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#tw injury
lave-whump · an hour ago
milo v riley, fight! part 1
first // previous // masterlist
uhh im back... after a month, i am so sorry
cw: emotional and physical abuse, victim blaming, abandonment, burns, head injury, grief, denial, Riley as a whole lets not lie, tell me if i forget smth, my apologies.
The coffee spilled down the sink, trickling down light brown into their sink, Riley’s hand gripping onto the handle so hard that Milo feared it’d break the mug. Her face was a careful play at neutrality, though the tension in her body gave way to clear anger.
“I can make a different type if you changed your tastes,” Milo said, their voice was bittersweet despite their attempts at being calm. Angering Riley further was a task they were reluctant to attempt, yet their own spite and rage was just a violate as a force. Though more subtle than her screams, “You have to tell me that. Being passive aggressive isn’t communication.”
She didn’t respond, with much force jamming her mug into the sink as she picked up the next mug. Milo’s breath hitched, that was Cecilia’s cup. They’d continued to make them out of some necessity to have normalcy, to forge a faux remembrance of what family had been like. They’d pour them out too late at night for them to think clearly, to pretend to themself maybe. Their attempt at foolery was only ripping at their heartstrings.
A shitty reminder of what was no longer here. They couldn’t bring themself to stop. Routine is what strung them out of bed, what kept their heart beating and lungs pumping.
Riley poured out the cup, it was dark, almost black coffee with a single packet of those fake sugars Cecilia bought that she insisted were healthier. Milo took a step forward, their breath stiff with anger, “Riley.”
She placed the second empty mug down. Spurred on, she looked back as she picked up Aine’s mug and poured the entire thing out, staring at them the entire time. Milo’s face twisted, they lunged out as she grabbed at Charlie’s cup. Their hand missed, coffee spilled over the top of it and onto the floor as Riley held it above so it’d be harder for Milo to reach with their shorter height.
“Stop it!” they yelled out, voice hitching, “That’s not yours!”
“You’re wasting coffee!” she yelled out, holding the cup higher when Milo continued to try and reach for it, “We can’t afford you using the whole thing so shortly, it’s a pain in the ass. If you want to waste the coffee, you should pay for it yourself.”
“I do, you idiot!’ they jumped up, reaching for it still.
“The hell did you just call me?” her tone blurred into the ease of a laugh, no humor was in it. “I’m sorry, who’s the one making coffee for a grave here because -?”
“Leave it alone!” they pushed her, “Let go of it!”
“Look who’s talking!” the coffee spilled further over, it dripped onto the roots of Riley’s hair, she didn’t seem to notice, “He’s dead, Milo, he’s not going to come back if you keep making him coffee.”
“Oh fuck you!” they screamed, pressing forward and pushing her backwards, “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you -” they pushed with every word. Riley threw her arm forward and suddenly pain sparked across Milo’s chest, lukewarm and sharp. The next moment, the mug spilled into pieces on the floor.
They were both silent for a moment, the remaining coffee spilled over Milo’s shirt, a cut beginning to bleed across their check from one of the pieces hitting them. It was shattered, truly. From breaking against Milo’s chest and then the floor, the pieces were small enough for the most part that they could not be salvaged.
“You broke it,” their voice cracked, hands shaking as they stared down at the remains of Charlie’s favorite mug, “You broke it.” “Yeah, I got that,” she scoffed, her confidence wavered. She sucked in a breath, kicking one of the larger shards, “You should um, pick this up.”
“What’s wrong with you?” they brought their head up, their hair fell in their face. Eyes blurring with sudden tears, “What did I even do to you? What did he do to you?”
She took a step back, “Shut up, no one wants to hear it, okay? He’s not here to care so it doesn’t even matter. He’s dead, stop acting like he’s going to burst in and fix everything you messed up.”
“I messed up?” they laughed, maniacal, “I tolerate your shit every day of the week, but I refuse to be your scapegoat.”
“Holding you accountable isn’t making you a scapegoat,” she spat, “You murdered him so it’s your job to pick up the damn pieces, I’m sorry if that hurts you but your actions have consequences.”
“And where were you, huh?” they yelled, “If I hadn’t had to heal you so much maybe he
would still be here.”
“Maybe if you were strong enough to do the one damn thing you’re here for, he’d be here,” she took another step back, grabbing onto the table, “We didn’t take you on to make coffee, we did it to keep us alive.”
