From Ashes ✗ Stiles Stilinski [#𝟏]

𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐲 [ elegy. ]

A/N: And I'm back! Three things:

1. Thanks to @maddiehansen8 for the suggestion for a Stiles version of last chapter's events. It's not a one shot but I decided to incorporate the idea. Thank you for all of your kind words. I'm glad you and so many others have stuck with FA and me for the past four years.

2. I've already retroactively made this announcement and posted all about it on my profile, but the faceclaim for Max has changed from Jenna Coleman to Jessica Henwick (English/Chinese) in an effort for the story to more reflect me and people like me. This is the beginning of massive changes, the biggest being our leading lady. As of the end of From Ashes, the faceclaim for Maddie will change from Phoebe Tonkin to Alisha Boe. As someone who is half black, this is a huge thing for me (as some will remember, the original FC was Jessica Parker Kennedy). Thanks to those who supported this change on tumblr these past few months.

3. Oh, and you're welcome.

Song Recommendation ["Standing at the Wall" - The Pretty Reckless]

NOTE: For the full experience, I do personally suggest seeking out each song rec.

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"But love is complicated, it's messy. It can inspire selflessness, selfishness, our greatest accomplishments and our hardest mistakes. It brings us together and it can just as easily drive us apart."

― Courtney Summers, Sadie

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Before

Bile. Bile crawling up her throat.

Her phone fell from her hand and landed upward, the flashlight face down and making the only light in the room a dim glow around the rectangle. Somewhere, in the darkness, his eyes were still beautiful and open and empty. Were his eyes open? She didn't actually catch it but she could imagine it - she could imagine how they'll eventually degrade with the rest of him. She couldn't imagine anything else.

How many dead bodies had she seen over the years?

Not as many as some of the other girls. Not nearly enough to be numb to it, if there was such a thing. Buffy always took care of the bodies before the younger girls saw them.

Rain pounded on the roof and on the ground, a deafening static. Smelling of garbage and mold.

Was he already decaying? No, it's too early. Signs of decomposition would come but not yet. She knew that; it was one of the more recent lessons. She could imagine the maggots that would eat through him.

She kept thinking - randomly and emphatically - it was too cold to be April. Too cold.

She talked to him earlier. He looked at her. He spoke. He was cruel and disgusting and alive. He moved and gestured; he talked like Jim Morrison. Bright eyes. A defined jaw and mussed hair. A curling smile. Lean muscled, not quite thin. A boy with the world at his feet and eating right out of his hands.