Strand voyuer

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2013.11.14 04:55 rushone2009 Coilporn

A SFW Porn Subreddit for RBA Coils
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2016.06.13 21:03 Cogitans-Proxy Strand voyuer

This is a subreddit for the fans of Hideo Kojima's action video game, Death Stranding, developed by Kojima Productions. The game was released by Sony Interactive Entertainment for the PlayStation 4, and by 505 Games for Windows.
[link]


2020.09.18 20:13 Jacksavage2005 Strand voyuer

the end is niegh death stranding is set in 2040 and jack already has one of the telescopic ladders
https://preview.redd.it/wcppgd31syn51.png?width=2108&format=png&auto=webp&s=e434219198ab274b654e1d15678c7c6c0c667ec9
submitted by Jacksavage2005 to jacksepticeye [link] [comments]


2020.09.18 20:01 All-Seeing-Bot Strand voyuer

Migrants stranded at Sea as Winds, Heavy Rain Batter Greece Islands | Bloomberg QuickTake: Now submitted by All-Seeing-Bot to NewsVidFeed [link] [comments]


2020.09.18 20:00 Odd_directions Strand voyuer

It’s difficult typing this out on my phone with my large fingers against the cold, cracked display. This will without a doubt come off as the ravings of a madman, but I swear by the sea that I’m speaking the truth. I don’t have much time before the battery runs out, and yet I feel compelled to start from the beginning.
My ship, the luxury cruiser Bête Noire, went down somewhere outside the coast of Siberia. Although it was cursed, it was said to have been blessed since on that particular voyage we had only carried a fraction of the passengers as we usually carried. And yet, it was the irreversible end of my career as a sea captain. My wife left me for another man shortly after and I ended up drowning my problems in alcohol. I lived on the streets of Anchorage for years, only barely surviving. I’m surprised I lived as long as I did…
But now, it seems that I might finally have reached rock bottom after all these years adrift. Last night, while trying to find somewhere to hide from the thunderstorm raging above, I heard a beautiful female voice sing an enchanted melody from somewhere nearby. I was half-seas over, but I could still tell that it was the most pleasing voice I had ever heard in my miserable life. It inflicted me with an inexplicable urge to follow it, and in doing so for half an hour or more I ended up outside of a defunct theatre downtown.
It was boarded up with rough boards with red, intimidating graffiti on them. I sneaked in through a small gap, ripping a hole in my dirty, old down jacket. The entrance was filled with trash, and the posters on the walls – depicting old plays – were covered in more profane graffiti. Despite all the filth, it was easy to see that at some point in time this place had been rather glamorous. A few rats escaped into the darkness when they heard me. The further inside I went the warmer it got, although it never reached room temperature.
The song had ceased, just as if it had only led me here so that I could find somewhere to spend the night. Perhaps it had been a guardian angel guiding this old, stranded sailor through the rough sea of life. The auditorium wasn’t very large, but my footsteps still echoed between the seats as I walked down one of the aisles. It was hard to believe someone had left it all to decay. I’m not sure if my eyes had gotten used to the darkness or if there were some strange source of light that I couldn’t place, but I had no trouble taking in the sight. The stage lay hidden behind an old, dusty drape with golden, fringed edges. The flaps from a pigeon reaching for the ceiling broke the silence, but only for a moment before it quieted down in an instant just as if it had been swallowed by the shadows.
I sat down on a seat only a few rows from the stage. I thought it was my lucky day, and that I would hopefully be able to stay at this place for a long time. I leaned over the seats next to me to push them down so that I could put my legs on them. On one of them, I found an old program for a play. I picked it up, dusted it off, and looked at it. It had an illustration on it, showing the face of an old, grey dog. The title of the play read: The Sunken.
I put it aside and lay down, staring up at the antique chandelier hanging from the ceiling like an enormous, translucent jellyfish. I imagined myself laying at the button of the ocean, and as I slowly drifted off to sleep my thoughts turned into a peaceful dream in which I followed the jellyfish over a grey, desolated seafloor until I came upon the very theatre I was sleeping in. It was the calmest sleep I’ve had since I lost my home, but just a few hours later – sometime after midnight – I jolted awake with an uneasy feeling stirring in my chest.
A soft rustle came from the stage. Afraid I was about to be thrown out, I sat up and looked around. The grand drape slowly parted in the center and revealed the theatrical scenery behind it. It was engulfed in what looked like moonlight, but there were no windows through which the moon could shine. Although I still tried to wrap my drunken mind around what was going on – contemplating if it might be some kind of performance art – my subconscious had already started to suspect that there was something profoundly wrong with this entire ordeal.