Milo tried to blink back their tears, they crouched down to pick up the pieces of the mug. Their hands shook, “You didn’t have to break it.” Their fingers caught along the nimble pieces, blood dribbled at their hands as they attempted to gather up each shattered piece of something Charlie held so dear.
“It’s a mug, get over it,” she lingered in the doorway, “He’s - he’s not yours to mourn, stop acting like he is. You were only here because of your abilities, if they can’t save us then there’s no point in you being here. You’re nothing without them, there’s no point for us to support someone so parasitic.”
“Shut up!” Milo clung to the pieces of the mug, they dug into their hand, “I’m here because they love me and care about me, just because you don’t doesn’t mean the others don’t! It’s not my fault you’re so shallow.” Her words stung, more than the mug did. She really never cared, did she?
“Yeah?” she scoffed, “Did they tell you that? What, Aine who gets nervous when asking us to pass them a napkin? Cecilia and Charlie lie - lied all the time, we both know that. They only tell you that they love you because they’d feel guilty if they admitted to themself that the only thing they love is how useful you are. Were, at least. You had value and now you don’t. You are nothing beyond your healing, without Charlie’s pity,” she sucked in a breath, “The best thing you can do for everyone is pack your bags, don’t force us to live with someone who killed one of ours.”
Milo felt their heart crumple beneath them, “That’s not true,” there was little passion behind their voice, “I’m worth more than -”
“You’re nothing!” she grabbed their collar, slamming down to the floor, “You hear me? You are nothing!” She slammed their head against the cabinet, “Stop acting like you’re hot shit when you’re only bringing misery to everything you touch.”
Milo swung forward blindly, their vision blurring at being slammed. The injuries in their stomach from healing Charlie screamed at the moment, they whacked her face, although weakly, “Let go of me!” They screamed, terrified. They kicked out.
“What, gonna hurt me too?” she screamed, slamming them against the wall again. Flames burned around her knuckles, screaming at their collarbones and threatening to catch upon their shirt, “Was killing part of my family not enough?”
They weren’t family, weren’t even dignified enough to be one of them. Just a fucking tool in her eyes deemed broken when their body refused to let them kill themself. They tried to breath through the panic, a voice ripped from their throat, screaming as they kicked out in a desperate frenzy.
The flames caught upon their shirt, ripping down the thing in a blaze of white hot pain. Riley pulled away, a series of curses spilling from her lips as Milo screamed. It hurt, their stomach had already hurt - they didn’t know how to fix it besides bandages and this didn’t help. There was no end, just agony ripping through their skin.
It ended not entirely but subtly with the smacking of Riley’s hands against their chest, trying to beat out the fire. She ripped their shirt off, tossing it in the running sink. She breathed heavily, smoke beating out of the remains of their shirt.
Milo’s screams were replaced with full hearted sobs, desperate weeping from the agony of her words and hands and the feeble stitching they’d done falling apart. It hurt, it hurt and it wouldn’t stop. Charlie was dead. The rest of their family had scattered off into varying states of distress, leaving them. Abandoning them.
They weren’t allowed to call them their family, though, weren’t they?
“Milo,” Riley backhanded them, their head fell against the cabinet again. They could see her flinch despite their increasingly faulty vision, “Come on, get up. Stop fucking crying, you’re not a victim here. It’s manipulative,” she pulled them up, forcing them to their feet.
They only sobbed harder, “Please just leave me alone, I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“God!” she screamed, “I was going to help you, I was going to be nice but fuck it - you don’t deserve that. I won’t give decency -” she dragged them towards the door, Milo scrambled to try and get away, “- to murderers!”
“Let go, please, let go,” they begged, she was much stronger than them. They’d never been good at fighting - like she’d said, their worth was based in healing not defending.
“Shut up!” she yelled, voice quivering, “I’ll be lucky if the neighbors don’t send us noise complaints. The least you could do - do is be quiet,” she moved to open the door and Milo’s panic increased.
“Stop, stop, stop -” they rambled out, pushing against her with little effort, “Let go, please.”
Their body was mercilessly tossed to the ground. Riley’s breathing quickened, “Go,” her voice was watery, “I don’t want to see you again. You’re not my responsibility.”
“Ce-ceilia said that -”
“I said go, Milo,” her hand lingered on the doorknob, “You’re not wanted here.”
