#i have normal paper for them. But i want them to be shiny silky smooth

[i-am-a-fan]

And if you look to your right you can see me try and make stickers and keychains drafts

[debu-neko-kun]

Amon

https://www.deviantart.com/whiteknucklewhiskey/art/Amon-the-Jailor-825780217 Wrote a thing for https://www.deviantart.com/whiteknucklewhiskey of his General/master interrogator/bemuscled squishy Amon, who can be viewed at the link at the top. He’s a really neat character with a very interesting fantasy/sci-fi world going on around him, and it was a blast writing this. Thank you for the opportunity to depict him this way :3 A bit darker than normal (a little warning there for the folks just here for the softs), but a nice challenge nonetheless. Content below  includes descriptions of chonk, brief violence, and a dash of dourness.

“General ger Reizenghest: step forward.” The voice of The Leader echoed through the lengthy room, smooth but strong, deep but biting; it reminded Amon of the stones on the shelled-out volcanic beaches near the primary front. He did as he was told, the floor of the private meeting room creaking beneath his boot steps, a thin layer of perspiration plain on the bulge of his thick neck. ”Two successful captures conducted in the last 24 hours, sir.” he began, instinctively squeezing one hand into a tight fist, the silver-beaded necklace in his grip making a soft *crk* against the polished leather of his glove. “One expired today at 0600, following interrogation. The other-” “You didn’t *fall* on him, did you?” the Leader spoke, the corner of his lip curling ever so slightly into a semi-bemused smile. The others in the room— medal-clad captains, the hulking Surgeon, svelte assassins— remained unerringly stone-faced. “…No, sir.” He replied, feeling that void rising up in his flabby stomach like antimatter. A whisper of a whisper, echoing back and forth through his core, growing in intensity. Amon swallowed it down, his collar suddenly choking, and continued on, “Exsanguination. The information he released will be tested by a reconnaissance team. The second prisoner will be interrogated upon the termination of this meeting today.” “Very well. Send me the results as soon as they are ascertained… oh, and Amon?” “Yes, sir?” “Cut back on the sweets, will you? You’ve set the standard for unwavering dedication to this country, but that compulsion of yours… unsightly. Do better.” The void was in his throat now, choking him like a stone. “Yes, sir.”

The train ride to the prison was his second favorite part of the day. It gave him a chance to rest, collect himself, remove these goddamn tight boots… and most importantly, have lunch before the real work began. A short, boyish waiter did his best to maneuver two meal carts into the spacious train car, sweet and savory scents carried through with him. “Your meal, General. Should I call you General? Oh, dear, I never remember…” Amon took a draw from his cigarette, blowing the acrid puff in a smooth stream across the train car, and put it out in an ashtray by the window. He never looked at the waiter, too busy at a low table, plotting pins on a map centered between stacks of papers all stamped “Confidential”. “Leave the carts.” he ordered, pointing back at the connecting door. “I’ll ring you if I need more.” “I-I, uhm-” the waiter stammered, a bit taken aback by the sudden request. He set two platters back down and bowed, quickly shuffling back to the door. Before he left, however, he turned back and mousily chirped, “You’re looking very fine today, General. I hope you enjoy your meal.” And with that, Amon was left alone. He took in a deep breath, reached down, and undid the large round belt buckle on his front. Instantly, it practically burst out of his grip as his belly spilled forward unfettered like a fat sack jelly, soft and supple rolls of flesh surging into his lap. The polished leather of his waistcoat creaked with the strain of holding it all in, equally shiny pants doing the same. He felt both lucky and cursed that his uniform was primarily leather; lucky that it was sturdy and a bit stylish, cursed that it hugged the twin globes of his vast ass and squeezed his blubbery belly into one great obsidian ball. Sure, his back was covered by the tail of his coat, and his chest was partially disguised by the multiple layers of his upper uniform, but his gut… it bulged out for the world to see, squished around belts and buckles and pushed the zipper of his jacket up. It was unavoidable, but at least it made him seem more imposing… at least, he hoped. The bulging muscles of his arms didn’t hurt in that aspect, anyway, though even they seemed to have a tinge of broad softness about them these days. None of this was of any concern right now, however. The only concern he had, he thought, pulling the lid off one of the covered trays next to him and bringing the dish to the top of his belly… …was how flaky the butter cake was today. The rest of the ride was spent with little else but the savoring of fine flavors, each dish as decadent as the last. Silky ganache truffles were plucked from polished trays, their intricate chocolate patterns appreciated only momentarily before being sent down to his hungry belly. Latticed pies with dustings of freshly cultivated sugar were consumed with little fanfare while he perused the marks on the map ahead of him, mind split among rich flavors and front lines, travel routes and creme fillings. He only brought his attention fully back to the food when the sky outside vanished; the neon glow of the low-energy tunnel lights filled the cabin with an unearthly atmosphere and bathed the map in shadows. “Ah well,” he sighed, taking a bite of eclair. “For the best.” He’d need to build up his energy for when he reached the prison, he reasoned. Interrogations always left him a bit tired, after all, and he had plans for the night beyond. And what better source of energy than a hearty breakfast and a quiet moment? So, with one hand on his half-packed gut, he leaned back, finished the eclair, and declared it time to move onto the main course.

