#Vince the anomaly

[metalhealth-willdriveyoumad]

Hey why did no one tell me Jani Lane was 6’ 1”?

[ghouhlish]

Dead Plate Wednesday AU

(Taster.)

Chapter 1

_

Some explanations + the end of the first proper day. It’s on the shorter side.

Just some stuff to hype me for writing (I have a bit of block the last year and I also lost the password to my old acc…..)

Please excuse typos or misspelling!

CHARACTERS ARE OOC and tbh Enid is my fav Wednesday artist’s version.. kinda.

_

CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP! (Not for smut, just for plot. And you cannot pay me to write about school life in detail.)

Wednesday is Vince, obviously.

So that means Enid is Rody, working around the clock serving up the dishes Wednesday oversees are perfect.

She’s saving up for her loving boyfriend, Ajax! Sure he hasn’t showed for a while when he had promised, but he’s probably stoned, right?

They work at Jericho, it’s a restaurant like in the original, however they serve coffee with certain meals and they have special brewers in the kitchen.

Wednesday has ZERO taste, she drinks straight black coffee, she serves food bitter, sour, not particularly to Enid’s taste, but it’s not for her, until it is.

_

Enid packs away, she takes out the dirty plates, she passes her regards to the chefs, dishwashers, coffee makers, everyone.

She takes out the trash, she wipes down the tables, all with a wine bottle she’s gotten used to gripping tightly in her hand precent.

Wednesday watches her. Hawk eyes scorch the wolf’s oblivious brain. She’s checking for imperfections, quite simply. The dishes not being fully put away, a spec of dirt on the table.

Enid is different and she just doesn’t know why.. she needs to find out. She needs to know everything about herself and this waiter is just an anomaly in that confidence of self. She forms an idea.

.

Wednesday shows no sign of cracking the sick smile she wants to as she passes Enid a firmly wrapped plate.

“Enid.” The werewolf’s ears perk and she stiffly turns, bin bag in hand, thinking she’s at the very least in mild trouble for her shotty service. One table left and there was a critic, on her first day.. She swiftly walks over, small grimace on her face.

Wednesday holds out the plate. “Do you have somewhere to put this?” Enid’s head tilts. “It’s for you. Do you have anywhere to put it?”

Enid huffs, tension releasing. “Uhh..” she thinks for a second, finally putting down the wine. “No.”

Wednesday’s eyebrows raise, she’s waiting for something.

…

“Do you need a bag?”

“Yes, please” Enid flashes a crooked smile, eyes crinkling. The Raven pauses. She looks at both of Enid’s eyes, searching. Then the places the plate down and disappears into her office.

Enid holds the plate and looks at it. Ew. It looked fine, but it felt wrong. Certain things just feel wrong, like when you click a button but then you need to click it again so then it’s like it reset. This food cannot be reset.

She just looks down at it. She feels grateful, sure, but it just..

Wednesday holds out the bag and Enid almost jumps, just settling for blinking multiple times at the girl, then quickly putting the plate into the bag and taking it from her. Silent.

.

The ride home felt wrong. The bag swayed on the handle whenever the bike turned or whenever Enid’s knee hit off of the plate.

It was a normal bag, plain white. Like a bag you would get after going to a high end restaurant.

It was quickly shoved into the fridge, the bottom shelf, and forgot about.

She picks up the phone and begins, from heart, to dial up Ajax, tell him about her weird Co worker, how she gave her food and how off it felt, how much she misses him,

how it doesn’t matter how long they haven’t seen each other because they can make it through anything,

How much she’s saving up for him,

how she will take him somewhere nice,

How she will be nice..

The line cuts. Guess he’s stoned again.

[blowflyfag]

WORLD WRESTLING FEDERATION MAGAZINE : FEBRUARY 1999

MARK HENRY & CHYNA: Difference in Degree or in Kind? By Laura

Transcript Below!!!

Poetry is perhaps the most romantic route to a woman’s heart–especially if it’s reciter is also the author. However, throw in a sexual harassment lawsuit adn I don’t care how sweet the words may be, a woman will be turned off. Yes, my friends, the hackneyed expression stands firm–actions speak louder than words. Keep that in mind when reading the following commentary…

Marky Henry and Chyna–are they like two plates of the same barbell? It depends on who you ask, I suppose. Despite the personal and legal problems that have transpired between the two of late, it can be argued that the pair are very similar to each other. With very few exceptions, their lives have run on parallel courses. Both bright and ambitious, as youngsters they began bodybuilding–Chyna started in her teens and Mark Henry began as a child when he was given a weight set by his mother. Through bodybuilding, bot found their niches–and in sculpting their bodies, they sculpted their futures as athletes in the World Wrestling Federation.

In addition to sharing a passion for a careers in sports-entertainment, Mark Henry and Chyna had it rough growing up. As was revealed in an in-depth interview in the October 1998 World Wrestling Federation Magazine, Chynaa came from a dysfunctional family–one torn apart by the ravages of addiction and abandonment. Mark Henry faced poverty and racial prejudice in his early years–prejudice that he knew could be assuaged by superstardom.

Perhaps the most obvious affinity between the two is that they are the pinnacles of strength. It can be argued that he, the World’s Strongest Man, and she, the Ninth Wonder of the World, are the standard by which human physical strength should be measured. One thing is certain–both Mark Henry and Chyna are unique… they are anomalies of their kind. Both had to struggle in a competitive field where their minority status–Mark Henry being African-American and Chyna as a woman–do not make it any easier. 

If we go beneath the surface, however, another picture develops, while the above constructions attempt to convey the truth, they can also be highly misleading.

In my opinion, the greatest difference between Mark Henry and Chyna lies in the matter of strength. I am not speaking here of who can bench press the most weight. Rather, I am speaking of self-confidence–not an inflated ego or the need to mask a case of low self-esteem–but of an inner strength.

When it comes to their futures in the World Wrestling Federation, both Chyna and Mark Henry have different visions. Chyna told me: “I look more selflessly to where the guys [DX] are going–I want what’s best for them.” 

Meanwhile, posed with the same question, Mark Henry replied that it was his intention to prove the Federation and its superstars that he belongs and that he will surpass all of them. And no one is going to stop him–notThe Rock, Austin nor Vince McMahon. 

When I asked Mark about his experience in the Nation and what his relationship was like with The Rock, he responded: “I felt like we [the Nation] were all there for his [The Rock’s] using. I admired and looked up to him, but I don’t see myself in his shadow…”

Like he had seen himself in his brother’s shadow? Perhaps there is a parallel here… In other words, when it comes to his vision of his future Mark Henry has only himself in mind–as well as a need for validity. In her plans for the future, Chyna has not only herself, but also the welfare of DX in mind. (is this the result of her need to create the happy family she never had…?)

Growing up both had premonitions of a future in the spotlight. However, for Chynait was innate knowledge–she knew that she had a talent to share with the world. For Mark Henry, on the other hand, he craved the spotlight and the attention it engenders. What Chyna knew was her natural talent was what Mark Henry felt he had to prove to the rest of the world.