The door slammed shut, leaving Milo clinging to the hallway’s rugs and choking on their sobs as they desperately tried to breathe through them.
Tag list: (I HAVE ONE OF THOSE NOW :D, feel free to ask if you want to join) @yet-another-heathen @tears-and-lilies
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vanillawaiver · an hour ago
// i'm gonna talk about gore and injuries !!! ahh it's pretty gross!
while i do ADORE the quackity design with a scar over his eye and all that (i've drawn it myself a lot), it just makes absolutely zero sense to me logistically. techno put a pickaxe through his teeth. the generally accepted injury is the pickaxe going through the roof of quackity's mouth, potentially knocking out some teeth, and hooking back through his eye socket. he has No More Eyeball. you don't just come back from that. eyepatch quackity ftw.
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diet-tea-other-cola · an hour ago
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Everything is too much 4 me rn so I drew this out.
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crmnsdk · an hour ago
( @edensadik​ | 02.02.21 / --:-- | war safehouse )
TIME HAS BECOME A NEBULOUS CONCEPT in the aftermath of her injury, moving in ebb and flows rather than in a simple linear fashion; it’d seemed to stretch with the tension of a rubber band when she’d been held beneath the weight of Kitty’s legs, then snapped back together in strange, discrete flashes of moments by the time she reached the safehouse, snapshots snagging on irrelevant details like the shape of Kitty’s hand and the blood that had stained them. The salt on her tongue helps clear her mind, though the steady stream of tears makes her view of the world around her blurry. She’s not sure why it feels like grade school again, standing in front of her father and explaining why she’d failed another maths exam, or why the credit card bill was so high again. The Virtue had made no wrong moves, nothing that would put her in her Horseman’s crosshairs, but defeat at the hands of another was difficult to stomach for a lady of War. She’s used to easy wins.
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Not the pain of a bullet graze – had Carman a head for medicine or paid remote attention during human anatomy aside from when she could make pointed jokes about the reproductive system she may have been able to piece together that the ammunition must have caused a deeper abrasion, one that went below the skin to the dermis which was causing the incessant bleeding. The shakiness was from shock and adrenaline wearing off. The sensation of singed skin was from the literal gunpowder explosion that her thigh had been near. It looked and felt worse than the eventual result: scarring was inevitable, but some dermabond and rest and her skin would restitch itself. But all Carman can see is the red on her wound and hands, which is why all she manage upon catching sight of her younger sister is a broken, sobbing, “Eden!”
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fortislumen · 2 hours ago
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rescue-related prompts. // accepting —@soulstcne​​ said: " hey... i told you i'd find you. remember? i promised. and i keep my promises. always. "
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victor knew that these things came with the job. but he had always figured that after so much he has gone through, that he was somewhat used to it. his time as a SEAL was not an easy one, now at NCIS it was just as hard. he had always dealt with the worst of it all. little did he know one is never ready to go through what he just did. he was kidnapped, used as a punching bag when the guys just thought he was about to give out classified information. then, he was granted one phone call. he could have called his boss, his sisters, anyone. but the first person he thought about was her. the woman he loved, the one person he knew would find him, and if she didn't in time, he was damn sure she would make sure those people paid for what they had done. and here she is, looking as beautiful as ever after she rescued him from the rabbit whole he was thrown at. he sat at the back of an ambulance, the place was too loud, flashbacks from a time he didn't want to remember were clouding his vision. he hears her voice as if she's far away from him, and when he realises she's close enough to see just what a mess he is right now, he looks away, wrapping his arms around himself.
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❝ never doubted you for a second.  ❞
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rot10 · 3 hours ago
fjord gets un-impaled and just lays on the floor doing the skyrim ragdoll thing
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parkerwhitmores · 3 hours ago
( @hshqstarters​​ // open to anyone who… i guess will pop parker’s shoulder back into place. definitely hijackable.  )
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“hey, can i get a hand over here?” there had been a moment when he realized he’d fucked up, climbing up the stupid rock and begging for attention - that moment had been when the ground had started to shake, the giant rock getting detached from it’s perch had sent him flying, far away from the rest of the group. when he’d come to, he knew time had passed because it was darker and his head hurt like a bitch. he knew what a probable major concussion felt like - he’d had a few. he looks up at the person, acting completely calm for once in his life, even as he knew his shoulder was dislocated, “if you could, like, stick your hand right here, on my chest? i’ll just - i promise you don’t have to do anything, i’ve just got to pop this back into place real quick, it’ll be easy.” he’d done it before - albeit he was so drunk he couldn’t feel his shoulder, then.
