1 - 20 of 23 Works by BAGSOFMILK
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Behind his reflection, he saw America's knees scoot closer to the toilet. Obviously bracing to hurl out his stomach. Then, he does.
Mexico waits patiently by the sinks, ignoring at the raspy gasp afterwards.
He can manage himself fine.
"You drank way more than usual tonight." He says, because he is already resisting the urge to be at America's side. Mexico almost thought the man would black out at the counter, kicking his head back that many times.
"It's not like you weren't enjoying yourself either." A wretched voice muttered from the half closed stall.
OR: They go clubbing, and Mexico isn't very honest with himself.
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Rarely does Britain make rational choices while drunk. He owes that to Scotland.
And tonight there's another mischievous impulse; he took the much rougher and larger hand into his own.
"What are you-"
Britain doesn't know, well- he does. He's pulling the Union's hands up to his mouth, and licking the small red trails that have stained into his skin.
Soviet doesn't move. Hell, Britain's not even sure he's breathing.
OR: my late Christmas gift to the Sovbrit tag that no one asked for nor wanted.
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Petrograd, the capital of Russia and home to Russian Empire and the royal family. Home of millions, many of which that are angry, starving or shellshocked from the ongoing WW1. A place with an underbelly of silent, angry collectivism, so abundant that it already has an embodiment.
It also happens to be where a young Britain accidentally meets the Soviet Union.
OR: England brings Britain on his annual Russian Empire visit. He regrets this.
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“I have a few questions.” Britain said, holding the empty cup he forgot to fill. “Why were you in my house to begin with.”
He doesn’t like how the other man grinned, looking so damn pleased with himself. “I was bored,”
“Wouldn’t watching me work be even more boring?”
“Terribly boring. You need to get out more.”
OR: Local communist ghost chats with a burnt-out Brit.
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“Lost?” Suddenly, the child grinned. Arms folded behind her back and her chest puffed up proudly. “No way! I’m L'isola delle Rose. I’m not lost or scared.”
“Okay Rose, so you speak Italian? Where are you from?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.
“That building just over there.”
She pointed into the ocean; Italy could barely make out a small, blurry structure far off in the distance.
OR: Italy finds a micronation on the beaches of Emilia-Romagna.
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Prompt: Take a short scene (like “They walked home at night”) and stretch it to at least 500 words without adding new plot. Use only sensory details, inner thoughts, and atmosphere. Goal: Practice expanding as you draft, not after.
Or: Greece lingers on a bench at dawn.
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On particularly stormy days,
he dreams with his eyes open wide.A world where he is never colonized at all.
He, a country, doesn’t exist…
and it’s a wonderful feeling.
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Or: Mexico doesn’t wanna go to work.- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 273
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Kudos:
- 5
- Hits:
- 26
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"..I thought your Independence Day was Cinco de Mayo."
"Hah! No, that’s just a battle we won. El Grito is when it really started. The night we rose up against Spain.”
Mexico set two glasses down and filled them, his voice carrying a mix of pride and warmth. “Every year we remember that call for freedom. That shout started everything.”
Or: Mexico invites Usa to celebrate El Grito de Independencia,
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"You English?" Asked the second voice.
"You're joking. Ireland it's me-"
Oh, right, that's where they're at. Ireland. Britain had him board a fancy boat, and said something about a nice bar-? a restaurant? Something about celebration. Britain had said it’d be somewhere "relatively civil."
"…just shut up and help me pull him to the car-!"
Four hands are now grabbing at his coat sleeves, dragging him slowly across the floor. Soviet looks up drowsily. Britain is red-faced, grimacing as he yanks again. Ireland's chattering casually as he takes the lead.
Little by little, they dragged him across the floor.
OR: Ireland third-wheels a drunken Communist and a very tired Britain.
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Wrote this immediately after finding this fanart,
“FBI intelligence recently uncovered a certain Axis aiding informant And as it may, he happens to loves parties.”
Where is this going? He thought, swallowing down a sizable amount of Brandy.
“And I’d love to go personally, really I would.” His smile said otherwise, but Britain ignored it.
