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steinwayandhissons · 9 months

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arctic monkeys and every time the word ‘love’ is mentioned

whatever people say I am that’s what I’m not

tonight there’ll be some love, tonight there’ll be a ruckus yeah regardless of what’s gone before

~ view from the afternoon

oh there ain’t no love, no montagues or capulets

~ i bet you look good on the dancefloor

all that’s left is the proof that love’s not only blind but deaf… yeah I’d love to tell you all my problem

~ fake tales of san francisco

she makes a subtle proposition, I’m sorry love I’ll have to turn you down

~ when the sun goes down

lady, where has your love gone, i was looking but can’t find it anywhere, they always offer when there’s loads of love around but when you’re short of some it’s nowhere to be found

~ no buses

well how can you wake up with someone you don’t love and not feel slightly phased by it

~ leave before the lights come on

favourite worst nightmare

it’s wrong wrong wrong but we’ll do it anyway cause we love a bit of trouble

~ balaclava

and those dreams weren’t as daft as they seem, aren’t as daft as they seem my love

~ fluorescent adolescent

there’s room for the trouble and there’s lovers to be had

~ this house is a circus

it’d be a big mistake for you to wait and let me waste your time, really love it’s fine, I said really love it’s fine

~ the bad thing

old yellow bricks, love’s a risk… houdini love you don’t know what you’re running away from

~ old yellow bricks

another roll around and another push and shove, further away from the idea of love

~ da frame 2r

the more you keep on looking the more it’s hard to take, love we’re in stalemate… you’re slacking love where have you been

~ the bakery

am I too quick to assume that the love is no longer in bloom

~ too much to ask

humbug

i had a hole in the pocket of my favourite coat and my love dropped into the lining

~ i haven’t got my strange

suck it and see

i wanna feel your love brick by brick

~ brick by brick

do you still feel love is a laserquest or do you take it all more seriously… when I’m not being honest I pretend that you were just some lover

~ love is a laserquest

your love is like a studded leather headlock

~ suck it and see

jealousy in technicolour, fear by name, love by numbers… crushing up a bundle of love

~ that’s where you’re wrong

before she showed you how to shake love’s steady hand

~ the blonde o sonic shimmer trap

your love’s not what I need, so don’t give it to me

~ evil twin

it’s not like I’m falling in love I just want you to do me no good… the look of love, the rush of blood

~ no.1 party anthem

love buckles under the strain of those wild nights

~ mad sounds

I heard that you fell in love, or near enough

~ snap out of it

love like locked horns, love like dominoes… love like thunder, love like falling snow

~ electricity

I know you’re nothing like mine cause she’s walking on sunshine and your love would tear us apart

~ you’re so dark

tranquility base hotel and casino

love came in a bottle with a twist off cap, let’s all have a swig and do a hot lap… but it’s alright, cause you love me

~ star treatment

when true love takes a grip it leaves you without a choice

~ golden trunks

pattern language in the mood for love

~ the world’s first ever monster truck front flip

I wanna stay with you my love, the way some science fiction does

~ science fiction

the dawn won’t stop weighing a tonne, I’ve done some things that I shouldn’t have done, but I haven’t stopped loving you once

~ the ultracheese

the car

lights out on the wonder park, your saw toothed lover boy was quick off the mark

~ jet skis on the moat

put your heavy metal to the test, there might be half a love song in it all for you

~ mr schwartz

#arctic monkeys #alex turner #listen this was purely out of curiosity #there are so many poetic and imaginative ways in which alex describes love #i just wanted a tangible record of every time he just straight up uses the word #i was surprised that humbug only had one mention and even that was a b side but when i was making this i realised that it was such a #lyrically dense and innovative album and descriptions of love were more elaborate and straightforward #*less straightforward #(might make a separate post about that)#also found that the other albums were quite consistent except the car #i found it interesting that most of the songs aren’t actually about the same kind of love like the earlier albums were #the earlier ones use love as a nickname and portray the physical embodiment of being in love #and even in tbhc it describes this feeling despite there being slightly fewer mentions #but the car seems more like a goodbye album… not even about breaking up… just goodbye which is very….#there’s no room for love in amongst the melancholia and introspection #and makes me wonder about his relationship with love at the moment #it seems very disassociated and immaterial like he has no interest in spouting poetics about love like he did before #and i hope he can rebuild that relationship #i could probably say more but im not going to bc this is getting way too long #cheers if you actually read this whole fucking essay #i spent way too long on this if you cant tell

