Lyrics that my heart is made of by Noah Kahan:

**The entire song Come Over and Strawberry Wine**

1. “I’m in the business of losing your interest and I turn a profit each time that we speak”

2. “If I was empty space and you were formless shape we'd fit”

3. “Oh, there was heaven in your eyes-I was not baptized”

4. “It's not Halloween but the ghost you dressed up as sure knows how to haunt”

5. “I’ll, dream each night of some version of you that I, might not have but I did not lose.”

6. “I'm hearing your voice in a strange foreign language if only I learned how to speak”

7. “Remember telling me that you thought you were cursed? I'm in love with every song you've ever heard.

8. “But the wreckage of you I no longer reside in. The bridges have long since been burnt”

9. “Gave me your word and now I can't pronounce it. No thing so sure that I can't learn to doubt it.”

10. But I ignore things. And I move sideways.'Till I forget what I felt in the first place. At the end of the day I know there are worse ways to stay alive. 'Cause everyone's growing and everyone's healthy. I'm terrified that I might never have met me. Oh, if my engine works perfect on empty…I guess I'll drive.

11. “Feels like I've been ready for you to come home for so long that I didn't think to ask you where you'd gone. So why'd you go?”

12. “Now I know your name but not who you are. It's all okay, there ain't a drop of bad blood. It's all my love. You got all my love”

13. “So I thought that if I piled something good on all my bad. That I could cancel out the darkness I inherited from dad. No and I'm no longer funny but I miss the way you laugh”

14. “But I still recall how the leather in your car feels. And at the end of it all I just hope that your scars heals.”

-MV