#snapped canada

[kojinshin]

[somethingwordscanttell]

It's funny how well the song "Who are you really" by Mikky Ekko fits snapped!Canada

[monsieurbonnefoi]

tfw mattie breaks your heart more than the amount of times he's killed a person

Another year. Another June. Another Father's Day. In my personal opinion this day means as much as Valentine's Day, but for some reason other fools think otherwise. One of the biggest of these idiots being my own father. He insisted that I at least write him a letter since I refuse to see him on this day. I had no plans of entertaining this moronic holiday, but if it will grant me the peace of not having the Frenchman constantly calling me to see why my letter had not arrived yet I will do as he requested. I cannot promise that this will be exactly what you hoped for though, Papa. I will use this time to explain exactly why I think as much of this day and of celebrating the man who's DNA helped to bring me into this world as I do any other pointless excuse that stores use to sell more things than they normally do. Father's Day is nothing more than a waste of time and money for me. The explanation is simple. I don't respect the man as my father. In actuality, this has nothing to do with being abandoned to life with Alfred and Arthur with no explanation, without any emotion, and without any care. I do realize that you did what you had to for my safety as well as your own when I was left without even a proper farewell. That sin was forgiven and put behind me a long time ago. The reason I despise the holiday that worships men that do not deserve it goes far beyond that. You weren't there when I needed you. Papa, I needed you. For the first few months of living with my new family I hardly slept. The only thing I could do was tell myself that you would be back. I had to promise myself daily that something had come up at work, and you would come back for me. I lied to myself by saying you still loved me, and still wanted to take me back with you. Sleeping would be a risk. If I slept I could miss your return. I was horrified that if I was not awake when you came back you would believe that I did not truly love you, and you would no longer want to take me. No matter how tired I was, I had to sit up until I passed out from exhaustion. I could not risk it. Every creak the house made had be out of bed, searching the house in hopes that it was your feet making those noises. It didn't matter how mad Arthur got that I was walking the house at five in the morning. He could lecture me, he could raise his voice, and he could discipline me for it; it didn't matter. I had to make sure that I was up when you came back. Arthur finally got tired of my behavior. If I refused to go to sleep, he would find a way. The result of that was wonderful sleeping pills. I hated them because it meant I wouldn't be awake when you came. It meant I would miss you and that I would never get to see you again. I don't know how many nights I cried myself to sleep, only wanting to hear your voice one more time telling me that it would be okay, that I was loved, that you cared. It never came. Maybe if it would have been you I would have actually believed it. I learned the alphabet without you, to read, to write, to tie my shoes. I went through that pointless ceremony that Kindergartners go through before moving to Grade 1 without you. I had a crush on a girl in Grade 3 for the very first time without you. I made her a Valentine's Day card without you. I dealt with bullies stealing my lunch and punching me without you around. I got A's on my report cards without you. I realized that I like boys as much as I like girls without your guidance. All of the times I needed my father, all of the times I wanted my father, you were never there for me. Every time I got picked on I begged for you to be the hero I knew you were and to step in and save me. You never came. You never chased the monsters out from underneath my bed when I could hear them moving around and waiting to devour me. You weren't there to prove that there were no monsters in my closet waiting to come out and hurt me. Alfred did that when it should have been you. You weren't present in my life when things started to slip, when I first started to notice that something was wrong with me. You weren't there when the voices appeared, when I spent hours staring at the ceiling and wondering why the world was such a cruel place. A real father would have had the answers I craved, or at least gotten me help before it was too late. You weren't even there when I had my fill of waiting for you. You missed your chance. If you wanted to be my father you should have been there when I was standing at the front door calling for you. If you wanted to be in my life you should have come when I screamed my throat raw, trying to get your attention from wherever you were. If you wanted to act like my parent you should have been there through the chicken pox, and the flu, allergies, nightmares, panic attacks. If you want the right to act like you care you should have been there when I broke my arm, when I was bitten by a dog, when I put my hand too close to the candle because it was pretty, when I nearly drowned in the creek because I wanted to touch the fishies. You can't come back now, now that I have learned my lessons, now that I am old enough to have children of my own, and try to be my father. You can't talk to me like your son when you never acted like much of a dad. You can't tell me what I can and can't do when all of my other life decisions have been made without you. It isn't fair to all of the fathers who were actually there and who actually tried. It isn't fair to me to try to force yourself into my life after I finally stopped waiting for you to come back. I no longer need you. I no longer want you. I no longer wonder what you think about me. For all I care you could hate what I have become. If you wanted a better son, a gentler son a nicer son, you should have been there to help mold me into what I became. You will always be my papa, but that doesn't mean I have to care.