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elementaskylos345 · 4 months

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Dread Within the Cabin

An Island of the Slaughtered fanfic

In an effort to seek temporary sanctuary from the torment of Wawanakwa Island and its restless and angered spirits, Chris McLean falls head first out of the kettle and into the fire.

|TW| firearms, disassociation |TW|

Chris slammed the door behind him, breathing heavily as he backed away from the door, eventually bumping into a workbench and leaning on it. His eyes flicked to look towards the busted window - wisps of thin light crept around the side closest to the door. All then fell silent.

The light then faded, leaving Chris alone. After at least a minute he finally let go of the breath he was holding, lightheadedness swimming in his skull.

“Fucking hell…” He murmured as he fell to the floor. He groaned and shifted himself, resting his arms on his knees, staring at the ground. His face was dirty, bruised, and cut while his hair was rugged and unkempt. He'd spent… two or so days lost and unable to find his team. Even where he knew they'd be, they weren't there. It's as if the island itself was keeping him away, tormenting him with spirits.

He left them here with a killer, he knew he did, but he was coming to save them now. Doing the right thing in the end is what matters, right? Like living a life of sin but turning to Christ - God will forgive.

He let out a stressed laugh. Then a chuckle. And then more laughter.

Chris didn't believe in God. But he was still right by coming here and rescuing the remaining teenagers. Hell, maybe after they all get through this he could do some interviews and finally get eyes back on him-

Chris jolted as a TV in the corner flicked on. Its screen was cracked and bloodied… as well as the cart it sat upon. He squinted as he slowly stood up and inspected it from afar, not daring to get any closer. It wasn't just blood that was on the TV there also seemed to be… hair… maybe a bit of flesh… on the corner. Chris felt sick to his stomach.

Death was all over this island now yet he hadn't grown numb to it. Maybe it was the constant terror, maybe it was his mind still not being caught up.

Through the static Chris saw… something. A face maybe? Glasses? He couldn't quite tell, not at this distance. The screen then turned off before flicking back on again. He tilted his head in confused suspicion, taking in the now clear image. It was an image familiar to him. A hint of nostalgia surrounding days in the arcade came to mind.

The familiar green vector graphics on that black background with the angular text. Battlezone. He'd spent far too long in the arcade playing this - it was very impressive back then. He snapped back to reality and to the fear he should be feeling. Chris squinted his eyes and slowly approached before stopping, looking out the window… he felt the need to block that off… he just felt eyes on him from over there. Be it Beth or Justin he didn't care either way he didn't want anyone looking at him without his knowledge.

So Chris took a few minutes to crudely cover the window with a nearby tarp, using a few nails quietly hammered into place to keep it up. It wouldn't last but it would do. As he stepped off of the ladder he nearly had a heart attack when he noticed the cart and TV had moved to be next to him. The ladder clattered to the floor in response to him practically jumping off of it. He took a moment to breathe, staring at the ominous mechanical box before him. The days old blood that lined the left side of the TV and pooled at its base made him uneasy.

Chris huffed as he finally gathered himself, more closely inspecting the TV while still not daring to lay a hand on it or the cart. The first thing he noticed was the atari controller sat gently on top of the box TV, inviting him to pick it up and begin playing. His eyes followed the cable downwards to the atari console. Then the consol plugged into the TV. All was well so far.

But the TV wasn't plugged in. It didn't have a cord to plug with and this shack currently had no power.

