Oh ... oh me ... well .. this one is bloody and gruesome and may actually be disturbing to most people ... but this is 2p!England we're talking about ... I have to up the rating to M after this one -_-

This one is seriously worse than the first, so if you don't like gore and death, please don't read.

Cracked

Love is the Poison

"Ahaha, oh? I have guests? You want to know how I became the way I am? I am afraid I'm unsure of what you mean! Would you like a cupcake?"

"Shhh, my sweet baby, don't cry." A young woman with long red hair spoke. Her eyes were a piercing ice blue, with pink spirals. She held her son close, kissing the top of his head as he cried.

"What's wrong?" she asked him softly. This woman wasn't just any woman. She was the great island of Britannia. She raised all of her children while also helping her land and people. While Britannia was a landmass, she seemed to be quite the pushover. When Rome invaded her land, she couldn't find it in herself to push him out and let it slide, despite the unrest it left with her people. When the Anglo-Saxons invaded, she found she honestly didn't care. It pushed back the Romans and gave her her final child, England.

"France made fun of me again." He sniffled, "He said I was worthless and would probably be conquered when you die."

Britannia smiled weakly, "Don't listen to anything he has to say, child." She pushed some hair from his eyes, which he inherited from her.

She noticed the smile on his face and she felt a twitch in her cheek. Britannia ran her fingers through his hair and helped him to stand up on his own, "Want to help me make some dinner?" she asked, taking her mind off of her thoughts.

England grinned brightly; "Yeah!" he grabbed his mother's hand and followed her into the kitchen. The two of them hummed lightly as they cooked something up for dinner.

The child watched his mother place some of the food on a plate. She handed it to him. England quickly began to eat the food, eating it as fast as he could. However, he didn't notice the twisted smile on his mother's face as she watched him, a small vial in her hands. She clutched it tightly until her knuckles were white.

"Is it good?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

England nodded; his messy strawberry hair fell over his eyes again. A loud crash rang out through the room as his plate hit the floor. He groaned and gripped his churning stomach.

Britannia's face twisted in a mixture of frantic horror and joy, "England, my baby?"

"My tummy hurts …" he groaned. He felt dizzy and sick. The contents of his stomach rose passed his lips and his world went black.

When he awoke, he was wrapped up in a thin blanket and clutched tightly to his mother's chest. Tears ran down her face, "Oh, sweet baby, you're awake! Oh, goodness … I was so worried!"

England was confused a moment later when she shoved him to the floor, "But you should have died!"

"Died?" he whispered, feeling confusion and hurt fill him, "But …"

She glared down at him. He fell silent, because she left the room.

England clutched the blanket tightly, but said nothing as he slowly drifted to sleep. The next few days were completely normal. His mother was all sad smiles and soothing voices. However the fifth day was a terrible one that England would always remember.

He watched his mother take some different types of plants and seeds and mix them up slowly, following some written recipe.

The entire time she mixed the ingredients, there was a wicked smile on her face, "England, get over here." She barked.

England immediately walked closer, "Yes, mum?"

"Don't call me that!" she snapped, her eyes frantic and her pupils small, "You shouldn't be here! You can't be alive! It's all going to hell and you shouldn't be here!"

England felt the tears welling up. His mother was supposed to be the one telling him that he wasn't all of those things … she was supposed to be the one that told him he would be a strong landmass one day!

"I've tried to be a good mother to you, like I was for your brothers … but I can't! I can't stand the sight of you here!" she grabbed a knife up and jammed it into her table. Her hair fell in front of her eyes, "Which is why you're going to make mum proud today and drink this poison like a good boy so you can die."

"I don't want to die …" England muttered softly.

Britannia suddenly screamed out in frustration, "No! You will be a good boy! You will die so that you won't have to witness to decay!" she grabbed the knife and ran at the small child. He yelped and took off running, barely managing to escape the tip of the knife.

"Get back here!" she ran after him. England ducked and hid in a small space under the stairs.

His mother took a few steps forward, "England, baby? Mummy's sorry … please come out … I'm so sorry …"

England gripped at his chest, his body shook and he felt fear like he'd never felt fear before.

"Please baby … I'm so sorry … I won't hurt you!" she pleaded, letting the knife fall to the floor.

He stared at it, then her. Tears flooded down her face.

The child crawled out from his space and into her lap, where he wrapped his arms around her, "Don't cry, mummy …" he whispered. She hugged him tightly and smiled weakly.

"My sweet baby." She ran her fingers through his hair, "I love you." Her fingers gripped his hair and jerked back, pulling him away from her, "Which is why I have to kill you …" she cried, "I don't hate you … I really don't … I just don't want you being exposed to the terrors of this life! You're better off dead!" she grabbed the knife.

"Mum, please!" he begged, his own tears falling, "Don't! Don't hurt me!"

Britannia smiled softly and kissed his forehead, "I'm doing it for you. I love you, England." She went to pierce him, but his little hands caught her hand and fought against her.

"No!" he yelled out, pushing her hand away, effectively causing her to drop the knife.

