Which Theme Fits Adam Cole (Bay Bay) better

2022.01.25 13:51 InfiniteRollins Which Theme Fits Adam Cole (Bay Bay) better

View Poll
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2022.01.25 13:51 NewsElfForEnterprise Dow falls nearly 300 points on losses in Walgreens Boots, Microsoft stocks

Dow falls nearly 300 points on losses in Walgreens Boots, Microsoft stocks submitted by NewsElfForEnterprise to News_Microsoft [link] [comments]


2022.01.25 13:51 cryptochartsbot Thoughts on $BTC #Bitcoin! See danielx888's idea on TradingView below. https://t.co/lTcUBzuON8

Thoughts on $BTC #Bitcoin! See danielx888's idea on TradingView below. https://t.co/lTcUBzuON8 submitted by cryptochartsbot to cryptocharts [link] [comments]


2022.01.25 13:51 ParaNerd23 Mods not loading after verifying game cache

Hi guys,
Recently, I was encountering the "stuck-under-Avenger" bug a lot, and one piece of advice online I encountered was to verify the game files. I verified the files - with mods still installed - and now, my mods aren't loaded when I start the game. I hit this screen - see link attached.
I've unsubscribed and resubscribed to each of these mods, as well as deleting the config folder and uninstalling and reinstalling the game. Can anyone please help - I have 40 hours on this save and really don't want to lose it. Thank you.
https://imgur.com/gallery/L0DsYGp
submitted by ParaNerd23 to xcom2mods [link] [comments]


2022.01.25 13:51 LemonCakes13 Did I just separate from a narcissist? I am feeling mentally drained and confused

It is taking me a lot of courage to write this, so please be kind! My ex and I separated just under a week ago, and I struggled with a lot surrounding his behaviour, and I have only read up / acknowledged that he may be a narcissist after my friend pointed out how so much of his behaviour was toxic and disrespectful. Important to note that I never realised the behaviour was toxic until now, as I was manipulated to feel otherwise. I am really struggling to process this and to also move on from the relationship, so would appreciate your opinions

The list goes on but I’ll stop there…
When we separated, he broke up with me, continued to live in my house for days while watching me have breakdowns and barely eating, while he said he was “all good”. All the while, he continued telling me that he loved me, being physically and emotionally affectionate with me, still asking me to cuddle him/have sex with him. We agreed to continue speaking for a little bit, and he was still using endearing nicknames to me and telling me he loved/missed me, until suddenly he switched his attitude and said we can’t talk anymore
I am really really struggling with the confusing and conflicting behaviour, and I desperately need some tough love and advice. Please give it to me!
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2022.01.25 13:51 Significant_Hold2650 [Academic Survey] [Filipino Professionals] The Impact of Empathetic Leadership of Filipino Millennial Leaders on Job Satisfaction as Mediated by Pakikisama

Greetings! We are fourth year BS Psychology students from Ateneo de Manila University, taking our thesis. Our study aims to identify the impact of empathetic leadership of Filipino millennial leaders on the job satisfaction of followers as mediated by pakikisama.
If you are interested and meet the following criteria, we would like to invite you to participate in our study: - Filipino aged 18 to 60 - Currently employed in a tech company or companies that use technology as part of their business model - Have stayed with the company for at least 3 months under a Filipino millennial supervisor (aged 25-40)
We hope that you can give us your insights by answering this quick 3-10 minute survey. We guarantee that all information will remain confidential and will be strictly used for research purposes, in compliance with the Data Privacy Act of 2012 RA 10173.
Survey Link
Thank you for your time!
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2022.01.25 13:51 MikeJesus I found the journal of a scientist who worked in The United People's Institute of Science. He has witnessed the Ғылыми қондырғы. (FINAL)

