#like was it a penis joke on purpose or one of those things where companies need to run their advertising ideas by a middle schooler

[hobbinch]

I still cant believe NBC got away with celebrating "Peacocktober"

[writefightandflightclub]

Snarky space bois (Sub!Poe Dameron and sub!Tony Stark headcanons)

Warnings: 18+ only NSFW

GIF credits @rad-aar-blog​ and @the-darkling​

Poe Dameron and Tony Stark have major bratty switch energy. Don’t @ me, this is a cold hard fact. Here are some thoughts thots I had about the ways they’d be similar / different in being a bratty sub for you, at the times they let you take control. Why? Idk? Please indulge me? I don’t mean you’re with them at the same time but go for it if you think you can handle that much snark. 🙈

Things get explicit under the cut!

They would both be weak for a partner who was capable of kicking their ass. Like, they see their partner take someone down (with their body or their mind tbh) and they’re just like: Yikes 🥵 *instantly good to go*. Take me down and I’ll sass you for it the whole time but I’m gonna love it and lose it if you top me and I’ll moan so pretty for you. If you can pin them to the bed, their arms above their head while they writhe under you? Fuck. They’re basically drooling for you.

They’d definitely wanna relinquish control to you to ease the pressure of being a hero. To lose control on purpose, instead of by accident (especially Tony, my god). To not have to make decisions all the time. But they’re both cocky enough that they’ll let you know you’re never fully in control. (That is, until you work your magic and they become a hot, sweaty, unravelled mess for you.)

You’re one of the few people they’ve met who can give as good as you get. They love that you can put them in their place because, tbh, few can. That’s one of the reasons you’re so good at being a brat-tamer for them. That, and how much they know they can trust you in giving their body over to you. Plus, you know all the right buttons to press to have them eating out of your hand.

Honestly, you get high from the power; knowing you can dominate such a difficult and desirable man thrills you. They don’t often listen to orders in general, but knowing they listen to you? You feel unstoppable. And hot as hell. They love how powerful you are, and whether you’re shy or not they make you feel so comfortable and capable at taking control of things (in and out of the bedroom, whether that’s running a company or a squadron, they believe in you).

If you’re not a penis owner, well they definitely wanna be pegged by you 👀 They’re so good for you and take it so well. And those pretty eyes and noises they give you in return? The way they get so hard? You love to watch them lose it. Bonus if they come on their own stomach and you lick it off afterwards, with a slight hum into their skin letting them know how good they taste. If you do this they have died and gone to heaven, and even though they’re spent it still makes their cock twitch and seek for more sensations. Maybe round two? Or three?

The praise? Oh my god. They love getting it, for starters. Fuel their already healthy egos, please (especially Tony). It’s what they deserve. But they’re also givers. They’ll praise you so hard for everything you’re doing to them, for how good you make them feel, for how gorgeous you are inside and out, proclamations spilling from their lips until you swear you’re nearly coming undone before they are. It’s always their mission to try and get you to come before you intended to, while you’re domming them, and a few times they manage it. Then, you simply have to punish them to wipe that smug look off their face, and neither of you are mad about any of this tbh.

They don’t shut up. That goes without saying. Sometimes you put their mouth to better use, but you never wanna gag them - why would you want to stop these pretty noises and words that get you off so well?! They’re vocal when they come, obviously. Soft, warm groans that build from their chest until the sound is pouring from their open lips, eyes fluttering closed. It’s your favourite sound (and sight) in the galaxy.

They’re super eager to please you. They need you to know they can’t get enough of you. Plus it just feels good to pleasure you. And you know how Tony always gotta keep his mouth and his hands busy? You can make sure he puts them to good use, whether you order his hands on you or on himself.

So many lip bites.

Sometimes, they’re too good? Like, you try and use their mouth and they have you undone in moments, and you just have to make them build you up all over again. They’re not complaining (ok well they’re gonna sass you) and, trust me, neither are you.

Neither of them are particularly into being handcuffed or blindfolded (too many negative associations, and they prefer to have their hands free to touch you, tbh). They didn’t imagine being into bondage at all as it makes them feel so vulnerable. But, since they trust you, you gently help them discover their liking for a little rope play. If you manage to try out some intricate shibari I’m betting you’d particularly enjoy the view of that bound ass and thighs, just saying. Maybe you could even slide a toy in there, I’m.. 🥵 You especially love it when they’re a little bound, because it gives you something to grab on to or a way to manipulate their position until you have them just where you want them.

Look, they’re probably down for using all manner of sex toys, on them or on you. Or both! If you’re with Tony you know he will build you something custom too. And some of these things are pretty kriffing elaborate- he’s a genius after all, and he has a pretty good imagination, if you know what I mean. If you’re with Poe, he’ll bring something back that he spotted on some alien planet and is keen to try, and at first you’re sceptical but you quickly get on board and boy, you’re glad you did. In fact, he teases you about how hard you came for weeks afterward.

They’ll try most things once. They have an adventurous spirit. Like, for example, I totally think you could convince them to wear your/some fancy underwear for a day, if it fits them. You didn’t think it’s something you’d ever be into, but Poe looks especially good in a pair of something pink and lacy, don’t look at me, bye.

A little bit of degradation is fine for them too, when you’re both in the mood. Like, if you call them names or rub your juices in their face. Maybe you spit on their cock too and make them rub it in. Maybe you call them your slut as you slide that toy or your fingers into their ass or palm their hard, needy cock.

Tony likes it if you bite him. Or scratch him. He doesn’t care if you leave marks. In fact, he likes it if you claim him as yours, for everyone to see.

Poe will almost nut any time you yank his curls. Touching his hair is a great way to get him hot under the collar in public. He especially likes it if you grab on while you use his mouth, or as you yank his head and say darkly, “look at me”, or at whatever you’re doing to him. You won’t let him close those pretty eyes while you ride him. He loses control of himself so quickly at the sight of you, it’s unreal.

They are not opposed to some light spanking, the smack of your palm on their ass or even thighs.

They like it if you carry things out of the bedroom. Like, if you sidle up to Poe in the hangar and whisper in his ear that he’s so good for you he’ll forget everything except your name and follow you obediently back to your room. It’s a good job he remembers your name as you’re gonna make him say it. A lot.

You love to tease them and get them to beg, because they don’t beg easily. You are more than up to the challenge though. You’ll edge them like no-one’s business until they’re shivering with need, and you milk every last drop of sass and cum from their body.

They want the world to know how amazing and hot and perfect you are, and they have zero embarrassment or shame. Like, half the world/base probably knows exactly what you’re into and how good you make them feel after a bunch of rather thinly veiled innuendos and jokes and comments. They never reveal anything too personal, of course, and respect your privacy. You know they’re just proud and don’t care who knows it. You’re not entirely mad at the bragging (you like to show them off too)... but you will make them suffer for it later.

You love the ongoing dynamic, and the fact that things can switch up at such short notice. You never know what you’re going to get and you keep each other on your toes. Most importantly though, you love and trust each other to the ends of the earth.

The pet names they have for you? So cute it’s almost obscene. Except a long list of terms which end up being banned by the other rebels/avengers because they work their way into every comms link, briefing, announcement, and group hang.

Afterwards? Look, these two boys are soft in the middle, and so full of love. Sometimes they might even cry a little afterwards, or sometimes you do. But they’re happy tears as you’re each so overwhelmed by sensations (and sometimes overstimulated) and by love. You try and look after them and it ends up being the other way around. They’re gonna cuddle and snuggle and kiss you everywhere. These boys are tactile and can’t get enough of touching you and letting you know they love every inch of you. They do wanna be little spoon, at first, but eventually it’s not enough and they flip around and hold you so tight like they’re never gonna let you go. They run warm and there’s no cosier or softer embrace, honestly. You feel entirely safe, and they feel safe with you.

If they do need a bit of care afterwards though, they love to curl up in your lap while you stroke their hair. To them, that’s their own personal heaven.