Amon was waiting by the door when the train pulled into the station. He adjusted his vest— feeling twice as tight as before the trip— and straightened his collar in the reflection of the door windows. Satisfied with his appearance, he drew a cigarette from his chest pouch and lit it, the orange glow from the lighter mingling with the red light of the security checkpoint. He loved the way the colors mingled; if only they’d let him add some of that color to his uniform. Sure, he was allowed a bit of red here and there, and his medals offered a patch of vibrancy against the black, but he wanted something that was really *him*. He made a mental note to get with his tailor tomorrow. The doors slid open in front of him, the train car rocking ever-so-slightly as he stepped onto the platform. Just as he did, four soldiers rushed up to him, each clad in the same drab uniform: white shirt, black tie, black pants, all wrapped up in a militant black trench coat. They regarded him with hesitation, or what seemed to be hesitation; it was a little hard to tell how they were feeling, as every common soldier had their head wrapped in featureless black fabric. “Well?” he huffed, glancing around at each of them. They each turned their heads to eachother, shuffling gently. “Clear me, you goddamn fools, and open the gate!” he snapped, growling out at them with fists clenched at his sides. The all jumped simultaneously, two rushing to his wide sides to give him a once-over scan. They had to spiral around him to capture the full breadth of his form, something that frustrated him every time. “Quickly.” Amon spat, venom seething from between clenched teeth. The two by his sides gave thumbs-up signs to the other two soldiers waiting on either side of the large subterranean entrance to the prison, who each pressed buttons in their respective booths. The screen above the huge gate flashed a green checkmark, followed by a scrolling “Welcome, General!” in the swirling text of his native tongue. He left them with darting glares, but they didn’t seem too bothered; they just regarded him with salutes as he passed into the corridor beyond, the large iron doors grinding back together behind him. A cold wind wrapped around his wide body, a welcome comfort on the long walk through the halls beyond guard offices, captain’s quarters, bunk rooms and resting areas. By the time he reached the elevator, his feet already ached and he had to rest against the wall of the elevator to catch his breath. He’d said it before, and he’d say it again: the interrogation room was much too far from the entrance. Why bury it so deeply? They were already deep beneath the earth, and nobody’s ever screamed loud enough to be heard through a mountain. “It’s good for you,” The Leader had once said after he proposed a relocation of his working space. “Perhaps if you walk it long enough, you’ll lose that gut.” Only after a long grumpy silence had he said he’d think about it, and the work order was sent out only to be lost between the wall and filing cabinet belonging to an overworked desk boy. The elevator doors opened at the bottom level, beneath even the normal prison cells. The hallway was well lit, cobbled floors glistening gently from the daily mopping, disinfectant strong in the air. Amon walked slowly to the door at the end of the hall, boot-steps reverberating strong and brief along the walls. He produced a key, twisted it in the lock; he’d always insisted on the old-fashioned nature of the interrogation quarters, down to the heavy wooden door and candelabras. It almost made the spacious room feel displaced from time. A place plucked out, made solely for pain. The prisoner was waiting for him beneath a swarm of hanging chains that clinked gently above. He looked strong, all bulging muscles and squared features. He had a cloth wrapped around his eyes, and shackles on his hands and feet, holding him fast against the uncomfortable wooden chair. “Come to kill me?” the prisoner asked, leaning his head back. “Not if you talk.” Amon breathed, placing his coat on the hook by the door. He rolled up his shirt sleeves, contemplated taking his gloves off for this one. “Then you’re just gonna have to kill me, ‘cause I’m not feeling chatty today. Say, you mind taking this blindfold off, though? I prefer to look death in the face.” Amon said nothing, just wandered slowly behind him to untie the bow of his blindfold. And just as slowly, hands behind his back, he stepped out in front of him. “Aw shit.” the prisoner gulped, suddenly presented with the hulking jailor. Eyes darted across the glaring, blue-eyed visage above him, from the devilish inverted red pyramid on his lower lip to the bullish golden ring in his nose to the high cheek bones that gave his face a snake-like sharpness. Amon could see his stomach collapse, the air— and courage— rushing right out of him. “W-Well,” he gulped, trying to regain his composure. “Aren’t you a pretty one.” Amon swiped him across the cheek with his fist, shallow enough to just graze his teeth. He needed him to talk, after all. “Enough.” Amon barked, leaning in close. “Battle details only. Give me something useful.” The prisoner clenched his eyes shut, wincing away the pain. “Fuck, okay,” he said through clenched teeth. “Details…” Amon grabbed him by the jaw, squeezing his face painfully. “Now.” “Okay, here’s one: it feels like a marshmallow.” Amon’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Your gut, on my knee, feels like a fat, warm, squishy goddamn marshmallow. How’s that for details?” The grip held a moment, tightening ever so slowly around his jaw. And then, Amon released, turning to take slow steps toward a polished wooden cupboard just beyond the sight of the prisoner. “What’s the matter? Can’t take the truth?” the prisoner laughed, throwing his head back. “Thinking.” Amon pulled the cupboard open. On one side, a tidy row of records shelved just above a little boxy record player he’d received from his mother for his birthday. “What?” Slowly, he pulled open the other door, mind still wondering what to listen to after he was done, what could possibly wash away what he was about to do. Behind this door, similarly tidy, were a number of instruments; whips, surgical instruments, knuckle dusters wide enough for his generous hands. Strong but soft hands moved across the tools, fingertips ghosting past metal and wood and stone. He stopped when he reached a simple iron-core baton, the surface painted with a thin layer of protective rubber. Not for safety, of course. “Thinking,” he repeated, wrapping his hand around the baton, glove creaking with the force. “Of how I’m going to hurt you.”

[jamlally]

The guy with the gifts

This was written for the 25 days of Christmas Challenge that is hosted by  @panicfob .  The Day 24 Challenge prompt was Santa Clause 

Warnings: Fluff, some sext times and a little role-play

Pairing:  Tony Stark x OFC (Belle Porter)

Summary: Santa always delivers gifts to good little boys and girls

Belle was nervous.  Well actually truth be told she had left nervous behind a long time ago Then she had taken a trip through anxiety, ridden along side panic and now she was just plain exhausted.    It was Christmas Eve, there were plans afoot to spend time with the rest of the team and start the Christmas Celebrations early, though Steve had asked that the rest of the team be available for lots of group activity tomorrow, so could they please not overdo it.

 She was all set with gifts for everyone and she was excited to give them all out, other than the one she had for Tony.  Picking a gift for the man who had everything he could ever want was a tricky prospect.  She knew that some of the others had gone for donations to organizations in his name and others had gone for k=joke gifts, but none of those had sat well with her.

She had spent a few months going over options and browsing the web to come up with ideas, but eventually she had come up with a plan. First she had spent her time finding just the right journal, one bound in a dark red leather, hand stitched and tooled , the front lettering painted in gold.  The pages had been made with a smooth silky paper that had a buttery color and felt beautiful under her fingers.  That had been the relatively easy part all things considered.  The second phase had required some help from FRIDAY.

The AI had been remarkably helpful and had assured her that she would not let Tony know anything about her current plan.  Belle had never been one to ask for favors for people but when she explained what she needed and why then in general people had been fairly willing to help.  She knew that she would need to speak to the rest of the team and get them involved but they were also terrible gossips, so she went to Bruce, the one member of the team who would be most subtle and probably wouldn’t say anything.  He had helped her securing clipping and other information that she needed and even knew about some people who would in his words, love to help.  He had even taken the time to work with her on timelines and getting everything put together and brought Rhodey into the tower to add his thoughts and he even went and got what she needed from the others.

The thing was, it was a gift that she wanted to give him in private away from the eyes of the others.  There was a chance that he might not react well to a gift, both the receiving of and the contents. She had spent tome trying to think of fun ways to give him the gift and had decided that traditional might be best. She had bought a Mrs Clause outfit and paired it with some of her sexier underwear.  If he really hated it then there was a chance that she would be able to distract him. 

She had worked through the various options for giving him the gift and decided that setting it on the table would be best.  She had lit some candles, and poured him a drink and pulled up one of the larger arm chairs where she could have him sit in and she had even prepared a light supper for them that was ready to be warmed.  FRIDAY was going to alert her when Tony had finished his last meeting and was heading up.  Now she just had to hope that there wouldn’t be some kind of emergency

“Hi honey I’m home”. Tonys voice rang through the apartment “You know I am pretty sure that we paid the electricity bill and that we can afford to run the …..Oh why hello Mrs Clause. Fancy seeing you here,  this is an unexpected surprise”

Belle looked up through her eyelashes somewhat coyly as she watch Tony stride into the living room, his eyes becoming focused on her and scanning up and down her skimpy outfit, his eyes lingering a little on the shiny black high heals she wore.

“If I tell you I’ve been a very good boy will I get my gift?”

Belle tried to make her walk at least a little sultry as she picked up the tumbler of scotch holding out her hand for Tony to take

“I’m not sure if you’ve been good enough to receive a gift this year.  Are you sure you’re worthy”

Tony’s hand was warm in hers as she pulled him closer holding the glass to his lips so he could take a sip.

“Oh I am very sure that I’ve been good enough” he nodded his head and wiggled his eyebrows.  Belle took her own sip of the drink to help steady her nerves before she stated to lead him over to the chair

“Oh we are doing this on a chair.  Well you’re in charge Mrs C, though I am not sure Mr C will be all that happy with your choices”. 