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hxdxgun · 4 hours ago
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@glassmenagerieofmuses​ :  "you've got two choices; let me carry you or die out here. Take your pick." (From Desmond)
HURT PROMPTS . accepting .
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     "I-its FINE-" and at this point, why is he still insisting? Its clearly NOT FINE, the blood that speckles through shorts, the rip into the cargo fabric. The tusk of the pig - the wild boar - had been sharp. Hard. Thicker than imagined. Easily piercing through skin and ... nearly to bone.
     "I can WALK," Mark repeated, swearing by his word. Though the damage was LESS convincing. Even with his attempt to stand, propping himself against the banyan tree, resting for a considerably long moment. His leg just wouldn't listen to him, wouldn't OBEY with what he wanted it to do.
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heldheart · 4 hours ago
this hurts. (Wanda)
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Bexley wrapped an arm around the Sokovian woman momentarily, “I thought it might. We need to get you to a hospital then...I think it would be best for you if we go there next.”
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cricketkultur · 6 hours ago
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trying to figure out tricky ft. a small oc in the corner 
(closeups of some favorite sketches under cut)
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virtuosin · 6 hours ago
{{ writing today as I got boiling oil in my right eye that I’m treating. I don’t think it’s going to have severe LONG TERM consequences, reaaaaally hurts and I’d rather not strain it.  }}
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bambicambi · 7 hours ago
Marinette: LOOK. This isn't your fault.
Jason: *looks down at the unconcious body on the ground* uh..
Marinette: he's still alive, right?
Jason: *looks at the blood slowly dripping out of his chest* uhh...
Marinette: we just need to call the ambulance and everything will be fine.
Jason: *shifts his feet* don't think he's gonna make it, Pix...
Marinette: *sighs* I don't understand why he's so fucking caught up with his no killing rule. He beats people to a fucking pulp and doesn't give a fuck if he casually disabled a guy for years to come, where he's constantly needing to be on life support and at that point is just surviving instead of living.
Jason: uhh..
Marinette: he doesn't give a fuck if he just ruined a guys life. Hes a petty criminal, right? As long as he has a pulse, right?
Jason: *on his phone with 911* uhm.
Marinette: its fucking infuriating that he's still holding you for all your shit when—
Jason: *hand over the mic* Pix.
Marinette: *makes a aggravated noise* just so fucking unfair.
Jason: Pixie.
Marinette: but—
Jason: Mari.
Marinette: f-fucking FINE.
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isappho · 7 hours ago
holy crap why there is a slice in my finger when did that happen
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mrsgiovanna · 8 hours ago
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Restoration (Platonic! Don Giorno x G/N Reader)
A bit of a different scenario in which the reader looks after Giorno. Thank you for the ask sweet nonnie🥺, I hope I was able to do it justice. 💕♥️🐞💭
TW: mentions of injuries, anxiety
Word count : 1k
A fatal error… a miscalculated action… it didn’t matter what you called it, what mattered was the awful consequence. You all knew that this was a dangerous mission, which is why Giorno elected to accompany you himself, regardless of how unorthodox it was. Two analytical masterminds would definitely seal the deal you thought to yourself, but as you crouched over his unconscious form, you suddenly doubted your understanding of everything.
Getting him out of that dangerous situation was not easy, but between you and Mista, Giorno was able to reach his villa. You were at a loss though… the one person who could rectify this situation was trapped within it. As much as you hated it, Fugo had taken the decision to have Giorno transferred to a private medical facility with the best care available.
You and Giorno had been close friends for a few years now, ever since the old leadership of Passione was overhauled by the omnipotent stand user. Like the pieces of a puzzle, you clicked into place in each other’s lives. You quickly became one of his most trusted advisors and he was someone you could look up to, so much so that his absence.
Using your charisma, you had managed to charm the staff at the facility that housed Giorno to let you come and go as you pleased, so naturally you spent all your free time there making him extra comfortable, adding the finer details that you knew he would appreciate- fresh flowers at his bedside, hypoallergenic silk pillows that were gentle on his hair and skin, knowing he would appreciate the gesture when he eventually woke up. Mista, Trish and Fugo took turns to come and check up on you both, and you were infinitely grateful for their frequent visits, keeping you from spiraling into a state of despair. This routine carried on for the past week, but your resolve didn’t waver, you were convinced he would wake up sooner or later, and wanted to make sure that you were there to support him through his recovery.