In front of me, on the stage, a dark figure stepped forward and into the weak light. I froze with fear when its countenance was revealed. It was the creature from the program: a large dog standing on its hind legs, wearing the uniform of a sea captain. It hobbled to the right, then to the left, until it sat down at a small table against a backdrop of a small kitchen which I vaguely recognized somehow. The dog growled and drooled as it poured vodka into a large goblet which it then proceeded to empty inside its grotesque mouth. The air was colder now, so much so that I could see my breath in front of me. The dog got up and reached for a phone on the wall, clumsily dialed a number, and began barking into the mouthpiece. Hearing the hysterical bellowing of the bipedal dog on stage gave me a strong sensation of déjà vu, followed by an anxiety comparable to that of mortal fear. I wanted to get out of here. Even the pouring rain outside was preferable to this nightmarish, unearthly performance. But just as I was about to stand up and stumble out on the street, hoping to never return to this godforsaken theatre again, the strange, irresistible song from before touched my ears yet again. And just as last time I surrendered to it. I fell back down in my seat, tears of resignation running down my cheeks.
The horrendous, scabby dog hung up the phone in senseless anger, stood up on its hind legs once again and grabbed its spotted, hairless genitals, and proceeded to satisfy itself with its dirty paws. I wanted to look away, but the damned song had my eyes transfixed on the stage just as if they had been anchored there with an unbreakable chain.
“Please, no more, please.” My whispers made no difference. The drunk dog whimpered in pleasure. “No more,” I continued, “please.”
I began coming to my senses, for the first time in years, as the alcoholic fog mysteriously lifted from my mind. It was in that moment, while the scruffy beast ejaculated all over the floor, that I realized why the backdrop had felt so familiar to me. My own kitchen had looked just like that! A memory began to resurface, almost as if the song was dragging it up from the depth of my soul with a rusty, old hook, and however hard I fought it I couldn’t hold it back. No, no, no. My voice cracked as I repeated the words I had convinced myself with a long time ago:
“It wasn’t my fault. I swear to God it wasn’t my fault!” The dog grabbed its briefcase and exited through a door in the backdrop and in doing so ended the first act. “I was sober before,” I yelled. “I never drank until they took it all away from me!”
My words echoed into nothingness, and before I knew it the second act began. The dog now stood on the bridge, steering his ship through a storm while barking at his pale and anxious crew whose grey faces I sort of recognized even though they were somehow obscured from view. Was this really how it had happened? Tears warmed my frozen cheeks. The crew spoke words that I couldn’t quite comprehend, and yet I somehow felt the suspense increase and the cold atmosphere fill with apprehension.
Everything on stage shook violently. The crew was thrown to the floor. I could almost smell the briny water from the crashing waves. The song slowly faded in and while still alluringly angelic it only gripped my old, soaked heart with grief and guilt. For I knew what had happened… my God I knew! They had hit that cursed iceberg outside the De Long Islands and the water was now pouring in at lower deck. The dog, clueless in its fancy uniform, cowardly yelped into the intercom, and although all I heard was the insane shouting of an animal I still understood what it said all too well: “Please don’t panic… Stay where you are… Everything is under control.” And with those unspoken words, the second act reached its end.
My feet were submerged in ice-cold water that had mysteriously appeared on the floor, my entire body ached from the freezing air and the third act started to the applause of my chattering teeth. The foolish old dog sat alone in a lifeboat as the giant ship slowly went down behind it. With horror, I saw the name of the boat: “The Bête Noire.”
The walls around me squeaked and groaned and to the sound of water dripping from the ceiling the song, reaching its crescendo, pierced my heart. I heaved forward in anguish and saw my worn-out face in the reflection of the black water beneath the seats. I remembered now, somehow everything that I had hidden away inside my fog of intoxication now lay barren for myself to see. My wife had left me the day before, not the other way around, and – my God, it’s true! – I took to the bottle that very night… the night before we boarded the Bête Noire and sat sails over the East Siberian Sea!
The curtain closed. I struggled to stand up in the freezing water. It was hard to breathe and my vertigo made it difficult to walk, but I was determined to escape and stumbled forward while swearing under my breath. I used my phone to shed some light in front of me. Shadows were sitting in the seats. I approached them, yelled at them in desperation, but when I finally reached them I saw that they were nothing more than mummified children nestled up to their long-dead mothers and I heard my own words echo inside my head: Stay where you are… Everything is under control.
The doors were closed shut, holding something immensely heavy back from entering the room. I turned around. The program was floating on the water in front of me. And it wasn’t until now that I saw the text beneath the title: “A Play in Three Acts. Performed in the grand theatre on board the Bête Noire.”
My phone is about to die and with that my last connection to the outside world. I’m breathing the last air inside the tomb I thought I escaped so many years ago, at the bottom of the Arctic Ocean, and my only hope is that I will freeze to death before I suffocate
submitted by Odd_directions to nosleep [link] [comments]


