#calledstars

Exhaustion Starters (Open)

@calledstars

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Anyone and everyone could see how the Captain seemed to be running entirely on caffeine and grit, it was only inevitable that they would collapse eventually. Fortunately it happened within the boundaries of the colony and not out in the wilderness. It had been the oddest thing. One minute, they had knelt down to examine what seemed to be an alien species of edible fauna, the world tilted, and then they woke up in the ship's medical bay with an IV drip of fluids in their arm and a heart monitor clip on their finger. The medical officer had thoroughly chewed Morgan out as soon as they were cognizant enough to comprehend it, and added how he was overriding Morgan's authority as commanding officer and forcing them to rest in bed. The Department Heads had all been informed, which lead to the current confrontation.

Phantom Prompts (Accepting!)

@calledstars

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"No. You don't need to worry. I can get there on my own. I just need a moment to orient myself so I know where I can go. It's fine. Everything will be -"

Noah stopped. The Captain's breaths came out short and ragged, in disarray despite the frozen, rigid stance. His left hand was clenched so tight that it began to tremble. But it helped ground him. There was nothing embedded into his palm. He was wearing a fingerless glove again. It wasn't a bare hand with the clear evidence of something unnatural.

At least his back was to the Head Engineer. Atlas wouldn't see the way Noah's face briefly dropped all expression.

"Everything will be..." His voice was softer now, "It will be fine. Because it will never be that bad again..." Finally, Noah seemed to snap himself out of the haze and instead turned to face Atlas. The various scars scattered across his face were healing, but the most recent one from the fire extinguisher incident was still painful looking.

drabble prompts!

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For a moment after Chica covers Lark’s face in slobber, rousing him from his sleep, he’s convinced he’s right back home. Maybe he and Atlas retreated to their kingdom over night — their parents would be furious when they found out, but neither of them would care. He reaches out to pet the dog’s fur, but when he opens his eyes, he doesn’t see their childhood “kingdom”.

Oh. Of course. They’ve both long since left childhood behind, and this is Atlas’ hideaway.

Living here is taking some adjustment, as much as Lark is grateful to his brother for letting him stay. It’s strange to see him again. It’s strange to see him surrounded by all this magic. Strange, and still a little unnerving, he must admit.

He’s wondered why he never told him. He wonders whether that unnerved feeling would have only confirmed Atlas’ fears.

Lark slowly sits up, trying not to disturb Atlas as he works on the other side of the room. There are various trinkets and supplies sitting around that he can’t even begin to understand. Magic pouring out of every corner, star decorations littering every surface. Atlas is absorbed in work on one of his inventions. He watches him, for a moment — but then his eyes drift to his scars, and he has to look away.

If he had been there for Atlas, maybe he could have helped. Or maybe he could have been there in the aftermath, like Atlas had done for him when Lark needed it most. Lost alone in the forest.

drabble prompts!

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Quiet beeps fill the room, acting as the only reassurance that Atlas still lives, besides the slow rise and fall of his chest. Beep. Beep. Beep. The hospital feels solemn, with only the occasional droid coming to check in on his vitals. Lark hates it. Hates all of it.

He just wants his brother back.

The beeping and his breathing are the only signs on the surface, anyway. He can feel Atlas’ life through the Force — weak, but fighting. He would know if he had passed away. Lark hasn’t stopped holding his hand since he was removed from the Bacta tank. He’s barely even slept, as if he’s the only thing standing between Atlas and the darkness.

Please. Please be okay. He thinks he sees a twitch in Atlas’ face, and he leans forward quickly, only to sit back in disappointment. A sigh. A squeeze of the hand.

There’s so much uncertainty that lies ahead. Will the J.edi Order renounce Lark, when it becomes clear he’s gotten far too attached? Or worse — will they order him not to make contact with him, or Harper, ever again? The thought makes him feel more sick than it once would have.

And what will become of Atlas? Has he truly achieved his freedom? The scars littering his body will remain, the doctors said. A permanent physical reminder of what he did. If he fully regains his mind, the guilt will be… disastrous.

But Lark will be there. He’s determined to be there. He’ll have to be torn from his side by force. He can teach him how to control it, and maybe…

Atlas’ voices carries weakly over to him, calling his name in a soft question. Lark looks up, and sees his eyes open, however blearily. No yellow. His heart leaps into his throat.

“Atlas!” Disregarding the advice of the droids, he reaches over to wrap him in a tight hug. He’s okay. He’s okay.

-

No, he isn’t lost. Navigation had been part of Lark’s training. It’s only that he had run off in a hurry, not caring where he was going, only caring that it was away. Impulsive. Stupid.

Surely, he’s crossed the kingdom’s borders, but no land marks are familiar to him. He halts his horse, and leads her to a nearby stream. Maybe the break will give him a chance to clear his head.

There’s a rustle in the bushes, and Lark tenses. Waiting. But only a dog emerges, trotting over to him and wagging her tail. She looks so much like… No. That would be impossible. She and Mark left ages ago.

He knew they’d come back. They always did. I go, and I come back. Death didn’t seem to mean anything in their twisted half - reality, aside from leading to starting over again. The pain of it had even started to dull … new wounds atop old scars, disappeared with every reset.