Chris shuddered at the realization. As if the situation couldn't get more supernatural. His eyes fell onto the controller and how it beckoned for him. It insisted. It was for him. He nearly picked it up… but hesitated. If he's going to be distracted he needs to be able to defend himself… that's partially why he came here in the first place - to arm himself.

So he left the TV and moved back over to the workbench. There were what you'd expect - hammers, saws, screwdrivers, the like… but there were also a few firearms. Hunting rifles and a shotgun. Damn. He'd forgotten to move them into his home before filming… or maybe this was one of the restricted shacks used for set building and such? It didn't matter now and he didn't care to remember. He just picked up a crowbar and walked back over to the TV to grab the controller.

…

“What am I doing?” He asked himself before stepping away. Yeah, what WAS he doing? He huffed. “Playing a clearly haunted game on an island full of ghosts that want to kill you, good job McLean.” he scolded himself before turning his back to the box and moving to the door.

The moment he laid his hand on the handle a sheer noise erupted from behind him, like the dying wails of a beast put through so many filters it came out like garbled static. He whipped around and swung the crowbar, wracking the TV right on its side with a resounding thud. He stared at the TV and the TV stared back, a faint static hum in the air. Sweat rolled down Chris’ brow as he swallowed the lump in his throat - he could swear he saw eyes behind those pixels.

He then noticed the missing controller. He eyed the surrounding area before realizing that the controller was at his feet… this spirit was no longer asking but demanding. He stared into the vector graphics for a moment before finally nodding in agreement.

“Alright… alright… I'll play.”

He shakily picked up the controller before gently pushing the cart back about a foot so he could sit with his back against the door and still see the screen. He was below the TV screen but he had no idea how long he'd be kept here so he might as well get comfortable. He laid the crowbar across his lap and pressed the button on the controller, starting the game of Battlezone.

Chris immediately noticed that the environment was off. A scene of distant mountains and green squares and triangles as obstacles was no more. The background was all but gone and the obstacles now resembled infinitely tall rectangles. Immediately the hair on the back of his neck rose but he nonetheless familiarized himself with the controls.

Not only had it been several decades since he last played but he was used to the arcade cabinet and not the atari version. The arcade cabinet had two joysticks that controlled the two treads of the tank the player drove, using the position of the two joysticks to determine how the tank moved. All that was now condensed into one joystick.

You'd think that would make it easier but all the skill he built up all those years ago was severely hampered. He turned his attention to the top left to see where the enemy tank would be.

[Enemy is to th rigleft]

[Enemy in rangeft]

[Enemy is to the lefange]

[Enemy ]

That was very helpful. His eyes went back to the battleground. He began to scan the area to his left, deciding that maybe the word left showing up in most of the messages might’ve meant something. The background scrolled as he turned, revealing more of the nothing and nonsensical line placements. He also saw more infinitely tall rectangles… but no enemy tank. He also didn't hear any missiles coming. So he continued spinning.

The radar feed in the top left continued to spit out nonsensical garbage as he turned. As he spun around to the right he could finally see some geometry that made sense - a large mountain off in the distance, much like the one on Wawanakwa. He'd now scanned the entire area and still didn't see the enemy tank and his nerves were at a fever pitch. He took a moment to look at his surroundings to see if perhaps all of this was a distraction.

Then he heard the sound of something firing in the game. He jolted and began reversing and his eyes snapped back to the screen, hoping he was being shot from the side. He witnessed the bullet whiz, by the front of his tank. He sucked in some air and began to strafe to the left - where the bullet came from. More bullets flew past the front of his tank. As he continued to strafe he began to dread more and more what the enemy tank might look like, unable to tell if horrifying vector graphics would look better than… whatever else might show up here.

It was a slow process but he eventually moved backwards enough to see the enemy at the left side of his screen. It was a lot tamer than he was expecting as it was just a corrupted tank model. That being said, considering how simple the graphics are this felt like an abomination from hell.

Nonetheless he was still in a terrible position. Like first person shooters after it, in Battlezone you can only fire from the center of the screen. The enemy was to the left. Not good.