Belle looked over her shoulder glancing at Tony who had his eyes firmly fixed on her ass 

“Oh don’t you worry I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be right now, and no one can tell me any different”

Tony was quick to settle into the arm chair, slumped down a little, legs splayed and arms resting along those of the chair.  Belle stood herself between his knees, her hands resting gently on his knees, the glass of scotch placed between his legs as she leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his lips, before moving to wipe  her lipstick from his lips.  Tony’s tongue brushed against her thumb as it passed over his lips and Belle let out a shuddering breath

“Now why don’t you tell me about what you would like for Christmas” she played along, picking up the glass before sitting herself on his knee sideways.

“I thought I was supposed to sit on your knee Mrs C, but I’ve got to say I like this a bit better”.

Belle smiled a little seeing that his gaze was still fixed on her cleavage “I thought that you had been a good boy this year but you seem to a little distracted.  How am I supposed to make sure you get the appropriate gift if you can’t even discuss it with me”

Tony raised his eyes to hers pausing to watch her take another sip of the scotch before she tended it out to him.  He let one arm fall around her waist as he reached for the glass with the other, taking his own deep pull of the amber liquid

“Well you see Mrs C. I’m not all that much for Christmas gifts normally, but then again I’ve never received a gift like this before.  I am very very sure that I’ve behaved well enough for this”

Belle’s heart jumped at his admission that he didn’t like gifts.  Maybe she should just hide the gift away, his attention had been fixed on her so he hadn’t yet noticed it and the evening could be saved.  She glanced over at it wondering what she could to do distract him so that she could get it out the room.

Tony felt Belle tense as she sat on his lap.  He wondered for a moment if he had gone to far with his teasing.  She was usually pretty relaxed with him, but she had seemed a little off since he came in.  Perhaps it was the dressing up?  He caught her eyes glancing to the table and tilted his head slightly to see what she was looking at and then felt himself freeze for just a moment when he saw the decorated box on the table. 

“Well….I…I would guess that the right thing to do would be to believe you. After all good boys wouldn’t lie to Santa”

She could feel the moment he saw the present.  There was no way to get around it now.  Slipping from his knee she moved to the table sliding the box slightly towards him 

“I know how you feel about gifts, but I was hoping that you would make a small exception this year,  This,” she gestured to the box her hand shaking slightly, “is just the first part,  We have dinner and after dinner activities too” Dropping her hand shown she wiped it against her short skirt to get rid of the sweat that was forming here 

“I..” Tony’s voice wavered “I am not fully versed on Christmas protocol, but I think that um”. He ran his hand through his hair leaving it a little disheveled before draining the glass “I think that the correct protocol is that Mr and Mrs C have to hand the gift directly to the recipient”. He placed the glass on the side table, pushing himself upright before smoothing down his pant legs.  He squared his shoulders and tried to give what would be seen as a genuine smile, as he squared his shoulders.  He had faced down enemy aliens, he could deal with a Christmas gift from the woman he loved.

Belle bent and picked up the box before handing it over, resting it on Tonys lap before leaning in to kiss his cheek.  “Merry Christmas Tony”

She stepped back and turned to head into the kitchen and set the supper to warm.  She could hear him moving the box but she didn’t have the confidence to watch his face as he opened the gift. Being in the kitchen meant that she missed his gasp of surprise and the way that his hands shook as he lifted the hand made book.  She didn’t see his smile as he read the dedication, or the tears that formed when he saw the other hand written notes, photos and memories that friends and collages had added to make up the book of his life.  Somehow she had even found a way to get Fury to write something nice about him.  He turned each page gently, touched so deeply at the gift that he didn’t ever remember feeling so blessed.  

Turning towards the back he could see that the last quarter of the book didn’t look as full, in fact the pages were empty except for a note.  His fingers ran over the words as the tears he had been fighting finally fell 

I hope that you can see that you have changed the lives of so many people in so many wonderful ways, you are a good man Tony Stark, better I think than anyone I’ve ever known.  I could have filled this book a hundred times over with ore stories, but these pages are for the future.  Now we write the rest of the story with the knowledge of who we were guiding to to be who we want to be

Closing the book over, he gently rested it back in the box, wiped off his face and headed to the kitchen

Warm arms wrapped around Belle’s waist and soft, dry lips brushed against the shell of her ear.  “I don’t think I have ever been given anything as precious as you.  The gift, it’s like I get to look into your heart and it is a truly beautiful view.  I don’t know how yo managed to make this but it it is truly the most spectacular gift I have ever received “

Belle felt her body relax at his words, the tension flowing from her body. She dropped her hands to rest on his around her waist and leant her head back onto his shoulder

“I just wanted you to see what everyone else sees in you.  You’ve meant so much to so many people, touched so many lives, I just wanted you to see that you are a good man”

“i don’t know that I’ll ever see what you do, but I am grateful, for you and all you bring to my life Snowflake”. They stood there for a moment in silence just being in the moment.  

“So Mrs C - you promised me a three part gift, I’m hoping that finding what is under this is part two”. His finders toyed with the belt that was keeping the outfit closed. 

“First we eat.  I’ve made your favorites, can you pour us each a glass of wine while I plate up”.

Tony moved to do as she asked watching as she pulled items from the oven and fridge as carefully placed everything.  He felt the smile rise on his face.  He could not help but think that this end the best Christmas that he had ever experienced  

[princessyennenga]

The Hand That Rocks the Cradles

Barry and Iris had gotten used to having weekends and Monday mornings at the loft to themselves. Lazy hours spent canoodling under the duvet. Meandering over coffee and holding hands on the couch. Kissing in the kitchen that turned into ravenous makeout sessions, that went full circle to making love upstairs under the duvet.

Nora had fallen into a routine of returning to the loft on Tuesday evenings with her duffel bag for the week, after spending Saturday through Monday nights at Joe and Cecile’s lending a hand with Jenna. But that particular Tuesday morning, the were almost caught unawares. Iris was straddling Barry, who was laid back on the pillows, his knees up and feet flat on the bed, making a backrest for Iris.

“You sure you want to spend early Tuesday morning at some new hospital opening instead of … here with me?” Barry pouted, a tactic that normally wouldn’t work so easily on Iris, except this time his thick brown hair was tousled around his face, still flush with an afterglow.

“I am sure I’d rather spend my morning here with you, Barry,” Iris said, leaning over for a quick kiss. And then another. “But we have jobs to get to. The Central City Citizen won’t write itself!”

Iris mustered ambition, willpower, strength -- it took all of it -- to hop off of Barry and turn toward the bathroom. But in one smooth motion he tugged her back a little, his hand finding a favorite spot on her thigh.

“Hey, no fair, speedster,” she chided, trying to slip away. “I need a good hour to get ready! Starting with a shower.”

Barry paused, understanding Iris’ plight. Then he made her bargain. If she let him follow her into the shower, he’d flashtime them so that she wouldn’t be late.

So it was while enveloped in a swirl of steaming streams of water, a peppermint shower gel lather and Barry’s speed aura that they missed the early knock at the door. The jingle of keys in the lock. The call of ‘Mom? Dad?’ as Nora began to clatter around the kitchen, starting a fresh pot of coffee. But they didn’t miss the aroma of a fresh brew wafting up, or Nora’s footfalls on the steps. For someone so petite, she didn’t always walk softly.

Barry’s eyes widened at the signs that their daughter was on the first landing of the stairs leading to their bedroom. Speeding around their illuminated bathroom, Barry managed to stuff Iris into a fluffy terri-cloth bathrobe, pile her springy wet curls up high on her head and twist them into an old T-shirt, and then dive back into his shorts under the duvet.