I asked both Mark and Chyna what it means to them to be the World’s Strongest Man and the Ninth Wonder of the World, respectively, Mark responded that for him it meant, “No one can beat me,” and for Chyna, “it means that there's no other Chyna.” That I believe best conveys the difference between the two. For Mark Henry it is about competition–a constant struggle to prove he is worthy of being number one, as is indicated by his inept but sincere attempts to win the heart of a woman who simply shrugs him off. For Chyna it is about contentedness–being the unique woman that she is and sharing her talents with the world.

While similarities certainly exist between these two unparalleled individuals, upon closer examination differences are clear. It’s said that opposites attract–so, in the case of Mark Henry and Chyna does the old maxim stand up?

Stranger things have happened…

[blametheeditor]

The Expense Of Trust | Chapter 4

Anomalies and Incident Reports

First | Previous

Content Warnings: Cursing. Mentions of death and murder. Mentions of others being lesser than. Intent to kill. Death by anomaly. Dehumanization. Addressing someone as 'it'. Darker themes and tone.

Run Down: In the instant of a site-wide containment breach, there are only a few protocols available to follow. Know the right people, hope to be at the right place at the right time, and whatever you do, don't trust anything.

And that's a wrap!

________________

Even though the pure white walls, reinforced doors, and safety procedures about dangerous monsters escaping are the only things Caleb has ever known, it didn’t prepare him for a sitewide containment breach. Because even though he lives in the facility, he’s never been trained on what he’s supposed to do whenever sirens start blaring. He actually tends to be ignored by almost everyone unless he directly talks to someone, and that’s usually when he asks for breakfast. 

But that’s why Fredbear helps him! 

Don’t move, Caleb.

He trusts the plush bear to keep him safe. Fredbear has never let him down, even when Caleb was shoved into a room with an SCP that wanted to kill him. And this is much more scary then being face to face with only one monster, but he didn’t hesitate to follow instructions in order to get to the nearest exit. And just like he was promised, they didn’t meet anyone or anything the entire time. 

Until right now, as something made of darkness comes toward them. Caleb doesn’t know what it’s supposed to do other than knowing it’s sharp and doesn’t look friendly, but Fredbear said to hold still so he does. 

It gets really close when he hears a really high whistle, gasping when the sharp shape suddenly turns into a shadow on the wall. One that starts twisting and turning like it’s in pain. 

“Turn it off!” 

Caleb hugs Fredbear closer at the voice that sounds like it’s being hurt. Worried if he’ll be hurt by whatever’s making the noise. Glad when it is turned off and the shadow completely disappears. 

“What the fuck, James!” 

James? 

Caleb almost forgot there was a scientist opening the door in front of him before the darkness appeared. The man looks frightened, but he doesn’t look mean. He doesn’t look like the officer who’s always checked in on him and Fredbear after getting back from a mission, though. 

“Sorry, David, it was for an emergency.” 

“Officer James!” Caleb exclaims, recognizing the familiar voice. Almost runs forward when he finally spots the man before remembering he should be staying put. 

But he’s not ignored. The friendly officer gently pushes his way past the scientist with a smile in order to come to Caleb. “Thanks for waiting for me.” 

“Fredbear said you’d come,” the boy beams as he takes the offered hand to hold, feeling much safer now that a monster hunter is with them. “Did you see any monsters?” 

“A few,” James says. “But I found a few friendly ones, too.” 

“What was that?” the scientist asks, looking confused. “What happened? Was something trying to-?” 

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are,” someone interrupts with a growl, Caleb gasping when a shadow suddenly turns into a man. One who’s glaring at James. “But I don’t appreciate being interrogated when you’ve sided with that monstrosity.” 

An arm is then gestured toward Caleb. But he’s not a monster! All of the scientists said he didn’t even have ‘residue’. 

He’s talking about me, Caleb.

Oh. Well, Fredbear’s the friendliest monster he’ll ever meet! It’s not very nice to say someone’s bad without knowing them first. You’re allowed to be scared, but the shadow man’s not allowed to be mean. 

I appreciate your words, Caleb.

“Vince,” the scientist hisses. “Did you seriously try to kill a little boy-” 

“Not now, Scotty.” 

“K-Kill?” 

James doesn’t say anything, only gives Caleb’s hand a gentle squeeze as another scientist then carefully walks through the doorway. But it’s another person he knows. Wants to wave to in excitement but decides to bounce in place with both of his hands full. “Doctor Jeremy!” 

The nice doctor blinks for a moment before Jeremy gasps, turning toward the purple man with a fierce glare. “You m-monster! Why would you t-try t-t-to kill Caleb!” 

“I’m the monster? What about the abomination he’s carrying!” 

“It’s a st-st-stuffed bear!” 

“No it’s not!” 

“What the hell is going on?” the angry voice that yelled at James before growls. A tall man then steps through the doorway, wearing a suit and looking like he wants to start a fight. HIs mouth opens to say something, but then hazel eyes lock onto Caleb. Freezes with a look of terror. “James, you need to slowly make your way over here.” 

Jeremy and Vince suddenly stop fighting, looking between the tall man and James. Even Caleb’s a little unsure with how quiet the instructions were spoken. Like they’re trying to hide from a monster. 

The officer shakes his head. “Caleb and Fredbear are harmless.” 

“James, please,” the man begs. “I know you can’t see it, but whatever that kid is holding isn’t what you think it is.” 

“I know what it is.” 

“You really don’t.” 

Caleb, tell Vince that Scott will not be harmed, and tell David that Fritz and James won’t be either.

“Vince?” Caleb begins, looking at the purple man who stares at him with pure white eyes. “Fredbear says Scott won’t be harmed. David, he says Fritz and Officer James won’t be either.” 

The suited man looks even paler than before. But Vince doesn’t look as tense anymore. And even though the purple man had tried to kill them, if Fredbear forgave him then Caleb does too. 

And then another person peers out of the doorway. A bald man who wears a D-Class uniform. Just like Caleb does! “Does that shit include the Jerber?” 

It includes the Jerber.

“Fredbear says Jerber’s safe too!” Caleb giggles, liking the nickname that was given to Jeremy. “Are you his friend he always talks about?” 

The man smirks as he nudges Jeremy with his shoulder, making the doctor squeak. “I fucking hope so. Do you have any other shitty friends, Jerber?” 

“J-Just you,” Jeremy huffs. He then sends one last glare over at Vince before walking across the hallway with his friend following. Perks up when James holds out his hand currently being held so Caleb can grab Jeremy’s instead. “Are you o-okay?” 

“I am! Fredbear didn’t let us see any monsters.” 

“He doesn’t mind I brought a few to you, does he?” James asks. 

I do not.

Caleb shakes his head. “He does not.” 

“Good.” The officer glances at everyone still standing by the other door, looks down the hallway where the one leading outside is. The one Caleb refused to go through until James came like Fredbear told him. “Are there any other anomalies, David?” 