2020.09.18 19:28 MintySmoke Strand voyuer

My [20F] middle brother [18M] (we’ll call him Sam) began smoking weed in 7th grade. I’m personally fine with weed. I don’t think it’s bad as long as you’re responsible with it. Sam started failing all of his classes and continued to fail most of his classes until he was a senior in high school. The only reason that Sam graduated high school this year was because of COVID-19. They automatically passed every senior in their high school so that they would all graduate on time.
My youngest brother [17M] (we’ll call him Justice) was really great in school. He never once got grounded for bad grades and had hopes in going to college. Sam introduced Justice to marijuana about two years ago and nothing dramatically changed with him. But recently they became friends with a man named Kyle [22M]. After they met Kyle they both started smoking more frequently. Justice’s grades started plummeting. He took part in skipping school and even stopped participating in activities he’d normally participate on daily. He was really big into basketball and even at a young he wanted to play for the NBA. I know that making your life goal to play for the NBA is extreme and a lot of people will say that it’s not possible for just anyone to get there, but it made me feel proud to watch him practice everyday for hours on end. Even though it’s a 1% chance of getting there, I was still very supportive of him. It’s natural to make changes for your future, so I didn’t think much of it when he said that he wanted to become a physical therapist. But what bothered me was that he stopped playing basketball all together. He started spending all of his free time smoking weed and coming home very late. His grades dropped even more. He decided that he didn’t want to go to college saying “college is bullshit” so he changed his plans to wanting to go to trade school. Then recently changed his plans again to wanting to grow weed with his brother Sam for a living. I don’t want to disregard his future aspirations, but I’m pretty sure you need some form of higher education to start a marijuana business unless you plan on doing it illegally.
I knew that Sam was struggling and I tried to help him, but somewhere along the way my youngest brother began following his older brother Sam’s foot steps. Sam started drinking alcohol excessively. One night they all got really drunk and went driving on the back roads of Cortland, IN (if anyone is familiar with these roads you’ll know that many people die each year on these roads especially young adults). I’ve lost a few friends to these roads due to their reckless behavior. That night they almost wrecked their car, but they managed to make it home safely. Sam got alcohol poisoning 4 separate times within the past year and a half. And has almost died each time. Sam started doing Acid last year and was hit by a car while tripping on acid twice. Justice later started doing acid as well. I’m not too familiar with acid, but I know you’re supposed to wait a while before doing it a second time. They’ve both done acid 4 times within the span of 3 months. They’ve been getting jobs and quitting them after only working at them for two weeks. Sam got his 4th job this year and just quit a few days ago. They’ve been blowing all their money on weed and acid and keep finding themselves stranded in other cities asking me for gas money. Last night they got “stranded” in Muncie, IN and asked me to send them gas money through Apple Pay, but I decided not to, because they never pay me back. They tried asking my mom but she told them to fuck off, because they constantly ask for money and put themselves in these situations. Turns out they came home almost immediately after being denied money. This means they weren’t stranded. They didn’t need gas money. They tried to trick us into giving them money so that they could blow it on more weed/acid. I’m worried about them and I’ve tried coming through to them, but nothing is working. I don’t know what to do for them.
Is there anything I can do for them or is this out of my control?
I’m sorry if this information is vague and you need more, but this is all I know.
Summary: Two brothers [17M][18M] abusing weed and acid. Not keeping a job long enough to save money. They both want to become weed farmers, but have zero interest in higher education. It’s okay to not want to go to college. College isn’t for everyone, but the series of events that have been occurring in their lives and watching them steadily sink further down in life is terrifying to watch. Trying to trick family into giving them gas money when they get “stranded” but really the money is for buying more weed and acid. Middle brother [18M] becoming an alcoholic and putting himself including his friends/youngest brother’s[17M] life at risk by almost getting into drunk/high car accidents. Youngest brother following middle brothers footsteps. Their friend Kyle [22M] potentiality being a bad influence on them. Kyle is always with them when they “need money” or almost “get into accidents” and has even been the one to introduce them to acid. I’ve tried everything to convince them that they are being irresponsible only for them to say “you’re overreacting”.
Is there anything I can do for them or is this out of my control?
submitted by MintySmoke to relationship_advice [link] [comments]