Iris’ husband had gotten beyond speeding away whenever a member of the S.T.A.R. Labs team, Cecile or even Joe walked in on them kissing. But the truth, which Iris hadn’t confessed to Barry yet, was that she had become a little grateful that he never let Nora catch them mid-coitus.

Barry’s whoosh and flashes of light had settled down before Nora reached the top of the stairs and approached their bedroom door. Then came the soft knock.

“Mom?”

Iris came to the door after a couple of moments, glancing at Barry who had turned his back to the door. She caught a glimpse of rare exasperation on his face.

“Hey, morning Nora,” Iris patted the t-shirt around her freshly co-washed curls. “What’s up? I thought you were going to see your Dad at CCPD this morning?”

“Yeah, that’s still the plan, but …” Nora leaned past Iris to get a glimpse of Barry. “It’s Jenna.”

“What? What’s wrong with Jenna? Is she sick?” Barry turned around and sat up, chorusing with Iris. He flashed in and out of the bathroom, fully dressed in jeans and his favorite blue pullover sweater.

“No, no. It’s not like that,” Nora patted the air with her hands, appeasing her parents. Iris was searching for her phone to call Joe and Cecile while Barry was hopping into his socks. “She’s fine. A little fussy when I was at the park with her yesterday. But … maybe I could fill you in when we have lunch later?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Iris assured, with Barry now standing behind her. “We still have lunch plans. Of course, we don’t have a briefing today at STAR Labs, so I’ll be in midtown --”

“At the hospital,” Nora pointed. “Right. So I’ll see you then. Sorry for the early morning. I just didn’t want you to get so caught up in covering Central City that you might forget.”

“Not a chance,” Iris smiled. “But I do have to finish getting ready, and typical for this family, I’m the last one.”

Nora launched into a rambling apology, which she shortened by scooting, not speeding, down the stairs and waiting for her parents in the kitchen.

Central City Memorial Hospital was always intended to be a small community hospital designed to serve the local neighborhoods of the northeast precincts. But two years ago a group of investors bought out the hospital and began transforming it into “a fully staffed and state-of-the-art equipped city hospital specializing in delivering care to children.”

A shiny new children's hospital. All paid for by visionary investors and generous donors. It all sounded great, but the group’s generosity came on hard terms. On Tuesday morning it took Iris thirty extra minutes to navigate her car around the construction barriers and temporary traffic markers around the new Tenson-Merkel Children's Medical Center. She got to the hospital’s new glass and steel pavilion lobby with just five minutes to spare for the start of the open house program.

Normally, it would have been simple to take Barry up on his offer to run her there. Years of field CSI work and acting as the city’s guardian had taught Barry which alleyways, mass transit stations and side streets were safe terminuses to leave his wife. He would run her to within two blocks of her destination, and let her walk the rest of the way among other pedestrians.

But not this morning. One week before Christmas, when the streets were frenzied with tourists and shoppers, construction necessitated rerouting traffic around the new hospital wing, affecting the east and west sides of the block. Since spring 2017 this had been going on, almost doubling rush hour drive times and choking local streets with irritated drivers attempting shortcuts. So Iris thought twice, three times, in fact, about Barry whooshing her to a 9:30 a.m. press conference, in the teeth of rush hour when sidewalks would be crowded with pedestrians and commuters. She wouldn’t chance it, even if it meant cocooning inside Barry’s aura with his signature lightning crackling around that barrier.

While listening to the formal presentation while scanning the room looking for important people to get quotes from for her story. After the remarks, a guide began walking the group of journalists, donors, hospital staff and other invitees through the newly constructed wing. The space was brightly lit and decorated in a train station motif. A trolley ran along a track that followed a route through the first floor and pop music piped softly through the sound system.

She was busy scribbling a few notes when she felt the air around her shift and heard someone breathe over her head. It must have been someone taller. His scent was familiar, too. Not cologne or aftershave, and not Barry’s favorite soap, but … the light organic scent of a beard care tonic that her father sometimes used. Iris turned in the direction of the aroma and found herself facing Scott Evans, editor-in-chief of the Central City Picture News.

“Hey, stranger!” Scott bent toward Iris and extended a hand. Iris took it, and he immediately closed his long, warm fingers around hers, bobbing their joined hands together. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Iris repressed a sigh and simply flashed a bright smile.

“I mean, why wouldn’t I be here?” not wanting to talk over the tour guide or betray her mixed emotions about Scott Evans. “Even ‘citizen journalists’ as you always phrase it, have audiences who want to understand what’s going on in their city.”

Scott adjusted his blazer around his shoulders with a shrug.

“You know, even much larger Web sites run by digital media companies -- Vice, Mic.com -- even their business are going through rough patches,” he said. “Someone with your talents should just accept that offer at a larger, reputable and profitable paper where she can build on the potential for a career legacy. Instead of chasing followers, likes and shares.”

Scott’s appraisal of Iris’ work at Central City Citizen disrupted her note-taking and almost made her bump into a hospital staffer who had walked by.

“Likes and shares are certainly not the only impact our stories have --”

“Oh, you’re an our, now?” Scott’s voice arched, and he leaned back slightly, blinking hard. “Oh yeah. I forgot about the ‘Smart Brown Girls’ podcasts. You and Julie Greer.”

Iris could have pointed out that Central City Citizens’ readership was loyal, growing and already digital -- an area that the Picture News was struggling to master effectively. But she didn’t have the energy for another near-argument with Scott Evans.

“Scott, journalists are much more than just writers these days,” she said, standing on her toes slightly to ensure that she could still see the tour guide. “They are -- they have to be -- comprehensive storytellers who can deliver in whatever medium their audience demands. That’s me. I move with the flow and I’ll guarantee you this -” she pointed the edge of her notebook at his chest “I won’t ever have to worry about where my next byline is coming from or hang all my value on one gig. I’ll always have a platform.”

And then she turned and marched away from Scott so hard and fast that a lock of her silky Black hair slapped his face, forcing him to lean back and blink away his disbelief.

[beantobar-blog1]

Making bean to bar chocolate at home: Batch #2

I woke up this morning desperate to get another batch on, partially motivated by not wanting to clean the grinder between batches (although you can wrap it up in a plastic bag and melt the chocolate gently with a hairdryer before using again soon).

Step 1 - ROASTING

I weighed out 1100g (2.4lb) of beans and tried a different roasting technique:

190C (375F) for 5 minutes, stir 175C (350F) for 5 minutes, stir 160C (320F) for 5 minutes, stir 150C (300F) for 5 minutes

I was tempted to roast them in batches on a tray, a bit more spread out, but decided to save that experiment for another day and stuck with my cast iron pot.

I could smell the aroma of brownies after the 20 minutes were up, so tipped them onto a tray to cool. I tasted a couple of beans and they're a subtly darker roast than the previous batch.

Step 2 - CRACKING & WINNOWING

Batch #1 had 7 hours conching to go when my beans were ready. That sounds like a long time to prep a small batch of beans, but after yesterday’s dark-night-of-the-soul winnowing experience, I thought I’d better get cracking (and blowing) fairly sharpish.

I tried using a wine bottle as a rolling pin to crack the beans, but went back to my rubber mallet method. It gave me more control, so I could gently whack each bean, almost individually, to avoid over-pulverising or missing lots of beans.