“(y/n) … how is he doing?” you turned around to meet amethyst eyes.
“Fugo… Hi, Gio’s doing okay… no change… but he’s stable. How are you? Is Mista doing okay?” with a reassuring smile, he walked in to meet you at Giorno’s side.
“He looks so peaceful… I wonder what’s going on in his head… I hope he can hear everything that’s going on around him,”
“I’m sure he can, he’s going to be just fine,” you said while looking at your unconscious friend. You chat to Fugo for a short while, him not being able to stay too long as he was running Passione in Giorno’s absence.
“Keep me posted if there are any changes, try and get some rest as well (y/n), I’ll be back a bit later, what can I bring you?”
“I’m fine, don’t worry about me, thanks Fugo,”
The room fell silent again, and for some odd reason, this silence felt overwhelming for you. It might just have been the exhaustion of a trying week, or being overwhelmed by the general situation, but your visual of Giorno suddenly became blurry as a stream of tears fell from your sleep-deprived eyes.
“Gio… if you can hear me, you have to get better, there’s so many people waiting here for you… we all need you to be okay. You’ve fought so hard; you can fight your way back to us too…” Looking up, you find Giorno with his face in a grimace.
“Giogio, please, wake up, I know you can hear me, please open your eyes… please…”
As if being hit with his own life shot ability, his eyes shot open, revealing unfocused jade orbs, searching for something to lock on to. You sprang up and hit the button to call for assistance, looking over the confused, agitated Don. You wept again, this time in relief at not having to lose yet another precious friend. Stumbling backwards, you give the medical personnel the space to examine Giorno and use that time to contact Fugo.
“Pick up, pick up, pick up… Fugo! He’s awake, Gio’s awake, come as soon as you can!”
You paced the sterile hallway just outside Giorno’s room as his doctors and nurses attempted to stabilize him again given the state of agitation he was in. As anxious and excited as you were, you calmed yourself, not wanting to breed unreasonable expectations of the condition that Giorno was in. The clattering behind you alerted you to the arrival of the rest of the team. You spoke quietly amongst yourselves while waiting for the doctors to exit his room.
“Are you all here to see Mr. Giovanna?”
“Correct, how is he?” asked Mista in a gentler voice than usual.
“Can we see him?” Trish asked expectantly.
“He’s doing very well actually, better than expected, quiet lucid for being unconscious for that length of time,” explained the confused looking doctor, his expression giving you hope that Giorno was finally able to manifest his stand to heal himself.
“Alright, I’ll allow it, but quietly and take care not to overwhelm him, he needs to rest,”
You all file into the room, and were greeted by an exhausted-looking Giorno, sitting up on his bed.
“Gio… we were so worried… how are you feeling?”
“I’m completely exhausted, thank you all for everything… (y/n) are you okay?”
“Exhausted? Sleeping beauty, you’ve been out of it for a week now,” joked the gunslinger, earning a glare from the rest of you, and, rather surprisingly, a jovial, soft laugh from Giorno.
“It’s alright everyone, I can barely understand myself… I had the most bizarre dream though… I feel like I escaped certain death… no matter, I know I’ll be okay,”
The gritty, raspy edge was evident in Giorno’s voice as he spoke clutching the star shaped birthmark on his shoulder. You sat quietly, observing the scene in the room, being overcome by a sense of solace, you knew that the worst was behind Giorno, and soon he would go back to the life that both he, and you all, were used to.
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araluenrangerdanger · 9 hours ago
Okay thanks for reading-but can you make a crawlt fanfic with Halt thinking that Crowley is dying, so he slowly sings "far too young to die" by Panic! At The Disco, and then makes out with him, because why the hell not?
I am so, so late with this, but: tw: head injury, blood, injury, violence
I hope you enjoy 
Halt and Crowley had been waiting for this moment the last six hours. They had info that the bandit group took this road every second week, and today was the day.
A few weeks ago, a message came to Castle Araluen. It was from the north side of the Araluen fief, a fief that, by all standards, was now Crowley’s.