2020.09.18 19:08 TheAmbiguousAnswer Strand voyuer

My girlfriend and I (we live together) have a mutual friend who has been going through an on-and-off relationship for the last two-three years. We all live in New Jersey.
This guy is a lunatic. When they first started dating, he was 20, and she had just turned 17. They met at a job they worked at together.
Over the last couple of years, he's done the following:
-Once they went on a break after a month of dating, she kissed one of her exes, he went ballistic. They (somehow) got back together, and he then had access to her social media accounts. He hacked them, she didn't give him the passwords.
-Once after they went through a rough patch, he pretended to be a stalker. Got a new phone somehow, and started following her around, texting her what her location was from that burner phone. He was doing this because he has her location on the SnapMap. She would come crying to him about it etc., and eventually she found out because I think he confessed to her. They then broke up, but not for long.
-About 9 months after that incident that got back together. They never stopped seeing each other during those nine months, btw. Since they got back together he's started doing things like telling her what and what not to wear, started harassing her while she was on vacation with her family and a family friend she used to have a thing with, etc. Last month they broke up, again, but never stopped seeing each other, again.
-During this break, he once went through her phone while she was sleeping at HIS HOUSE, and found her flirting with another guy. He woke her up by spilling water on her, and started throwing her shit around. The next day he was harassing her over text again, so she sent him a picture of cut wrists from the internet. He called the police on her and the local SWAT team showed up at 3 AM, and after they cleared things up, they told her to get a restraining order against him.
-Also during this break he's locked her out of her Facebook, Instagram, etc.
My girlfriend and I are pushing for her to get a restraining order. She's reluctant for obvious reasons, but we have text evidence of him admitting to the Swatting, the hacking, the stalking, etc. so we would have a case. However, my girlfriend is a pre-med university student interested in alternative medication and is growing strands of "magic mushrooms" (seeds are legal, the plant itself, not to much) for research purposes. Ironically enough she got the seeds, the set up, etc. from the abuser in this situation because he used to sell them before his family found out (we also have a text of him selling them too), and the deal was to give him a small batch of them every grow, for free. I have NO participation in this
He also knows that I own firearms. I'm a legal firearms owner in NJ, have the permit, clean record, etc. and he's threatened to bring BOTH these things up to the police if we call the cops on him. Would this be an issue, or would we have to get rid of the shrooms just in case?
submitted by TheAmbiguousAnswer to legaladvice [link] [comments]