He drew their lifeless form closer, cradling them against him. They’d stopped moving, stopped breathing, but he hadn’t let go. He shut his eyes, guarding the tears that threatened to fall — but who did he have to pretend for ? When he opened his eyes again, taking a slow and shuddering breath, they fell down his cheeks, numb and hurt and mourning and tired. How many times do we have to die ? Gloves hands pressed against the captain’s back, holding them closer, holding them tightly.

“ I’ll see you again soon, Captain, ” he mumbled. He never lasted long without them — the story wouldn’t let itself continue without the lead. Something would collapse, something would attack, something would go wrong … and then they’d both be back at the start. He would wait, and pretend it didn’t hurt every time. // @calledstars whoops my hand slipped. anyways you asked for angst here you go

Sometimes, he’d crash. Like a computer program, he’d be forced to shut down before he could restart. He’d pass out on any given surface ( his bed, thankfully, more frequently, once he’d started to predict it ) , and then go on about his routine once he woke up. That was, assuming he hadn’t been abruptly woken by something else.

Atlas shot up in bed with a muffled scream. His hand had flown to his mouth, and still remained tightly there as his chest heaved with the effort to breathe. His hands moved to thread through his hair, head bowing and knees drawing up to his chest. He had such horrible visions, of lifetimes he’d lived and ones he didn’t remember, of tragedies he’d lived through and ones he knew weren’t his own. They were frightening and painful, all of them … and the force of nightmares seemed to enjoy frequently making him relive them.

He couldn’t just keep sitting there. It was too suffocating. The silence was too loud. Grabbing a jacket from near the door to his cabin, he slid it on and headed out for a mindless walk through the quiet ship in its night cycle. Arms crossed over his chest, fingers digging into his arms. He needed a distraction … stargazing from one of the window sets would do. // @calledstars 😭

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Morgan had problems sleeping even before their time on the ship; insomnia and frequent nightmares saw to that. They had been prescribed some sleeping medication, but some nights those didn't work as well as Morgan hoped. And when they did? It was a coin toss as to whether or not they'd have a nightmare so intense it yanked them out of a deep sleep. They had tried to get a stronger prescription, but had been denied because they "couldn't be trusted not to self-medicate". (The Chief Medical Officer was just doing his job; it wasn't fair for Morgan to hold it against him. And it wasn't as if they could refute his claim either, nor could they explain that their circadian rhythm was so fucked up because they had been caught in a loop)

On this particular night, Morgan woke up with phantom pain in their left hand and tears drying on their cheeks. Another dream about their confrontation with Atlas in the warp core room. Teeth clinking together and stars exploding before their vision as the fire extinguisher collided with their head. The vice-like grip on their wrist and the sharp, burning pain as the crystal was ripped from their palm. The agony of clinging onto Atlas with that hand as the wormhole tried to rip him away. The dread sinking like a stone into their stomach as he slipped away.

Sleep constantly evaded Morgan no matter what they tried; jumping jacks, folding their laundry, organizing their craft drawer. Every time their head hit the pillow and they began to drift off, another terror would jump to the forefront of their mind. Even their infamous stubbornness had its limits, and eventually Morgan resigned themself to not getting any sleep for the remainder of the night. Thin cotton blanket draped over their shoulders like a cape, Morgan padded down the corridor. Gunther's ear-rupturing snores and the gentle hum of the ship's insides reminded Morgan that The Invincible II was alive. They hadn't woken up to a cold, dead ship.

They had no destination in mind, just movement for the sake of movement. Their mindless wandering eventually led them to a part of the ship they hadn't spent nearly enough time in; a more recreational section that housed the galley and break room. The windows- shattered with a loud crash that was swallowed up by the void of space. Alarms blared as Morgan was swept off their feet into the endless, glittering abyss of glass and stars. The cold seized them . The air in their lungs caused them to burst. The agony lasted for a single moment before death claimed them.- Morgan squeezed their eyes shut and sucked in a breath. Their toes curled against the cool linoleum floor. When they dared to open their eyes, the break room was peacefully silent. The stars on the other side of the glass twinkled. Morgan took in a deep breath. They were fine. They were safe. They would only have to be on the ship for a little while longer. They were...

... Not alone.

Silhouetted against the stars was a figure, occupying one of the small square tables. Too broad to be Lady, but not broad enough to be Wug. Someone else? No, no, no, not possible. Morgan had increased the ship's security. Everyone who was currently on The Invincible II was supposed to be there; not a single outlier. Morgan took a breath, wishing they had grabbed their PDA at the very least, and tip-toed towards the other person.

It was Atlas, looking out into the blanket of stars with a distant look on his face. Dressed down as he was, Morgan could see the dark blotches of skin tissue across his arms and shoulder. Their stomach lurched and their heart jumped into their throat. Whatever he had gone through in the wormhole... whatever he had been subjected to in that eternity, it hadn't been kind to him. Morgan still had scars; burns, gashes, and of course the electric burn-like scars on their left arm, blooming from the meaty part of their palm. Whatever Atlas had encountered seemed to have taken out chunks. And that was only on his arms.

(They remembered the stink of burning flesh and ozone as shots from Lady's blaster melted through cloth and skin and muscle and bone. The horrible, rattling breaths Atlas took as he defended his Captain; somehow still alive despite the smoldering crater in his chest.)

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