#i must be a hive of awfulness rn

[eruscreaminginthedistance]

Let’s go quarantine gang, we’re getting skin conditions!

[memeghancr]

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[lettersofsky]

Summoner/Darkleer - A Safe(?) Returning

Pleased noises about this ship, I enjoy them.

You’re usually better about your plans, your strategies and decisions regarding the battlefield and things you need to be focused on. But tonight things had taken a turn for the worse, not in the worst possible way, to you at least it had ended fine enough, but still it didn’t end how you’d wanted it to.

The injury wasn’t too awful, you managed to get yourself back to the camp with not too much struggle. Yeah it’d taken a while to get back with having to trick and lose the Highbloods following you but you’d gotten back all the same, patched together poorly but still in one functioning piece.

You’d been ready to collapse into your tent, curl into your makeshift hive and sleep until the next sunset, but the giant familiar form waiting at the entry point to the camp stopped you dead, hidden eyes turned in your direction until you landed in front of him, just managing not to stumble on your landing. Not going to sleep yet then, ok.

“Yo, Darkleer,” you were too tired, too drained to bother much with your usual antics or even that other name you usually call him. “Having a nice night?”

Darkleer doesn’t answer you but you see his jaw tighten and you can guess that he’s looking your sorry self over, taking in where your armour’s been punctured and nearly torn apart in places, how your wings droop with your exhaustion and the paler pallor of your skin from blood lose. You’re making the best picture of a commander right now, tilting on your feet and about to fall over, a great one.

“You are late.”

You snort and immediately regret it because it pulls your skin uncomfortably, torn skin burning under the makeshift bandages you’d managed to cover them with. “That’s kind of an understatement there,” you try to pull yourself to a more standing posture, lifting your head to something closer to how you usually do. “Did everyone make it back alright? Any unexpected casualties?”

“No,” Darkleer’s still stiff and tense in front of you, more of a machine than a troll. “Everyone made it back safely, thank to your stupidity.”

“Stupidity,” there’s more life to your voice now, you draw yourself up more, still nowhere near close to meeting his eyes without having to tilt your head up but you don’t care. “How is doing the best for the revolution ‘stupidity’?”

“You risking your life for no good reason is stupidity,” your wings flare out, teeth bare at the indigo though he doesn’t outwardly react at all, remaining a frozen statue in the night. You might as well be arguing with a statue for all the good it’ll do you. “You risked your cause for nothing but the lives of a few soldiers.”

You’ve had this argument with him before. Many, many times and you know what? You’re exhausted, bleeding, hurt and you don’t have any patience for him tonight, the sun’s close to rising and you want nothing more than a safe rest.

You flutter your wings, preparing to take off and fly over Darkleer, leaving him to take your well earned rest, but he reaches out to you faster than you can follow, which really isn’t fair for someone the indigo’s size, d*rn highbloods and their f*cking abilities.

“You are not getting out of this,” Darkleer says, voice pitched low and rumbling. “I am not finished speaking with you on this matter.”

“Well that’s where you’re wrong doll,” the pet name finally gets a visible reaction out of Darkleer, his lips twist into a scowl and his brows furrow. A victory for you, if a petty one. “Some of us need rest, know it’s a new concept for you but that’s just how it is.”

Darkleer, seemingly forgetting the fact that you’re injured yanks you forward and you can’t stop the shocked, startled sound of pain you make at it, the rest of you instinctively attempting to curl into the injury at your side.

Darkleer almost drops you in his shock, just managing not to and tug you to rest against the firm planes of skin and muscle. “I am sorry, so sorry. I forgot myself.” Rapid words high with distress and fear, large hands doing little more than holding you in place while you breath through the agony spiking through your system like a b*tch.

“It’s fine,” you groan, pushing yourself back to your feet. “I’m fine I just need to rest.”

“No,” Darkleer’s voice is still higher, panicky. “No I need to, need to check you over. You are injured.”

“Fine then,” you sigh, letting him usher you away from the main body of the camp to his own hive. The sun was close to rising and you’d had enough of everything for tonight, you weren’t ready to deal with his persistent worry right now, easier to just let him do what he wanted for the moment.

Thankfully he doesn’t decide to just carry you to his hive, that would have been embarrassing. He does lead you very carefully though, large hands pushing you forward whenever you stall and catching you the few times you stumble. He at least lets you sit down once you’re inside, which you take gladly, slumping over your chest and letting your wings relax to a droop.

“Summoner? May I?” You snort, turn amused onto him. Really?

“Asking permission now, doll?”

“Do not call me that,” he insisted gently, ducking his head from you, though too slow for you not to notice the colour that had risen to his cheeks. “It seemed, necessary, to ask now.”

You snort again, a hiss following because that wasn’t the best idea was it? “Sure, go ahead.”

Then he does that thing that makes you remember he’d spent all his life under the control of a clown and bows his head with a quiet little ‘thank you’, like you’ve just given him the world and that’s always been weird, you don’t think that’ll ever stop. Makes you angrier at the highbloods though, they get away with so much bullsh*t don’t they?

He’s cautious as he starts to unfasten your armouring, carefully pulling away piece after broken piece until he reaches the torn material over bandages and has to pause, swallowing heavily before starting to remove it as gently as he’s able with your blood acting as a pretty strong glue trying to keep it in place.

You hiss as it’s finely free of you, almost missing the words he mutters at the sight of the wound.

“You absolute moron.”

“Using that ‘absolute’ word, huh?” you spit back at him, grinning through your grimace as large hands start to poke and prod at the bronze-stained wrappings. “Must be pretty serious then.”

“It would be less so if you had not put yourself in the situation you had,” you don’t interrupt him, you don’t really have the energy to, plus you think you heard something wrong in his voice. “What if you had not returned at all? What would have happened to – to the rebellion then?”

You raise your hand to hold onto one of his horns, thankful that he’d had to seat himself to inspect the wound, and bring his forehead to rest against yours. There’s no need for either of you to pretend you hadn’t heard that slip there, not now.

“Mindfang would’ve looked after you,” you assure him, gentle as speaking to a spooked hoofbeast, your thumb rubs his horn and you get a pathetic noise out of him. “And the rebellion doesn’t need me to keep going, not with where we are now.”

“Liar.” To what part of it? He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t say anything more and focuses instead on patching you up to his standards, so better than most of the camp’s mediculler’s standards.

“You’ll see,” you tell him, ignoring the huffed noise you get in protest as you make yourself stand. “But later though, I haven’t slept in days and I’m ready to pass out, doll.”

“Do neigh call me that,” a weak protest, you haven’t ever paid mind to it. “Come, you can use my ‘coon for the night.”

“Finally got one big enough for us both then?”

The words, thrown over your shoulder as you make the familiar trek leaves him sputtering, snorting something unhappy at your back and you laugh, not even feeling the tug of torn flesh at the action.