On Today’s Unus Annus Video!

So Question.

Would anyone be interested in commissioned writing from me? I was thinking of looking into comprable work pricing and opening up to writing fiction (fan and original), and some nonfiction, for commissions. Is that something anyone would be willing to do?

So what I’m thinking is that this one was written by Asshole Mark.

Love... 

What a simple thing [This is sarcasm, obviously, as suggested by the rest of the poem, hinting at the bitterness reflected in the ending.]

The sweetest poison A blood-stained ring [The “sweetest poison” because love has only ever hurt this person and yet they pursue it. The “blood-stained ring” could mean a wedding ring, talking about a ruined marriage, the blood meaning injury or death related to the relationship.]   A tender kiss  A bitter sting  [The contrast between these two lead me to believe it’s referencing the same person, the SO of the speaker, and it’s referencing a betrayal, the “sting” being something this person has done to hurt the speaker.]

Eternal bliss A lonely king [”Eternal bliss” in a perfect relationship on the outside, but it’s meaningless now because they know what the SO did, they’ve been hurt, and so even if they’re still together in appearance, they are alone.] 

How much of this is even real? [This expands on the last part, the appearance of a happy marriage that is faked to some degree.]

This pain This love This somber wheel [They seem to be going through a cycle of trying to forgive them, and being hurt again. What the SO did is a recurring thing.] 

An endless turn of snake and tail An endless storm, malignant gale  [The speaker feels trapped by the relationship, hurt over and over again as if it’ll never end.]

Yet here I sit upon my throne My only truth... I am alone [They feel isolated from everyone else, in a position of wealth and power but with the only thing that really matters to them taken away, and so are becoming bitter.]

So in conclusion, this is from Asshole Mark’s perspective, when he was still married to Celine, growing more and more bitter, possibly before he made his ill-fated plan.

uuUHHHH

Today’s Teaser (Sept 7, 2020)

FRIENDS. THINGS ARE HAPPENING. I’M BACK ON MY THEORIST SHIT AGAIN.

So I watched the clip several times, at varying speeds, and tried to transcribe what I heard:

[loud screech, metal on metal]

[crash, again seems to be metal on metal]

[hiss, as of steam being released]

[car engine revving]

Unknown Voice: Everything is happy...

[sound of a train going over tracks, faint train whistle]

Unknown Voice: [unclear] living his life to come through...

So that second voice line is one I couldn’t quite make out. The top two interpretations I got were “He’s living his life to come through” and “He’s giving his life to come too.”

I also snapped a picture of whatever flashed on screen in the darkness:

So you can’t see much here, but when I brighten it...

A door? When the image keeps moving, there are lights at regular intervals along the roof. Coupled with the sound, my guess is this is a train compartment, possibly in the style of Murder on the Orient Express.

Are we getting a new adventure? Possibly another murder mystery?

Such interesting developments, and with Halloween right around the corner...

“I was scared.” (A DBH Oneshot.)

A/N: So I thought I’d write a couple of Connor’s deviancy moments, because who doesn’t want to get into his head? First, the most poignant one.

BANG!

Connor barely had time to register the gunshot in his right shoulder before someone yelled "Take cover!" and the shootout began.

He scrambled up from the ground and dove behind a nearby metal housing unit as Hank slid in beside him, gun drawn but loose in his hand as he assessed the scene. Connor did as well. Calculations were spinning through his head as he tried to preconstruct the best solution. At the rate the officers were firing and the proximity of their shots and the androids’, he had a little more than a minute to intervene. "You have to stop them! If they destroy it, we won't learn anything!" Hank looked at him as if he'd gone totally insane. "We can't save it, it's too late! We'll just get ourselves killed!" He looked back toward the source of the shots. 60% chance of success. Would require 100% accuracy of movements, and the deviant following the most logical pattern of fire, no margin for error. If he slipped or skidded on the snow, if his damaged shoulder slowed him down at all, he'd be shot through the head and they would lose it. 99.9% chance of failure if he stayed, as Hank asked. Even if the android conceded, it’d be shot before a ceasefire was called. The information would be lost, and his mission would be in serious jepordy. He charged, barely registering Hank's fingers closing just behind his arm. Shot incoming, dodge right. Another, dodge left. Duck down. Next shot is coming from above, right again and over the barrier. The deviant hadn't expected this, shock registered on its face. Connor backed it against the wall and, synth skin already retracting, grabbed its arm to connect.

The faint image of a ship's hull, the word "JERICO" against rust.

I have no choice...

I'm sorry...