It was a few weeks after Pritchard’s death. The two young Rangers were grieving, but criminals never took breaks. Crowley was still heavily burdened by the weight of all paperwork that he had to sort (it seemed as if Stilson intentionally left the office in the biggest mess he could before he was kicked out of the Corps for good) and all the other responsibilities that came with reinstating the Ranger Corps, finding new apprentices, trying to keep everything running and the crime in fiefs that didn’t have their own Rangers in check, and of course, the past weeks had been silent torture.
When Halt had returned from Castle Gorlan with the news of Pritchard’s death, he already had several days to take it all in, and composed himself as much as he could before coming to Araluen. Crowley, however, didn’t have that luxury, which resulted in Halt delivering the news, and both of them broke down, remembering their mentor. It was the only time Crowley saw Halt cry.
The two of them dove into work, both silent and effective, without Crowley whistling or cracking his usual jokes. It was inappropriate. Death had always been a part of a Ranger’s job, but neither of them considered just how real it could be. At least Crowley and Halt managed to clear out some paperwork, and a month after Pritchard’s death, Farrel joined them in their work, seeing as he broke his leg when pursuing Morgarath.
Together, they managed to deal with most of the paperwork, but piles of it were still waiting for them.
However, the message came one hot summer afternoon. Crowley and Halt had been filling out forms and trying to figure out what to do with Redmont fief (as the Ranger’s spot was currently vacant since Farrel was on sick leave), the window was opened, but neither that nor the cool castle walls helped them escape the heat. Crowley got rid of his shirt altogether while Halt and Farrel only rolled up their sleeves.
“I don’t mean to order you around, Crowley,” Farrel remarked. “But maybe you should put the shirt back on. Maybe not because someone could come in, but otherwise Halt might overheat.” He told everything with a smile, watching as Crowley saw Halt’s red face as the Hibernian Ranger hid behind a pile of paperwork, and sheepishly put his shirt back on, leaving it loosely unbuttoned.
That was the ice breaking in their relationship, and the grieving atmosphere lifted. Halt and Crowley knew they were attracted to each other, but never expressed anything more than friendship gestures. If something happened to either of them, they didn’t want to experience heartbreak again in such a short period of time.
The message they got was clear. There was a group of bandits in the northern part of the Araluen fief, and therefore, they needed to be stopped. Crowley also saw this as an opportunity for Halt to show some more skills Pritchard taught him - who was he kidding, of course, he used the opportunity to spend more time with him, sharing a tent once again, just like in the good old times when they were getting the rebellious Rangers together.
The two young Rangers left the next day at dawn, travelling to the villages and gathering information about stolen goods, people who had become their targets, and the travelling routes the bandits took.
So here they were, both hidden in the bushes along a small forest clearing. Halt sat with his cowl over his head, unmoving, an arrow nocked in his bow, waiting for the bandits to come. Crowley sat a few meters away, mimicking Halt’s movements, also prepared.
Nothing happened for hours until they could hear hoofbeats. The Rangers stilled, knowing that any movement could cost them the element of surprise they had on their side. However, they planned on offering the bandits one chance to give up without a fight. They just needed to surprise them.
As soon as the group arrived at the clearing, riding mules and old horses, Crowley stepped out from the bush he was hiding in, and called in a sonorous voice: “King’s Ranger! Stop and surrender!”
The bandits stopped their horses, drawing their weapons and, in some cases, also stolen swords.
Their leader was a big, burly man whose teeth were missing in several places, and he now turned to his companions.
“Rangers aren’t what they used to be! This one must be one of those pompous idiots, can’t even harm a fly!” he laughed, mocking the Ranger Corps. Crowley gritted his teeth. Those vain insults wouldn’t make him angry, they wouldn’t. He knew that the Corps wasn’t what it used to be, and he and the others were doing everything they could to make it better again.
“I am giving you a warning, surrender, or see how fast I can be,” Crowley called again, losing patience with these guys. Fortunately, he knew that Halt and he could take them all on, and they still had the element of surprise, as the bandits didn’t know Halt was ever there.
The bandits cried with laughter.
“What are you gonna do, go to mommy to cry?” their leader asked before pointing his sword at Crowley. “Let’s get this over with. Kill him!”
In that moment, several bandits nudged their steeds and started moving. At the same time, Crowley let go of the arrow in his bowstring, hitting the leader’s calf, and another arrow came flying through the side, taking down another one of the men.
