Smash ×× A Stydia AU ×× Teen Wolf.

Smells Like Teen Spirit.

Based on Don't Trust Me by 3oh!3, with inspirations from Sex by The 1975 and A Love Like War by All Time Low.

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Thank you to Liv and Tiffany for listening to my ramblings and helping this all come together. Xx

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She's over bored and self assured

Oh no, I know a dirty word.

- Smells Like Teen Spirit, Nirvana.

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The backstage room was lit by ancient disco lights, as well as a few recycled dressing room mirrors lined with yellow bulbs. The band onstage could be heard through the walls; harsh guitar and animalistic drums, with a guy screeching into the mic in an almost unbearable pitch.

Lydia Martin smirked at her reflection in one of the ancient mirrors. For tonight, at least, they were safe from elimination. After a performance like that, there was no way the band onstage would make it through this round. They were getting cut, and everyone knew it. The knowledge put her at ease. Now they could just focus on playing well, without the pressure.

Satisfied that her plum lipstick had reached indestructible levels of smudge-proof, Lydia flopped onto one of the beat up sofas beside Malia Tate, who looked up from her iPod with an elated grin.

"We're good, aren't we? For tonight at least," she asked Lydia, flicking blue-streaked hair over one shoulder as she took in the room around them in boredom. Lydia looked with her. Around a dozen sofas, all in varying stages of decay, the dressing tables with their gold lights, and a few bean bags scattered over the floor. The smell of Bourbon and cigarette smoke hung in the air and stuck to their clothes. Lydia couldn't help but love it.

"Sssh," she whispered. "Don't say that. You'll jinx us." She nudged Malia in the side jokingly. "I need booze," she added, swinging onto her feet in one motion. Lydia had never understood the hype behind heels. They were as easy to walk in as any other shoe. It just took practice.

Danny Mahealani stood in the corner of the room, chatting up a guy with ice blue eyes and a jawline straight from Mt Olympus. Lydia swept in and out from behind him, returning with a silver flask in her hand. Lydia made a mental note to tell him to stop keeping his alcohol in his back pocket. It was far too easily accessed by painfully sober bandmates there.

Lydia paused at the unfamiliar taste. Fruity, sweet, but with a slight burn. Not a spirit, she noted unhappily. She took another sip, then frowned at the flask. How was anyone supposed do get smashed on... peach schnapps? Really, Danny? Lydia thought. Could you get any gayer?

She returned to Malia, pouting.

"We need to have a serious talk with our bassist about the proper use of flasks," she told the blonde seriously, tossing her the metal container. Malia curiously took a sip as Lydia continued, "Peach fucking schnapps, I ask you. Whatever happened to hard liquor? Gin? Vodka? Hell, I'd settle for Rum."

Malia looked amused, playing with the headphone not attached to one of her ears, biting back a smile. Her combat boot-clad foot bounced to a beat that Lydia couldn't hear, and the redhead rolled her eyes and tossed her hair over her shoulder in annoyance. It was pin-straight and fell to her tailbone, which she found herself liking. It made a nice change from her usual ringlets and waves.