A/N: Europeans, like some Americans, drive on the right side of the road, except in England, where they drive on both sides of the road; Italy, where they drive on the sidewalk; and France, where if necessary they will follow you right into the hotel lobby. ~ Dave Barry

Drabbles: Of any category, any pairing, based on a keyword or phrase or something I encounter in everyday life.

Crack/ Angst/ Fluff/ Horror/ etc, etc.

For those, *points fingers* who say that I cannot write fluff. Or perhaps, word for word, say that I will "probably explode in front of the computer just trying to think of fluff"

I WILL PROVE YOU WRONG BY ATTEMPTING. I have not exploded yet. And I'm sorry, the summary has nothing to do with the story, maybe in the future.

(True, true, I know. All my stories are angsty and dark because…I don't know. I'm not that funny, nor am I very sappy. BUT. When someone insults my - ) XD

So, my first sorta fluff. At least it has a happy ending, you know? Really, no joke.

Drop a line? If you could? Pretty please?

Drabble 1: Polaroid.

Pairing: FrUk.

Warning: None, really. Very mild use of language.

Category: Fluff

Prompt: I wasn't good enough.

England POV

Sometimes, when I look at him –

I cry.

I don't know why, it just so happens that foreign tears run down my face, and the flowing doesn't stop.

Looking at the cracked picture, smoothing out the uneven glass

The photos that remain

Of him.

Of us, together.

Happy, one of those rare moments where someone had captured us laughing

Smiling.

His arm, so sneakily wrapped around my waist

I knew what he was doing yet, that lecherous –

I let it go.

That's the only picture of us like this so intimately.

I remember when he first started courting me

Those cheesy pick-up lines

To my utter disbelief

Could ever come out from a sleazy mouth like his

To me.

They were to me?

Of all people

A cranky, irritable, a horrible personality

Appealing to a flamboyant playboy like him?

What did he see in me?

Still, he smiled, those sky blue eyes crinkling up, the tell-tale smile lines

"Mon Ami, care to join me?"

Offering his hand, he waited patiently, gaze unwavering.

"Just get the hell away from me you disgusting frog."

I think he noticed, very observantly

That the tips of my ears were coloring pink.

Time, of course, proved not a barrier to this 'bickering.'

A light shower in the summer

The air so fresh, clear…the verdant grass dewy with drops of rain

"Let's ride, Angleterre!"

"Ri…ride W-WHAT? You disgusting git I-"

"Ride bikes, of course, what else…?"

He smirked, flashing the pearls of his teeth, leaning down, closer, voice low.

"Oh. Why, I never knew you were so enthusiastic in the morn- umph!"

He was stopped abruptly by a smarting punch to the side of his face.

"Ce qui a étéça? That hurt!"

To which I had no reply, looking away, whispering.

"Well…aren't you going?"

To which that shameless man took my hand, pressing his soft lips to my skin.

"I'll follow you, Arthur."

"I'll follow you forever."

Those words earned that arse swift kick down low.

Though I've questioned his sanity multiple times, on almost every occasion, the thought of dragging him off to asylum never occurred to me.

Until now.

"You want me to blasting do THIS?"

A few important veins probably popped.

Expending almost all English curse words available at the moment –

Francis had told me that he wanted to motorbike.

In the woods, for a picnic.

"So that you, and I, Mon amour, can share the most beautiful spot in my heart."

"Beautiful spot, my bollocks." A sneer twisted my face as I tried to hide my visible gulping. "A spot you share with a whole lot of other harlots."

A hurt look was quickly covered by a façade of amusement as he watched me ramble on as I suddenly remembered the two bikes perched by a large tree.

"People could DIE! What if there's an accident? What if-"

Francis chuckled. "In France" he wiggled his eyebrows, "accidents happen in the bedroom, not the kitchen unlike you, Arthur."

He continued, pressing his finger against my lip to hush me – an unusually close proximity, as he brushed the hair away from my face. "I'm just saying that because I'm concerned. Can you really do it?"

"Do what? What the hell do you want me to do? Ride motorbikes? That's a piece of cake I-"

Francis looked down at me as I stopped abruptly, the slight man now in his arms flushing pink.

"What if – What if I say can't?"

I saw his mouth drop open momentarily. Arthur Kirkland, of all people, trying to pout.

"Would you carry me on your back?"

The French man hugged me close, in a tight embrace – the scent of roses, wine, musk.

"I'll carry you with my arms, my love. That way I can see your face."

I can't help but let a smile linger on my face, watching him sleep contentedly under the bright sunshine.

But the, the return of the stinging, aching feeling.

I want to cry.

This is the last time…

I reach out, and grab his hand, intertwining our fingers together.

I'm sure he's feigning sleep.

The flood of realizations that I've held back with levees flow, roar.

I'm not good enough, for you.

I won't ever make you happy, I'm just a cantankerous, crabby, unreasonable, belligerent, bitter, difficult person.

Because when you're here with me

You make me realize exactly just what kind of person I am.

I'm a terrible cook and I drink too much, I used to be a punk a pirate,

And deny any sort of affection you have for me –

I feel horrible inside. You could have so much more…love in your life, rather than me, this irritable spinster that's into pagan things and witchcraft.

But you know.

I'm selfish.

I'm a very selfish person.

That's why I won't let you go. Though I know I'm not good enough, it doesn't deter me from your love.

This is the last time that I'll think like this.

"Francis."

He opens his eyes, sky blue melting into emerald green.

"Oui?"

"Let's take a picture together. Of us. Smiling."

"Of course."

The flash of the Polaroid light,

And on the back of photo when the small film finally developed,

I scribbled:

I think I might love you.

-End.-

I suppose I'll explain a little more. If you have any requests, I'll be more than happy to write a little something! Just give me a pairing and a subject/ keyword, or whatever, and I'll do my best, eh. XD

Can be told in narrative/ poem/ any sort of way, I guess.

Possible Topics: Sweden gets a Makeover, Canada and Prussia's business plan: Powerful Prussian (ma)Ple Prawesome Pancakes. League of PPmPPP, America thinks China's burgers are too weird, Korean Kpop government conspiracy, etc.