Thankfully, he hadn't fired once in this whole process and there's a firing delay, about half a second. It'd be tight but he might be able to turn the tank after the enemy fired and hit it before it can shoot him. It's far more likely he'd die but it was worth a shot. He then backed into an obstacle and died. He blinked. He forgot that could happen.

Once he respawned he turned to the right and saw the corrupted enemy model. He made sure there were no obstacles in the way before lining up the shot and fired. However, the enemy moved out of the way. He hummed and moved forward to make chase. Now that he was in the prime position he was able to close the distance and destroy the enemy, causing the enemy “tank” to explode into corrupted vector chunks.

With his death and the death of the enemy tank leading to no horror brought him some comfort. A small part of him considered that maybe this spirit just really wanted to play some Battlezone. So, the back and forth continued. Playing against an intelligent being was certainly very different from playing against ai. There was even a moment of peace where the two of them “danced” by driving forward and reversing rapidly before continuing the battle. It was… nice.

After constant torment this moment of peace and, honestly, fun was refreshing. He'd almost forgotten the danger he was in, the nostalgia and newfound comfort in the game lulling Chris’ anxieties.

Honestly, after a while, he was convinced that this spirit - who he figured was probably Harold - just wanted someone to play with. It was so strangely wholesome… though, he should probably leave soon. He'd lost track of the time and still had to find out how to get back to his crew.

But he just couldn't pull himself away from the game, enthralled by the activity, he and Harold now trying to see if they can shoot each other's projectiles.

Shoot

The image of one of the hunting rifles popped into his mind, almost as if he was looking at it at that moment. He blinked, a fuzzy feeling filling his mind, causing him to lift his thumb off of the controller and stop all movement in game. He groaned and rubbed his eyes… his hands felt full… like a weight was in them. He looked down at the controller then past the TV to the dark environment around him. It suddenly didn't feel real.

He rubbed his eyes again and shook his head, fully dropping the atari controller. What the hell was going on? He felt detached from himself and from the things around him, like he was floating in a void. He looked back to the screen only to be met with the barrel of the enemy tank, his eyes half lidded and confused. He waited for the tank to shoot.

Shoot

Chris blinked into awareness, his body once again feeling like his own. He was standing in front of the workbench, staring at the ceiling. He furrowed his brow and looked around to catch his bearings. Everything was as he left it - tarp on the window, tools displaced from his rummaging, haunted TV in front of the door to the outside… but one of the hunting rifles was missing. He looked down at his hands, quickly dropping what was held within them.

Well, he found the rifle. He was holding it to himself, clearly with harmful intentions. Chris just stood there for a moment to catch his breath. How close was he to death just now? Was Harold just toying with him?

After a moment he steeled his gaze with a huff before turning to leave. He grabbed the cart with the TV and thrust it aside, just barely throwing the TV to the ground. Turns out he'd lost at some point while he was hallucinating. Chris waved his hand dismissively towards the box and picked up the crowbar before leaving, slamming the door behind him.

As he left he reminded himself that he was doing the right thing. He was saving who was left. The police were here combing the island for the killer. This anger was justified - maybe - but his conscience would be clear. These spirits would NOT kill him.

They would NOT be the end of him.

He refused to die on this island.

#elementa art #digital art #fanfic #island of the slaughtered #total slaughter island #fanart #td chris mclean #tw gun mention #tw disassociation #my art #td harold

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disassociation-culture-is · 2 months

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(CW: drug mention)

Dissociation culture is not needing drugs because you already feel like you're high all the time. And not even in a fun way :/

#lol yea #my friends + I are at the age where we're starting to have access to drugs/alcohol #I have many avenues to safely try #however. I was on opioids for my wisdom teeth and I had to stop early because it was Not good for my brain/body #stressful as all hell #dissociation culture is #disassociation culture is #dissociation #disassociation #mod cheese #tw drugs #cw drug mention

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arts-and-drafts · 9 months

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AFK (Limited Life)

(A tiny little snippet I wrote after Martyn confirmed in his Lore that Grian's AFK session was the work of Watchers. Enjoy!)