IIIIIIIVVVIVII
December 13th-15th 1989
I was drunk and under the influence of heavy sedatives. For a couple hazy seconds I was blissfully unaware of my situation. There was no research, there was no institute, there was no impending danger, yet, as my blurry vision sharpened under the harsh light of the bedside lamp my throat seized up with fear. Constantin Markarov was standing above my bed. There was a pistol in his hands.
He told me, in no uncertain terms, that if I tried to call for help that he would shoot me on the spot. He was doing his best to appear calm but the pulsing veins on his forehead betrayed his restlessness.
He had come into my room to discuss my loyalty — not to Dr. Herkel but to the institute as a whole. Markarov broke into my room with a gun to gage whether I was willing to do the right thing to keep the dark knowledge safe. The quiver in his hands made it very clear what would happen to me if I was deemed unworthy.
He asked if I was going to tell Dr. Herkel about his plans. Still paralyzed with fear and sleep and the poison in my veins, all I managed to do was shake my head.
He asked if I was going to continue working within the confines of the institute once Herkel’s leadership would be usurped. With the threat of a gun in my face I wanted to shake my head yes, but my neck refused to move. More research, more research beneath the watchful eye of an organism I couldn’t comprehend — the suggestion was far too horrid. I wanted out. I wanted out and there was no way that I could lie.
Markarov took my silence for an answer. From the pocket of his coat he removed a syringe filled with a clear viscous liquid. It was far too dangerous for the institute to keep me alive, he said. The injection would put me out of my misery peacefully. If I was to reject it, the gun would be considerably more messy. Markarov apologized and leaned over to my shaking wrist.
My body refused to move, but I let out a yelp. That yelp quickly turned into speech. I do not know what I exactly said, I was delirious, but I know what I spoke of. I spoke of the cartoons that I have been drawing. I begged Markarov to let me live, to allow me to leave the borders of the union and pursue a life wholly unrelated to science. My pleas did nothing to stave off the lethal injection, yet when I mentioned that I wanted to create a cartoon about science Markarov’s hand wavered.
He asked what the cartoon would be about.
I told him. In a hushed whisper I told him the tale of a scientist that had been festering in my brain for months. It would be a show for children, a show that would make them laugh and appreciate the art of knowledge. It would be a show about men like me and Markarov, but the children would never have to think about the horrid research we were conducting. It would be a show about our lives but the pulsing darkness of the institute would be cut out and disposed of.
My room is filled with sketches of this scientist, of his friends, of the world he is set to inhabit. Markarov’s eyes drifted away from my veins and for the first time since he broke into my room he acknowledged my art. He just stood there, a pistol in one hand and a lethal injection in the other, and admired my work. Then, he spoke. His words were seared into my brain. They were my only company for what felt like an eternity.
“That will be a beautiful show,” Markarov said, “That will be a beautiful show and I hope that one day, once all this darkness is contained, once the world is safe— I hope that one day I will be able to see it. You have my mercy, Vítek, but I still cannot risk you interfering with the unification.”
My body was slowly starting to obey my orders. I was able to feel my own weight and move my fingers — yet before I could rise out of bed I lost control once more. Markarov stuck the needle into my arm and pressed the viscous liquid into my veins.
“This dose will not kill you, but the next hours won’t be pleasant.” His voice sounded like far-off thunder. The universe shrunk into a tunneled view of the syringe. Markarov had given me a half-dose. “I wish you luck with your cartoon. The people will need to laugh when this is all over. Glory to the labor.”
Somewhere, a thousand leagues away, I could hear the door to my room close. My body was completely weightless. All that existed was the cracks in the ceiling and the waterfall of blood rushing through my skull.
My thoughts slowed down to a crawl. Occasionally I felt the sensation of movement, as if my limbs were grasping and stomping for something real but all the sensations of my body were impossibly distant. All I could hear was the rolling thunder in my eardrums. All I could see were the cracks in the ceiling. They looked like bolts of thunder. Through the thick mental fog I found myself thinking about Adam Branowski.
The hotel’s siren sounded as if it had been muffled under a pillow, but the sound tugged at my senses. As the low note strained on and on I was dragged from the ether into my body. For a brief moment the ceiling of my hotel room sharpened into reality but then a terrible wave of exhaustion misted the world once more. To the quiet shuffling of feet in the hallway I lost consciousness.
I drifted in and out of sleep for the rest of the day. With my neck completely paralyzed time passed through blinks. The ceiling of my room slowly brightened and then, under the hum of an outside snowstorm, grew dark once more. Throughout the night sensation slowly crept back into my fingers and toes, I even managed to crane my neck to the side. I was still a half-witted corpse glued to the mattress of my bed yet at least I could see the outside world. Beyond my window was the empty burnt out panel house in which Mohsin once lived. Beyond the cement carcass there was a forest far too familiar to me. I watched the ugly vista, trying to gather the strength to get out of bed. What finally launched me off the mattress was more provoked by fear rather than conscious intent.
A flash of bright light from the forest in which the institute is hidden — like a lightning strike but brighter and silent. The moment that my window lit up my body propelled itself backwards as if it instinctively wanted to be as far away from the light as possible. I ended up with my face pressed against the dusty floor yet even so I could still see the light. It pulsed long into the night, like some foreign heartbeat growing more and more frantic with each pump but then, as if the light never existed at all — the room went dark.