“We’re not going to discuss any further?” David snaps. “I’m just supposed to trust its word? It could kill any of us without even trying. I don’t know what it did to make even you drop your guard, but I am not willing to-” 

“Vince tried to kill Caleb,” James interrupts, and Jeremy’s grip tightens. 

There’s a long moment of silence. “This doesn’t give me any incentive to stay any longer than I have to.” 

“I appreciate all of the time you willingly give.” 

The suited man glares before sending a nervous look toward Caleb. Reaches behind him and gently pulls on the arm of another scientist to push him toward the outside door. “I don’t sense any, but Vince has a larger radius.” 

“It’s clear.” 

James quickly follows after David, leaving Caleb behind with Jeremy. “I-Is that much fighting n-normal for them?” 

“I never met David. Officer James sometimes talked about him, but he also said they do fight a lot,” Caleb shrugs. Though he’s unsure why the officer almost sounded sad. 

“Maybe it’ll be better o-o-once we’re out.” 

Out of the facility. Caleb only had a vague idea of what to expect. He had been taught about what it was like beyond the pure white walls, and James never said no to telling stories about his adventures, but he doesn’t think it pictures it properly. Because he always forgets there’s a sun that goes across the sky. And during the night, everything becomes dark instead of just one room when lights are turned off. That there’s more than just monsters and people in lab coats. 

That’s why he didn’t want to go alone. Even though the facility isn’t safe anymore, it’s still his home. Everything he’s ever known. But James has been outside, so he’ll know what to do. 

Everyone freezes when the lock on the door creaks and clangs, so loud it echos down the hallway. They wait for the sound of someone or something saying they were heard, but nothing happens. Not even Fredbear warns they have to hurry. 

“Okay,” James murmurs. “A siren will go off as soon as we open the door, so everyone needs to get out as fast as possible and then help me close the door so it locks again. You can all go your separate ways after that, but the door needs to be closed. It’s the only way to buy us some time.” 

“That’s it?” Vince scoffs. “You’re just going to let deadly anomalies out into the world?” 

“I have no equipment to capture you. No cell to contain you inside. Not to mention I owe the debt of saving my life. But you will only be free until I reach the next facility, in which I will begin the hunt for everything that has escaped this facility, including you.” 

The purple man snorts. “And if I kill you now?” 

“Just because I can’t contain you doesn’t mean I am defenseless. Or did you forget what happened when you attacked Caleb?” 

“I was only asking.” 

“Is that your plan? To get to the next facility?” Scott asks. 

James nods. “I need to report a sitewide containment breach.” 

“Can I come with you?” 

Vince turns toward Scott with a look of anger. But Jeremy raises his free hand so he earns attention. “Can Mike and I-I-I join, too?” 

Caleb straightens up in excitement to travel with the doctor. He doesn’t know Scott really well, and he’s sure Vince won’t apologize for calling Fredbear a monstrosity, but they haven’t tried to hurt anyone since then. They had also been with James, so he trusts them! 

“...David?” 

“Oh so now you want my opinion?” the taller snarls. Looking like he wants to punch something. Maybe even wants to punch James. 

“Will you and Fritz be joining me?” 

David goes still as he watches James for a few moments. “You had to ask?” 

The officer rolls his eyes as a smile tugs on his lips. “I did encounter an anomaly with psychic abilities.” 

“You’re a dumbass. They can join as long as none of them touch Fritz.” 

Caleb beams with the confirmation the two are still friends. He doesn’t really like David, not with how angry he gets and clearly doesn’t like Fredbear, but James likes the suited man and that’s all that matters. At least Fritz looks like he’s nice. 

“Scotty, we are not-” 

“We are not discussing this, Vince. I am going with them. You can decide if you want to or not.” 

They all watch the purple man who gives a fierce glower. “Can I help you?” 

“It’s settled then,” James smiles. Braces himself against the door. Takes a deep breath and then pushes it open. 

A siren blares, so loud it’s hard to think. But Caleb quickly pulls Jeremy through the opening once everyone else is through. Holds his breath when he sees David leaning against it on the outside, worried James will get locked in. 

He won’t let that happen.

Mike slips out with James right behind him, both of them immediately turning so they can help push the door closed. It shuts with a loud thud, the sound of the lock clicking back into place. 

That’s when Caleb finally notices the rest of the world. Gasps when he sees green everywhere. On the ground as grass, in the air as leaves on a tree. Sees nothing but blue beyond that, past the tall walls of the facility casting a large shadow over them. Shivers when a cold breeze blows past him, feeling nothing like how the AC felt whenever it turned on inside his room. 

He can’t help but wrinkle his nose at the unfamiliar scent trying to overwhelm his nose. Pulls on Jeremy’s hand for attention. “What’s that smell?” 

“Nature. Specifically a f-forest,” the doctor whispers. So that’s why there’s so many trees. 

“Come on,” James commands as he starts to walk down an odd concrete path. One that’s cracked and covered in dirt. “We need to get as much distance possible before the sun goes down.” 

Caleb let’s go of Jeremy’s hand with a smile to race after the officer, jumping off the path a few times in order to crunch the leaves on the floor. “How far away is the other facility, Officer James?” 

“Very far. It’ll take us multiple days to get there.” 

“But not to get to civilization, right?” David calls from behind them. 

“You can last one night in the forest, David.” 

“We get to sleep in the forest?” Caleg gushes, earning a smile from James. 

“We better not be!” 

“We’ll see how far we get.” 

It won’t be far enough.

He doesn’t tell David what Fredbear told him, not wanting to possibly make anyone else upset if it was confirmed they won’t be escaping from nature anytime soon. Not that he minds, but one look back at Jeremy and not even the doctor looks excited. 

“So,” Vince begins. “If we’re all going to be traveling together, would it possible to know who and/or what we’re dealing with?” 

“Depends,” James responds. “Will you be telling us your secrets?” 

The purple man hums. “Maybe not tell, but I wouldn’t mind showing.” 

“No, wait-!” 

Both Caleb and James spin around to see Scott suddenly falling through the ground as Vince laughs. They don’t see or hear anything else until someone just appears from the tree next to them, stumbling until the officer catches their arm. 

The boy gasps when he realizes it’s Scott, amazed by the fact he was teleported. “Can you do that to me, too!” 

Vince’s smile drops as he stares at Caleb. And then David barks out a laugh. “Well that backfired.” 

“At least even the half-breed can do something, you’re basically useless.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Caleb turns to James as he looks over Scott with a frown. One the scientist tries to wave away. “I swear, he’s only ever done it to me, he won’t-” 

“He can teleport you?” the offices gently interrupts. 

“I don’t know specifics, just that he can and it has something to do with shadows.” 

James looks back at Vince and David’s argument. “Was that ever on his report?” 

“No. He deliberately did it outside of where cameras recorded and never in front of others.” Scott hesitates, looking confused. “Why?” 

“Just means I’ll need to be more prepared.” 

He wants to use them.

If it was anyone else, Caleb would be nervous. But James only wants to help people. And if there’s anything Caleb can do to help as well, then he will. 

Good thing there’s lots of time before they arrive at the next facility. 

[steel-10100]

♪ Shinsei Kamattechan – 僕の戦争.

