So I feel like writing something with more variety for once, but I have no ideas, so~
Comment with a 5 + 1 list and I'll write a drabble about it! Include the name of the characters, the ship (if applicable), and a general rating to go along with it.
eg. five times Kaworu made Nill flustered, and one time it was reversed.
Haruhi Fujioka |
aliceinouran Nill
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Five times Romano said no and the one time he gave in.
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Romano walks into the kitchen at lunchtime after waking up for the second time that day, and he's not at all surprised to find Veneziano sitting at the table just the same as he was last time he walked through here, but he is vaguely annoyed, and he goes to dig through the fridge for tomatoes with a scowl.
It only takes a moment for the smell to assault his senses, and he looks up at his brother over the door of the fridge.
"What the hell are you eating?" he asks - demands, really - slamming the fridge closed and tossing his acquired tomato from hand to hand. "God, that reeks"Oh!" Veneziano looks down at his food with a strange sort of surprise, as if he hadn't known it was there. "It's something Irish, I think; me and Germany were eating it yesterday! It's got potatoes and all kinds of cheeses in it, and it's really, really nice!" He spears a potato slice on his fork and holds it up happily. "Do you want to try some ( ... )
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/BLAMES EVERYONE
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/ACEPTS BLAME
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He's caught by the elbow just as his fingers graze the handle, and he turns to rouse on the person who is interrupting his potential lunch.
America is grinning at him, the same self-confident, blindingly bright grin as always. Romano is definitely taken a bit off-guard, and his anger goes out like a candle, but he's left with grouchiness instead, and he shoots America a kind of pathetic glare.
"What do you want?" he grumbles, because he's not going to go around shouting at America, for crying out loud.
"Well, I had this really awesome idea that we could discuss in our next meeting!" he says, loud as ever, and even Romano winces at the unnecessary volume. "It's about--"
"Wait," he interrupts, hoping that he can escape this situation. "Why are you telling me this ( ... )
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"NO."
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It isn't. Romano throws him off, and chucks all of the covers on top of him, for good measure.
"What?" he snaps, now cold as well as tired and irritable.
"Well, well," starts Veneziano, poking his head out from under the mountain of sheets and quilts, "I was gonna tell you that me and Germany and Japan are going to go to one of America's big festivals today, and I was gonna ask if you wanted to come!"
Romano gives him a Look.
He doesn't even need to say no.
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He really hates hearing that tone of Spain's. That tone means that he wants him to do something, which means he has to refuse, which means they have to argue, which means he has to put up with Spain moping until he can think of some sort of compromise that doesn't trouble him more than the slightest bit.
It's a very irritating cycle.
Romano stands in the kitchenette and waits, and sure enough, Spain peers around the doorway a moment later, and his expression brightens at the sight of the other country.
"Oh, Romano, there you are! Listen, I'm going out to do farmwork today, and I came to ask if you'd help me--"
"No."
Spain's face falls for a moment. "But, you don't even know what I'm--"
"No."
Romano scowls and looks intently down at the pot of pasta he has boiling in front of him. Defeated, Spain sighs and starts to drag his feet back towards the front door.
"D-- damn it, wait."
Puppies wish they could look as eager as Spain ( ... )
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Italy lives in fear of Romano's Look.
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He'd better, that Look is followed up with Bad Things.
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