The snuggles usually only end when they get snacky (and like, actually snacky, and not just what they say when they wanna pleasure you all over again). But then you might make your way to the rec room/tv room and everyone else clears out, because they know you both fight so hard that every moment you have together is precious.

[stories-sometimes]

I’ve Made A Huge Mistake {4/?}

Peter Parker x Reader, Quentin Beck x Reader

Summary: Peter just wanted to enjoy his trip to Europe, maybe even confess his feelings to his best friends.But along came a mysterious new hero to ruin those plans. Peter and his class are aged up and in college.

Warnings: Violence in later chapters, manipulation, age gap

Word Count: 1893

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

The holiday became a whole lot less fun overnight. Originally it was meant to be a break for Peter, away from being a superhero, away from avenging, away from all his responsibilities. But, like always, some otherworldly being came and fucked that all up for him. And Peter was supposed to confess his feelings for her in some romantic candle-lit restaurant in Venice, or at the top of the Eiffel Tower. But Beck came along, swept her off her feet and fucked that all up for him. Even though Fury had said he didn’t have to join the mission, Peter knew, in the back of his head, that some way or somehow he would get dragged into the situation again. There would be another world-ending threat that would inevitably pop up in another city, one that Peter couldn’t ignore.

The two of them returned from Fury’s base in the early hours of the morning. She was incredibly giddy, a grin plastered across her face for the whole journey. He’d seen her get like this before, the time her 8th-grade crush asked her to the winter dance, or when Peter scored them tickets to a Star Wars premiere. It was the most beautiful expression Peter could ever be graced with - when he caused it he felt on top of the world, when another guy caused it he fell into a pit of jealousy. He tried his best to be happy for her, she was over the moon, Beck seemed like a good guy. He didn’t control her, he had no right to dictate who she could and couldn’t date. But he just couldn’t, he could never feel content if she was with someone else. So he let her talk about this perfect guy, acknowledging her ramblings just enough to not be rude: because that’s what a best friend does. And he’d rather be her friend than be nothing at all.

“Are you sure you’re good?” Peter asked Ned the next morning as they waited for the bus.

“Seriously, don’t worry, getting tranqued by Nick Fury is probably the coolest thing to ever happen to me.” Ned reassured him, way too positive about getting knocked out. Peter laughed nervously at his response.

“I’m just happy I don’t have to go to Prague.” Peter said as they absentmindedly did their handshake.

“Good news,” Mr Harrington said, bursting out of the hotel door, “we’re going to Prague.” He announced.

“Prague?” Peter asked, along with a few of the other students. Of course Fury would interfere.

“Yeah, tour company upgraded us. You should've heard me on the phone with them. I really gave them hell. All I heard was crying.” The teacher continued as a much bigger, sleeker black bus turned the corner. “Look, our upgraded ride.”

“Peter, what’s going on?”

“I think Nick Fury just hijacked our vacation.” One of the agents Peter saw last night stood outside the bus, purposely ignoring Mr Harrington’s feeble attempts at an introduction.

Once the group was on the bus Peter pulled out the case Fury gave him the night before. He opened it to reveal a pair of glasses, identical to the ones Mr Stark used to wear. Peter stared at them, unsure whether to feel happy at the sight of them or to burst into tears over his late-mentor. A note on the front read ‘For the next Tony Stark, say EDITH’. He read it aloud as he placed them on his face.

“Stand by for a retinal and biometric scan.” The glasses lit up. Peter watched curiously as a model of his face appeared in front of his eyes. “Scan accepted.”

“Hello?” Peter asked, a series of questions filling his head.

“Hello, Peter. I am EDITH, Tony Stark's augmented-reality security and defence system. I have access to all of Tony's protocols.” The AI explained.

“Cool.” Really Peter, he thought to himself, even with all the questions spirling in his mind all he could say was cool.

“Would you like to see what I can do? EDITH stands for “Even dead, I’m the hero.” Tony loves his acronyms.”

“Yeah, he did.” Peter laughed affectionately. At least he could have this link to the late, great Iron Man.

“I have access to the entire Stark Global Security network including multiple defence satellites as well as back doors to all major telecommunication networks.” She continued to fill him in. Peter glanced around the bus, multiple views of people’s phone screens popping up. It ranged from students begging their parents for more money to Mr Dell searching up witchcraft. So much for science professors.

“Is she texting Beck?” Peter asked before he fully realised what he was saying, “no, no, that wrong.” He said, sinking down into his seat. He had to respect her potential relationship, no matter how much it pained him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Betty and Ned sat next to each other, repeatedly texting ‘I miss you’ to each other. He grimaced at how completely cliche they were. The bus soon pulled into a village centre, allowing a quick toilet break. Flash left first, filming a video as he continued his attempts for insta fame. Peter got off last, only being able to step off the bus before he was stopped and instructed to go into a building opposite from him. Inside stood a tall blonde woman dressed near-identically to the agent driving their bus.

“Hi, I’m Peter.” He introduced himself nervously.

“Close the door.” She said firmly, her Eastern-European accent thick. He turned, immediately obeying her, honestly slightly intimidated by her. “Take off your clothes.”

“Excuse me.” Not exactly where he had expected that to go.

“You told Fury Spider-Man cannot be seen in Europe. So I made you this, another suit.” She handed him an all-black suit.

“Um, thanks. I’m sure it fits fine.” He replied awkwardly.

“Take off your clothes.” She said bluntly.

“Okay,” He whispered, unzipping his pants and pulling them down, “this is embarrassing.” He tried to alleviate some of the tension. Suddenly Flash walked into the building. His face went pale, scared he would assume the worst.

“Damn Parker, you got a hooker, didn’t think you had it in you.” Flash joked, taking a picture of the scene in front of him before walking back outside. The woman pulls out a gun, aiming it carefully at the back of Flash’s head.

“No, no, no, please don’t shoot,” Peter said in a panic as he made the agent lower her gun. “I’ll sort it out.” He grabbed the new suit, and ran out of the building, pulling his pants back up as he did so. “Flash, Flash, stop!”

“Honestly Parker, I can’t tell if I should make fun of you or congratulate you. That takes a lot of balls.” He continued to laugh.

“That, that wasn’t what it looked like.”

“Then what was it?” Peter opened his mouth, attempting to respond, but nothing came out. He ended up opening it and closing it over and over again, looking like some fish stuck on the land.

“Exactly.” Flash replied, walking towards the bus, “Wait,” he turned back, a smirk on his face, “What do you think she’d think about this?”

“What do you mean?” Peter asked cautiously.

“That her best friend, little Penis Parker, is secretly a perv.” Flash smiled as somehow more colour drained from his face. “Bet she’d love that.” He said, stepping onto the bus. Peter panicked, running back to his seat and shoving EDITH onto his face.

“Hey Peter, how can I help you?” Peter began to mumble an explanation, “I’m having difficulty hearing.” EDITH responded.

“There’s this guy, Flash Thompson, he’s got this photo of me and -”

“Is Flash Thompson a target?”

“A target?” Peter turned to see Flash, he had the picture up, ready to send the photo to the rest of his class. He knew he could tell her the truth about the situation, she’d understand, but still, he wanted to keep her from seeing it. “Yeah, he’s a target.”

“Target confirmed, initiating strike.”

“Initiating what now?” Peter asked, sitting up slightly straighter in his seat. Peter watched a map appear in front of his eyes showing an attack drone being released from a Stark satellite. “Shit.” He immediately stood up, out of his seat. He made his way over to where Flash was sat, all while keeping an eye on the ever-nearing drone.

“Cool glasses Parker,” Flash said, grabbing them off Peter’s face, “when d’you become so rich.”

“Flash, please, give ‘em back.” Peter went to take them back but Flash kept batting his hands away. “Flash, I’m serious.” He said, going for Flash’s face, accidentally knocking him out in the process. Peter stepped back, shocked. Sometimes he forgot his own strength. He brushed it off, sliding the glasses back onto his face. “I’m so sorry, EDITH don’t kill Flash.”