They ended up in much bigger chunks than my first powdery attempt.

I bashed the beans in 3 batches, adding back in all the big chunks and whole beans I’d missed.

Then I gently blew the husks off with the cool hairdryer and was left with a bowlful of nibs, not too many shells, but a fair few bigger chunks with shells still on to pick out. 

The more I take my time with cracking and winnowing, the quicker the overall process. Trying to rush through just results in more husks, more waste, more hand-peeling and winnow-rage. Working slowly, gently and meticulously got the job done in half the time today.

Still, I spent over an hour picking out the bigger chunks and peeling them by hand. I ended up with 775g (1.7lb) of nibs, only 25g (just under 1oz) less than my target 80:20 nib to husk ratio.

My kingdom for a winnowing machine. They’re pricey (£1,000+), so I’m starting to hatch plans for a home made one. Robert is enthusiastic about making machinery and has already sourced a cocoa mill from the US. The rest will involve pipes, a hopper, stand and vacuum cleaner. I’ll do a separate post about that when it’s under construction.

Step 3 - GRINDING & CONCHING

This time I opted for a more robust recipe, with 70g (2.5oz) of cocoa butter and 300g (10.5oz) sugar. Despite being 65% cocoa solids, Batch #1 was almost milk chocolate like, very creamy and sweet (although a decent temper would’ve helped). Combined with the higher roast, this batch should have much deeper, dark notes, at 75%.

This time I had the nibs in the grinder for 4 hours before adding the melted cocoa butter and sugar and conching for another 20 hours.

Step 4 - TEMPERING

This was the day I lost my temper, in every possible way.

After Batch #1’s unsuccessful temper, I really wanted to get Batch #2 right and end up with some shiny, snappy bars.

Sticking with the water bath technique, I had plenty iced water in the the sink this time. I heated the chocolate to 45C (113F) in a bain marie, then put the bowl in the cold water and stirred frantically until my arm was about to drop off.

After 10 or so minutes, the mixture began to stick to the bowl, which I took as a good sign that the temperature was dropping. Eventually after about 10 minutes or more, I hit 27C (80.5F), so moved the bowl back onto the bain marie, still stirring like crazy, trying to get the lumps out without increasing the temperature too much.

Fail.

Even though the bowl was only on the bain marie for a minute, the thermometer showed 32.5C (90.5F), then 33C (91.5F), so I was screwed.

I started again, raising the temperature, then moving back to the water bath. Being pregnant, however, I was getting exhausted with all the stirring, so it seemed my only option was to use a whisk on a low setting to stir the mixture. Daft idea. After a while in the cold water bath, the mixture turned into thick, solid chocolate mouse; and it still hadn’t hit the low temperature.

At first I freaked out thinking the mixture had seized, if I’d let any moisture from the water bath into the chocolate. When it was reheated, however, the consistency went back to normal.

The thickening was caused by over-crystallisation. The fat in chocolate can crystallise in 6 different forms, so the whole process of tempering - heating then cooling the chocolate - is to form the desired beta crystals, that have the perfect melting point, so the chocolate doesn’t smear when you touch it (like my badly tempered Batch #1) and has a nice snap.

Stuff the water bath technique, it’s time to try the stone slab.

Marble is ideal, since it’s completely smooth, but I have a polished granite worktop that isn’t porous, so does the job.

I remelted my chocolate to 45C (113F), using a steel bowl this time. The glass bowl retains too much heat, making it difficult to control the temperature.

I tipped two thirds of the warm chocolate onto the slab and started spreading it out, gathering it back into the middle, spreading it out again, and so on. Rather than attempting to take the temperature of the chocolate on the slab, I decided it’s best to use judgement. Developing good judgement based on the look and feel of the chocolate also means I’ll be able to deal with different recipes, which have different tempering requirements.

Dark chocolate is easiest to temper (hmmm), milk a little harder and white the hardest of all. I believe two-ingredient chocolate (i.e just nibs and sugar) is also a bit more challenging than if you add a little cocoa butter.

After 5 minutes or so, the chocolate became a lot thicker fairly suddenly and felt cool to touch, so I scraped it off the granite, back into the bowl of warm chocolate. There were a few lumps, but once I’d given it a good stir, the lumps disappeared. Unfortunately my digital thermometer broke while melting the chocolate, so I was using an analogue thermometer, which showed the temperature was 32C (89.5F). If it rose any higher, I’d have to start again.

I dipped a piece of paper into the chocolate and put it in the fridge for a few minutes. There were no blemishes or swirls, the surface looked even and smooth. When I touched the surface of the chocolate, you could see a fingerprint, but I thought perhaps this was my warm hands and the warm room. The room was 24C (75F), not at an ideal temperature for tempering at all.

All things considered, I decided to go ahead and pour it into the moulds. Worst case I could remelt them and temper again the next day.

After about 50 minutes in my fridge at its warmest setting, I popped the bars out the moulds, expecting to see dull, untempered chocolate that had risen beyond 32C (89.5F) and ruined the temper. To my surprise, the bars were glossy and had a good ‘snap’! They weren’t perfect, with a few air bubbles, but I was overjoyed to see 10 bars of proper chocolate sitting on the counter top. The chocolate tastes amazing, with notes of raisins and coffee, has a silky smooth texture and, third time lucky, is tempered. Result!

Lessons for next time:

Stirring like a banshee is not a wise idea. The chocolate needs to be kept moving, but not beaten to within an inch of its life and full of air bubbles.

The water bath technique sucks. Well, some chocolate makers swear by it, but I find the stone slab much more successful and even if it doesn’t work first time, the whole process is more enjoyable so you won’t mind doing it again.

Don’t use a glass bowl, as it retains too much heat, causing the temperature to rise too high after you think you’ve got it right. Stainless steel is better.

Keep calm and don’t shout at your husband when he’s trying to help, even if you are having a stirring-induced meltdown.

Some chocolate makers tip their chocolate straight out of the grinder onto the worktop, spread and cool it, then put it in the fridge for an hour, then into a cold room to store. Apparently when you then come to temper it, tempering will be much easier. I suppose it’s like tempering twice. Assuming the mixture in the grinder is at 45C (113F), I’ll try that. 

If the chocolate on the slab cools to the low point, 26-28C (79-82.5F), it can be tested using a strip of paper and used, assuming it’s still workable with no solid lumps. Warming it as little as possible, just to working temperature and nothing more, will ensure you don’t ruin the temper. Next time I’ll put a little more chocolate onto the slab, to avoid the risk of going over 32C (89.5F) when I add it back into the warm chocolate.

Experiment summary, Batch #2:

Recipe 775g (1.7lb) nibs (67.7%) - Madagascar Organic, Sambriano Valley 70g (2.5oz) cocoa butter (6.1%) - Chocolate Madagascar Organic 300g (10.5oz) golden caster sugar (26.2%)

Method Roasting: 190C (375F) for 5 minutes, 175C (350F) for 5 minutes, 160C (320F) for 5 minutes, 150C (300F) for 5 minutes, in cast iron pot, stirring every 5 mins (20 mins total) Adding ingredients: Sugar and cocoa butter added 4 hours in Conching: 24 hours

[technewss15-blog]

Funny To A Point – Heeding The Call In Destiny 2

After years of listening to gamers gripe about how the original Destiny ruined their lives in every conceivable way (even as they logged in hundreds of hours), Destiny 2 is finally here. Does the shiny new sequel provide Bungie with the redemption it doesn’t really need and has never asked for? Seeing as how all the early criticism has focused on the way shaders are used to paint your guardian pretty colors, it seems like the answer is yes. But we all know that the real verdict won’t be rendered until the professional critics weigh in – and we all know that the only professional critic that really matters is ME. Well, fear not, dear readers: Like my hideous Smurfette of a guardian, I am up to the task and ready to save the day!