CW: Death mentions, disassociation(?)

Joel fretted back and forth in front of Grian's rigid form.

He and Jimmy woke up to a sunny sky, a fresh harvest on Bread Bridge, and a very still Grian sat atop a llama in a boat. His arms were slack at his sides, and he stared straight ahead in a worryingly blank expression.

Every once in a while, his eyes had swirled with a purple magic that put Jimmy right on edge, though he wouldn't say why; he just told Joel "not to say their names". Whatever the bloody hell that meant.

He looked frozen in time, almost, if Joel hadn't confirmed that the clock was indeed still ticking down on Grian's inner forearm.

The Boogeyman thunderclap rang out above Joel's head as he was preoccupied keeping Tango and Impulse away from Grian's body (gods know what they would do if they realized what a state he was in) and a chill ran up Joel's spine.

There was a chance it could be Grian.

Joel frantically started theorizing how they would even do that. Grian could be moved, that Joel already figured out, and Joel highly doubted that his friend had just happened to fall asleep in a mob in a boat.

Grian was probably expecting this to happen to him, whatever this was, which meant he was probably expecting his fellow Bad Boys to figure out what to do if he had in fact been selected Boogeyman.

Okay, fine. Maybe Joel could make a sort of 'piggyback' arrangement where Grian's hands were wrapped around an axe and he was wrapped around Joel, and Joel could just puppet him around to kill people. Yeah, maybe that could work. Joel was pretty strong.

You are...

NOT The Boogeyman.

Joel didn't feel any relief. He whipped around to Grian after seeing his own message, staring him in the eyes to see if there was any change. Maybe there's a flash of red that he'd never noticed until now. Something like that.

Grian moved.

Joel fell off the boat edge he was perched on in shock.

It was really more of a spasm, but it was more movement than Joel had seen out of his friend since they woke up.

"Grian, are you the Boogeyman?" Joel asked, his voice hitching with desperation. Could he hear him still? Nothing he'd tried before had illicit any response, but maybe that's because Grian couldn't respond.

Grian twitched again, a jerky motion that could vaguely be interpreted as a shake of the head.

Well, definitely more of a shake than a nod. It was good enough for Joel.

"Alright," Joel sighed, and prayed to whoever was left that he interpreted that right. Grian was not the Boogeyman, and Tango and Impulse weren't either, if their words could be trusted.

Which they couldn't. Joel ran them back through the portal.

Grian did the mental equivalent of an exhale of relief, his mind stinging from the lengths it went to to just move his head. Joel had thankfully correctly interpreted what little Grian was able to do with his body before he was once again forced out of it, and he at least put that worry to rest.

Grian had bigger problems to deal with now, he mused with annoyance, as he turned his attention back to the massive web of purple magic he was encased in.

This was going to take a while.

END.

#it was a lot of fun writing in joel's pov i hope i get an excuse to do it again sometime #meraki post #3rd life fic #limited life #bad boys #t.i.e.s #tw death mention #tw disassociation #just to be safe lol #i dunno how else to describe what afk is

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spoopkook · 7 months

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NO. #1

"But now this room is spinning while I'm trying just to fill in all the gaps." | "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Summary: The Captain gets black out drunk at a party and remembers the last time that occurred.

CW: disassociation, unreality, delusion, multiple realities, mention of murders, deaths, the works

Words: 2,552

"Hey, hey, Captain? Captain, are you okay?"

"When did the room start spinning?" You asked.

"Captain?!" Mark looked concerned. His face looked funny all scrunched up like that.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Mark asked, holding up three fingers.

"Uum, eleven?" Your counting skills weren't the best right now. And neither were your eyes. Or anything else.

You lost consciousness before you could register what was happening. You wouldn't have known, but someone caught you before you fell.

…

You woke up. After catching up to the fact that you were now awake, you were in pain. Excruciating pain. The worst migraine ever. Aches all over. Oh and you were in a gurney. That was never good.

"Um hello?" Luckily someone was there with you. He never left your side after all.