“Peter do you want me to call off the drone strike on Flash.” The AI asked.

“Did you just punch Flash?” A classmate asked at the same time.

“No.” Peter answered quickly. But EDITH had mistaken that for him answering her question.

“He’s knocked out.” Another shouted.

“Look, baby mountain goats.” Peter pointed out the window, successfully distracting the group. As the drone went to fire Peter jumped up, pushing through the roof window, shooting his webs out. Luckily for him enough were caught on the drone to disable it, making it crash down the mountain beside them. He landed, terrified anyone saw what he’d just done and how close he’d come to killing a classmate.

“Peter, I know you think we haven’t noticed,” Betty began causing Peter’s eyes to widen, “but your new look, I love it. Right babe?”

“Yeah, it’s super classy.” Ned agreed. Peter let out a sigh of relief, collapsing into a seat next to his other best friend.

“What the hell was that?” She scolded him before he could properly relax.

“I may or may not have almost killed Flash.” He was slightly worried that he had pissed her off as she continued to stare dumbfoundedly at him. Soon he was reassured by her bursting out laughing.

“You’re a fucking idiot Peter.”

“Well, you know -”

“No, no, you are genuinely the biggest dumbass I’ve ever met. How did you ever do that?”

“Um, these,” He took off the glasses, handing them to her, “they’re what Mr Stark gave me. Turns out saying someone's target sets a military level drones on them.” She couldn’t stop laughing. “I’m sure he’d be real proud of me.”

“Don’t,” Her voice turned more serious, “he obviously trusted and believed in you so much. And he’s hardly someone who never made mistakes. He’s the least perfect avenger, and still, he achieved more than anyone else in the world could even dream of. He would’ve expected to make hundreds of mistake and fuck up time and time again. But he wouldn’t have given you these if he think you could clean up all those messes.”

“Thanks.” He whispered a slight confidence boost after that little speech.

“I’m serious,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder, “you’re pretty fucking awesome Parker.” And there was the ego boost. They stayed there in comfortable silence for a while, both perfectly content. Not long after she began to uncontrollably laugh again. “You almost killed Flash fucking Thompson.”

@cool-ontherun-world 

@eleventhdoctorsangel 

@chubby-tink

@eridanuswave

[askullinajar]

Fifty Shades Dicked

The time has come for the third instalment of Fifty Shades of Ectoplasm

This is entirely the fault of the heathens over on the discord, namely @ironsilversaltandtea for posting the photo that led to it all, @achillesangst for making some interesting art of it, and @stormwalkers and @wolfjawswriter for just general shenanigans and egging on.

Warning: Any accuracies, historically, scientifically, or to canon, are completely accidental. This is pure crack. No actual hanky-panky - as I am but a totally innocent asexual - but a whole lot of inappropriate jokes. You have been warned.

Fic info: Post teg. Rating: Mature, clearly. Pairings: Implied locklyle. Word count: 1626

Summary: The gang stumble across a certain something previously owned by Mr and Mrs Lockwood. Shenanigans ensue.

It was a mild spring morning the day we managed to scar Lockwood for life.

The company was going through a lull in cases - something about warmer weather and extended daylight made ghosts not want to show themselves - and we were using that time to do a spot of spring cleaning. The fact that Holly had threatened to quit if she found another of George’s rotting ‘experiments’ stuffed in a random cupboard had absolutely nothing to do with it.

Holly was out with her flatmate on what she insisted was ‘definitely not a date, stop being nosy’ and had appointed Quill to keep an eye on us. His only purpose seemed to be nabbing whatever alcohol we found buried in cupboards from the days when Lockwood’s parents were still around and lounging in a chair complaining about this and that. I wasn’t really paying attention, to be honest; I was too busy trying to get Skully to stop dripping ectoplasm all over the newly-cleaned surfaces as he hovered above us making increasingly rude comments. 

“You could help you know!” I snapped at him, interrupting Quill’s ranting about the extortionate prices of laundry detergent.

“Moi?” said Skully, swooning dramatically in midair. “I am but a simple street urchin, I know nothing about this so-called ‘cleaning’ thing.” He waved a hand and sent half the kitchen appliances skidding across the counter and crashing to the floor. “Whoopsie!” he said, though his sadistic grin was far from apologetic. 

I picked up the salt shaker and threw it at him. It passed right through, of course, and collided with the wall, but a few grains of salt came loose and hissed as they came into contact with his ectoplasm. 

“Ow!”

I ignored his complaints and went to put the appliances back with Lockwood and George’s help. When the boys hefted up the microwave, I noticed the floorboard beneath it had come loose. I knelt by it and dug my fingers in to prise it up.

“There’s a box under here,” I informed them, brushing dust away from the wilted cardboard.

George kneeled next to me and adjusted his glasses to peer at it. “Interesting. Reckon it contains anything of paranormal significance?”

“Or anything valuable?” said Quill, kneeling on my other side.

“It’s probably just stuff my parents hid when authorities came to call,” shrugged Lockwood, turning away with his bright pink feather duster to clean the higher shelves. “They weren’t exactly supposed to bring possible Sources into the country.”

Whatever it was, investigating it seemed more fun than cleaning, so I prised up the floorboards either side of the gap and wiggled the box free. 

The box was filled to the brim with packing foam, but when I dug it out and managed a first glimpse at what it was hiding, I nearly choked.

“What is it?” said Lockwood, whirling back around at the noise. “Are you alright, Lucy?”

My face pulled taut in a gallant effort not to laugh, I dug my hands into the box and pulled out its contents: a finely crafted china teapot, in the shape of a dick and balls.

Immediately, my hearing filled with spectral laughter as Skully burst into loud cackling above me, gripping his stomach and gasping for nonexistent breath. Quill and George weren’t far from joining in.

“Oh my god,” Quill gasped, wheezing as tears of mirth filled his eyes. “Tony, what exactly were your parents into?”

Lockwood’s face had gone a brilliant shade of red as he stammered for words. “It- It can’t be theirs- they- it must have belonged to the last people who owned the house…”

George took the teapot off me, which I was very grateful for as I was dangerously close to dropping it with my hands shaking from laughter. He cleaned his glasses on his shirt, placed them back on his head, then took the lid of the phallic pot and peered inside.

“Oh,” he said, the laughter immediately wiped from his face. “Oh, this definitely belonged to your parents, Lockwood.”

“What?” said Lockwood, eying the teapot from a distance as though weary it would blow up any minute. “What is it?”

George silently handed the teapot over to Quill before standing, going over to the sink, and dunking his head in the basin of what was now very cold water. 

Quill reached into the teapot and pulled out a stack of old photographs. I leaned over his shoulder curiously as he flicked through them and immediately started choking for real. I recognised Celia and Donald Lockwood from the few photos Lockwood had scattered around the house. I was not prepared for the positions they were in.

“What is it?” Lockwood insisted. “What’s on them?” He moved to reach for them but Quill jerked them out of his reach. Unfortunately, this put them right into Skully’s line of sight and the ghost started cackling even harder than before.

“Holy shit, those are some saucy parents he has. Come on, Luce, show the boy how he was probably conceived!”

“Nope!” I blurted, snatching the photos from Quill’s hand and lurching to my feet to make a beeline for the living room and - more importantly - the fireplace. “Lockwood, trust me, you do not want to see these.”

“If they’re photos of my parents, I want to see!” cried Lockwood, chasing after me.

It was then that the umbrella stand in the hallway fell into my path - entirely on its own, Skully would insist later - and my feet collided with it causing me to crash down to the floor, my grip coming loose from the photo stack and resulting in a whirlwind of erotic snapshots to fall down around me.

“Oh no.” Lockwood’s voice seemed very cracked and distant, and when I pushed myself up and turned to him, the poor boy had his hands clamped tight over his eyes, his face and ears tomato red. “George, please tear out my eyes!”