"England! Stop! Mummy has to kill you! I can't let you live … the world will take away your innocence … I love you …"

He ripped away from her grip and grabbed the knife, pointing it at her. His hands shook and she frantically crawled toward him.

England let out a horrified battle cry as he drove the knife right into her chest, spilling her blood all over himself and the floor.

Her ice blue and pink eyes bore right into his. Blood leaked passed her lips, "Eng … land … why?" she coughed and winced, "You killed me …" she never broke eyes contact with him, "This world will destroy you … I … I love you." Her eyes became dull and she collapsed on top of him.

England screamed and pushed her onto the floor before he scurried away, dissolving in sobbing laughter. The one person in the world he had trusted tried to kill him. He had to kill her first, right? He looked at her. Her eyes were still wide open.

He felt his stomach churn. His clothes were soaked in her blood, but he couldn't move. He couldn't do anything. Hours later, the child knew he couldn't stay there. He picked himself up off the floor and stumbled around the house, looking for anything he might need. England changed clothes, noting they were a bit tight, and packed a sack full of food. Before he had the chance to leave, his eyes fell on the bowl his mother had been mixing. Poison. Didn't she say that was to kill people? He figured it would be useful. He poured her mixture into a canteen and marked it. He also grabbed the recipe. Who knew when it would come in handy?

The child slipped outside into the early morning air. He caught his reflection in the mirror and gasped, seeing he'd physically aged a few years already. He now looked ten. No wonder his clothes were a bit tight. He sighed and turned back to the house for one last bit of business.

The flames crackled in the distance. He bit his lip and continued his journey to the town called London.

Many, many years later he found himself stepping onto the New World. He would make his boss proud and conquer the new area and make it all his. He would grow and shove it in France and Spain's faces.

The wind blew gently as he walked through the woods. A small feather in the tall grass caught his attention. It moved around a little and then popped up, revealing it to be attached to a child's headband.

The child had dark mud brown hair and lightly tanned skin.

England approached him, "Um, Hello. I'm the Kingdom of Great Britain, but you can call me Engla-"

He gasped when a small hatchet buried itself in his forehead. He pulled it free, much to the child's surprise and anger. As blood spilled down England's face, he laughed lightly.

"What are you!? A demon?" he yelled.

England laughed, feeling a twist in his gut. This child was simply … delightful …

"No, I am not. I am simply here to take this land for myself." He explained. It was different finding people on the landmass. He hadn't been expecting that.

"You can't! This place belongs to me! Ever since my mother died, this had been mine! So go away!" he growled.

"Oh?" England laughed.

After finally winning the child over, and winning him from most other hands trying to grab at him, he took to raising the young American.

He gave the child small doses of the poison, as he had for himself, to help him build up an immunity to the concoction.

After a few decades, America had become completely immune, which was wonderful~!

He loved America so much, as one would love their brother. America was everything he'd hoped he would grow up to be. He was strong and powerful, almost invincible! However, he was becoming harder to control.

Then … it happened … America broke free.

"What do you mean?"

"You heard me, fucker. I said I'm tired of your shit. You're bat shit insane and you want me to stick around and follow your orders like some puppet? Fuck that. My people are fed up with the fucking taxes. So guess what? We dumped that shit in the harbor. I thought you would have at least heard."

England looked into the man's blood red eyes.

"But … I love you … you're like my brother …" he whispered, dark memories resurfacing.

"And? I'm supposed to care?" America growled. He turned away, "I dare you to fight us against this. It would be in your best interest to just back the fuck up and let us go."

England felt his everything tearing to pieces. America was his favorite colony. One of his most prosperous … he couldn't lose him.

Anger boiled up in him, but it came to his face in a huge smile. Tears spilled onto his cheeks, running down over the corners of his mouth, "Then we will, poppet~ you won't break free." He laughed.

Unfortunately he lost the war. For about a year, England himself, distanced himself from the world he lived in. his mother was right. People would try and hurt him no matter what. Maybe he should kill himself? No … that wasn't fair. He deserved to live … it was everyone else that had hurt him! They deserve to die!

He let a wicked smile cross his face and he couldn't help but laugh. He'd killed before. It was no problem, but to kill the rest of the nations? He would be the only one left to rule the world, no? Plus, who wouldn't want to watch anyone writhing on the floor in agony as his poisons made their way through their bodies?

-Several Decades Later-

"Cupcake?" England asked the blonde he was sitting next to. The blonde turned to him, with a sexual smile.

"If I wasn't on a diet, love, I totally would." Romano smiled, "Autumn fashion line if coming out soon and I just can't miss that~" he laughed sweetly. However, another nation over-heard England's offer and snatched one up.

"They are so cute!" Netherlands took a bite, "So swee-" his semi-permanent smile faded quickly as his body began to shake.

Belgium freaked out over her brother's condition.

Of course, Netherlands survived, much to England's dismay, but that didn't mean he didn't keep trying to kill his fellow nations. Who could resist the sweet little cupcakes for very long?

See what I mean? Kind of terrible ... what the hell is wrong with me?

~Lady Pyrien