Status: In Progress

Genre: Other



Status: In Progress

Genre: Other



A collection of non-connected one shots. Results of prompts I find on Reddit, get given by friends, or dream up in the middle of the night. They can be part of a fandom or not, angsty, fluffy, serious or humoristic, descriptive or narrative. In short, I write something, I put it here. If you have a prompt, leave it in the comments and I may just do it!
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A collection of non-connected one shots. Results of prompts I find on Reddit, get given by friends, or dream up in the middle of the night. They can be part of a fandom or not, angsty, fluffy, serious or humoristic, descriptive or narrative. In short, I write something, I put it here. If you have a prompt, leave it in the comments and I may just do it!

Chapter1 (v.1) - Shot in Battle

Author Chapter Note

Prompt: Both shot in battle, two enemy soldiers attempt to comfort the other through death

Unrepentant angst.

Comments welcome!

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: April 06, 2017

Reads: 39

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: April 06, 2017



You’ve just set your sights on a new target, when it punctures through your flesh, tearing your side open and making you collapse, spasms of pain wrecking your body, every nerve on fire. You fall behind your cover, clutching your flesh, the warm blood slick on your gloves. The position is awkward, your body slumped forward, neck craned back as you press into the low brick wall. Hit from the back.

A sharp crack resounds from somewhere farther off, and you hear someone fall a few steps behind you. Gasps of pain sound out in the deserted alleyway, a weapon falling out of their hands, bouncing once on the hard ground. Then, only laboured breaths.

You can feel yourself slipping, and honestly, you really don’t want to die with a crick in your neck, so with one last ounce of effort, you push off the wall, and now your back rests against it. Your eyes scan the area, falling upon the other soldier, his ragtag armour giving away his alliance. Dark eyes, spiked with pain, regard you cautiously, sweat soaked hair falling choppily over his forehead, slick with sweat. Defenceless. You still have your weapon firmly in your grasp, but after a few long moments, you let it drop, the dull thump of metal hitting dirt impossibly loud. Somehow, you don’t want your last actions to be ones of violence.

He gapes at you.


It’s not what you expected. Not the question, but the tone, that light, musical sound bouncing along the alley to reach you. There’s genuine wonder and curiosity, mixed with a healthy dose of fear. With a small start, you realize that this man must have been the one to hit you. You’ve just refused to shoot your own executioner. Yet you can’t muster the energy to be angry. You’re just too tired.

“Why not?”

“I shot you.”

“I know. Pretty good hit too. Never heard you coming.”

He ponders your words.

“You are praising me, for shooting you.”

“What can I say? I know when I’m beat. If you got the drop on me, you got the drop on me, what am I supposed to say?”  You throw your head back in mock anger, your voice gaining the inflection of a bad Hollywood pirate “Ah, you foe, how dare you attack me, enemy soldier, from the back. I will vanquish you, evildoer, with my dying breath!” You give a dry chuckle. “Not worth it. Not worth spending my last words on useless threats.”

He drops his gaze to his own wound, seemingly just realizing his situation, his fate, as his life slowly drains out of him. Shock is one hell of a drug. His eyes flash in upwards, meeting you steady gaze, a plea, a confession, leaving his lips.

“I don’t want to die.”

The words of man who was young enough to deem himself immortal, who would sneak with bravado up close behind an enemy, risk it all because he could. What answer can you give him? No one’s coming for either of you, your men far too occupied to think that they haven’t seen you, his probably pinned down under your fire.

Suddenly, you feel very, very alone. A dying soldier in the company of a nameless enemy, lost in a far-away land. You remember your orders: never interact with the enemy. Don’t touch them, don’t listen to them, don’t talk to them. And you, the perfect soldier, silent, steady, deadly. Fuck that.

“What’s your name?”


“First time out here?”

“This is my home. I’ve always been here. You are the one who comes out. Why?”

You give out a shuddering breath, head scraping on the wall as you lean it back. As far as situations go, this has to be the most surreal. Sitting, bleeding, and making conversation with the enemy.

“First time I came cause of the dead. Bloke from my town got blasted on a mine, and everyone went to the funerals. Knew him from Sunday football. Second time I came cause I felt I hadn’t done enough. This time… I came cause I could do nothing else. Never quite fit back in at home.”

Mazo pushes himself a little further up the wall, pressing his left hand against his chest wound. He shudders at the pressure, a cough wracking through him as a trail of blood falls from his mouth. He looks at you, and relents, any bravado long gone.

“I came to fight. You, them, all the same. You come to our home, kill our children, take everything we have. So I fight. But I did not want to die. I just wanted you all to go away.”

“Trust me mate, if I could, I’d leave right now. But I seem to have misplaced part of my stomach.”

He lets out a small bark of laughter.

“Where would you go?”

“Henley. Lovely place. It rains half the year, but somehow you get used to it. Couple of hours from London, for reference. It never fucking rains here. Wouldn’t have believed I’d miss it, but somehow all I want, right now, is to step off my porch into the rain.”

Silence greets your words.


“I’m here. Just… thinking about when I last felt the rain. It was… a few months back, I think. I met my sister, down by the sea. Took me a few weeks to get there, and when I did, it rained. For two days, it never stopped. Sola loved it.”

“What’s she like?”

“Annoying. Short. She thinks it’s fun to try and jump on my shoulders. But she makes the best pies, and cleaned all my scrapes, and” Mazo spasms again “And she always misses me, and I her.”

A beat passes.

Your breathing is slowing, head is drooping, resting on your chest. You feel your heart pumping gently, every beat a fraction further apart than the previous. You realise you haven’t answered.

“Well, no one’s waiting for me to get back. Somehow, I forgot to fit that whole process into my schedule. Figured I’d have time for it, someday.”

That’s when a pang of longing goes through you, for the future you could have had, a partner, a family, a pet. Waking up next to someone, making breakfast on a rainy Sunday morning, wasting the day together. A child running on your lawn, a cheerful laugh ringing out as you give chase. Sunsets over the beach on a vacation, the soft cold of the first snow of the season.

A cough breaks you out of your riverie. You look over to Mazo. He looks so young, so small, despite his long frame. A child in an adult’s war. He expels another cough. Your eyes are getting heavy. It would be so easy to just, close, them. He speaks up, and you force them wide open again.

“She told me I would get in trouble. Sola. I never listened. I wanted her to have a safe country. I wanted to have my home back.”

You think about the talks on your base. About how you were going to be sent back soon, along with almost half the force. It was a fruitless war now, they had decided. Let the locals sort out what was left. You almost smile at the irony. Mazo would have gotten what he wanted, if he hadn’t walked into the alley behind you. All of this, was useless. You both fought and it would all be for nothing. Not for you, not for Mazo. You can’t let him think that, think that he did nothing.

“Mazo, listen, you did good. We’re leaving, going away. Sola, she’ll have her country. You did good.”

He shoots you a small grin. A heart-wrenching, joyful, innocent smile that lights up his face.

“I did?”

“Yeah, you did.”

“Then she’d be happy.”

Happy. When was the last time you were genuinely happy? You can’t… it’s a foggy memory, twisting away from you into the shadows of your brain.

His head rests on his chest now. He takes a shuddering breath. Another. One more. Silence.

You let your eyes fall closed.

A raindrop hits the ground.

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