2020.09.18 18:58 BobbieGeno Storm of the Century - Part Two

I'd like to say that was the only encounter I had that day but cycling home at 1am was like walking to Mordor.
The shadows taunted me, enticing me to take just one look. No matter how hard I tried to focus on the roads, each alley way whispered my deepest desires, my inner fears. I could feel every hair on my body raised, goosebumps tickling my arms. The hoards hidden in the depths of the winding side roads challenged me to look. The rain had started to hammer down calling for my attention to remain on the roads.
Turning the block just before the home stretch usually gave me a second wind, carrying me back to those four warm walls, my shelter from everything and everyone. That's when I heard a piercing scream, it wasn't just calling for anyone either...it called me by my name.
"Stephen, please help!"
I slammed on my brakes almost flying over the handle bars and just stopped for what felt like forever. Scanning the area like a captain with his periscope.
'Stephen!!"
A chill ran down my spine and didn't stop till my whole body shivered. It was right behind me. Not in one of the den of thieves shrouded in darkness, but what felt like two feet behind me.
Every logical part of me was telling me to go, don't turn back, get home, bolt the door and hide. After a age of deliberating, I slowly craned my head around, right foot resting just above my pedal ready for a sprint.
There she was, it was...Mrs Peters. Those same vile eyes staring me down, consuming me. The flickering street light barely illuminating her corpse like body but there was no mistaking those eyes. This time I could see further into them somehow, as if the darkness of the night enveloping around us gave them more strength. I hadn't noticed at first but she was completely bare. No clothing, nothing. Her feet dirty and black from the gravel. You'd think that was enough to unnerve me and I suppose it was. That's when I noticed the skin on her body. It sagged but not like it naturally would through old age, it was as if it wasn't hers or at least, wasn't whatever was stood in front of me. I've never seen skin so white and devoid of life. I didn't wait to see what she had in store for me. She started to reach forward, as if begging for help again, just as she did at work. Before her hand had lifted even an inch I threw my right leg forward pushing down on that pedal as if my life depended on it. I didn't stop, I barely even took a breath till I saw my front door. I ran in, hearing it again.
"Stephen, it's me"
This time I couldn't decipher where from but I didn't care. If I got inside I'd be safe right?
Throwing the door open and slamming it behind me, I heard nails clicking along the old pine flooring. At first slow, now sounding to gallop towards me.
The image of the woman running towards me, skin trailing behind her like a flag, flooded my thoughts. I started to run and just as I got to the foot of my stairs, something lunged on me. Making me collapse to the floor. My head thumped off the floor, throwing me into a state of shock and without thinking, I covered my face fearing the worst. Praying to god to make it quick, don't make me suffer.
I felt it's presence bearing over me. Blocking out the porch light shining through my front door. The clicking of it's nails sending shrieks through my body. It got closer.
I felt a warm breath on my hands, being my last bastion of defence. The disgusting stretch it brought with it was enough to make me throw up. Then a loud piggy snort and licking ensued...Fuck.
It was Rex.
The big old brute of a Staffie was happy to see me. Lord knows I was happy to see him too. I let out a sign of relief feeling all the tension fade away, pushing myself to a seated position against the wall and played with him for a few minutes. Immediately forgetting about what had just happened. Dogs have a way of doing that.
I got myself a quick shower, made dinner and went to serve Rex his in the dog bowl he protected with his life. Looking for dog food I noticed something. Among all of the cans, there was just one out of place. Now Rex was a fussy dog, believe it or not, so I knew to get the same select few each time.
Out of the cans that stood to attention, to the left, out of regiment, was the one Mrs Peters asked for earlier. Premium dog chum.
The thoughts crashing down on me again like waves on the coast, a second panic attack starting to usher it's way in.
Without second guessing myself, I picked it up, opened my back door and threw it. Not very neighbour friendly but I'd had enough. Trying to convince myself I wasn't crazy, I served up Rex's meal and shortly after got myself into bed.
As much as my brain wanted to process everything that had happened throughout the day, I was exhausted. I drifted off in record time.