"C-captain! I'm sorry I fell asleep…"

He seemed ashamed of himself. "Don't worry Mark. You didn't have to stay in that uncomfortable chair for however long…"

You cleared your throat. "How, how long was I out? I remember the party and the toast with the champagne… poker, and games, and oh my god didn't Damien do a keg stand?! Everything's blurry. I don't quite remember last night and I'm trying just to fill in all the gaps."

"Doctors! Celci! Get in here!" Mark called out the door.

"Um, Captain, your head might be in worse shape than just a hangover… there's no Damien as part of our crew and… there were no poker games last night?"

"You don't know who Damien is? But Maaaaark, he's your friend! How could you not kno-"

Then it hit you. Mark was dead. You remembered his dead body wrapped in that red robe on the floor.

"Nonononono…." You went into a panic, everything around you blurred.

"Celci get in here quick! We have a medical emergency!" Mark called out again.

…

"The Captain's unresponsive," Mark informed Celci.

"How long have they been like this?"

"They woke up just a few minutes ago and they seemed fine! Until they started talking crazy and now it seems they're disassociating or something I don't know!"

"Mark, calm down. Yelling doesn't help right now. What do you mean talking crazy?"

"They were trying to recall the events from last night, but it seems like they got black out drunk or something. They don't remember much… but then they said they remembered Damien doing a keg stand? And something about poker?"

CC couldn't put her finger on it but something about that name struck a chord with her.

"Did they say anything else about this Damien?" CC asked.

"They said I should know him because he's my friend?" Mark said, exasperated. "I don't know about you, but I've never met a Damien in my life. Let alone at last night's crew party."

"Okay. You stay with the Captain, let me see what I can find out."

…

Celci went to the server room. She had no last names and almost no clues, but she'd look anyway.

She typed in 'Damien' and millions of results came up. "Ugh this won't help."

'Damien and Mark' less results came up, but as Celci scrolled through it still seemed useless.

'Damien keg stand' nothing worth looking into popped up.

'Damien Mark party'

Now the results were getting interesting.

"Mayor Damien Whitacare has no comment on the death of former Hollywood star, Mark Iplier. Mark Iplier showed up dead at his mansion last Tuesday during a party with friends. Police have not released any information, but amateur news reporters, Jim and Jim, say they have evidence from the crime scene. The story continues to unfold…"

"Hmmm…" Whitacare where had Celci seen that name before?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was just Mark and the Captain. Mark and a very hungover and confused Captain. Did someone put something in their drink last night? Your behavior had Mark worried.

"You-you-you" your voice quivered as you pointed an accusing finger towards Mark. "You died, you're dead. Am I dead? What's happening?"

"Sshhh, Captain calm down…" Mark tried to soothe you by rubbing your hand.

"Don't touch me!" You screamed, still unsure if what you were seeing was real.

"Captain are you remembering the wormhole incident or something? I know we haven't really talked about it, but I know it must've been awful for you," Mark tried to calm you down.

"Wormhole? What are you talking about?"

"You-you don't remember?" Mark was close to tears.

"W-wormholes don't exist. Are you trying out method acting or something?" You asked, Mark was talking nonsense and he was a talking corpse.

"W-wormholes don't exist?" Now Mark was extremely puzzled. "Captain, that's how we got here… to the new planet."

Suddenly, Mark got an idea. "Captain, what year is it?"

"What year is it? What type of question is…." You thought for a moment. "Well, it's 19-"

"NINETEEN??!" Mark responded. "Captain, it's 2083."

"What?"

~~~

"Ahh, Dorene Whitacare," Celci greeted the colonist at their new residence on the planet.

"And what do I owe the pleasure?" Dorene asks before taking out a plate of cookies. "You can have one if you like dearie."

"Thank you, Ms. Whitacare, but I was wondering if you knew a Mark?"

"Why that's the name of that head engineer isn't it? I don't like him, he always gets my title wrong."

Celci felt a sort of kinship that she couldn't explain with Dorene. It seemed to go further than just shared hatred.

"Well, yes, but do you know any other Marks?"

"Hmm. Good question," says Dorene.

"Or-or a Damien?" Celci asks.

"Now that's a name I haven't heard in quite some time…"

~~~

"Captain, who are you?"