“Only if you tear out mine too,” George said, coming into the hallway with his hair dripping wet. “God, this is almost as bad as when I walked in on my mum-”

“Do not finish that sentence!”

“At least you don’t have to look your parents in the eyes after this,” George muttered, folding his arms over his chest. “Took me three months to get over that.”

“I’m going to have nightmares,” moaned Lockwood. “Lucy, please tell me you’ve picked them all up by now.”

Quill and I were systematically gathering them up and tossing them in the fireplace. Only when Quill had lit the fire did we give Lockwood the all-clear.

“I am never cleaning the house again!” Lockwood declared, collapsing against me with his face buried into my shoulder. I patted his back sympathetically.

“At least we got a new teapot out of it,” said George. “Tea, anyone?”

“There is no way I am drinking tea out of that thing,” said Lockwood. “Can we please get rid of it?”

“Or...” I said, spying the blackened skull perched on a shelf in the kitchen. “I have another idea.”

*

Holly returned to find us all - minus George, who was making sure there were no loose photos lying around - sheepishly sitting around the kitchen table sipping tea. The kitchen was clean, at least, but Holly didn’t even seem to notice, her eyes going straight to the teapot on the table.

“What. On earth. Is that?”

“Our new teapot,” I said matter-of-factly. “Like it?”

“That is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen,” said Holly, her nose wrinkling. “I have never understood the appeal of these things.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” said Quill, sipping his tea casually.

“I’m throwing it out,” said Holly, picking it up with the tips of her fingers like it was contaminated, which it probably was.

It was then that Skully decided to make his presence known by forming directly out of the ‘spout’, his ectoplasm contorted grotesquely into the happy farmhand.

Holly, to no one’s surprise, shrieked and hurled the teapot all the way down the hall where a loud thump and yelp ensued.

“Oh my gosh, George, I’m so sorry!” Holly cried, rushing down the hall with the rest of us at her heels to find George curled up on the floor, the shattered remains of the teapot as well as the skull surrounding him. “Are you alright?!”

George groaned and pushed himself upright to reveal his glasses askew and a bright red mark on his face in the perfect silhouette of a dick and balls. I tried to stop myself laughing and only half managed.

“I think I have a concussion,” George slurred.

“Hospital,” said Holly, helping George up and bustling him to the door. “Hospital, now.”

*

The nurse looked from the penis permanently etched onto George’s face, to the haunted look in Lockwood’s eyes, to me and Quill who were still snickering, before finally turning to Holly who she seemed to deem as the most sensible one of the group. She wasn’t exactly wrong. Perhaps she remembered us from the time George got a condom stuck over his head and nearly suffocated.

“How?”

“Dick teapot,” I blurted, trying not to look at Goerge’s face because if I did I would most certainly die of laughter. Unfortunately, this made me picture it again and I snorted anyway.

The nurse heaved a great sigh as if this was just the same old bullshit she had to deal with every day.

“Just once,” she said, “why can’t it just be ghost-touch.”

George rubbed at the imprint on his face, then seemed to realise it looked like he was wanking the dick off and stopped. “You know,” he said, ignoring me and Quill wheezing next to him, “I’m actually with you on that one, ma’am.”

[imjustthemechanic]

Our Own Demons

Part 1/? - A Bolt from the Blue Part 2/? - A Different World Part 3/? - Stark At Home Part 4/? - Pot Roast Night Part 5/? - Space-Pie Continuum Part 6/? - Energy Signature Part 7/? - Miss Potts Part 8/? - Bot from Beyond Part 9/? - Even the Odds Part 10/? - Miss Potts Arrives Part 11/? - Truth Hurts Part 12/? - The Third Reality Part 13/? - Thor and Odinson Part 14/? - The Tesseract Platform Part 15/? - Prime Suspect Part 16/? - Jailbreak Part 17/? - Shenandoah Part 18/? - A Hater Part 19/? - Reality B

What if Tony Stark really were the villain of the Marvel universe?  How would that work?  Tony himself is about to find out, as he battles his inner demons (and some outer ones, too) across a multiverse of infinite possibilities.

Fairfax drove him to the storage locker.  It did not appear to have been torn apart by a giant robot yet, which was good.  For much of the drive she kept her eyes straight ahead, but every so often she’d pause and glance at Tony as if she still couldn’t quite believe any of this was really happening.  Maybe she couldn’t.  Tony did have that effect on people.

Once they arrived, Tony checked on the suit.  It was still outside the library, and although more people were joining in the draw on Iron Man party – the décor now boasted a variety of signatures, some crudely-drawn genitalia, and a cartoon kid peeing on the arc reactor – it was intact.  The complement of cops had dropped to just two, who were amused by the impromptu public artwork rather than doing anything to stop it.  He’d leave it there for now.  As soon as it moved they’d try to follow it.

“I’d say I’ll give you a job at Stark Industries once you graduate, but you’d probably consider that selling out to corporate interests,” he observed, as Fairfax knelt to unlock the apartment.

“I don’t want to feed the murder machine,” she agreed.  “Anyway, you wouldn’t have anything for me.”

“Oh, no?” asked Tony.  His company was more diverse than most people suspected.  “What’s your major?”

“Musical theory.”

Tony thought about it a moment, then shrugged.  “I’ll consider that a challenge.”

Fairfax rolled up the door of the compartment and ducked inside, returning a moment later with a pink shoebox.  Inside was a pair of scuffed black chucks with hearts and skulls on the sides, and rolled up in a sock and tucked into the toe of one was a tiny cube of tesseract.

“Perfect,” said Tony.  “That’s perfect.”  He set it gently back into the box.  “Now, can you help me with a few more things?”

“Like what?” she asked.

“Mostly wiring.”  Tony needed something to feed the tesseract power into the mesh Faraday cage inside his suit.  Him and his double in the other reality hadn’t quite gotten that far yet, but really, an insulated conductor was all they needed.  Since this was only a tiny bit of tesseract juice, to be fed in slowly so as hopefully not to tip off the robot-maker, ordinary wires would do.  Fairfax got them from a pair of headphones that looked like they were vintage 1982 or thereabouts, and dug through the storage locker to find a soldering iron.

“Why do you have that?” Tony asked.  What were the odds?

“My Dad was into ham radio,” she replied.  “I’ve got a bunch of his stuff in there.  We used to build things together.”

Maybe she had skills that would be useful at Stark Industries after all.  “That sounds like fun,” said Tony wistfully.  He remembered the times he and his own father had worked on projects together.  Tony and Howard had never gotten along, but every so often they’d been able to build something.  Their favourite had been restoring the old roadster, but there’d been others… little things they could share instead of fighting over.

“Yeah,” she said quietly.  “I miss him a lot.”

They needed a computer to monitor the energy transfer, and to impart the proper frequency to access the robot-builder’s universe – Tony had been able to get that, fortunately, from the remains of the robot itself, and he and Dr. Foster had used it to avoid patching into that universe by mistake.  SHIELD had a special computer for it.  Tony and his counterpart, when they were still trying to keep the whole thing a secret, had planned to use a tablet.  Lacking anything better, Fairfax gave Tony her mobile phone, which he took apart and re-assembled into something that would work better for his purposes.

“JARVIS,” he said quietly, “please send Miss Cadwallader a… she won’t want a Starkphone.  Make it a free iPhone, would you?  Make sure it’s the newest model.”

Done, Sir.  FedEx will have it at her door the day after tomorrow.

“Thanks,” Tony murmured.  He put the screen back on the phone and turned it on, nodding as the screen came up with a prompt.  “Got that software uploaded, JARVIS?” he asked, louder this time.

Compiling now, said JARVIS.  We will have to perform a number of checks of the sytem before we can allow the tesseract energy into the suit.  We don’t want to risk a reaction with your tissues, or Miss Cadwallader’s, like the one you described.

That meant calling the suit, which would lead the cops to them.  “How long is that going to take?”