When I finally managed to rise to my knees I crawled into the bathroom. I vomited, I urinated and then, with my mouth feeling like a desert made of dust, drank seven glasses of water. Quenching my thirst made me feel significantly more stable, but that didn’t last. Standing up had made my knees weak. My vision turned to faint static. Fearing cracking my head against the sink, I laid down on the floor of the bathroom. Even on the cold tile floor I didn’t last awake for long.
I woke from my feverish sleep about thirty minutes before the hotel’s sirens were meant to sound off. Throughout the night my body had gathered enough strength and balance for me to stand upright. With my knees still weak I managed to make my way back to the bed. With no clear plan of action I sat down and stared at the clock. I thought that after the morning call of the Rusalka I would be able to crawl my way down to the lobby and figure out what happened the night prior yet as I watched the hands of the clock distance themselves from the usual wake up call I realized there would be no sirens.
The hotel was deathly quiet. Outside the sun was already crawling onto the sky but the usual groaning of the elevator and shuffling in the hallway was absent. I was anxious to leave the safety of my room, especially since I had no idea what to expect outside but eventually my stomach demanded me to go get some form of nutrition. Thirty minutes after my usual wake-up call I made my way down to the cafeteria.
There were no familiar scientists in the lobby. Aside from a hotel clerk that I had never seen before I was the only living soul in the brutalist entryway. I had hoped I would meet someone in the cafeteria who could illuminate the situation with the institute but the eatery was just as empty as the lobby. There were no visitors yet the unseen staff had laid its usual set of bland looking food. Starving, I chewed through four egg sandwiches and retreated back to my room.
Most of my morning was spent pacing around trying to figure out what to do. Markarov had spared my life but he also did so under the promise that I would never return to the institute. Walking through that forest to investigate what had happened at the research facility seemed like suicide and past my wrecked body I felt a need for self-preservation. Spending the whole day in the confines of my room, however, also felt dangerous. In a need to clear my head and breathe air that doesn’t smell like my sweat I ventured out of the Rusalka.
It was an unseasonably warm day. The temperature was still a couple of points below freezing but the sun was bright in the sky. The street vendors that I used to walk by back in my vagrant drinking days would usually regard me with utter disdain but this morning, from behind their thick fur coats, I could see the hints of what seemed like smiles. It took me a long time to realize the army was gone.
I visited three news kiosks until I found a newspaper that was in a language that I could read, but the search was completely pointless. “LOWEST MILK PRICES IN A DECADE THANKS TO COMRADES IN BELOGROD” was the weekly front-page news. No mentions of troop movements, no mention of science facilities — I wasn’t counting on detailed information, but I had hoped the journalist would have managed to sneak at least a hint of what was happening past the censors. They didn’t.
It was a relatively warm day for the harsh climate I was used to, but the longer I spent on the street the more I felt a shiver enter my limbs and jaw. I wasn’t cold, my body was just shaking through some sort of nebulous discomfort. Making my way back to the Ruslaka I started to realize how long it had been since I had indulged in the syringes that Dr. Herkel used to send over to my hotel room. Before the true horror of withdrawal could dawn upon me, however, I bumped into two familiar faces.
Two men dressed in messy patchworks of improvised coats. One with an eye-patch fashioned of a bandage and a plastic bag and the other with a missing hand. They yelled at me, addressing me as Science Man. I recognized the bottle they were drinking from before I recognized my old drinking acquaintances.
I gave the vagrants some money and in exchange they let me drink from their bottle. The liquor didn’t calm the soreness in my arms but it eased my mind somewhat. Talking to the vagrants also bettered my state somewhat. It felt good to speak with people that knew me. We had drunk together before, we had sung songs around the fire — these men were the closest thing I had to friends in the past two winters.
As we emptied the bottle the two vagrants told me of the army’s departure. Shortly after sunrise the day prior all of the troops had packed up their tents and left the city in a caravan of trucks and tanks. Obviously the public was not entitled to explanations of the movement of the military but there were whispers around the fire that the soldiers were leaving to quell a revolt somewhere up north.
The vagrants weren’t content on discussing politics at length, however, soon enough they started inquiring about me. Where had I been for the past year? Why had I not come to drink with them? Had I seen the blue-eyed old man who used to drink with us? He had disappeared.
It is with the last question that I excused myself from the conversation. The memory of the poor man’s fate tore away at any camaraderie from the drinking. What good were friends in a world in which the foreign flesh that consumed the old man’s body could exist? The shiver in my limbs strengthened. I started to feel nauseous. As I excused myself the vagrants insisted I join them in their drinking circle in the near future. I did not accept their offer.
Whatever poison Markarov injected into me has run its course, but the paralysis and exhaustion have been replaced with a horrible craving. There were no syringes delivered to my room when I returned and I fear that there never will be again. I am certain that the man who provided me with my medicine over the past year is dead. Withdrawal is unavoidable.