⚠️TV: blood, wounds, corpse.

the attached song impressed me very much, i was inspired to remember Vincento and his biography, as well as the setting. before i start talking about OCs and settings, i want to say that for me this is more than just another story. i'm very bad at describing my emotions, especially delight, so i'm just letting you know: there's a lot of personal stuff here, from the heart.

so, i decided to place Vince's setting in the main one with hexares. these live another people from another parallel universe, not “true” humans. i haven’t thought about the location relative to the main state yet, but they are on friendly terms, although they differ greatly from each other in internal politics. the country under discussion is famous for its advanced medicine, developed military and scientific spheres, and in general, roughly speaking, strives to become an utopia. there are also a lot of disadvantages here, but more on that another time, otherwise there will again be a million letters...

even according to the old version of the plot, Vincento, after received a secondary education, was unable to find a job anywhere and therefore, voluntarily-compulsorily (let’s say, he didn’t have to be forced) was exiled to the army and after completing the training he was immediately sent to a hot spot (yes, i forgot mention that this state has tense relations with neighboring country N). there Vince did a lot for his motherland; it's a pity it couldn't thank him enough.

so here it is. Vince successfully completed many operations, but due to the disease progressing against the background of constant stress, he became almost uncontrollable and for this reason was sent home along with awards for his exploits. and, unlike previous versions of the plot, in there he was met by his still living grandfather.

i don’t know yet whether Vincento became infected with the anomaly on the battlefield from some sophisticated enemy weapon or when he was already at home, but in any case, the he was quickly taken to the research center of the main state and at the time of the current events of the setting, Vince continues to be observed by scientists and at the same time works in that office as most of my characters.

Anastasia also came from this country, but more significant changes await her in design, biography and character. now she is a pilot. like Vinny, she served, but after receiving the necessary education, she moved there, got a job as an instructor, pilot and mechanic in the same company we knew.

her look is inspired by 80s Korean women's fashion. she loves her country very much, but especially its pop culture, music, fashion, etc.

it could have turned out crumpled, but it would hardly have turned out any other way. when it comes to something that i dearly love, immediately, all the words fly out of my head.

thanks to everyone who reads my posts. i'll be waiting for your feedback on a new portion of OC information. 💫

[kogaracon]

It's time for our first guest announcement of 2023! Please give a warm Kogaracon welcome to Vincent Corazza!

Vincent will be participating in a group panel and autograph signings during the event.

Mr. Corazza has had an impressive Voice-Over career recording thousands of commercials, and being the signature voice for many major networks including CBS; FOX: NBC; TBS, and USA, as well as the CBC in Canada to name a few. Currently he is the promo voice for The Late Show with Stephen Colbert.

Vince has played roles in numerous animated TV shows, most notably Darien Shields/Tuxedo Mask in the iconic Japanese Anime series Sailor Moon; Alden Jones on Braceface; Sam Sparks of Rescue Heroes; and Shickadance in Ace Ventura-Pet Detective, plus he’s been part of some of the most successful video game franchises of all time including Carlos Oliveira in Resident Evil 3; Zexion/Ienzo in Kingdom Hearts; and The Marquis De Lafayette in Assassins Creed III. His Narration credits are also numerous. They include James Cameron’s Last Mysteries of the Titanic, and DVD extras for Dreamworks animated Feature’s, from Bee Movie to Megamind to all the Shrek films, plus Kung-Fu Panda, Madagascar, and many more.

Vince was especially honored to play JON in a Groundbreaking project called ANOMALY, the largest Graphic Novel ever created and the first to use Augmented Reality.

For more info check him out at: www.vincentcorazza.com or follow him at Vincent Corazza and www.twitter.com/vincentcorazza!

[ulkaralakbarova]

Doors

Without warning, millions of mysterious alien ���doors” suddenly appear around the globe. In a rush to determine the reason for their arrival, mankind must work together to understand the purpose of these cosmic anomalies. Credits: TheMovieDb. Film Cast: Vince: Josh Peck Ricky: Wilson Bethel Becky: Lina Esco Jamal: Kyp Malone Wiz: Jordan Rock Lizzie: Julianne Collins Jake: Aric Floyd Rory: Rory…

[thekevinjames]

Blood is a message, it lets us know we are alive.

[hanzobow]

[fabriziosbardella]

Un quarantenne brasiliano in meno di 15 giorni ha totalizzato due mega vincite al “Gratta e Vinci” e le autorità di vigilanza hanno fatto scattare un'inchiesta dalla Procura. #sefortunatorischiinchiesta #vince3milioniconduegrattaevinci #nonrilevateanomalie

[immortalonus]

Where You Belong: Chapter One.

So in case you guys were wondering where I vanished off to, the answer is mostly work. This chapter also took way, way more brain power than I really intended, so I didn't really have the energy to post much else.

I could probably edit this more, but I swear if I spend one more hour editing this I will go insane, so here it is, chapter one of my first multi-chapter fic in, *checks calendar,* four years!?

Jeez, time really does fly, doesn't it?

Read on AO3

If I were Where I Would be, Then I Would be Where I Am not. But where I am, There I must be. And where I would be, I cannot.

-American Folk Poem.

________________________________________________________

As soon as Valerie had flown out of sight of Plasmius’ portal, she made a point to dump everything he had given her for the trip.

First, the communication devices. She had no desire to talk to anyone, much less the creepy, lying, traitorous ghost-thing masquerading as Vlad Masters. She gave the DALVco edition headset her best fast ball, taking no small satisfaction in watching it break piece by piece as it clattered against the frames of one floating door after another before finally vanishing into the mists below.

If Plasmius wanted to talk to her, he could crawl out of his portal and find her himself. Which he wasn’t going to do, because he had a cover to maintain. After all, what kind of delicate, elderly gentleman would throw himself into a dimension of rarified death? Not Mister Masters, oh no.

Especially not when he had a willing pawn to do it for him.

The more surreptitious listening devices went next. Fat, disgusting, bloated insects they were, bugs in function as much as form.And they were everywhere.

She found them wedged between her armor joints, the soles of her boots, in the crevices of her guns, and, after putting her systems through an intensive self-diagnostic, her hair.

When had he touched her hair?

She made a point to crush them all. Either plucking off the parasites directly, or, in the case of those lodged beneath her suit, pulling them into her storage unit and spitting them back out again into the open atmosphere where they could be destroyed.

She removed everything else Plasmius had given her immediately after: Several days worth of food, a large pop up tent, a sleeping bag, a map, several spare weapons, a well thumbed biography on Vince Lombardi and more spewed out of her storage units like a sickness, purged in gouts down to the waiting abyss.

Any thing he'd handled, all his supplies, every “present” he'd ever bestowed, she made a point to dump them all.

But God, when had he touched her hair?

Once she was finished, it felt almost like a victory. With no material proof of her obligations, it was easy to imagine she was already free.

She would finish this mission on her own. No outside aid, no puppet-masters, no regrets.

------------------------------------------

/Sorrysorry-soverysorry!/

“Shut up!”Valerie had regrets.