Full disclosure: I never actually managed to finish the original Destiny. I played for about a week or so when the game first came out, but lost interest when that weird emo prince showed up in the incomprehensible-yet-paradoxically-simple story. My experience with Destiny since then has been downloading every new expansion and then feeling progressively more guilty for not actually playing them.

So what imbues me with the expertise needed to weigh in on Destiny 2, you ask? Well, for starters I was one of the first critics to identify and outline some of the major problems of the first Destiny – I was so early, in fact, that I received a massive amount of hate from the same super fans who would become Destiny’s super haters once they realized I knew what the hell I was talking about. I also cracked Destiny’s biggest secret, which has still eluded everyone else, so I think that makes me the King of Destiny? I dunno. Anywho, let’s get on with it, shall we?

Note: You can click on any of the pictures for a better look at whatever misadventures are being documented.

Destiny 2’s opening cinematic lays out the series’ plot like it’s reading a picture book to a child, and it’s a decision that I wholly appreciate. At this point, all I really remember about the first game is that a giant ping-pong ball gave my zombie soldier some sweet superpowers, which I used to kill a bunch of angry aliens as I searched for shiny balls engrams to score more loot. The intro doesn’t contain any huge revelations (“a mysterious good force is fighting a mysterious evil force!”), but I no longer felt the need to look up a plot synopsis on a Destiny fan wiki after watching it, and for that I’m eternally grateful.

Actually, Destiny 2’s intro did contain one particularly rude revelation: Because I didn’t max out my Destiny 1 guardian (I’m going to go ahead and blame Prince Creep for that), I can’t import her into the sequel. So as far as I can tell, from a lore perspective my original guardian gets blasted to smithereens during the cabal attack that kicks off Destiny 2. Not being able to carry over my character isn’t a huge loss, but it does undermine the fantasy a bit:

The Speaker: “You are the chosen Guardian, who will rise from the dead and save humanity from the galaxy’s greatest thr–“

*BLAMMO!!!* [Guardian’s head explodes into a fine mist.]

The Speaker: [Shuffling over to the next corpse] “Ahem…You are the chosen guardian…”

Anyway, with my old guardian now super-forever dead, I resign myself to creating a new character from scratch. I go with the Hunter class, because like me they are crafty and roguish and it’s my fantasy world so I’ll believe whatever I want! I also opt for a female Awoken, because humans are boring and robots are probably going to kill us all one day and I don’t need to be reminded of it every time I pull the trigger. At this point I realize I’ve remade all the same class choices I did in the first game, so I decide to just remake my character entirely. Think you’re getting rid of my guardian that easy? Think again!

Creating a character in a game usually turns into an all-night affair for me, as I obsessively shift every slider back and forth to its extremes before settling on the default position. Not so in Destiny 2! You get to create the exact hero of your dreams – by choosing from 7 stock faces and a handful of the ugliest hairstyles imaginable, because apparently the barbers were the first ones to be killed off in the apocalypse. Normally my wife weighs in on every minute detail during the character creation process, but the only feedback she offers me about Destiny 2’s limited options is that one hairstyle in particular makes my character “look like a heathen.” I’m not even sure what that means.

This just looks like Conan The Barbarian’s haircut to me, though come to think of it he probably was a heathen, so I guess she was right after all.

I opt for a crazy space mohawk instead, then move on to the face tattoos, which are always being as pointless and ill-advised in character creators as they are in real-life. Even so, Destiny 2 sets a new low bar for the extraneous category. Once again, I imagine an intern – possibly the same one who made Andromeda’s preset faces for BioWare – whipped them up in a matter of minutes.

Intern: “Hey, here are some face dots.”

Bungie Employee: “…You mean freckles?”

Intern: “Nah man, just face dots.”

Bungie Employee: “Alrighty then. Next!”

Somehow my guardian ends up looking vaguely like Margaery Tyrell, if she was thrown into the Mad Max universe and also purple for some reason. As totally rad as that sounds, I immediately regret every decision I made as soon as she pops up in the first actual cutscene – the gaming equivalent of getting dressed in the dark and then realizing you’re wearing your wife’s shirt as soon as you step out into the sunlight.* My wife also didn’t seem impressed, simply stating, “she looks quite striking,” which I assume is a polite euphemism for fugly. But whatever – at least it’s time to finally start playing!

Destiny 2 wastes no time getting into the action; after a brief cutscene starring the three characters from the first game that actually had faces, players are thrust into battle against a new faction of turtle-looking enemies called the Cabal. The Cabal are hellbent on destroying The Last City, which would normally be the name of a piece of armor or some robot butler in a Bungie game, but in this case it’s an actual city. Come to think of it, the Cabal is also a perfectly adequate name for an enemy faction…has Bungie lost its edge?!

What the heck are the space moles from Mass Effect doing in Destiny? And why are they so mean?!

The gameplay opens with your guardian returning to The Last City after some kind of patrol (or a sandwich run for we all know), and landing on the outskirts of the siege. I spend a few minutes of getting reacquainted with the controls, which includes immediately throwing a grenade at my feet and blasting away half my health. From there it’s on to the first battle, though things don’t go quite how I expect.

Even after all these years, I still remember my first open-ended skirmish in Halo; how dynamic the battle felt, and how the A.I. enemies seemed to be thinking and reacting for themselves. In contrast, much of the opening level in Destiny 2 feels more like Disney’s It’s A Small World ride than an FPS, as you’re guided from one small murder diorama to the next. Even for a self-grenading chump like myself, the initial enemies you face are about as threatening as the paper silhouettes at a shooting range, taking a step or two and then waiting politely for you to shoot their heads into some kind of ghost vapor. On the positive side, the controls feel as silky smooth as ever, and the first two guns I picked up were called Origin Story and The Last Dance, so at least Bungie’s still got it!

After a few more underwhelming encounters, the game’s seamless co-op kicks in – another guardian is just over the ridge and is in need of reviving! I’m not sure how he managed to die during this dog and pony show, but by the time I get over to him, a third player has him back up on his feet. It’s the thought that counts though, right?

Our improvised trio rallies around the bald dude who despite being a blue alien is always going to be Captain Daniels to me and anyone else who has seen The Wire (to my wife he’s the captain from Fringe, which is basically the same role only with parallel universes thrown into the mix). Daniels tells me that I should stay behind his shield, but I get annihilated by an incoming missile before it’s even deployed. So that’s how my co-op buddy died…

The Night King shows up in Destiny 2, but apparently he’s a good guy now.

One of my anonymous pals revives me and we hunker down and fight off a few waves of enemies together. It’s a cool, ships-passing-in-the-night kind of moment that reminds me of Journey, albeit with more guns and grenades and slaughtering aliens as they mindlessly funnel into my murder canal.** Once the assault ends, I turn to wave to my teammates, only to see that they have disappeared without so much as a goodbye –apparently manners were also a casualty of the apocalypse.