[omg-hetalia]

One of my original APH's

Enjoy Snapped Canada Nobody's Listening!!

[pencilstab]

Messing around with art style, bleh

[iamrhiannon123]

Snapped Canada

[mrimmortal]

Okay here it is under the cut

Sorry for all the run-ons, and i tried to fix all the typos

i used to be so obsessed with yanderes when i was 12

and reader inserts...

It was a cold winter night as ___ looked out in the field at the sight before her. Leaning over his brother, Matthew licked his hockey stick.

It was a faded grey that would be lucky to call itself nearly jet black anymore with faded red stripes the color of a dusty stop sign. That same hockey stick that had undergone several accounts of abuse throughout the years, but none more drastic or destructive than hitting a puck aggressively or the occasional frustrated strike at the ground that had earned it more than it's fair share of duct tape and cloth wrappings in an attempt to preserve what Matthew liked to call his prized possession.

But it had exceeded it's purpose as it dripped what would refuse to be described as more than red liquid, for it surely could not be blood, could it? That sickening smell that could only be described as "sharp" hit the air, for it was the salty smell of blood, mixed with the coldness of harsh winds and the hostility of anger. It was the smell of fresh death, to be precise.

It was cold, which added to the affect of shock as each gust of wind came like a slap to the face, reminding ___ to breathe for she could barely remember how to stand for this moment so grand it nearly knocked every thought out of the poor, young, girl.

What, you might ask, could be so shockingly horrifying that would cause someone as sharp, as regal, to be so dumbfounded?

If only it were more complex than the account that she had just witnessed the love of her life no, not be brutally murdered, but be the murderer himself. Had she not experienced this herself, she would say she wouldn’t back down, of course not. What kind of wimp would just sit there speechless with not even a scream to be heard?

Surely not her, she would say.

Only as she, frozen within herself, as she finally broke through a soft whimper, only then did he slowly turn to face her. Fixing, out of habit, his blood-spotted and cracked glasses, now hopelessly broken, did he finally turn to face her.

As if nothing more than a rebellious child, pretending to know not what he did wrong by appearing baffled, when really all the wise of what he had just done he spoke to her in not his normal, mousy tone, but in a tone that seemed to surface from deep within him.

"___." Not a question, but as if a musing, Matthew spoke to her "I'm a monster now, aren't I? Go on, say it. If I wasn't I would be sorry, but this felt... right."

Right was the word he chose to describe the thrill, the resentment, the euphoria he felt when he killed, yes good, yes satisfying if only for a moment, but right seemed to just fit. Because while he would hunger for more of that right feeling, he wasn't sure if it was right at all at first, for killing was in fact, very wrong.

But what did the bestowed meaning of right or wrong by mere people matter to someone who was abandoned by the very people who had taught him this? Nothing. That he could be sure of.

"Answer me, say it!" Though he kept the same calm, sure stance, for the once shy personification of a country once never sounded sure about anything, for there was always the worry of the slim chance of being heard when he spoke, which made whatever had to be said given less concern than what one had to do to be heard.

Finally ceasing the tremors that had taken over her grief filled frame, she managed to choke out, if barley audible, a reply,

"N-no..." Was all she could muster before bursting into loud sobs that racked her tiny body, sinking to her knees as she began to feel sick with fear.

Matthew, someone who had once been the shy, timid, boy whom she, you, had loved, was now, as he had said, a monster.