/sorrysorrysorry/

So many regrets.

“I said shut up, you stupid bug!”

She emphasized her point by kicking the target of her ire right in the soft parts of its creepy, eye studded thorax.

This was stupid, she was stupid, but more than anything, she was pissed.

Valerie took a few steps closer to her target, gait slightly uneven for the lack of both her usual boots. While she wasn't going to die anytime soon, as the black leather that fit snug as skin across her body, the true barrier against the toxic atmosphere of the Zone, remained fully intact, it didn't stop her from being mad about it.

The bug, which had finally stopped gibbering in that vile, hissing tongue that had become more and more common the deeper she ventured into the pea-soup hellscape otherwise known as the ghost zone, took the opportunity to cower against the calciferous outgrowth that had halted its pitiful attempt at flight from Valerie's relentless pursuit.

She had hunted ghosts stronger and faster than this every day back in Amity, and could not help the faint sensation of disgust that came over her at the sight of a figure so unexpectedly pathetic. Did she appear so weak that this creature, along with the half a dozen or so of its less successful, but no less kleptomaniacally inclined ilk see fit to prey upon her? Did she seem so low indeed, that even the meanest, most beggarly of the Zone's inhabitants should see her as some object to pilfer and mock?

It was the work of a moment to summon her laser cubes, pulling them from the pocket dimension from which they resided to slide noiselessly over to the insect lying prone before her. With a thought, they flew forward, two each to press down on the thing's chitinous skull, heightening the artificial glow of her suit as she did for that extra sense of intimidation.

It was an ability she'd never had the need for back on earth, only to find herself putting it to use with unhappy frequency not a day after she'd set off on her journey.

Everything in the realm of the dead glowed, and the capacity to put off and manipulate one's own aura was a hallmark of the creatures that 'lived' within it. Those that didn't stood out strangely, casting shadows upon themselves and the world in a way that made them an obvious anomaly in the otherwise antumbral reaches of the Zone.

While Valerie didn't enjoy wasting her resources on glowing like she was her very own spook, she also hated wasting time, which advertising her humanity to every ghost that glanced her way very much did; a lesson that she'd learned after fending off an entire assault squad of ghost police, who had chased her for ages while screaming about her criminal possession of so many 'real world objects' within their territory.

That it also made sure any enemies never anticipated her ability to phase through objects came in handy from time to time as well, such as when a would-be thief, for example, tried to duck into a thicket in an effort to snarl its pursuer.

As expected, the bug shuddered in response to the cold touch of the barrel against its skin, curling into itself as it looked up into the dark panel of her faceplate.

Valerie leaned down, pinning it between herself, her guns, and the stony trunk of what, on this particular island, seemed to serve as some kind of tree.

/Alright, Manbug, one more time./ Her voice crackled and popped through her translators, adding even more intimidation to a tone already modulated down to something lower and crueler than her natural snarl. /Where. Did you. Put. My Stuff. /

The insect whimpered a little harder, oozing something suspiciously close to snot from the hole above its writhing mouthparts. It remained otherwise silent, however, as it shook.

Valerie pulled back her leg and kicked it again.

The imitation flesh buckled beneath her toes, causing the creature to squeal, a nonverbal expression of pain peaking just beyond her range of hearing as it flickered invisible, writhing in a hopeless gambit to escape the weapons still clamped against its head.

Funny how ghosts kept so many features they really shouldn't need anymore. Like joints, for example. Was it a subconscious matter, or some kind of deliberate choice, Just one more means to mock the living, their very forms a cruel parody of everything they once had been?

She silenced the voice which whispered how she should know by now, that it wasn't that easy. There were more important things to focus on.

/P-please./

The bug focused its myriad gaze on the huntress' visor, all six limbs twisted over themselves, wrapped tight over its oozing midsection.

/In error, Milor- Milord. Your place, held, not neutral. Shall honor, please. /

It was leaking from the eyes too, now, viscous fluid pouring from its dozens of eyes, wetting it bodily, puddling down onto the dark purple earth, adding to the halo of scattered goods and tchotchkes that had spilled out from the overstuffed bags that it had clung to for dear life even as they toppled, overbalanced from a too-fast turn, dragging the creature headfirst into ruin.

/Mer- mercy./

This wasn't fair. This miserable thing, begging in the dirt like it hadn't gotten anything more than what it deserved.

Valerie grimaced, rubbing the heel of her palm against her faceplate. Phantom's visage, not long past, looked up to her from the depths of her memory, face just as desperate, just as indisputably, distressingly genuine as when she'd first seen it.

“Valerie, You don't want to do this.”

“Like I have a choice, spook.” She muttered.

She took a deep breath, sucking in the same recycled exhalation she'd been breathing for nearly a week now, and took a moment to actually think her situation through.

She wasn't lost. She had no idea where she was, but she wasn't lost: That would imply a level of helplessness she could not bring herself to admit. What little food and water she had brought with her had been eaten a while back, reducing her to scavenge among the portal droppage scattered through those areas not patrolled by mad policemen, hoping she could find something sufficiently sealed against ectoplasmic encroachment to remain edible.

She reconsidered her captive, still trembling on the ground. A ghost zone native, utterly at her mercy, and, by the looks of things, a serial hoarder of goods.

/You want mercy? Fine. But you do what I say, exactly as I say it, M'kay?/

While the guns pinning its head in place were something of an obstacle, the bug did manage a spasmodic sort of jerking motion, forebody pushed back and forth with desperate, eager haste.

/(Enthusiasm,) (enthusiasm,) assent! Lord, generous, gratitude, respect./

“Good, now-”She held out one hand, palm expectant.

/Give 'em back./

It responded slowly, still slobbering at the maw, all eyes fixed on the huntress as it unwound its uppermost limbs, which reached up towards those tattered bundles still clustered fungiform over its heaving thorax, rifling between twine-like bindings for what seemed an age.

Patience had never been a skill of Valerie's, and she found herself torn between wanting the moment to last forever and wishing go faster instead, tightening her mental grip over her laser cubes, fingering the internal triggers in anticipation of some sudden, traitorous motion on the part of her captive.

Ghosts were deceptive, dangerous creatures, except, of course, when they weren't.

Without any ability to tell the difference, she could do nothing but pace at the bars of her patience, waiting for the moment to act.

Finally, a claw submerged itself into one of the parcels, pulling out one boot, and, just beside it, a single leather fold.

This was it. Valerie snatched the wallet from its pincers. The boot was replaceable, her construct engines could make another now, if she wanted to waste the resources for it, but her wallet-She flipped open the small leather parcel, noted immediately that the contents were not any state remotely akin to how she had left them.

/Milord?/

The bug was still subtly trying to wriggle its way out from under her guns. Her systems noted, then deleted, increased energy expenditure from her laser cubes as they were forced to adjust to its motions.

Useless data. A ghost of so low a caliber could never hope to escape so easily.

Debit card-broken, bent until the plastic whitened from an excess of pressure; Dollar bills balled together and crammed into a single pocket, still damp with a kind of ectoplasm that looked disquietingly similar to the slobber still dripping from the mouthparts of the bug before her; Plastic wrappers, spare coins, a concert flyer for a band she'd always wanted to see.

