CaffeineCandy

A/N: More Hetalia fluff. I apologize in advance for my writing. I should change the title, shouldn't I. ‘Hey you two have gotten what you wanted, but I don’t have any cotton candy yet!’ Prussia complains, pointing at the North American brothers. ‘Alright, alright, let’s go get cotton candy,’ Canada says pleasantly. ‘America and Romano, you two go ahead. We’ll meet you at the exit with cotton candy.’ ‘O-Okay,’ America agrees in an attempt to be brave. He follows Romano towards the haunted house. A carnival worker dressed as a demon holds open a curtain for them to walk through

A/N: don't read this. It's fucking melodramatic and dark. Basically just a rant on my latest depressive episode. Ugh, I'm so pathetic. Do you know how it feels? It’s like a wrenching, stabbing, clawing, twisting, aching pain. It plays tricks on my mind. It’s sickening and addictive, terrifying and familiar. I know she’s on her way. What am I supposed to do again? I sit and stare blankly at the wall. I look fine; I have no bandages or bruises. I am not bleeding, I do not cry, I am staying very still. I scramble desperately. I’m bloody and bruised, crippled and crawling. She flies after me like a bat from Hell, bre

A/N: Any love for original stories? no? okay ._. anyways, I'm not a very good editor, so if I made any mistakes, tell me. My characters don't have names so far, and might never have names. I prefer my characters be defined by who they are and what they do rather than their name. Or i'm just lazy. Hope you like it...? Light rain falls from a pale grey sky. I like rain; rain doesn’t care if you love it or hate it, it’s there for everyone. It’s cold though. I hunch over and try to bury myself deeper in the long grass that fills this empty plot of land. Dandelions glow in the feeble light, like tiny orbs of luminous snow scatte

Hah, just kidding. I still can't write. I do fluff pieces for fun. have some more of my random Hetalia story. Romano rings the doorbell again. He’s not with America today, which makes him feel a bit strange. The fact that he feels strange makes him feel even stranger. When had he and America begun spending so much time together? He waits impatiently outside the door, tapping his foot against the corridor floor. The door swings open at full force, making him jump at the sudden movement. ‘Romano!’ Spain greets him loudly, a wide smile on his face. He immediately hugs the Italian, dragging him inside the apartment and closing