"I'm the DA. I'm not reading scripts with you or improvising or whatever this is Mark. Who are you and please just tell me the truth."

"A district attorney?"

"Yes ever since the mayor promoted me. I don't want to be a part of whatever game or story this is, Actor."

"Actor?" Mark asked.

"You. Because you know you're the actor. Do you have amnesia or something?"

"No but I think you do. I'm not an actor. I'm your head engineer. You're the Captain. Of our ship the Invincible II? Any of this ring a bell?"

"Invincible II? After the first 'Invincible' went down they decided to make another one? Has no one learned from the Titanic?"

"Captain-"

"Would you stop calling me that! I told you I didn't want to be part of your story today, Actor. Go bother someone else."

"Well okay, Cap- I mean District Attorney. I think it's best if you rest for a bit and I'll just be out in the hall."

"Okay Mark."

~~~

"So Mayor Damien Whitacare was your great uncle?" Celci asked.

"Why yes, something like that." Dorene answered.

"Do you know anything about that news story? About the dead actor-"

"Only that he had what was coming to him."

"What do you mean by that?"

"He was playing with powers he couldn't understand. Things from beyond the veil. It manipulated him and ruined everyone close to him."

"Well uh, nice talking with you Dorene, but I have to check on the Captain," Celci clumsily left the conversation, feeling very uncomfortable.

"I'm sure you do," she said.

~~~

Mark and Celci bumped into each other, running away from their subsequent conversations.

"Hey, watch i-" Celci interrupted herself when she realized he came from the Captain's room. "What did they say?"

Mark rubbed his head where they collided before continuing, "that they're a district attorney? And I'm an actor… and that I'm…"

"Dead?" Celci asked.

"How did you know?"

…

"So let me get this straight, over a 100 years ago, some famous actor named Mark died at a party with this Mayor Damien and mysterious District Attorney?" Mark asked.

"And the case was never solved. The police tried to cover it up, blaming this crazy colonel or some blaming a detective who was there that night, but it doesn't add up. Who hired the detective to be at the party and why? Also the District Attorney, the Mayor, and some other guests disappeared that night. The chef, butler, and groundskeeper all told the policemen their stories, but…"

"But?" Mark asked.

"They all said something supernatural happened. They were all speaking nonsense."

"But why does our Captain think they're connected to this DA?"

"I'm not sure. There's a colonist on board who's a descendant of the mayor or something but I don't know."

"Who's a descendant of the Mayor?"

"Dorene Whitacare." CC answered.

~~~

"Hey Captain, are you feeling any better?" Celine asked.

"I told Mark I'm the DA. You can drop the act. I don't know why you of all people would play along with him though."

"Ok DA. And who am I?" She asked.

"You're all acting so weird! You're Celine! The seer? Mark's ex wife? Any of this sound familiar?"

Saying no would be a lie. Some part of Celci felt like she was somehow connected to all of this. She didn't believe in reincarnation and past lives, but… after what she'd seen in the wormhole, she does believe in multiple universes. Perhaps the Captain was remembering a universe so vividly, they were stuck in it mentally.

Maybe if Celci could remind them of the end of this universe when they were inevitably sucked into a wormhole they could break them out of it.

"Right. Right. Well can you tell me what you remember from the party?"

~~~

"Hello, Mrs. Whitacare," Mark greeted.

"How many times do I have to tell you I'm not married anymore young man!"

"S-sorry Ms, Ms. Whitacare," Mark corrected.

It may have been the first time she reminded him in this universe, but they both remembered.

"About that… who were you married to before?" Mark asked hesitantly.

"That's none of your business boy!"

"Okay, uh sorry. Do you want to tell me about your great uncle Damien?"

"Here, I baked cookies."

