aka why I shoudn’t write while tired and tipsy. Clarification if it’s needed is at the bottom in bold.
They called him cursed. They thought he couldn’t hear them, but he could. The whispers crept onto into his ears as comfortably as the frost did and he smiled at them, quirking his head at the strange sensation within his chest at the thought of them cowering behind a wall, huddled together and terrified of him. Was this amusement or hatred or fear of what they could do with the right spark to ignite the flames? He had heard the stories, everyone in the village had, of the forests of burning bodies just because of the power that they cpuld wield and did. He ignored the glances that they shot him when they whispered to each other and he knew that it was only a matter of time before they came for him with fire and iron, with fury in their hands and in their hearts. But Matthew did nothing. He did not stare at those who whispered, even when the words covered his skin like the frost until they were burnt onto the pale flesh in white lines.
Witch, they said.
Unnatural, they called.
Monster, they hissed.
Cursed, they howled at the sky when the flakes came tumbling down, beauty in their jagged shapes and in the destruction that they caused and hid in the same heartbeat.
But Matthew did not care. His heart beat in his chest, but not like theirs nor like anything elses expect for one. He cuts his hand one day and marvels at the blue blood that spills forth, laughs as it dots against the clean white snow until his mother skrieks and drags his unprotesting form inside the house where the fire blazes and burns in the hearth. They do not mention the strange and twisted flowers that sprung forth, made of ice and yet they lasted through the blaze of summer until Matthew takes them to the lake and lays them down, leaving before the temptation becomes too great.
He misses the body that rises from the water, the gaze that glitters in the meager moonlight and follows him home until he is lying in bed, red cloak wraped tightly around him and a smile on his lips.
He wonders what it would be like to feel. To know joy and love, sorrow and pain, desire and hatred. They do not speak of him anymore as if by simply not mentionning his name they can erase him from their thoughts and lives. That is why he stays, to remind them of what they did. That is why his mother leaves, his father long dead and buried as she plucks at his sleeve as if to bring him with her, but they both know that it cannont be and so she is gone. And Matthew can feel nothing.
The cold coils against his soul like the tendrails of mist that slipped out of the bordering forest and into the village that the children were fascinated by and yet repulsed by because of a strange nameless fear. If Matthew had to, he would say that he loved the mist and let it dance around him, bleaching his skin and twisitng into his breath. Arthur came with the mist and so Matthew hid, feeling the cold in his heart shift and pull painfully towards the spirit. But the other never entered Matthew’s house nor any of the others, content to sit and watch with eyes like poison and lips like blood. He was waiting for him. But Matthew never went, stubbornly ignoring the call as his body and mind waged against the one that had both cursed him and saved him in the same heartbeat.
They came for him, one bright summer day with the sun beating down like it would protect them. It did not. The cold reared up within him, a terrifying monster that had been hurt one too many times, that had been beaten down too often, that would never be hurt again. Afterwards it nudged against him, purring lowly as it’s snowy form condensed into white fur, and Matthew stroked it’s head with blue tinged hands and stood up. He was winter now, blessed or cursed by a God of old after dying in his lake. He stood up and stretched, feeling the twinge of new words that etched into his skin Devil, Monster, Witch, Whore, Cursed, Disgusting, Dead. Laughing he turned on his heel and walked into the mist, feeling for the first time in his memory the warmth of a hug as Arthur wrapped his arms around the slim body and kissed the blue lips, a grin on his crazed face as cold hands joined together and they walked into the misty dark cold.
Just to clarify what I think I was getting at. Matthew was cursed/blessed when he was brought back to life by Arthur (a God) after drowining in his lake (a sacred place). Matthew gained control over winter, but couldn’t feel emotions. This naturally scared people who kept themselves away from his and eventually tried to kill him before Matthew left with Arthur who he had previously been ignoring because the timing wasn’t right.
Selkies are faeries that can shed their seal skins to look human. Please request Myth hetalia scenario’s, NSFW, headcanons, and otherwise. Feed the askbox!
Oliver had dragged Allen and Mattieu to England for a family get together. Mathieu would’ve preffered being in his cabin, wrestling with kuma, Anything other than family bonding time.
It was midnight and the rest of his family were alseep. It wasn’t like the Canadian slept most nights, being insomniac and all. So, he did what he did most nights; he left the house.
The beach was silent, for which Mattieu was greatful. A high pitched shreik caught his attention. Rushing around a large cluster of rocks the canadian came to a stop. He backtracked to hide behind the rocks, red faced.
There on the beach was a group of about a dozen or so young girls. They were different body types, skin colors, and they were all beautiful, but they were all stark naked. One of them caught his attention. She had (hair color) hair, was (body type), and had smooth (Skin color).
Mattieu felt his mouth go dry at the sight of her. The selkie in question laughed, tossing her head back. She and her compainions danced to a beat only they could hear.
The Canadian mountie stayed there until dawns pale, rosey fingers spread across the beach. One by one, the selkies retreaved their skins, turning to dive into the water.
Only a few were left. Mattieu took his chance. Dashing out from behind the rock cluster, he dove for the skin closest to him. If he had that, she couldn’t leave him, right?
He’d gotten very lucky. The other two selkies had already left, leaving only the girl he’d been watching.
“Is this yours?”