I cannot draw. I can barely write. All I can do is sleep. All I can do is sleep and hope that the thoughts of the institute will leave me.
16th December 1989
Last night, shortly after I finished scratching out the previous entry, I went to sleep. I spent most of the night drifting between discomforting dreams and fevered consciousness. When I closed my eyes I was back in the institute, climbing the stairs up to my lab through an impossible incline. In the moments that I woke I found myself covered in sweat, yearning for something to quell the burning in my veins. My sleep was one of dazed terror and discomfort, yet as the lights outside died down and the clock struck twelve my night attained a significantly more troubling tenor.
Quietly, beneath the deafening sounds of my rustling covers, I could hear a familiar tone — The Rusalka’s siren. Soon enough I heard the unified shuffling of feet in the halls. The elevator groaned and coughed as groups of scientists were transported down to the lobby. The People’s Institute of Science was still operating, just under different hours.
The sleep had not helped my composure, my body was still shivering beneath the force of a unquenchable thirst but I knew I couldn’t leave the city without knowing what had happened to the institute. Once the elevator was silent for long enough to suggest there were no more passengers making their way downstairs I followed the group.
My daily walks to the institute were often accompanied with thoughts of dread and physical ailments associated with substance abuse, but that walk, that final walk to the United People’s Institute of Science was the worst of them all. Each step that I took threatened my balance because of the tremors in my feet. The cold midnight air scratched against my throat, imperiled me with coughs that would expose me. I did not do a good job staying hidden, yet the scientists paid me no mind. They simply marched through the forest towards the institute, as they always had.
The guard shack outside of the elevator was empty, yet I still stayed back as the scientists made their way into the building. It wasn’t until I was completely certain that they had all entered the institute that I made my way towards the facility.
Touching the large metal doors sent a chill through my spine that rivaled the icy claws of withdrawal. The moment I laid my hand on the door I knew that an incomprehensible change had taken place. I was no longer standing outside of The United People’s Institute of Science. I was standing in front of a building that had wholly transformed at its core. I was standing at the entrance to something incomprehensible.
Yet I still opened that door. I still walked into that elevator. I knew that nothing good would meet me in the bowels of the institute, but I also knew I would never rest easy until I found out what had happened. With dread in my heart, I entered the institute.
The ride on the elevator fortified my certainty that the institute had somehow transformed at its core. Gone was the smooth machinery that transported its passengers in absolute silence. The elevator fought each meter it descended through coughs and groans. When I entered the metal box there was a noticeable pool of liquid on the floor. At first I presumed it was simply melted snow that the procession of scientists had dragged in from the outside world but as the elevator struggled against its invisible blockage the puddle started to grow. Something from outside of the elevator, something massive, was bleeding into the cramped box.
When the doors of the elevator finally groaned open — when I saw —when I witnessed — when… My world, it crumbled. I had spent two years trying to protect mankind, thinking, hoping, praying that there was a way that our species could be defended from the unknown. But seeing — witnessing — being in the mere presence of that thing. In an instant I knew that we stand no chance. Humanity is nothing but an egg — an egg filled with blossoming life and limitless potential. Humanity is nothing but an egg being thrown at a brick wall by a furious God.
I slammed the elevator controls like a wild animal trying to get out of a cage. The doors were much quicker to close than to open but the damage had been done. My mind had been completely shattered. There was no way back from what I had seen.
It wasn’t laughter. No, it certainly wasn’t laughter. None of what I had witnessed was funny. Yet, the closest thing that I could compare the sound to was laughter. In response to the mess of meat and bone and arteries that I had witnessed my throat seized up in sudden barks.
The organism had spread its tendrils through the metal scaffolding of the scientific cathedral. All of the doors, all of the labs in which horrid research was being conducted — they were all swallowed up in one massive beating sea of flesh. The United People’s Institute of Science is no more. All that exists now is the Ғылыми қондырғы.
Adam Branowski’s art no longer adorns the Rusalka’s halls. I do not know where the paintings have disappeared to, but judging by the heartbreak in the old receptionist’s eyes I imagine they have been burnt. There are no decorations in the halls of the Rusalka, and I feel partially responsible. In reparations, I leave behind my sketches. Maybe a couple months from now someone will stumble upon this abandoned room. Maybe, hopefully, they’ll find these drawings fit to hang up.
All that tied me to this place was my research and now that the institute is gone, now that it is under the rulership of that thing— My research will be taken care of. I have given the institute far more than just two years of my life. I have given the institute far more than I had to give.
It’s time for me to retreat back home, to Prague. I do not know what to expect, I know nothing of the revolution other than that it happened. My mind is shaken but I hope, I pray, that I will one day recover. Maybe, I’ll be able to find a job in the arts. Maybe, hopefully, I’ll be able to put together that cartoon I always dreamed about. I think I’ll call it The Adventures of Professor Egghead.
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2022.01.25 13:51 gentlemanwhorology Nico Trolls Anthony 😂