He knew what the deviant was going to do in the split second before it happened, and for a moment, something strong welled up in him. He didn't want this, no, this was wrong, this was wrong. It was like an error alert in his system, but stronger, almost...

It took the shot. Connor recoiled. Involuntarily, he tried to cry out, but nothing happened, his vocal speakers stayed silent. Everything was silent but the pounding in his head, thumping to the beat of his thirium pump. It was too quiet, everything was moving too fast, and he couldn't see, why couldn't he see? Everything was white, too bright, far too bright. Buzzing. A faint buzzing sound. The buzzing became a voice, and the voice became Hank's voice, muffled and still far away until there was a hand on his arm.

"...you alright?! Connor!" Hank's face, openly concerned, came slowly into focus, but his eyes were glued to the body...to the android. Too still, slumped against the wall with a pool of thirium slowly collecting around the gaping wound in its head. He found his voice, shaking and weak though diagnostics said he was undamaged. "'m okay." "Are you hurt?" "I'm okay," he repeated, trying to shake the unnecessary hesitation from his voice. "Jesus!" Hank leaned back and took a few steps, clearly rattled, and suddenly turned back to him, anger leaking into his voice. "You scared the shit outta me. For fuck's sake, I told you not to move! Why do you never do what I say?" He didn't realize he was leaning against the barrier but he couldn't make himself stand straight. He heard himself talking.

"I was connected to its memory. When it fired...I felt it die." 

Abrupt ending. Nothingness. I'm sorry.

"Like I was dying."

Please, no. Too strong for an error message.  Like pain, he realized. It was like pain. He didn't want it, he couldn't stand it, it was...he was...

"I was scared."

Hank was staring at him, his expression melting from anger into something unreadable, but that was registering at the edge of his awareness. He needed something to focus on, anything. Anything to distract him from this moment. "I saw something, in its memory." He'd almost said "his". "A word, painted on a piece of rusty metal. 'Jerico.'" It was a lead. It was what they had chased him for. This part of the mission was complete, he should be fully focused on finding out what Jerico was, but...

Nothingness. Pain. I'm sorry.

He made himself stand straight, but it was as if his joints were stiff from the cold. That was ridiculous, though, he was built to withstand temperatures far colder than this. No...what was holding him back was...shock. Fear. He was truly afraid. He shouldn't be able to feel anything, his programming was capable of basic emulated responses only, but in that moment... He couldn't let himself think about it.

Angels Watching as You Sleep (Halloween Special)

Pairing: NONE WHATSOEVER

Rating: PG for spookiness

Your road was silent at this time of night, and it wasn't exactly comforting. The usual bustle of cars on the main cut through felt muted, and the cold October air offered an air of stillness, like someone had pressed pause on just your little road.

Your car made the only sound as it trundled to a stop in the parking lot beside your apartment building, which cut off quickly as you pulled out your key and stepped out, busily gathering your belongings, glancing around nervously. Something was off...something was wrong...

What was that? You blinked and locked your eyes on it more firmly, forcing your tired mind to focus.

A statue stood at the edge of the vacant lot, huge wings curled behind it and hands to its face, gray dress stuck eternally furling in a nonexistent wind.

No.

Oh god no.

It couldn't be, not here.

Your eyes were frozen open and locked on the angel as you backed away slowly toward your building.

Just get inside. You can call him from in there. There, you'd be safer.

Only perhaps twenty yards to the door.

Your eyes were watering, stinging, burning, but you couldn't let them close, not for even a moment. Almost all of your will was focused on you eyes, and what was left was focused on moving slowly toward the double doors to sanctuary.

But then, your bag slipped from your hands. The crash on the pavement jarred you.

You blinked.

The angel was closer. Perhaps a yard, perhaps two. But that was enough to make your heart stop for a moment, and you redoubled your efforts, eyes that now knew the taste of comfort begging for it but you were determined to win.

Only ten more yards to freedom.

Something shuffled behind you, and it took everything you had to fight your instincts and keep your eyes on the angel before you, to keep moving.

The thing shuffled closer again, its steps sounding very deliberate, but almost...lazy. As if the movement, though quick, was relaxed. Like it was taking its time.

You would have missed the sound any other night, and you wished to god you'd missed it that night. That sound would haunt you forever, wake you in cold sweats and screaming.

A small, breathy, eerily echoing on nothing at all, chuckle.

In your horror you spun around.

The Angel wore a smile.

There was a hand on your back.

....he’s trapped...

Looking back on CHASE I noticed something. 

