Soulmates are a curse. That is what everyone learns at an early age, that your soulmate brings out the worse in you, that they cause you pain, and that they'll forever be branded on your skin. Not that your soul-bound starts out that way, because it never does, it starts out happy. That is what makes it worse, that your soulmate at first brings you nothing but joy. It starts out with promises of forever, love, and pure bliss. Then a counter appears on one of you after the first year that you're together and it starts to count down slowly both counters slowly approaching zero.
The counter goes down each day, each hour, each minute- it goes down. Then they die, usually a painful death, usually a very public one. They die and you're alone. So, you're alone with a burnt name on your wrist, a bitter- sometimes dangerous- outlook on life, and you're alone.
John Stilinski and Claudia Augustine were not soulmates. Actually, they were what could be considered blessed, as they were born without soul-brands completely, their wrist bare and without blemish. So no, they were not soulmates and were never destined to be, but they were in love. It was because they were in love that they moved to Beacon Hills, a town far enough from the city to be considered a small town, but close enough to avoid being filled with farms. It also didn't hurt that the Nemeton was so close, strengthening Claudia's natural magic.
It was Claudia's magic that helped them conceive a child and keep him. A mix of spells, prayer, and dried herbs. Although John could have sworn the only thing different was the shinning full moon that had been high in the sky on that December night. His mothers' warnings of nothing good being bread in the dead of winter ringing softly in his ears.
But they were in love, happy, and expecting. They expected a lot in those nine months. Promotions, a good harvest, and son. The expected on a December night, and softly- too soft for the Stilinski family to hear- a pack of wolves cried out in mourning.
Stiles was born on September 23rd, the first day of fall and the first day nature starts dying, he was beautiful and his Mother cried tears of joy. His body no bigger than eight inches was dipped into the blessed waters by his Mother's side as the midwife- a friend of Claudia's- whispered a spell of protection. Stiles was cleaned in blessed waters and he was beautiful, beautifully cursed. For his wrist, small and fragile, held a name made of slashes and loops. The name was Peter Hale.
When John entered the room later to see his beautiful baby boy for the first time, he was greeted by his weeping wife, he arms holding a bundle and her bare wrist turned up towards the heavens as she rocked back and forwards. Yes, Stiles was born on September 23rd, the first day of fall and the first day nature starts dying; he was beautiful and his Mother cried tears of sorrow.
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I Was Meant To Die In Your Arms (Steter)
FanfictionHis mother wept when she saw his wrist. Covered in silver lines that spelled the name of his other half; who would bring death to their family one day. Across town, a sister screamed as her brother's wrist bore the name of the man who would bring pa...