She was avoiding the question, but Mark was still going to take one. "Sure. Thank you. Would you know anything about…" Mark paused for a moment. He was getting nowhere asking about Mark or Damien. He should go to the root of the cause.

"Sorry, I meant to say… what do you think of our Captain?" Mark asked.

"Well I think they've made a lot of mistakes. But they've been through a lot, and they're very strong to have gotten this far."

"Does the Captain remind you of anyone?"

"Why yes they do. Multiple people," Dorene answered.

"And who would that be, Ms. Whitacare?"

"Why, I need to get the cookies out of the oven. You can interrogate me some other time, Mark." Dorene got up and headed towards her kitchen.

"But you already had cookies…"

~~~

"Well, the gang was back together again! There was a toast by Mark himself of course, poker games, a keg stand, probably a fight or two… Honestly, I don't remember much. And I fell asleep around 1:30 am, but…" you said.

"Go on," Celine encouraged.

"Well I woke up the next morning and Mark was dead. His body on the floor. Out of nowhere. The detective turned it into an investigation. Said it wasn't an accident. Everyone started accusing each other. It was chaos. But you know the rest."

"I know the rest?" She asked.

"Because you suddenly showed up. I don't know why… maybe because your lover William hadn't come home? I don't know. But you are the master manipulator. You could turn everyone against me in a second. And then the ritual and the time…"

"What else were you doing in these days after the party?"

"Well I was helping the detective as best I could. But I didn't know who I could believe. My dear old friends or a man of the law or the staff… none of it added up. The colonel's eccentric but he wouldn't… he… William wouldn't…" it was all flooding back to you. The fights, the lightning storm, the gunshots. William shot the detective and then he shot… you."

"I-I I'm dead. He shot me and I fell off the balcony… how am I here?"

"Do you remember what happened next?"

What was happening. Was this another one of Celine's rituals?

"I… I was in the void. With the actor's corpse. And you and Damien… you said everything would be okay… you trapped me." You started to cry. "You walked away with my body and you just left me there!"

Mark walked in at the worst moment.

"And you! You! This is all your fault! It was all your stupid plan for revenge! We were your friends! How could you." You hit your fists against his chest until sobs crashed over you and you just leaned against him.

"Hey, it's going to be okay, Ca- District Attorney. You're no longer trapped. You're on a new planet far, far away from Earth and everyone who hurt you." Mark tried to comfort you.

"Is this another one of your lies?"

You ran out of the room. You ran out of the hospital. But they were right. This didn't look like earth. The plants were different. There were two moons in the sky. A memory of Mark, your head engineer, crossed your mind. He was in front of that glass window, holding a coffee mug and telling you about the new planet you've discovered. The ship… the- the warp core.

You felt the scar on your hand. The warp crystal. You were the Captain not the DA. Was it another universe you remembered? Or a past life? Maybe a little of both…

~~~

Eventually, Mark caught up to you.

"District Attorney?"

"It's alright. I know I'm the Captain now." You sat on a hill admiring the stars. They looked different than on Earth. You wondered if you could name a constellation.

"Do you know what happened?"

"I'm not sure. I was so stuck in this other reality. All the multiverses we went through and lives we've lived… I guess it was bound to happen and scramble my mind eventually."

"Let's hope it doesn't happen again. It was kind of scary," Mark admitted.

"Yeah… do you remember past lives?"

"Yeah. Quite a few. Most I'd rather forget."

"We really screwed stuff up with that wormhole huh?"

"I screwed stuff up," Mark said.

"No. We did. I was the Captain. I was in charge and I…. I played with my crew, the colonists I was supposed to protect, I played with you like toys. Like your lives were nothing more than dust on the wind."

"I built the warp core. I'm the whole reason all this happened in the first place."

"You were trying to fix my mistakes."

"That you didn't make!" Mark argued.

"Because I lost your trust. I lost everyone's trust. I was a poor leader. Now enough dwelling on the past. Let's run this colony as best we can, okay?" You asked.

"Yeah," Mark agreed.

"And I promise to never get that drunk again."

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