/Ah, Milord? Pardon, Excuse?/

All of it. This vile, twisted excuse for an insect had messed with all of it. It had played with her most important cards and documents like they were toys, then shoved them back in with utter disregard for any sense of their value once it was done.

/Goods, returned, trust?/

Dread crept into her heart as she reached into the backmost pocket of her billfold, the place where she kept the picture of her.

/more goods? Information? Information on goods? Release, please?/

It was shoved in the very bottom of the wallet, balled into the crease where the two halves of leather were joined into one. She pulled it out, fingers shaking only slightly as they smoothed it back into a more flattened form.

The Red Huntress had no face, and never had Valerie been more grateful for that absence than in that moment, when she beheld the true extent of the damage done to Polaroid before her.

Soft white creases were everywhere, shattering the image into isolated fragments of its former self. It had been torn, too, at the edges, a grip too hard, twisting too far, integrity compromised as a result.

The worst of the damage by far, however, were a series of punctures, scattered at random through the center of the photograph, small to medium perforations forming little absences where there had once been trees and grass, where there had been a woman's face. A hole sat primly above her dark neck, arched back into nothing, a yawning gap where once there had been laughter.

The Huntress turned her blank visage back to her captive, who froze in the act of trying to pry her weapons out of position. Cowardly, but expected. Trusting a ghost was a fools game she had no intent on playing.

/Ah, haha, (nervous) (nervous,) (respect.)/ The target pulled its claws back up against itself, fiddling with the tips as it looked up to her absent regard.

/...Milord?/

The Red Huntress had no face, could betray no emotion, could reveal none of the cold black welter that rushed up through the depths of her breast and pressed against her throat. An impassive machine, possessed of a will stripped free of feeling.

No sliver of her intent showed through, no shudder passed from her shaking fingers to her gauntleted hands, not even the psychic senses of a ghost could hope to detect the lava that boiled up from her guts, pressing against her skin in an sheet of living fire even as the pits of her stomach chilled to ice.

The bug was still looking up at her, eyes all expectant, when she commanded her one of her guns to fire.

A bright streak of energy shot through the top of its head, hard pink flash cutting through a wave of green.

It squealed, jerked all six limbs towards the missing portion of its skull in a hopeless effort to stop the thick chunks of ectoplasm from slopping down the side of its face. Valerie brought her foot down at the same moment, crushing its forelimbs down into the dust. Forelimbs tipped with little claws, just large enough to fit the holes in a certain photograph.

/Why!? Ancients, why, why!?/

Why?

“Why the hell not?” she snarled, “Ain't that how it works here?”

If a different ghost wanted to rob her blind every time she tried to sleep, they could. If Valerie wanted to chase down the one that finally succeeded, she could. There were no laws here, there were no rules, there weren't even morals. There was nothing to stop anyone from doing anything, so why should she be the one to hold herself back?

She lifted her foot off its claws, then swung it once again into its thorax, only just crusted over from where she had kicked it before.

It squealed, just like she imagined another ghost would, red eyes wide and frightened, vampiric teeth shattered against her fist, choking as she wrapped her fingers around his blue, blue, skin.

He deserved this, it deserved this, she was in the right. She had been tricked, mislead, mistaken maybe, but she wasn't wrong, she was in the right.

And if there was some dark curl of satisfaction there, a self righteous flame alighted just where she'd been coldest in that moment of hate, then that was proof, wasn't it? Of just how right she was.

She bent down to her target, which had started drooling all over again, ground speckled green and wet as it heaved against itself. It was disgusting enough that she would have shot it in the mouth instead of the head, but she still needed information, which meant it still needed to talk.

It's upper set of antenna had survived the cranial blast, making for an easy handhold as she yanked its drooping head up to face her once again. At the same time, she sent her guns down to its chest, where its energy levels peaked their highest.

Ghosts, much like the cockroaches they resembled, could survive well enough without a head, but none, not one could ever hope to make it without their precious ghostly core.

“Listen up spook.” She hissed. /Here's how this is gonna work. You lie, I shoot. You run, I shoot. Got it?/Its head twitched up and down, the smallest possible motion of assent.

/Good./

This was what it took, when it came to ghosts. Cooperation proceeded pain, loyalty from the threat of it, and mercy not at all.

/We'll start with the questions./

She allowed her guns to charge power, deadly, scintillating hum filling the air with the sound of her malintent.

/I like what I hear, maybe I let you keep talking./

Author's note: If Sam is more pride than wrath, then Val is more wrath than pride, IMO. I've done my best to write her accordingly

[rastronomicals]

September 8:

On the 8th of September, 1978, Yes unleashed Tormato, their ninth studio album, and the last one of the classic period with Rick Wakeman.

On the 8th of September, 1990, The Charlatans UK laid upon us Some Friendly, their debut album.

On this date in 1998, Vince Guaraldi, or at least his estate, released his album, Charlie Brown's Holiday Hits.

On this date in 2008, post-rock anomalies Dianogah released their fourth album, Qhnnnl.

[seraphjewel]

Little Hope Thoughts: Repeated Faces

Once again before I start, a disclaimer: these are only my thoughts based on the clues and the environment, as well as what we learned about the story of this game. I am once again cutting for spoilers out of courtesy.

In this post I want to talk about the doppelgangers. The most focus is on the group in the 17th century, and of course our playable characters, but there are a few instances of repeated faces in the town.

The first one you come across is in the bar with Vince. There is a photograph dated 1917 featuring soldiers who share the faces of John, Andrew, and Daniel. This never really comes up again and at first seems like it's just there to trick the player into believing this is a reincarnation situation. I thought so too, at first, but in the context of the story we know that so much of what we're seeing is just Anthony's delusions. So I began to wonder why Anthony would cast those three faces as soldiers.

The Clarke family fire occurred in 1972, which was during the Vietnam war. Anthony was eighteen and his brother Dennis was twenty, both old enough to be drafted into the army. It's no doubt a conversation they had at home before and maybe it was something the father James tried to encourage, since the town's factory was closing and jobs were being threatened. Therefore Anthony cast himself, his brother, and father as soldiers in a war.

The second smaller instance focuses on Tilly Johnson, a 19th century Gothic novelist who has a memorial in town stating she died “mysteriously”. This was another double that I couldn't connect with anything for a while. Gothic novels usually focus on horror, sometimes romance, and sometimes have a religious or moral slant to it by using the horror to punish sinful characters. Anthony cast them all as creative writing students, and maybe his sister Tanya had an interest in Gothic novels. We do know she was into some form of paganism from the artifacts she owned, so that could also be the link.

Let's now focus on the doubles in the 17th century. These have the most obvious similarities to the Clarke family, including the ways each one died. While many of the deaths the 17th century versions suffer (burned at the stake, hung, crushed, drowned) are ones given to those accused of witchcraft, I'm not sure if every single method of execution would be performed within the same community. I want to say it's unlikely and that the only reason we're shown each method is because Anthony is connecting it to the deaths his family members suffered, using what knowledge he has about the witch trials to make the connections. Because it's obvious Anthony does have knowledge and interest in that time period: there is a book about it he got from the museum in their house, and you find a Puritan figurine in his room while exploring in shared story or the Curator's Cut.