“If you come willingly, I will be good to you.”
The girl took his outstreatched hand. Until that moment, Mattieu had forgotten the girl was naked. Blushing, he let go of her hand, unbuttoning his plaid shirt and passing it to her. she put it on, not bothering to button it.
The walk back to Olivers house was a silent one. Mattieu led the selkie through back alleys and silent streets, graetful when his father’s house came into veiw. He opened the door, motioning for her to go in first.
“Old man, You here?” He called out.
A reply came from the kitchen, “In here, matty!” The canadian glowered at the nick name. Trodding into the kitchen, the girl on his heels, Mattieu watched as the brit dried his hands on a towel.
Oliver opened his mouth, stopping short when he saw the skin in Mattieu’s hand, and it’s owner clad in his shirt behind him. The brit’s expression was one of pain.
“Mattieu James Williams! Do you know what you’ve done?!” He sighed.
The canadian flinched, moving into a protective stance. The girl shrunk closer to him, curling her hands into his coiled back. The brit unclenched his jaw, trying to relax.
“She was on the beach dancing with her friends and I…..She looked so alive. So beautiful and happy.”
When Mattieu looked up, Oliver was staring at the selkie.
“Do you know what she is?”
“She’s a selkie. That seal skin is her way back home. If you have it, She can’t leave, but if she finds it, she’ll go back to the sea.” Oliver put a hand on Mattieu’s shoulder, giving it a small squeeze.
“They make exellent wives. Very meek and docile.”
Olivers eyes flashed with pain. Pain and experience.
The canadian blushed, stammering. Oliver chuckled, showing his teeth. “Eventually, she’ll leave you. She’ll find the skin and you’ll be alone agian. Give me the skin Mattieu.”
Oliver felt his eyes sting at the memories. The blonde clutched the skin to his barrel chest, pushing the selkie furthur behind him.
Oliver held his hands out. “I’m only trying to help you, Matty. I can keep the skin for you.”
The canadian glared at the brit.
“What do you want with it?” The canadian growled when Oliver failed to awnser. “Awnser me, Old man!”
Oliver smiled, pressing his lips into a thin line. “I will keep it hidden for you. You won’t have to worry about her leaving.” He said it slowly, his voice barely coming above a whisper.
Mattieu’s grip on the skin loosened. Oliver took it, going to another part of the house. He came back a few moments later with a sea blue dress. Pressing it into your hands, Oliver grinned at you.
“The bathrooms just down the hall, first door on the right, love.”
As soon as Oliver heard the bathroom door open and close, he whirled on his son.
“She won’t stay. One day she’ll find her skin, or your cildren will and then she’ll be gone. She won’t fit in, she won’t show it, but she’ll hate you, no matter how good you are to her.”
Mattieu swallowed. Tears sprang to his eyes. “I am tired of being alone.”
Oliver hugged his son. “I understand. I’ve been where you are now.”
Mattieu hugged him back, lifting the shorter man off the ground. The bathroom door opened and you stepped out. When you came around the corner, Mattieu lost the ability to speak.
“S-she’s beautiful….” His voice was barely above a whisper.
Oliver gave him a nudge. Mattieu picked you up, spinning you. When he set you down, the both of you were smiling. He pressed a gentle kiss onto the top of your head, sighing.
“I’ll get started on breakfast.”
As the smells of a home cooked meal wafted throughout the house, it’s inhabitants started to stir. Doors creaked open. bleary eyes opened. Allen padded past you and Mattieu. He stopped, backpeadled, and stared at you.
“Who’s the hottie? And does she have a sister?”
Mattieu decked the American.
Oliver poked his head through the door. “Allen, leave your brother alone and come eat your breakfast.”
Allen winked at you before plopping down on a bright pink cushion and started to eat.
Mattieu guided you to a chair, pulled it out for you and made sure you were comfortable before going to go get your plates. Breakfast was mostly ate in silence, aside from the occasional flirting from Allen and following ‘shut up’ from Mattieu.
After a week of spending time at Oliver’s, you and Mattieu left for his home in Canada. He was very figitey as the two of you sat in the airplane. You put your hand on his, stilling its movement. You smiled at him. He gave a shakey smile back, blushing.
When you arrived to his cabin, the canadian told you his schedule.
“I normally get up at 8, shower by 9, and leave to go to my ranger duties around 9:30. I’ll get back early in the evening. Don’t leave the cabin without me, don’t open the door to anyone you don’t know. Kuma will keep you safe until I get back.”
That night you made dinner. It was (Favorite seafood).
Mattieu kissed you on the cheek. “Maple leaf, that was amazing.”
You settled into an eaisy routine of waking your husband up with pancakes, bacon and eggs, cleaning the cabin and looking after Kuma while he was away, and cooking him dinner when he returned. It was only broken when Matt had a day off, or when he was in the mood for sex.
(Honestly I don’t know where to go from here, so, i’ll just end it. Let me know if you want a story about Oliver’s lost love in my ask box.)
A Canada/England fic to be specific. It was highschool AU (I think) and Matthew was trying to learn British history and Artie tied him up with shirts or something and gave him a striptease until Matthew gave him the right answers then smexy tiems issues. I think the story might have been written by Appleskirts but I don’t remember. Can anyone help?