I estimate six minutes and forty seconds, said JARVIS.  The phone’s processors are not very fast, and even with the suit’s onboard computer to take some of the load, there are…

“Terabytes of calculations, I know,” said Tony.  “Get on with it.”

The suit took off, disrupting the artistic efforts of somebody who had been drawing a much more realistic penis and testicles on the codpiece, and arrived at the storage locker a moment later.  Fairfax stared at the additions to the paint job, then reached into her pocket only to be disappointed when she remembered Tony had taken her phone apart.

“The Met is gonna be pissed,” Tony noted.  “All right, let’s get started.”

Tony plugged the phone into a panel on the back of one gauntlet, and he and Fairfax started connecting the wiring.  They used a plastic keychain ring as a safety key, and soldiered the headphone wires into the mesh where a sliding panel could expose it at the backs of the knees.

“Are you sure this is gonna work?” asked Fairfax.  It seemed to be dawning on her that she was dealing with forces far, far beyond her comprehension.

“I invaded a terrorist base in Miami using stuff I got at Home Depot,” said Tony.  “I think I can make an interdimensional portal with junk out of your storage unit.”

She clearly couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not.

Within a few minutes, Tony could hear the sirens.

It was getting on for dinnertime and he had started to wonder if he’d have time to eat before heading off to his third reality in the past few days, but evidently he was just going to have to hope they had decent pizza when he got there.

“JARVIS,” he said.  “How are those calculations coming?”

Two minutes and forty-two seconds, Sir.

“It’ll have to do,” Tony said.  If anybody ever asked him what was the worst part about being a superhero, he thought, that was what he was going to say – you were always running out of time.

Tony opened the suit and slipped inside, while Fairfax hurried to push everything they’d gotten out back inside and shut the door of the storage compartment.

“Don’t worry about your stuff!” Tony told her.  “Get ready to pull the ring as soon as JARVIS says it’s okay!”

“I don’t want my things confiscated!” Fairfax protested.  “I should never have said yes!  Now I’m an accomplice and I’m gonna get arrested right along with you!”

“No, you’re not,” Tony said.  “Give me the ring and get out of here.”  He would tell the cops he had broken into her locker and stolen things… but no, it was already too late.  Headlights lit up the dim yard of the storage unit, with the sun already having dipped behind the buildings, and red and blue lights flashed as police piled out, guns in their hands.  Tony thought fast, then grabbed Fairfax’ collar and pulled her close, putting an arm around her neck from behind.  He felt her stiffen in terror.  She was probably wondering if this had been his plan all along.

“I won’t hurt you,” he whispered.  “Just pull the ring when I say.”

“Put your hands up!” a policeman announced.

More service weapons, Tony noticed.  Those would have about as much effect on the suit as the bugs that got splattered across the leading surfaces of it at low altitudes.  He rolled his eyes and raised the faceplate of the helmet.  They needed to see him for this part.

“Nobody move!” he ordered.  “I have a hostage!”  Fairfax would suffer fewer consequences if they thought she was a victim, rather than an accomplice.

The cops paused in their advance and exchanged some glances.  They hadn’t been expecting to negotiate.

“How are we doing, JARVIS?” asked Tony.

Twenty seconds, Sir.

The cop in the lead stepped forward.  “Stark,” he said, “you’ve got nowhere to go but up, and if you do we have helicopters waiting for you.  Let the girl go, and give yourself up.”

Checks complete, said JARVIS.  You may commence at any time.

Tony banged the faceplate down again.  “Pull it,” he told Fairfax.  “JARVIS, as soon as I’m gone, open all segment connections in the suit.”

Of course, Sir.  Your flair for the dramatic has always served you so well where law enforcement is concerned.

“Bye, guys!” said Tony.

There was a sizzling sound and a coppery taste as Fairfax pulled the ring free, letting the tesseract into the suit systems.  Then, once again, a shriek of static and a whiteout.  The police would see the suit spark and fall apart, leaving it in empty pieces on the ground next to Fairfax – letting it go to bits would also keep it from being utterly destroyed if the transit disgorged another killer robot.  Hopefully, Rhodey would step in to look after Fairfax herself, but if she did get arrested, at least it would be hard for the people who’d killed her professor to get to her in jail.

The white faded to blackness, and Tony dropped heavily into another suit.

Or… was it a suit?  It was definitely suit-shaped, but it didn’t seem to have any systems active.  Instead of being freestanding in a display case, or flying on a mission, it was suspended in a dark hangar, dangling from a set of robotic arms.  No display came on, so Tony could only see the outside world through a narrow slit, which showed him vague moonlit shapes of stacked crates and lumpy machines covered with tarps.  If the SHIELD storage facility had looked like it might contain the ark of the covenant, this place seemed like it might have a flying saucer and a couple of dead aliens in it somewhere.

Tony wiggled a little, but the suit wouldn’t open – it only bounced a bit in the grip of the robot arms.  “JARVIS?” he asked warily.

Oh, hel-lo, said a voice.

Tony looked up sharply, even though the voice was clearly coming over a speaker instead of out of a mouth.  It wasn’t JARVIS’ voice, though, nor was it the feminine voice of JANIS from the other reality he’d visited.  This was a male voice at the low end of tenor, with an unpleasant resonance under it and a flat American accent with just a hint of Boston.

“Who’s there?” asked Tony.

Not JARVIS, the voice replied, amused.  I didn’t believe him when he said you still used JARVIS.  Don’t get me wrong, nice guy, but an outmoded antique.

“And you’re the improved model, are you?” asked Tony.  “I don’t think I like an AI that doesn’t respect its elders.”  He tried to struggle again, but even though it was now plain that the system knew he was there, he didn’t get any results.  “Let me out,” he said.  “That’s an order.”

He expected obedience.  When he told JARVIS that’s an order, it was a signal to the computer to do as he said at once, without any sarcastic comments or unwanted advice.  This machine, however, said nope.  Not even a polite no, Sir, or I’m afraid I can’t do that, Dave.  Just a casual, slightly drawled nope, as if the computer considered this whole thing a joke.

“What do you mean, nope?” Tony asked indignantly.  “How about I’m your creator and you do what I damned well say?”  It had worked with JANIS.

Nope, the AI repeated.  You can wait until Daddy arrives.  Hang out.  The robotic arms holding Tony above the ground jiggled a little, to emphasize the joke.

“You don’t get to tell people no,” Tony said.

Sure I do, said the computer.  The real Tony Stark has a node implanted in his brain that allows me to stay in direct contact with him at all times.  Much more elegant than that little hearing air you’re wearing.  I know exactly where he is and what he’s thinking, and he’s not in the transfer suit sputtering impotently at me.  I’ll let you out when he wants me to.  Not before.

And that, the tone of voice said, was final.

[asianadjacent]

Being yellow in a strange white land

I use the word “yellow" to describe myself, not in an effort to be offensive but only because it is what I think people see when they see me. Being a yellow person in a land of mostly whites, the question of “where are you from?” will inevitably pop-up often.

These four seemingly innocuous words have always evoked a sense of resignation in me. When faced with this harmless query, I usually have two versions I can choose between - a long or short one.

The long version is a quick summary of my life story and it usually goes like this, “I was born in Malaysia, lived there until I was 9 or 10 and then my family moved to Michigan for a few years. After that, we moved to China for five years where I went to high school. I went to university in Singapore and lived / worked there for six years. Now, I live in London and I’ve been here for two years now!”

The problem with the long version is that somewhere between Michigan and China is when you usually feel an unspoken internal eye roll from the asker, wishing they hadn’t asked in the first place.

The short version is where I state that “I’m from Malaysia”. The issue with this response is that there will always be a follow-up comment or question from the asker. Real life examples below:

“You don’t sound very Malaysian…”

“Why is your English so good?”

“So you’re Malay then?”

“Where does that accent come from?”