“But! I’m busy, so why don’t you and the Soviet fly over there and distract the host as some of my agents snatch some papers?”
Ah, the grand idea.
Britain sighed into his glass, wanting to just get it over and done with.
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Under the burning sun, in a field of golden hay swaying in the wind, New Spain met the future love of his life looking down at him with wide, soft, hazel eyes.
And with all the eloquence he could muster while lying down in the dirt utterly dehydrated, he spluttered:
“Dónde estoy?”
The other country blinked, standing right over him. Red stripped with a Union Jack on the left of his face and a pink flush across his cheeks, probably from the hot sun.
“Oh good! You’re alive- I uh… don’t speak spanish.”
OR: New Spain runs away, then regrets it in the morning. Atleast there's someone willing to help, only...they can't understand what the other is saying.
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Risk assessment by BAGSOFMILK
Fandoms: ゾン100～ゾンビになるまでにしたい100のこと～ | Zom 100: Zombie ni Naru made ni Shitai 100 no Koto (Anime)
30 Jun 2025
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Mikazuki hasn’t known the German for very long, but despite that Beatrix seems to treat her like a lifelong friend. So many physical touches- was that normal for Europeans?
Was it normal for her heart rate to increase because of it?
Or: Mikazuki’s lesbian thoughts as they sit around a campfire.
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“I have an idea, mio amico!” Italy declared, hands gripping his shoulders tight, and eyes glimmering with mischief.
Germany froze, the elevator became so quiet that he could hear the machinery around them.
“Uh-”
Italy beamed up at him with an innocent, almost sheepish smile, and any apprehension Germany had just..sort of melted away. He didn't know what the idea was, but deep down he was already going to agree with it.
“Alright,” He sighed. “what is it?”
The Italian’s grin somehow got wider. “Let’s get back at France- and steal the Mona Lisa! It belongs to me anyways-“
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Or: Italy enlists Germany to steal back the Mona Lisa from France...despite any and all logical reasoning, Germany agrees to help.
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A boy clenches his violin, tightly under the crook of his chin and casted the thin shaky bow forward- then delicately draws it in, softly across the E-string.
“Britain, you’re going too heavy on the bow! You have to be gentle.”
“Apologies Wales.” Britain mutters.
Too stiff, too loose, too heavy yet not heavy enough- he didn’t want all of this, he just wanted to be able to play like his mother, Britannia.
Or: Me trying to characterize UK as a kid and kinda failing.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,335
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Kudos:
- 10
- Hits:
- 112
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Dark Cacao cookie was amazing, and Pure Vanilla loves the way he instinctively sinks back into the warmth of the cookie’s chest under the cloak. For a moment it felt like a hug.
He looks upwards, butting the crown of his head against Dark Cacaos chest.
“Yes, I’m alright,” how could he not be?
“You’re out here in the cold while everyone else is inside.” Dark Cacao points out, tilting his head sideways.
“You hate the cold.” He added, much quieter.
Or: old men pretend like they aren’t hopelessly in love with eachother.
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Reap what you sow -SovBrit by BAGSOFMILK
Fandoms: CountryHumans, Geography (Anthropomorphic)
25 Mar 2025
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"..isn't it far too early to be driving?" Britian asked, rubbing tired eyes.
Soviet felt the same way, his whole body moved on autopilot.
And his eyes never stayed directly on the patchy dirt road like it should, drifting shut or simply blurring till nothing was coherent.
"Да, too early for drive."
Or: A quiet moment in an early drive.
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It’s a raining evening, when they realize the end of their journey is coming sooner than they thought..
Feelings ensue.
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“Hey Zoro, guess what~” Luffy turns to him with a mischievous grin.
Zoro sighs.
“Yes my captain?”
“..If Zoro doesn’t smile in the next minute then~ he is no longer nakama.”
“WHAT?!”
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Or: nickel was banned from the pick-nix table, and refuses help from others.
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The very beginning of Charlie in Underworld, written in Eugenes prospective.
(there are subtle hints of eugene/charlie, so can be read as gen.)