The World I Live In (Crazy Hetalia Fanfic)

Twelve

Hi there! I want to start putting one of these at the beginning of each chapter. They make me feel more connected to you readers, I guess? I dunno haha(:

I want to try updating at least once a week. Maybe twice if it's a short chapter. I like writing this, I'm already almost to part three! I just... haven't updated that much on here... Merp. But I also want to point out that I have been putting a lot of Beatles songs as the 'Song Of The Chapter'. It's just 'cause I really like The Beatles, and most of their songs actually kind of fit. It's peculiar, really. And... I just want to say that, although I'll update anyways, I might just update faster if you comment, or fan, or vote... Or just show that you like the book. If I can tell it makes you happy, then it makes me happy that I'm not alone with this book making me happy(: I love writing this, although it's a really silly FanFic. Heh. Yeah.

Going to bed now.

Laurenn

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                We all go to Italy’s house, and it is really nice there. The house is an old, Hispanic styled two story place with a nice vegetable garden and yellow outdoor rocks as the house walls. I have a room upstairs, along with Germany and Italy. Italy’s house is decently sized, and he lives alone, with three rooms other than his own. After I unpack (Germany already has other clothes here, he visits often), I head down to the kitchen, where Italy is waiting for me to teach him how to make deep dish pizza. In his excitement of learning a new recipe, he already has the ingredients out.

                “Okay,” I start, “First we need to get out the pans.” He points to where they’re located, and I open the cabinet. After searching for a few minutes, I find the needed pan and bowl. The pan in two inches deep, and the bowl is a simple metal bowl. We set the oven and grate the cheese. I show him to cook the ground beef, and begin working on the dough. I get finished with it right as he puts the beef into a separate bowl. I tell him to mix the beef with the tomato sauce, which he does perfectly. I fix the dough into the pan, framing the bottom and the sides with the substance.

                “Pour it in.” I order. He does so. I get the pepperoni, and layer it on top.

                “Shredded cheese?” He nods, and hands it over. I put it smoothly on top of the pepperoni.

                The ending product before putting it into the oven was absolutely good looking. The cheese ended right at the top of the pan, outlined in raw dough. I put it in the oven.

                “Now, while it’s cooking for an hour,” I explain to Italy, “We can play cards. It’s an old habit of mine…”

                -I now remember when I would help mother cook this, and while it was baking, we would play Uno while giggling about blocking each other’s wins. The kitchen was yellow, and the table was old, but it was a decent table, with spilt nail polish and light scratches and memories on it-

                “Do you have Uno cards?” I ask him, coming out of my memories, and he nods.

                “I like American culture. Of course I have Uno cards!” He runs out of the room, and comes back with the cards and Germany.

                “Germany will play cards too, right?” I nod.

                “If he wants to, sure.” We all sit at the round dining table, and I pass out nine cards to each of us. Germany is really competitive about these types of winning games. He is putting down skips and reverses excitedly. We play four rounds and Germany wins two of them. Italy and I win one each. Italy rushes up quickly when he hears the ding of the timer, and reaches in quickly with bare hands.