These responses will lead to the long version anyway, which occasionally ends with the asker thinking I’m a pompous dickhead who tells his life story with the sole purpose to seem better than them. While I don’t doubt that I can often come across slightly conceited, the internal dread when asked this question is something relatable to anyone that has moved around a lot, arrogant or not.

More importantly, this question surfaces the many tensions I have internally about race, culture and identity. This issue is something I have only recently started to think about.

The issue of race has largely gone unnoticed from my life until recently. Maybe it’s because I’m living in a place where the default is white for the first time in my adult life or that I’m becoming more #woke”, lately I’ve started to question my own race, culture and identity and how that plays a part in my life.

To a certain extent, I do think that media portrayals of us yellow folk aren’t helping our cause. The lack of yellow roles in mainstream Western media aside, the rare characters we do see or remember usually fits the mould of the sidekick with a dash of the ching chong accent. 

The sidekick would always be good with stuff because all yellow people are amazing at mathematics, problem solving and kung fu. (It’s true, we can all do kung fu.)

This is why shows like Master of None or Fresh Off the Boat are amazing - where the leads are ethnic and afforded the chance to show us as complex individuals rather than a pale caricature of what that ethnicity is ‘supposed’ to like. 

I have definitely been guilty of doing impressions of iconic yellow characters like Short Round from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (DR. JONES! DR. JONES!) or Leslie Chow from The Hangover. 

I’ve pandered to yellow stereotypes by doing the ching chong voice and stretched my eyelids to make them slitty and slanty, all in the name of trying to be funny and thinking that I’m already above the issue of race, that I’ve broken through the racial ceiling.

Lately I’ve looked back and wondered if my international background has made me ignorant about racial issues aka “I don’t see in colour”. Questions now plague my mind in my occasional internal monologue discussions. 

Do my impressions and jokes contribute to solidifying the very tropes that plague people of my skin colour? I mean it gets laughs and it’s just comedy right? Should I actually be insulted that it gets a few chuckles here or there? If it’s just comedy, why do I feel slightly wrong sometimes? On the flip side, by being out there with these impressions and jokes, am I actually breaking out of the quiet Asian stereotype? 

I now wrestle with whether I should be doing these impressions and if I should instead condemn the people who do.

This all leads to me examining whether my canary creamed skin tone has actually impacted my personality. I’ve recently wondered if I am opinionated (to say the least) as a bid to break out of the neat little yellow box I’ve been placed in or have I just always been right all the time. 

For the record, I don’t think my outspoken nature is a facade. I’ve always been naturally loud, brash, and (some might say arrogantly) unafraid to voice my thoughts. However, I do think that this part of me has been dialled up throughout the years - especially in the company of white folks in a bid to break out.

Lately, I’ve also pondered if how I am or what I do even makes a difference in how people might perceive me. There are definitely moments where I feel that no matter how outspoken or brash I get, my defining characteristic to most people is my oriental colour and good looks. This is why I find shorts like Asian Bachelorette by Wong Fu Productions so darkly funny - all because it touches on issues that hit so close to home.

(IF YOU HAVEN’T WATCHED IT, GO WATCH IT NOW.)

Maybe there will be a day where people will judge others based on the strength of their character and actions instead of a snap judgement based on the pigmentation of their skin.

Maybe one day people will look at me and not think that I am…

Great with numbers and responsible with finances (I’m not.)

Not a viable sexual partner and have a tiny penis (First part true (#dryspell), response to the second part is that it works, most of the time.)

Passive, compliant and weak (Iols.)

A terrible driver (I haven’t even got a license.)

Gross and eat weird things like dog (I’ve never had dog but I have lived in China so who knows what’s really in food there.)

Super ching chong with a ching chong accent (It’s actually oddly English.)

An expert in martial arts (I’ve actually got a black belt in Taekwondo but they give those out really easily so I am definitely not a martial arts expert.)

Able to play the piano (This one is actually true.)

Only attracted to other yellow people (I don’t discriminate when it comes to dating. Not in a position to be choosy at the moment.)

Despite feeling that my yellowness is the defining trait the world views me with, I’ve been fortunate to have a diverse group of people around me for as far back as I remember. Just recently, I was in a pub with three English people, a Mexican, a mixed-race Aussie, two Eurasians (Malaysian/German and Korean/Norwegian respectively) and a Frenchman. We were only missing a black one and a brown one to complete the colour set. (FYI that was a joke.)

I’m lucky because I’m surrounded by people who judge other human beings with filters and lenses that aren’t coloured primarily by race. That’s not to say we don’t assess people based on their race, it’s that we are aware of the various cliches and racial biases across the colour spectrum. This allows us to remove our perceptions from any inherent and obvious racial biases to be more objective. (I’m speaking with broad strokes here because there are clearly some that are better at this than others.)

The best way to find out whether someone really fits the stereotype is to ask them and just have a honest talk. I’m happy to talk to anyone and anytime about where I come from, my roots, culture and experiences. 

I’m hoping that I will have enough of these conversations with enough people to contribute towards a day where people will judge others based on the strength of their character and actions instead of a snap judgement based on the pigmentation of their skin.

However until that day comes, I am indeed yellow - but I am also so much more.

[podcake]

Podcasts & Structure

Every time I get around to sitting down and actually writing these articles, I have to seriously consider what I’m going to talk about. It seems the conversation of audio drama is becoming more widespread lately, oozing its way into mainstream media faster than I can keep track of. 

And so many are being made at such a rapid pace, catching up with it all can be its own challenge. A lot of people are starting to see the power and potential of audio plays and it’s a slow burn revolution I am a hundred percent behind. 

When I achieve my dreams of becoming a licensed journalist under that sweet, sweet trademark PodCake©, know that I’ll be somewhere in the front lines, keeping everyone up to the date and in the zone until I’m old and gray and still very, very pink.

So with this exciting idea in mind, I find it appropriate to do a somewhat different type of “Podcasts&”. This is still very much an article dabbling into my specific interests and experiences though also a guide of sorts to those who may be wrapped up in the creative hype. Allow me to pull you starry-eyed artists aside for some well-meaning advice. May you follow in the footsteps of your idols, though know you are above any of their common mistakes.

I had a few options in store to pick from when it came to another topic covering audio drama critique, though I felt that I wanted to address this first. This is another dabbling into the more specific structures of my podcast journalism and the consumption and creation of audio drama in general. 

In a similar vain to my latest article, “Podcasts & Critique”, I’ll be talking about something that perhaps not many are willing to discuss out in the open but is certainly touched upon enough that I feel the merits to bring it up in more depth. What we will be discussing today is the element of effective story structure.

Get comfortable, this is gonna be a long one. 

Let me start by saying that I adore and always will adore a nice, rich setting presented only through words. I adore lavishly designed dystopias and lively apocalyptic wastelands more than the next guy and the idea of a soothing, sweet voice cooing to us over a delicately designed world is a surefire way to ensure a fanbase. This is the popular set up known as The Newscaster or The Fake Radio Show or Handsome Male Character Headcannon Sitting in a Big Chair or whatever you want to call it. 

I enjoy this format namely for its simplicity and ability to relay information to the listener all while still characterizing the narrator as an active part of the world. Though these shows might be more episodic, to a degree, the ideas are still being connected by one single thread. It’s such a regular aspect of the podcast scene that it’s nothing short of being a style.

This style places a lot of emphasis on lore and quirks and memorable little moments that arrange themselves into a little audio scrapbook. We’re given this collection of information, all gorgeously described in luscious detail.

That’s why it’s such a shame how boring it can be at times. 

Don’t get me wrong here, my problem is not with interesting landscapes and rich lore, my problem is when a lot is being said but not enough is being done. 

I fell out of love with Welcome to Night Vale for this particular reason, this inconsistency with stakes and conflict that made any enjoyment to be found quickly tedious. Night Vale is and always will be a staple in the audio drama community, though it doesn’t mean we can’t learn from its mistakes that may go over our heads due to its excellent writing and characters only sometimes overshadowing it. 