The action started, Halt came out of his hiding spot and fired an arrow after arrow. Crowley stepped into the shadows of a tree, knowing that it would be impossible for riders to turn their horses so quickly. Furthermore, they couldn’t go after him; they had to dismount first.
While Halt was dealing with three of the bandits, successfully shooting one into his thigh and killing the other, having trouble only with the third one, Crowley had to fight off six of them. He shot three of them before stumbling backwards as one of them tried to decapitate him with a sword. The Ranger regained his balance, his bow, however, got stuck in the tree’s branches.
“Crap!” he cursed, not having the time to try and free his bow. It was stuck for the rest of the fight, and Crowley desperately reached for his knives.
The Ranger turned around just in time to see a man trying to hit him with a hammer, but Crowley was quicker. He grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted it, making him drop the hammer. With a well-aimed kick to the stomach, Crowley sent him to the ground. Then, he quickly looked at the distance the other two attackers had.
One was already charging at him and the Ranger knew he had to act quickly. In one smooth motion, he let go of his throwing knife, not waiting to watch as it sunk into the man’s chest.
The last man came in too quickly though. Crowley didn’t have time to retrieve his throwing knife or apply the double-knife defense. He was stuck, and when the bandit’s sword collided with his Saxe knife and sent it flying, he regretted the choices he made.
Crowley’s eyes widened as he realized that he had nothing to defend himself with, and he immediately ducked as the man swung the sword where his head had been just a few seconds ago. The man seemed surprised, allowing the Ranger to send him to a dream world with a good punch.
Crowley was about to go retrieve his knives when he heard Halt’s cry of “Look out!”. The next moment, an arrow flew past him. Halt had seen the man who had a hammer sneaking up on Crowley and swinging the hammer. In the next second, the man threw the hammer and let out a squeak as Halt’s arrow struck him in the chest, killing him on the spot. However, the hammer was flying and Crowley wasn’t fast enough. With a loud thud, the hammer collided with his head, sending him unconscious to the ground.
Halt gasped.
“Crowley!” he called, running to his friend. The red-haired Ranger laid on the grass, a trail of blood colouring his red hair an even darker shade of red, his eyes closed. He didn’t appear to be breathing.
“Crowley!” Halt repeated forcefully, trying to find a pulse on his neck. He panicked when he couldn’t find it, his eyes widening with a silent plea.
“No, no, no no,” he repeated frantically, trying again, but Crowley was either dead or his pulse was so weak that he couldn’t find it.
“Don’t you dare die on me, Crowley! I can’t go through this again!” he yelled. He couldn’t lose them both. He couldn’t lose Pritchard and Crowley in the span of just a few months.
Hearing no response, Halt sunk to his knees. His lips moved on their own, and he started singing, his voice raspy and filled with sadness:
“While the crown lies heavy on either side,
give me one last kiss while we’re far too young to die.”
Halt closed his eyes, letting the tears fall. All the bandits were forgotten, now there was only Crowley and him.
Suddenly, a second, faint voice, said: “Well, I wouldn’t mind if you kissed me.”
Halt’s eyes snapped open. Sure enough, there he was, blood still dripping down his temple, but his hazel eyes were looking up at him, and he was grinning.
The Hibernian Ranger gasped, but then grabbed him by his shirt and leaned in to kiss him.
It lasted just several seconds, but both men enjoyed the soft lips of the other, and broke the kiss, both red in the face.
“And don’t ever do that to me again!” Halt nudged him in the arm to be clear. “Do you know how worried I was?”
Crowley smiled at him weakly.
“I won’t Halt, but if I got a kiss like this every time you were worried about me…”
Halt wiped his eyes with his sleeve, his expression dark.
“Don’t you dare,” he started before he was pulled down by Crowley for another kiss. The usually grumpy Ranger just melted into it and kissed Crowley back, happy that he was alright and would heal.
The two broke the kiss, smiling at each other before Crowley groaned in pain.
“That was great, Halt, but please help me stop the bleeding, otherwise I might really die.”
He watched, amused, as Halt panicked once more.  
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warnsyou · 10 hours ago
everyday i think about how   aleksander was thirteen   when he met annika and tried to be her friend and it was the first time it’s hinted that he even got to talk to other kids like this and his first response at her distress, and her scheme to kill him was   ‘ i can protect you, i’m your friend ’    &  was rewarded with a skull injury :)
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justanotherhumanstuff · 11 hours ago
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