I move onto the next area and run into another NPC who I should probably know from the first game, but she promptly tells me that she’s going to “kick the Cabal where it hurts,” and then jumps onto the nose of a spaceship and disappears. I assume she’s talking about their space nards, though that’s an assumption in and of itself – how does she know the Cabal are males? Way to assume their gender, only human lady left on whatever planet this is. Seriously, is this Earth? Whatever. On to the next fight!

The next encounter actually gives me a run for my money, thanks to one enemy in particular: Pashk, The Searing Will. I know that’s his name because I actually took extra damage just to grab a screen of it.

No wonder he’s fighting so hard – people have probably made fun of his name for his whole life!

Unfortunately for him, Pashk is no match for Ode To An Unbroken Heart, which is the name I just gave my melee knife because two can play that game, Bungie!

With Pashk’s searing will extinguished, I head onto the next area, only to trigger a cutscene that introduces Destiny 2’s villain: a massive Cabal warrior named Ghaul. Well, mostly massive – his tiny bald head makes him look like a dude in a mascot suit who took his head off for a breather. Also, what is with villains wearing masks that distort their voices? Have we learned nothing from Bane?

I’m sorry, a world without what? Work on your enunciation, Ghaul! Also, why yo head so tiny?

Regardless, Ghaul gives a little speech about how puny guardians are, then drives the point home by planting his foot in my face and kicking me off of the magic tower we were trying to defend. As if that’s not bad enough, he also puts some kind of massive chastity belt on the ping-pong ball Traveler, which sucks away all the guardians’ superpowers. Talk about rude!

Despite just being a regular alien lady again, my guardian somehow survives the stories-high fall off the magic tower – though I guess that’s probably because it wouldn’t be much of a game otherwise (“And so the final guardian perished, and the might Cabal took over the galaxy. Thanks for playing!”). I limp out of the burning city with only a pistol, shooting some strange spikey dog creatures that also barf up their souls when they die (seriously, what kind of bullets are you shooting in this game?). Eventually a woman with a hawk shows up and invites me back to her village, which serves as the game’s first social hub. By that point in the evening my narcolepsy starts kicking in, and I repeatedly fall asleep while kicking around a giant soccer ball, only to wake up a few minutes later to sight of my character being nuked for wandering out of bounds – always a good time to call it quits.

You thought I was joking about falling asleep, didn’t you? Think again!

While Destiny 2’s opening doesn’t leave the strongest impression (even by tutorial-level standards), it contains at least a few sparks of Bungie’s patented dynamic combat, and does a much better job setting up a story and villain than the first game. And while I wasn’t particularly blown away by anything in my first night (well, except for the out-of-bounds limit), my subsequent play sessions have been more emblematic of what Destiny 2 strives for: tense and challenging fire fights against formidable enemies; an addictive loot loop that has me switching up my arsenal at a satisfying pace; and fun public events that you can jump into during the final few seconds and still nab the rewards. There’s also the PvP that I’m sure I’ll get obliterated in, and co-op strikes and raids if I can ever get Jeff Cork to put down Path of Exile and play with me (oh how the tables have turned).

Oftentimes in my column I tend to either gush endless praise for a game or take a big dump on it, but so far Destiny 2 hasn’t elicited anything quite so extreme from me. I’m enjoying the combat and the sense of progression, despite the fact that my character feels more like a mute marionette puppet than a super hero (seriously, a silent protagonist? In 2017?). And while I’m enjoying the game more and more every night, I don’t know that I’ll be one of those crazy people who plays it obsessively for years on end.

Anyway, I continued writing down more impressions and anecdotes in the subsequent play sessions, but rather than weaving them all into a(n even) long(er) and (more) boring narrative, I’ll just throw them in with some pictures and videos, and use the extra time to play more of the game. If that’s not a ringing endorsement, I don’t know what is!

Few games take the term “monster closet” more literally than Destiny 2. It’s seriously just a door with mysterious black smoke!

The European Dead Zone is like a taxi zone at the airport – ships are constantly coming in and dropping aliens off on the same street. You’d think they’d have a better invasion plan.

All joking aside, Bungie serves up some awesome sci-fi environments every now and then.

The hawk lady seems pretty cool. Even if she fell for the face dots.

Titan looks like an awesome neon-blue planet when you view it on the map, but it turns out it’s just Mother Base. Also, what’s with all these potato-chip bags?!

Sometimes Destiny 2’s combat suffers from the level design, with enemies funneling into murder canals because it’s the only path through the environment. Then again, sometimes it’s also fun to rack up a billion headshots in a row.

I ran across these two little frog aliens, which I’m assuming are Destiny’s equivalent of Statler and Waldorf. I’m hoping they play a big role in the story later on.

Not to get too deep into spoiler territory, but Cayde’s torrid love affair with this chicken is as emotionally touching as it is sexually graphic.

There are a lot of big balls in Destiny 2. Just saying.

Seriously, they’re all over the place.

Bungie says the EDZ is the biggest zone they’ve ever created, but I don’t know how that’s possible when every rig on Titan contains an endless sprawl of identical rooms and corridors. One time when I was hopelessly looking for an exit, I ran into a big knight-looking dude and received a Lost Sector banner when I defeated him. In my case the “Lost” was quite literal. Also, does anyone else find it weird that Titan is a class in Destiny 2 and also a planet? Too many Titans, Bungie!

I don’t even want to know what that is.

Breaking news: The totally useless spaceships return in Destiny 2! They’re not fooling anyone, but they do make for a pretty snazzy-looking loading screen.

Everyone spawns into the same location on The Farm, making you look like some horrific, multi-headed mutant. The extra arms would probably come in handy during battle, though.

I was super excited when I got sword from a treasure chest. A sword! Then I found out it’s some kind of weird magic sword that needs ammo. How the hell is that better than a rocket launcher?!

And finally, it’s not a sci-fi game if you don’t have floating rocks – and also point out said floating rocks to the player via NPC dialogue. In this case, ghost speculates that they’re caused by some kind of Hive magic. How’s that for science fiction!***

Need a few more laughs? Click on the banner below to check out Funny To A Point’s fancy-pants hub!

Funny To A Point – Heeding The Call In Destiny 2 was originally published on Tech News Center The Digital Generation

[abmcj3a-blog]

By Jesusa Javar

In my three years of studying mass communication, I have gone to conclude that maybe Niklas Luhmann made a good point in saying, “Whatever we know about our society, or indeed about the world which we live, we know through the mass media”—this is to give you all, my point of view about how I have concluded that today’s reality is indeed influenced greatly by our dear mass media. Many of you would likely be enlightened (a little), and maybe to some this would just be a joke, no big deal, just a rant. But whatever you put your opinion in my context, I just want you all to know that this is built with a little help of how I understood different studies and perspectives of several sociologists and also a little bit effort of observation. To give you more specific introduction to my paper, I will be a little sad to inform you that I would only be setting limit in concluding mass media’s reality to the society. I chose to tackle a specific topic, which is the ideological imposition of how mass media gave society idea of stereotyping, specifically in looks. About how I think the media had created into our minds a picture of how “ugly” looks like and what “beauty” is how we understand “weird” and “normal”. How the media let us unconsciously be conscious of our everyday looks. In advance, I am gravely asking for everyone’s consideration, if ever I’ll be stepping a little on someone’s dignity.