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: an excellent audio drama is the sum of many parts and only succeeding in one area won’t always make the cut. But today’s topic is less about writing and more about narrative pacing…which is still kind of about writing but in a different way.

The central issue with these types of single narrator driven shows, being that we are being presented with a setting, problems, and characters who can solve that problem, but an effort is rarely ever made to get to a satisfying conclusion that is worth the wait. Of course, there actually being conflict to resolve can be its own and even more disappointing dilemma. 

A crowning example of this type of flaw occurred in what used to be  one of my favorite audio drama comedies, Kakos Industries. 

I promptly stopped listening to Kakos after a lackluster attempt at it’s first real arc after roughly fifty episodes of filler and build up that didn’t contribute much to whatever the arc was trying to get across. None of the past episodes helped create a central theme that the arc was meant to represent, making its conclusion lack any emotional stakes or a reason to get invested. 

The primary mood of the arc was all over the place with rapid character changes, unclear motivations, and a rushed explanation behind multiple episodes with little to no foreshadow to back it up. Furthermore this supposedly crucial ending didn’t tie into the continuation of season three beyond the absence of the past antagonist who was the center of the whole thing and the victim of a bloated backstory that needed way more than twenty minutes to be summarized.

No one changes from the whole ordeal, not even the protagonist who goes about his daily life as if none of it ever happened, and nobody and nothing is lost from the whole thing besides the character we already knew was bound to kick the bucket because it needed to end somehow. Generally, it does everything arc is not supposed to do as it doesn’t act as a changing phase for the story and doesn’t give us any vital information that will effect any of the characters long term.

The problem also lies in that there are a number of interesting subplots that emerged within the show’s canon as of season two: some more details about head rival  Melantha Murther that imply she may be older than she seems, the relationship she has with Corin Deeth I as well as his involvement with the company, and a theory about cloning being brought up to name a few, but we have yet to even gently nudge at these ideas yet for a good batch of episodes because we wouldn’t want all those penis jokes to go to waste.

This is content with potential to be interesting arcs on their own and functional ones as they key into new information about characters we’ve come to know and gives Kakos Industries the tension and mystery it desperately needs. 

These little bits and pieces of information can keep a listener engaged long enough to keep tuning in, but it can quickly become a chore to go back to something that seems to have been forgotten in exchange for repeated jokes and some new standalone characters that don’t really matter.

These might be in the footnotes of the creators for episode whenever, though to us they feel like throwaway lines pitched as bait more than anything of actual importance. They’re just there to be there.

And when the show peddles back to its roots of everyday shenanigans and jokes, the luster is lost, no matter how funny or well executed they might be. In the end, a lot of gimmicks and a lot of chatter with no real weight becomes nothing short of a series of filler episodes with no purpose. 

I understand that indifference and dissonant serenity is part of the Kakos Industries’ humor though it often comes at the cost of events not carrying any real weight because it’s already predetermined that it’s being treated like a joke or that things will be resolved and go back to status quo with minimal effort. It insists you don’t take it seriously even if the problem at hand would suggest otherwise. To anyone else listening, this makes the stakes nonexistent and the protagonist seem overqualified to handle any problem thrown at him, never giving him a chance to be vulnerable to the slightest misfortune. 

The same could be said for Welcome to Night Vale, a show with many compelling ideas and character drama though one that loves to meander and reestablish how strange and bizarre their world is on repeat instead of doing anything of actual substance, at least as far as season three is concerned. 

Night Vale has a much better grip on characters and conflict that Kakos Industries does, though it also suffers from some of the same problems. Night Vale also had arcs, one incredibly well done to the point it’s been considered a crowning moment of the series while another that wavered a bit too long and simply wasn’t intriguing enough to make a huge difference in the end besides being another case of the Put On the Bus trope. And when they concluded, we’re back to square one again.

Once again, we are given a lot of ripe material here: There’s instances of Cecil’s childhood that we must piece together, pretty much anything about Kevin is bound to be creepy and interesting, Carlos and his apparent involvement with a college university, and something about sleeper agents and traffic signs and blood space but I lost count.

The case here is almost as dire as this is something of a multiple choice scenario where there’s just piles and piles of plots being given to us but all of it feels for naught when something else is being added to the collection a second later.

The same way Kakos is so obsessed with its dark and sexy aesthetic to the point it under develops its characters and has an absence of stakes, Night Vale is the same with its surrealism and seems to pull the “it’s a weird show” card whenever something gets unresolved.

There comes a point where a show’s quirky nature can only be used for so long to avoid the big question about what it’s all in service of. If all the oddness has no meaning and the plots are just being pitched with no real agency, then they fail to provide the show with any real purpose.

The point of an arc ending is for another one to start later, namely by picking up leftover plot points from before or starting something else that still entwines with the story’s central lore. 

For a good example of how to manage an arc, I’d recommend Wolf 359 that has at least four in the duration of about forty episodes. I’d go into more detail about exactly what made the individual arcs in Wolf 359 work so well though that would lean heavily into spoiler territory and I wouldn’t want to ruin anything for those who haven’t listened to it yet. 

This too started as a sort of news caster from space format until it flourished into the characters offering their points of view on a scenario and developing as people as they are placed in tight spots. 

We learn more about who we’re dealing with, what is at stake, and grow invested because we never know which direction the events can take us. Wolf 359 has become so successful in its run because of the writer’s ability to admit something is amiss which gives the listeners something to anticipate rather than just tolerate. 

Listen here, I know that podcasts are all for entertainment’s sake and I will always respect that, but even something that is entertaining must have a hook-line-sinker mentality, as I like to call it:

The hook is the first impression: What made you want to listen in the first place? Did the general synopsis intrigue you? Maybe there was just an actor in the show that you really like. Simple. 

The line is the plot: This is the thing that makes you keep coming back for more. You’ve gotten comfortable with the story and its characters, you want to know as much as you can about the lore and the stakes. This is very much literally “a line” the audio drama is following and encourages you to keep up with.

The sinker is the payoff: This is where all the accumulated information you’ve gathered really matters-the climax. This is where we get the hidden motivations of characters, know about the dark secrets and figure out who the heroes and villains might be. We have a winner and a loser or at least some kind of ending, be it good or bad for the protagonists. 

Many podcasts are capable of the first two steps though tend to forget the third. And when we do forget to touch that oh-so crucial sense of conflict and resolution, it becomes the equivalent of a Breather Episode series. 

To those who don’t know, a Breather Episode is a common trope that is put into place to remind the audience that all of the past problems have concluded and we can once again revel in comedy and lighthearted fun.

I am a big fan of the this trope, it’s an implication that the past troubles of our protagonists have been dealt with and they can now relax, getting back to basics, but it’s getting back to the old grind that really matters.

We as listeners are a bit bloodthirsty, to say the least, constantly seeking out what new thing might be out to threaten the characters and disrupt their tranquility. Though in the character’s universe, and, to some extent, the writers, this is a pleasant period to soak in for a bit for just a little while. 

It is prone to overstay its welcome if the average episode is nothing to look forward to.  In short, if there’s nothing to hold on to, people will drop your story knowing it was of no loss to them.

A constant barrage of drama can be very overwhelming to the story’s ability to stay surprising and believable, so it’s good to have that even blend of “the bleeder and the breather”, as I’d like to call it, to keep things balanced. 

But Podcake, you might be saying. This is audio drama! Emphasis on audio. They’re just sounds! Why expect so much when we can’t get visual input?

And you have a point there metaphorical reader. I’m not saying every show needs this epic score, high budget, and groundbreaking editing, I actually encourage shows who rely on this minimalism to try even harder in the writing department. 

It is actually possible to have a consistent sense of tension even with limited sound effects and budget. 

A good example would be The Bright Sessions. The presentation is mostly contained in one room and only occasionally stepping outside of it to overhear conversations. Despite the format being mostly casual and calm, there is still a pressing sense of drama and conflict we keep coming back to. And when we do get “the breather” in between, it’s a welcome change until going right back to where we started.