The one death that doesn't have any link to a witch's death as far as I know is David's (17th century Daniel) and I believe that one is an anomaly because it has to match the death that Dennis suffered in the 70's. However, I'm not familiar enough with this period in history to say for certain if they killed condemned witches with that method.

The character Judge Wyman bears the same face as the neighbor who spotted Anthony with the box of matches in the aftermath of the Clarke fire. It makes perfect sense why Anthony would cast the man who saw him as the sole survivor of the fire as a judge. The other character is named Isaac and he performs the various executions for each character. He bears the same face as the sheriff you meet at the beginning of the game diverting Anthony's bus into Little Hope. They have little interaction but it's because of him that Anthony is forced to face his past after however many years.

Anthony casts himself as Abraham, one of the townspeople who is eventually entrusted with the care of young Mary. His struggle with exposing her when she seems to show true remorse and regret likely echoes Anthony's own feelings about his sister, struggling to understand her behavior and wondering if he should speak up about it to anyone. The player then has three choices when it comes to the conclusion of Mary's story: save her by exposing the priest, having the doll burned, or condemn her as a witch. You can guide Abraham into making one of those three conclusions but he's the one who speaks, which means Anthony is casting himself as Mary/Megan's savior or doom, depending on what the player chooses.

Once again I'm leaving discussing Mary/Megan and Reverend Carver for another discussion. I feel like I will have a lot to say about those two individuals.

But for now I want to move on to another point in the witch trials. In the 1970's, we know that the town's factory was being closed. The Carver family was behind this move, and it was over a land deal that the mayor was heading. As you explore around you find a poster of the mayor with devil-horn graffiti and the number 666 written on it. Land ownership and property were two reasons why neighbors often accused each other of witchcraft in the 17th century. So once again we have Anthony processing events in his life by using the witch trials as a filter.

[vincentp17]

Qualcosa da dire - IL Destino

Il destino, non mi pare sia un argomento semplice cui trattare, non liquidandolo con un centinaio di parole almeno. Tutti crediamo nel libero arbitrio, tutti vogliamo, pretendiamo di essere artefici del proprio destino, persino le maggiori religioni delle nostre civiltà ne trattano, definendoci esseri liberi di pensare e credere in quello che vogliamo ma soprattutto di essere artefici dello stesso destino. In parole poveri, ci definiamo creature liberi, nonostante l'esistenza di un essere supremo onnisciente e onnipotente cui nemmeno una foglia mossa dal vento non è sotto il suo controllo; si, parecchio contraddittoria la religione in questione, ma non ne farò menzione, d'altronde direi che lo sono tutte le religioni, nel più e nel meno, nel fare le loro affermazioni di verità avvolte assolute, che siano monoteiste o no.

Tutti noi verremmo costruirci il nostro futuro, essere artefici, nel bene e nel male, del nostro destino, vivere la vita come la sogniamo, la desideriamo ma questo non sempre è possibile, a dire il vero non lo è quasi mai; nella mia esperienza di vita, dio, non dio che costruisce il destino del mondo, posso affermare, almeno per quanto riguarda la mia vita, che fare delle scelte libere non sempre è possibile, non sempre vivendo in una società cui tutto hanno i loro bisogni e spesso, per non dire sempre, si finisce per scontrarsi proprio in quei bisogni che non vogliamo, che non siamo capaci di condividere liberamente, ovvero di permettere agli altri di pensarla diversamente.

Pensare di essere liberi, di essere artefici del proprio destino in una società, dove tutti, in un modo o nell'altro, siamo vincolati da una vita sociale che in primis non abbiamo nemmeno scelto alla nascita, interconnessi in un mondo che diventa sempre di più ipertecnologico, la cui vita sociale diventa sempre più virtuale di un mondo immaginario costruito a oc da ignoti personaggi che ci speculano economicamente sopra. In poche parole, oggi, come oggi, la libertà si direbbe quasi una mera illusione, un sogno ad occhi aperti cui non si è sicuri di conoscere a pieno il senso, tanto meno il significato del termine LIBERTA'.

Ecco parliamo di social, di quelle piattaforme dove migliaia, ma forse e meglio dire da milioni a miliardi di individui che si incontrano in quel ciberspazio giornalmente, quello spazio virtuale dove nulla è reale, nemmeno la persona che dice di essere è certo che sia quella che è, a parte i suo avatar che vedi nel monitor e i dati che diffonde di sé stessa/o. Proprio quel mondo, in cui tutti pensano di potersi sbizzarrire a essere quello che vogliono, a dire quello che nemmeno pensano, tanto nessuno li può identificare, potendo così essere nella vita reale ciò che di loro viene accettato, comportandosi come hanno sempre fatto; in poche parole, essere e comportarsi in tutti quei modo che nella vita reale non sarebbe accettato, in cui la società non lo permette ma soprattutto essere sé stessi o almeno quello che pensano sia ciò che vogliono essere; diciamo la verità, una esistenza vissuta a reprimere quella parte di sé che nella società non è permissiva, non plausibile, finisce per rendere totalmente inconscia quella parte di personalità, parte di noi che non siamo più capaci di conoscere, tanto meno di capire quello che realmente è.

Tutti quei social nascosti, in cui proclamano la privacy in modo alquanto tracotante, definendola un loro diritto assoluto, e nessuno nega che lo sia, che la propria intimità è un diritto inderogabile e soprattutto inviolabile, danno libero sfogo ai loro istinti senza pensare minimamente che in tal modo sono i loro impulsi ad avere il controllo e non la loro coscienza, poiché questa viene deliberatamente assopita dai primi. Ma questo non accade solo nei social, essi non sono altro che uno strumento come un altro, un luogo come un altro cui poter mettere in atto i loro propositi, soprattutto dar libero sfogo ai loro impulsi, tutte quelle loro tendenze che non hanno mai esposto, che sono stati costretti negli anni a reprimere perché definiti non consoni nella società in cui si vive. Nessuno di loro, si immagina, vuole ammettere, che alla fin fine, divenendo succubi dei loro impulsi finiscono per essere questi a dirigere la loro esistenza, non solo essi mettono in dubbio il loro libero arbitrio ma inesorabilmente anche il loro destino per le scelte che questi gli impongono. Ognuno di loro, pensando che la volontà di esprimersi venga del loro essere, non immaginano, non vogliono nemmeno pensare che ogni singola loro azione è soggetta ai loro impulsi, e anche se non totalmente, inesorabilmente condizionata da quel loro lato istintivo completamente privo di raziocinio e soprattutto di coscienza.