                             In present situation, everybody seems to be a little obsessed with everything about Korea, especially to the Filipinos. I have known almost all of my friends being already eaten by the system. Good thing, it’s not something illegal to be addicted about. And even though, it takes me a little harder to admit, I guess, I am also becoming one of them. Now, I have watched several recent Korean t.v series, but so far what has caught my attention the most was “She was pretty. You might be wondering, why. In connection with my topic, this seems to be so intriguing. The theme of the story is romance and as usual, it revolves around a story of love. We Filipinos are very much enchanted on stories about rags to riches. Stories about transformation. About change, and that change, that transformation is something fruitful. Strong and avenging, that transformation that would definitely give you the sense of “wow”. And this is very much alike to our choice of plot. The main character here, went from several transformations. On her teenage years maybe around 12-15 years old, the character was portrayed by someone good looking. She was tall, skin(specifically in the face) was smooth, emphasizing the absence of acne and pinkish cheeks, intelligent, has a silky-shiny-long hair, is always neat and appears to be so feminine. All the innocence and decency plus her family is all wealthy. And during this stage of her life, everything was so smooth, so perfect and very much appreciated. Very different from her adolescent life, of which where her family experienced feeling so downtrodden, everything in her smooth life turned into a downward spiral. The lost of their wealth, was also the cause of her change. She shifted from what the society preferably call, ugly. How was she called ugly? The presence of acne’s on her skin was emphasized, she grew a kinky hair, all dry and dull, and they made her wear untrendy clothes, all too plain and loose. Too 80’s and 90’s. People around her would always give her a judgmental look. In fact, she even tried finding a job, but several times she was rejected because of her physical appearance. By now you should notice, the media has the power to construct an image on your mind. It doesn’t need to forcefully attack you with certain more explanations and imagery of ugliness, right then and there, you are unconsciously imposed into an idea of a certain image they are creating on your mind. Going back to the story, after a couple of tries, she then eventually gets a job. On her first day of work she doesn’t want to be late on her first day so she decided on taking the elevator, a crowded elevator, she managed to get in first until this last person, but the elevator was too overloaded, some obliged her out of the elevator instead of the maiden who came last, take note the maiden was more feminine and prettier. Even though it is out of her will, she gave way. Although one good thing happened on this scene, two manly characters right what was wrong. Of course let us not forget that this is still a love story. But still her struggle doesn’t stop there. She was assigned into a more challenging and life changing job. A writer/worker in a magazine company, take note, this is not just simply a magazine company but a fashion magazine company. Where she experienced to be judged by her looks more harshly. And where another transformation took place, because it is a “necessity”. After her boss saw how she dress and how she looks, she called her for a conversation in her office and demand her worker to change into something “most-like”, a term that their boss frequently used to mean, “fabulous”, “trendy”, “in style”. She added her reason for wanting the main character to change is for “her”-the main character to not be “left behind”. Korea as we all know is now home to fashion and trend. And we Filipinos follow whatever trend there is. This is the kind of ideology I was trying to articulate. We want to change, we are dragged into an idea of “trend” and “fashion”.  And what dragged her even more to change is because she was afraid that her romance will eventually fall. That she might be unappreciated by the guy that he likes.

                            Another material I had for critiquing is, a Korean movie entitled “200 pounds beauty”. Just in case you are wondering, I am not a hater of any Korean beliefs and practices, in fact my philosophy in life is no hate, just appreciation. And I appreciate Korea from top to bottom, I definitely respect their culture and everything about them, it just so happen that their films are very much suited for my paper. Now going back, the story is about, again transformation. But this one, the main character was obliged to transform herself just so she can keep up with her job and because she was triggered by the ideologies of the society, because the entire world become so harsh about her. She experienced depression and self-down but, the main character wants fame. She’s got the talent, a very charming and ear refreshing voice. Very much appreciated by the people, but she can only showcase this talent behind a beautiful face of another actress. To those who haven’t yet watched the film, you might be guessing why she needs to hide. Well, simply because she is a 200 pound fat lady. And for the institution that she works for, her physical appearance doesn’t qualify her to be showcased onstage, and in front of all people. So, she decided to undergo plastic surgery from head to toe. In show business industry, we all know the number one qualification, if you want fame, you’ll need the looks. And this is what triggered her to change herself. You see how the media is giving you the thought, when you are obese, overweight, fat, or whatever you call it, you are underappreciated in the society. This is how despising the content of this film contain, or even other films that shows the same example. In George Gerbner’s cultivation perspective, with the media showing this kind of content can impose an idea to young minds that fat people are therefore underrated and degraded in the society. Do you realize how this can be viewed where bullying comes from? Being bullied because of my size, I have been there. And I know how hard it is to feel all the insult, because they made me feel so insulting. They made me look at my size so insulting. You see what kind of mindset we are all imposed into? The media is obviously creating its own reality, and it wants us to internalize what they have been continuing to externalize. The hegemonic power of media. You’ll never question about it. You are unconsciously just following and internalizing things that have been told to you. What’s is even confounding is the idea that after she did transformation, she gain more appreciation and the fame that she wants. But after people found out her real story, only few remained to appreciate. What I love about the film was its perplexity. People ask you to be real, but once they saw your authenticity, your real person, they care less. Will they ever appreciate her if she’s fat? Some may and some may not, but she will never know fame the same as she had known how it felt when she was skinnier. When the ideologies of the society changed her. It is therefore the kind of idea that was imposed into her, that there will always be standards and stereotypes.

                            Now before you all lose your grip of my critique, to those who never get to relate on Korean-stuff, here’s a change of atmosphere. Have you ever heard or tried reading, Jerry Spinelli’s novel entitled, “Stargirl”? I’ll be honest to you, there is not much to critique about this, and I only have few standpoints on this novel, because honestly I admit this is a one good writing, and it also has that perplexity and paradoxical enlightenment standpoints. But what was surely intriguing in this novel in connection with my topic is its creation of “weird” “atypical” “different” all words paradoxical to “normal”. So how does the story go? This is a story of a new girl in town, probably a little bit similar to the novel “the schwa was here” if you’ve ever read that, or heard of that. So this girl named “Stargirl” is creating the image of “weird” in her new school. She became the talk-of-town in her school because she is showing different attitude compared to most students of their school. In what way? She wears clothes that are too loose, too big, too 80’s and 90’s that as if it’s a hand-me-down cloth from her grandma to her. She always brings with her a ukulele that she strum most of the time, she smiles a lot, that made everyone think that she is a project of the school. Most people think she doesn’t belong to the “average” or normal but rather too “atypical” and weirdo type. Not did this novel just created an imagery of weird but also the idea of how normal looks like. If you are one with the domain, you are normal. If you are not socially awkward, is capable of socializing and handling the imperatives of the society and institution you belong, no question, you are normal. Not just that, but also this novel depicted the ideological superiority of campus heartrobs and campus royalties. The ruling of femininity. That you are an “it” girl if you belong to the cheerleading squad, you are hairy, pretty and you’re girly. There’s a creation of ideological role. To young minds, this is surely unquestionable and real especially if you are a product of Disney movies, you’ll never be new to this kind of idea. Although, what I really admire about this story was the fact that the author did not attempted to change the character, and at the last part, there is that appreciation and understanding.

                            Being physically conscious, we are already there. Every single time of the day, believe me. And the reason why the mass media never fail to make us regret this realities, is that because we keep on accepting these realities. In today’s world, what you look and how you look will always be a big deal. It is a burden and also your power. Also a commodification for others.