This is because the show stands on its own two feet in the dialogue department to get their point across and let things flow naturally. No big pizzazz or flashiness, just saying what it needs to say.

And if you insist on the superb audio editing part of this, I’d say Hadron Gospel Hour is always an recommendation, as well as defining the even blend of episodic with tension combination. 

Gospel Hour is a sci-fi comedy with multiple unrelated cutaway gags and strange characters that have events in episodes that may not always be highly relevant to the next. But this has yet to cripple the storytelling since there are always connecting threads our protagonists go back to that develop their backstory or truly emphasize the dire circumstances they’ve been put in, something I’ve begun to notice in later episodes. 

And if you’re still concerned about arcs, The Once and Future Nerd has the decency to have well established and satisfying beginnings, middles, and ends to each chapter. They have a wide and vast world to explore and take any opportunities they can to remind you of the fantastical yet still dangerous and grisly setting.  

And maybe you’re really stuck on the newscaster format. Fine, I like those shows too. From here I’d highly encourage The Bridge: a show with a rather complex world, decently sized cast, and a steady increase in drama that isn’t afraid to step back from the main character’s perspective to tell a complete story.

Sorry to name drop so much in this particular document, though this is a narrative problem I’ve seen so often and so poorly I want to save anyone attempting this style from the same shortcomings. If you enjoy these shows for that exact reason, that is completely fine, though don’t be afraid to ask for something more genuine than just empty world building. 

A good story is what you make of it but a memorable story can be much more. 

[colmenerodwyane96]

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[tessatechaitea]

Nightwing #8

"Nightwing" looks like a verb that is probably a pretty raunchy sex act. "I'm nightwing your mom right now because we nightwed last week and she was totally into it."

Last issue, Raptor tried to convince Dick that he was Dick's dad because it's always a laugh riot convincing your friends you've banged their mother. But then Raptor also decided it would be a good idea to kidnap Bruce Wayne for some reason. I think it had to do with branding. Branding is not a superhero name. Dick decides to start this issue by having a vague memory of one night when his mom and dad were up late talking about some strange guy bothering his mother. He had two attributes that made Nightwing's dad uncomfortable: his eyes and his...okay, it was just his eyes! I meant both of his eyes. The two of them! I totally wasn't going to say his penis because I'm maturing. It's 2017 and Donald Trump is about to be president. The time for dick jokes is long over and, possibly, took us down this road.

That must have been one uncomfortable cavity search. Although I'm sure Bruce could handle it. He probably had a miniature Batcycle crammed up there.

Raptor is upset with how Batman and Bruce Wayne fight crime. He's more upset that he took a Romani child and turned him into another rich white douchebag who battles street crime instead of helping destroy poverty and racism and other probably important stuff. The kind of stuff I can't be arsed to care about because, individually, I'm doing okay. But when I stop doing okay, you better believe I'll be out there trying to convince people to care about my issues! I'll be all, "I totally cared about your issues back then! Just don't read my commentary on Nightwing #8 and if you do, remember that I'm a largely facetious person who never really expresses perfect truths! I'm complicated!" Maybe I shouldn't even mention this review if I don't want people to read it because asking them not to read it will probably make them curious and then they'll read it! What jerks!

Raptor had better hope he found Bruce's microphone which broadcasts constantly to Alfred just in case a bad guy decides to monologue his plans (which is nearly every case). I won't say where the microphone is hidden but it involves gauging.

People who believe in the Stock Market as some sort of entity that creates wealth will still acknowledge that certain press drives stock prices up and down. Yet the people who listen to experts about the Stock Market never question how that's a thing if stocks are supposed to be representative of a company's profit and prosperity. They're not. Prices are representative of how popular a stock is and whether people think it's worth holding onto for a little longer because people are still buying it. But give some bad press about a company and watch the stock drop. Not because the press affects the profitability of the business. It simply damages its reputation which makes people fear other people will sell the stock so they sell the stock in fear that the price will drop and then the price drops because everybody starts selling. Analysts point to these things and call them anomalies or bubbles or blips and that they're not part of the actual system. The system, they say, is that prices generally go up and money keeps getting created and everybody eventually has a retirement fund. But the truth is that if no new buyers entered the Stock Market, it would cease to function profitably. The Stock Market does not generate money. It does not grow cash. Just like a pyramid scheme, it needs money coming in for those already in it to make money. Yes, yes. There are things called dividends which companies pay out to shareholders when the company makes a profit. Those are totally different and probably the way every stock should work. If I'm investing money into your stupid company, I should get more of a return than the hope that later somebody will want to buy the stupid piece of paper with the Gold Star I received for giving the company my cash. Of course, it's probably more like I gave the five thousandth owner of that piece of paper money, like a comic book sold across many buyers, long since in the hands of the original owner. But at least I can read a fucking comic book. I have this Stock Market rant once or twice a year and nobody has ever been able to explain to me how I'm wrong and the Stock Market actually does work in the way that analysts will tell you it works (mostly because analysts have lots of money in it and they want to keep perpetuating the system until they can cash out). I'll stop when somebody explains it to me in a way that doesn't make it out to be a scam instead of the answer I usually get which is "I'm sure it doesn't work like that at all." Nightwing arrives to save the day! Except that Raptor isn't done with his rant against capitalism. Or whatever he's on about. I know he's really into branding so he can't be totally against capitalism. That's where branding really shines! Raptor also begins going on and on about their man-suits. He's totally lost me but I think it's just making me like him even more. He's become mysterious and unrelatable! Just the kind of person I love to fuck! Raptor explains to Dick how he came down with leprosy and was driven out of the circus. But Dick's mom eventually came to him and offered compassion and thrills. Not those kinds of thrills! At least not yet. No, she and Raptor became the Robin Hoods of Paris, stealing from the rich and elite and giving back to the Romani and themselves.

I think Marie would just be glad that Dick was safe and well-protected and, eventually, happy.

It's easy to attack Bruce Wayne because he's rich and constantly gets richer. But what should he do? Give away all of his money so that he can't help in whatever ways he helps? I'm not sure what those ways are because it just seems like he's using his money to constantly make more money. But then "Bruce Wayne's Charitable Contributions to Gotham and Beyond" is kind of a boring title for a comic book. After getting beat up and lectured, Nightwing smiles. That's the point Raptor loses because everybody knows Nightwing has it all figured out and when he smiles, he's about to explain it all as he kicks ass. This time, Dick is all, "You're just like Bruce, you idiot!" And Raptor is all, "What? NO! I'm melting!" But then he remembers his trap and he's all, "Bruce is dead!" And Dick is all, "Bruce has been free for like five minutes and now he's standing right behind you!" And then Bruce smiles which means bones will be breaking. Also, I'm not sure any of that happens after and including the "I'm melting!" part because I got ahead of myself as I was typing and haven't gone back to the comic book.

I like that Dick says this because I don't think it can be said enough. It's my favorite reason (and maybe the only one) that allows for Batman's use of young sidekicks. They've always existed to save Batman even if, as they're doing it, Bruce Wayne seems to be saving them as well.

Dick does some of that Batman justice Raptor hates which means he breaks the arm and leg of Raptor to incapacitate him. Then he goes up to save Bruce who has basically already saved himself but Bruce allows Nightwing his moment and pretends to almost fall to his death. Later, Tiger arrives to take Raptor into Spyral custody. He makes sure to tell Bruce Wayne that he doesn't know he's Batman at all and will keep it that way.

See?! I never would have thought Bruce was the type of dad to lose games to his kids on purpose. Sucker!

The Ranking! +1! I'm sad that Raptor didn't get to become a friend and mentor to Nightwing. I suppose Nightwing already has enough friends who are also kind of enemies. There's probably a word for that. Anyway, at least he'll be back. The main reason superheroes don't kill is because fans want to see the bad guys return over and over again. Who reads Batman for Batman? It's all about Joker and Catwoman, really! But not Penguin. Fuck Penguin.