Il condizionamento, indubbiamente, implica delle scelte non del tutto volontarie, questo, infatti, come specifica lo stesso termine, compromette la propria capacità raziocinante,  nel senso che se qualcuno ci espone a degli stimoli eccessivi non che anomali, finisce per occultare parte della realtà che ci circonda esponendoci a qualcosa di artificioso e costruito ad oc in modo che solo parte di quella che è la reale realtà ci venga presentata o che solo parte di essa venga esaltata rendendola più visibile agli occhi di chi guarda.

Questa è la realtà del ciberspazio, la virtualizzazione della realtà, del mondo in cui viviamo, che se non guardata con occhi attenti e soprattutto con molto raziocinio, difficilmente si riesce a scorgere il tranello che esso realmente finisce per essere. Il condizionamento è lo strumento che è finito per divenire internet in questi ultimi anni, ormai non v'è alcun dubbio che nella rete internet la così detta privacy altro non è che mera illusione che solo alcuno vorrebbero farci credere. Nella rete tutti siamo spiati nessuno escluso, basti pensare che ad ogni passo che facciamo nel ciberspazio, ogni singolo operatore di provider non fa altro che registrare tutto quello che facciamo nella rete internet, la scusa è la ricerca di mercato, capire e scoprire da parte di quelle compagnie dell'alta finanza quali sono i prodotti più richiesti e consumati da parte di possibili, potenziali acquirenti.

A titolo personale, dopo molti anni di navigazione nella rete internet, praticamente da quando il World Wide Web esiste, posso affermare che tale sistema di raccolta dati al solo scopo di ricerca aziendale volta al miglioramento del mercato, è praticamente una stronzata colossale, nel senso che la pubblicità ad personam alla fin fine, come ho già parlato in precedenza, altro non fa che condizionare e non informare realmente, nel senso che manipola la reale quantità di mercato, cioè occulta parte dei prodotti, per esporre prodotti mirati, ovvero di un determinato tipo. Alla fin fine, questo sistema di pubblicità mirata, altro non è che un condizionamento belle e buono, nel senso che favorisce alcuni prodotti a discapito di altri, in poche parole una spietata concorrenze che fa vince sempre chi ha più capitali quindi dispone di maggiori contatti.

A questo punto, tutto questo condizionamento, finisce indubbiamente per limitare, e non di poco, il cosi detto libero arbitrio di ogni singolo individuo. Ognuno di noi poi pensa di essere libero nel prendere decisioni giornaliere ma alla fine, non si rende nemmeno conto di quanto sia limitata la sua libertà individuale nel fare certe scelte. Il condizionamento è tale, così martellante, non solo nella rete ma anche nei media di televisione e radio, non meno se leggi un quotidiano ma anche se leggi un romanzo, in esso se ci fai attenzione, la pubblicità è presente e nemmeno poi così tanto poca. Ma di certo non è la pubblicità che ci condiziona, che ci spinge a credere a una cosa invece che a un altra, essa alla fin fine altro non è che informazione, dati su un determinato consumer che sono divulgati per dare conoscenza, il male vero e proprio altro non è che il modo di farla la pubblicità. Pubblicità, informazione e progresso, diceva in passato alla RAI, adesso, invece questo veicolo di informazione altro non è diventato che una accozzaglia di menzogne, il cui unico scopo non è divulgare informazione su un prodotto da consumer, ma qualcosa volta a condizionare il cliente ingannandolo in modo subdolo e ambiguo, il tutto per spronarlo a comprare tutto ciò che vogliono loro.

[i-was-bored-so-this-happened]

Rae Watches Torchwood

2x12 Fragments (aka, This Ended Up Hella Long)

So this is hella late...whoops? @nowhere-dawn-death-phan

Spoilers. Obviously

*reads description* Oh. Oh? Oohh

Jack, I don’t know how many times I can say it, but Torchwood is never ready for anything, they’re surprised by everything

Everyone but Gwen. Okay, okay

Why does Owen always go with Ianto, he’s always mean to Ianto

Have I mentioned yet how much I love Tosh? Cause I love Tosh

“Maybe they aren’t creatures at all” Maybe they’re anomalies?? Sorry, sorry, fandoms colliding again

Bombs

Oof

Chibnall??

No one better die, Vince, that’s all I’m saying

FlashJacks! (still proud of that)

Why does Jack look like a vampire

Jack Harkness and Flirting With Everything

“Why aren’t you dead yet?”

Phantasmahoojits

Fish man! The same fish man? That’s an old fish man. I’m getting distracted by the fish man

Not the same fish man from the first episode of this season then. Cause this fish man’s dead. Again, getting distracted by the random fish man.

So, Torchwood employees do get paid? Or at least they used to? Whatever salary they do or do not have has been bothering me for a while

Torchwood is run by women, but kinda evil women

Evil lesbians??

Is this the same random card girl from a couple episodes ago? She confused me

Ooh! Music!

That fucking earpiece

Whoops, they’re dead

Should I know what the locket thing is?

Oh god oh god oh no ToshToshToshToshToooooossshhh

This episode is just Achievement Unlocked: Backstory

Tosh? Tosh, what’re you doing?

“When are you gonna let me whisk you away from all this?” Me @ Tosh

Did..did Tosh just make a sonic screwdriver

Wait, never mind

Tosh’s mum!!!

Red caps. UNIT?

TOSH

oh my god, tosshh

Shit, I’m going to end up crying

Oh God, it’s Ianto’s turn oh no

BAM! WEEVIL

Ianto to the fucking rescue!

Oh, Jesus

What happened to change Ianto from jeans, unbuttoned shirts and little necklaces to suits?

During this whole flashback I could just be singing my signature song, Jack and Ianto, Ianto and Jack, having a gay old time

A Suit-Wearing Ianto appears!

Pterodactyl! Crap, what’s the pterodactyl called again...MYFANWY

They really just noped right out of there

Yes, Jack, the pterodactyl is going to understand you speaking English

“Okay, so you let the pterodactyl in and not me?” “We need a guard dog.” “I can be that! Like a receptionist!”

“I can be a butler!”

Oh my god, I love this whole conversation so much

Chocolate?

oh my god, Ianto, you bean

Uh...Ianto? The wrapper’s still on that chocolate bar

JACK AND IANTO, IANTO AND JACK, HAVING A GAY OLD TIME

Wait why does he look like he’s going to cry, Ianto, what happened?

So, uh, Owen’s fucked, isn’t he

There you are

Oh yeah, he’s fucked

oh god. Oh God. Wedding planning. Oh God

“I’m marrying you, even if it kills me.” I’m going to go ahead and guess it kills her

Oh no. Oh no, is Katie okay?

Oh no, I am going to cry. About Owen bloody Harper’s backstory bloody hell

I can’t cry about Katie and Alzheimer’s, I’m in the living room with my parents. 

fuck

fuck, this hurts. i need a hug, i really need a hug

There’s only ten minutes left. I can manage ten minutes

OH MY GOD. JESUS FUCK

Glass: *moves* Gwen: OI!

THEY’RE ALIVE THANK FUCK

AH FUCK, this guy again?

AH FUCK

oh crap, there’s another episode, they still might die

[disneywizards]

THE NEW CHAPTER IS OUT EVERYONE I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!