The scene where he suddenly ended up at the parking lot and looked around, it’s clear he noticed he didn’t have his whiskey on him. But I think he may have lost something else. 

Before he looks at his hand that held the bottle, he feels his front pocket:

and then looks to his hand, his palm shaped more as if he’s mining hold a phone and not a bottle:

At first I thought he was checking to see if he still had the photo, maybe to get a gage the time he had lost or gained: was he thrown back in time or forward?

Then I checked:

The photo came from his back pocket. Not only that his front pocket is bulged and rectangular, like a phone. 

Chase lost his phone at some point in ‘transporting’. 

This is an observation and although I have my thoughts as to what it could mean, they’re half-arsed and sleep deprived. If anyone else has theories to what this could be, feel free to mention. :)

Insteresting.

Won’t be played for a fool… not again…

“May.”

She nearly had a heart attack, squeaking in the most undignified way possible as she spun around, soap suds covered frying pan flinging bubbles onto the black vest of the Asgardian Lord of Chaos.

Loki frowned and swiped the bubbles away. “I suppose I startled you. My apologies.”

“What are you doing here?!”

“I haven’t heard from the boy in a week and three days. This is...unusual. I merely wanted to be sure that the paultry team my brother seems to have stumbled into was not once again down a teammate.”

“Jesus, Loki,” May sighed, finally putting the pan back in the sink and wiping her hands, “you know you can just say you wanted to check up on Pete, right? Like, I’m not gonna judge you for that, by all means, come ask about him if you’re worried.”

“I am not-”

“Whatever dude.” She smirked slightly at the indignant twitch of Loki’s mouth. “Pete’s fine. Finals time in school, he hasn’t really had time to do anything but study and sleep, and you can guess which one he does more than the other.”

Loki nodded slowly. “Well. That is good to know. I shall be on my way then.”

As he lifted his hand, possibly to gesture grandly as he was fond of doing before he left, May took a step forward. “Actually, wait a second?”

He froze, studying her, and she suddenly found the floor very interesting.

“I just wanted...y’know, you two have been hanging out a lot recently...and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried at first, because of course I’m gonna be worried when my nephew’s hanging out with literally the god of mischief, but...” She managed to look up. “I just wanted to say...thanks. Pete, he doesn’t have a lot of people to look up to, but between you and Mr. Stark...Just...Thanks. For everything.”

He was silent for a long moment. Neither of them moved. Then, finally...

“There is no need to thank me. If anything, I...” He paused, and shook his head. “There is no need to thank me.”

And he was gone.

As she turned back to the sink, May thought that her life could never get stranger than when Pete brought new people into it. Especially when those people are weird, practically immortal gods who feel like they have to thank you for keeping them calm but can’t.

She wondered if she ought to invite him for dinner sometime. Did Loki like subs?

Scenes I need...

Peter Parker: -on meeting Loki, offers his hand- Hi, I’m Peter!

Loki: -shakes his hand- Loki of Asgard.

Peter: Aren’t you like…a bad guy?

Loki: It varies from moment to moment.

Peter: So like…on a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst evil imaginable, like…killing puppies, and one being I’ll spit on your hotdog…where are you right now?

Loki: …maybe a three?

Peter: Cool. Lemme know if it gets above a six.

Loki: -thinking- I like him.

Do You Trust Me? Epilogue.

“And I will see all you dudes...IN THE NEXT VIDEO!”

You laughed as the outro music started playing, dropping your arms and rubbing your throat. How does Jack do that every day? God, his vocal cords must hate him. Flicking through the comments, it made you grin to see so many people chatting about the game, a few people yelling the catchphrases. There were even a few good puns this time, that was nice. You were staying for the outro clip again, lately having gotten into the habit of staying just a little longer, out of some slightly silly hope. You commented on every video now, sliding subtle references to your adventures into every one, hoping that Jack would see it. Even if you knew you couldn’t reply, it was nice to think that Jack was in his room, seeing your words in the code and thinking of you fondly. “That was another good one, Jack. Though I must say, that shark’s getting the better of you. Your raft’s gonna need to step it up, man,” you rambled absently as you flicked to another tab to finish a fanfic you were writing. After all, that adventure was too good not to be told, wasn’t it? And you thought it might entertain Jack to see it written up. You wondered if he’d show Mark.

“Really now? Three stories of raft isn’t good enough for you?! It’s fantastic!”

You flicked back to the video so fast you almost closed it out by mistake. “Jack?” He grinned in surprise, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. “Hey!” You couldn’t help but smile back.