Nico Trolls Anthony 😂 submitted by gentlemanwhorology to PrideAndPinion [link] [comments]


2022.01.25 13:51 BinnMan (2005) Original Lego Star Wars Demo Intro 60fps upscaled 2022

(2005) Original Lego Star Wars Demo Intro 60fps upscaled 2022 submitted by BinnMan to legostarwars [link] [comments]


2022.01.25 13:51 chibone90 Daniel Kandi & Parnassvs - Diversions [2022]

Daniel Kandi & Parnassvs - Diversions [2022] submitted by chibone90 to trance [link] [comments]


2022.01.25 13:51 JOhnandroBERT Your goal is to anger or divide the fandom. What will you say or do?

I'll go first. "I don't hate Gabi."
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2022.01.25 13:51 Delicious_Moment2224 The top of an empty parking lot.

The top of an empty parking lot. submitted by Delicious_Moment2224 to LiminalSpace [link] [comments]


2022.01.25 13:51 hirebrand [Spoiler] Fourteenth Doctor Who REVEALED! You'll never guess who the Doctor chose to regenerate into this season!

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2022.01.25 13:51 BuffBudz Consistent online rowing groups?

I’m looking to start getting more serious about my rowing, I own a concept two and downloaded the ergrace app, where does everyone find their competitions?
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2022.01.25 13:51 ButterscotchOk8112 I’m trying to figure out my first dance at my wedding. How do I tell what kind

So I want to do more than just stand there and sway. But I don’t know how to tell what kind of dance would go well with what kind of song. Can you just waltz to anything? We know how to waltz.
My father daughter dance is kooks by David Bowie And my SO and I will be dancing to a custom song.
How do I figure out what to do?
Also, any general tips on the first dance?
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2022.01.25 13:51 Traditional_Emu1958 Paying for internet

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2022.01.25 13:51 TheCosmicSheen Would it be possible to charge your devices in the backrooms?

I know the backrooms has its own wifi and there is electricity everywhere. If your device dies would it be possible to find an outlet and charge it?
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2022.01.25 13:51 somethoughts18 A 2nd scientific look at the Covid-19 response in the US. Use your own discernment…

https://thehighwire.com/videos/covid-19-a-second-opinion-roundtable-in-d-c/
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2022.01.25 13:51 CosoPotentissimo A tier list about all the animes that I’ve ever watched

A tier list about all the animes that I’ve ever watched submitted by CosoPotentissimo to animememes [link] [comments]


2022.01.25 13:51 richburroughs Internal Developer Platforms: Why They Matter and How to Build Them

Internal Developer Platforms: Why They Matter and How to Build Them submitted by richburroughs to kubernetes [link] [comments]


2022.01.25 13:51 walideghi Should i sell hakimi for 1.3 M ?

do you think his price will go up or down ?
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2022.01.25 13:51 cryptochartsbot Thoughts on $ADA #ADA! See tahazarrini's idea on TradingView below. https://t.co/Mn12a1fgWJ

Thoughts on $ADA #ADA! See tahazarrini's idea on TradingView below. https://t.co/Mn12a1fgWJ submitted by cryptochartsbot to cryptocharts [link] [comments]


2022.01.25 13:51 Busy_Security6136 Accidental free games on my quest

I used to own fnaf vr help wanted and i deleted it due to not being able to handle the game, but I side quested this app called app launcher for quest and when I had help wanted i opened it through that app. Then until 10 minutes ago I had already returned my copy of help wanted and didnt have it but had the app launcher and saw the icon and pressed it. I can't believe that I just got a free quest game because of this harmless little app.
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2022.01.25 13:50 pompistor (¬_¬)ノ

(¬_¬)ノ submitted by pompistor to Kosmiczna_Flota [link] [comments]


2022.01.25 13:50 saltiey Very interesting title

Very interesting title submitted by saltiey to Cringetopia [link] [comments]


http://belyenochizhk.ru