Regaining, if any, some strength, she rose, holding her head up, forcing herself to meet his eyes.

"Why... Why would you? How could you!" She was screaming now, her voice no longer but a dim squeak, finally loud enough to no longer be just barely heard.

"Al got in the way, between us. He barely noticed me before! But when I killed Arthur, everyone saw me! They saw ME, Not Alfred! It didn't last though, not for long. So I had to do it again. After Francis, I couldn't stop. Just one after another. I even managed to get Russia, boy, that one was hard!" He spoke not with remorse, but pride, "When Alfred said he was going to ask you out, after I'd told him I liked you, I was more than happy to!" Matthew replied, grinning now.

What had he become? Once again, she lost her ability to speak. Mattie, so sweet, so caring, was behind killing your best friends.

"I... This isn't.." Real? Like him? Right? Your eyes widened. This wasn't... Mattie.

Twirling his hockey stick around in his hands, walking towards you, he laughed.

"You can be afraid, I don't mind. Fear is so much better than being ignored, it really is. You can run too, but it won't do you any good. I can run fast now, quicker too. I can do lots of things now. Go on, I'll even chase you." Matthew said, sounding... delighted.

"This isn't you, Mattie!" You shouted, using that nickname you had given him, deciding against taking a step forward, for staying were you were was enough to show you weren't going to play his silly game "This isn't who I love! What happened to you?" his face was but inches from yours now, each fogged breath just inches from yours.

Placing his hand on your chin, his sadistic grin faded to a grim smile.

"I could say that if you had told me you loved me before, I wouldn't have become like this, and I'd probably be right too. But I don't want that. This is just me now. It feels too good to trade it for something else, even if I could still be happy. I wish I could say that I wanted this to turn out differently, but I don't think I want it to anymore." And with that he placed a gentle, sweet if not for the salt of blood, cold kiss on your lips.

Your eyes widened, but you didn't pull away right then. Indulging in the kiss if for a moment, you then shoved him with such force, if he had not been possessed with some inhuman agility, he would have fallen backwards.

He laughed again, this time a hint of brokenness seeping through that sadistic amusement that seemed to have consumed him.

"If I could change one thing though, it would be this," He said, stepping towards you once more and raising his prised hockey stick above his head, so close as you had no choice but to fall backwards and crawl, if you could call it that, helplessly away from him.

"When you wake up, say hi to Al for me." He said, taking one swift, passionate blow.

But just as the very object that had killed all your friends was about to cause your inevitable death, Matthew stopped. He sank to his knees, tears cutting through the smears of blood on his once angelic, pale face.

His voice going back to that timid whisper, defeat replacing his sadistic tone, he spoke "W-why... why c-can't I do it?" He asked, his voice almost fading as it had been known to do, had it not broken at the end of his question, refusing to let him continue without the risk of the sobs that threatened to rack his body. He threw his stick at the ground.

"I.. don't know." For once, you didn't have the answers. Unable to stop yourself, you knelt beside him, taking him in your arms.

"___... I don't want this anymore." He said, burying his face in your shoulder.

For a moment all you could do was sit there, hugging him. What he had done had been terrible, but now you could see how broken he truly was, now you could see Mattie again. He rested his head on top of yours.

"I-I'm so sorry..."

"You didn't mean to, Matthew... It's.."

"Okay?!" He interrupted you, "Al's dead, Arthur and Francis are dead, and so is China! I even killed Russia! I am a monster... and nothing will bring them back!" Matthew sobbed, going limp.

Sitting in the snow, you just hugged him tighter, crying with him.

As the night sky seemed to clear, finally revealing the stars on this one, long night. You could feel his warm breath as his soft, wavy blonde hair intertwined with your (h/c) on the top of your head.

"We'll fix this... somehow we'll fix this. I love you, Mattie, and as you said, you can't be a monster if you're sorry." You consoled, honestly just as scared as he was, but you would make this right. He took your hand in both of his as you two laid there.

Together, you would make this right.

[iwofrickinjima]

Hear that, guys?  He's okay.