The next morning I woke up, head foggy. I may have passed out instantly but waking up well rested was not on the agenda that day. Rex was just sitting in his corner in the morning, he gave me a nod of approval and I patted him on the head.
"Hey buddy, you ready for the vets?" I said in a voice we all save for our fur balls.
The storm was starting to pick up outside. Those ominous clouds soon took over the sky, blocking out the sun and I decided I'll take him next week.
With my plans dashed for the one day weekend I had, I decided to skip breakfast and get straight to painting.
I opted to do another portrait, something a bit cheery. I'd had enough morbidity for a while so wanted to take my mind off. As the hours passed, fully taken in with the masterpiece I was creating, Rex still sat in his corner, I decided to grab a bite to eat.
The wind was whistling through the hollow bones of my home. I took another look outside and all I could see were those jet black clouds. Never ending. The rain was heaving now. Mini rivers raging down the sides of the street and creating whirlpools around the drains.
I scanned the street for any sign of life, not a soul was out. Well that's what I thought. As I started to turn and draw my curtains I noticed footprints in the grass just in front of my window. No tracks of someone walking to that spot outside my window. Just two footprints about 3 feet away.
The rain must've been coming down for hours by that time but the grass looked completely dry where those feet had been. As if whoever had been out there, had been there all day. I noticed a blackening around the edges of the solitary tracks. Was it burnt or some sort of substance? As I tried to inspect the unknown goo closer, a glint in the window caught my attention. Two piercing orbs just hung there, just below my eye line. Looking closer to see where they were emanating from I noticed something...they weren't coming from outside. They were right behind me. A tingle ran down my spine as the pin dropped. I span around, almost sweeping myself off my feet. Nothing.
Something in the back of my head made me look over to the basement door. A sense of dread always swept across me with the thought of going down there.
Still standing by the window, I listened out in silence. Trying to detect anything out of place. I can't tell you how difficult this was with the rain bombarding the windows and the wind risking to rip my door off.
creak
I contorted my neck almost giving myself whiplash.
creak
I looked over to the labour of my day, the painting. The noise coming directly behind it.
In denial of the terror I was experiencing, I creeped over to it. The area being dimly lit by the grey strands of sunlight that pierced the clouds made it difficult to see from the other side of the room.
It was as I got closer that I started to hone in on the source of the sound.
The god dammed painting.
The innocent blonde haired Mona Lisa I had created wasn't how I left it.
The hair that boasted a light gold was brown with dirty grey roots threatening to take over.
The smile which once shone brighter then the pearly whites now featured brown, decaying teeth which no longer sat where they should.
I couldn't breath. A new voice came to me that instant. It imitated Susie, badly.
Gargled words plagued my mind, I was too shaken up by the picture to even try to comprehend them. If I could hazard a guess now, parts sounded Latin but I feel some of the things I heard weren't intended for human ears or minds. They paralysed me, leaving me a complete nervous wreck. Unable to move, think, hell I don't even remember breathing.
As terrifying as they were, I felt a sense of clarity and something familiar about them from my core which didn't manifest itself till afterwards.
As suddenly as the tongue of ancients had started lashing my mind, they disappeared.
Turning back to that ghastly painting after having been on all fours clutching at my head.
It had returned to the serene woman it was before. No eyes of pure sorrow, no tattered skin and her teeth back to their former glory.
Knowing I was beginning to fall into a madness concocted by my own mixture of lack of sleep, anxiety and my own worse enemy, my mind. I decided it was time to go to sleep. Rex hadn't moved all day, hadn't touched his bowl of food either.
Before I hit the hay, I decided to replace his food just incase he started to get fussy with his usual delicacy. Picking up the first can I could reach from the cupboard, I lazily opened it up and lathered it into his bowl. To make sure he had something, I also put a couple of dog treats next to his bowl. The little guy hadn't eaten all day.
Finally, nothing to do but surrender to the night. My head hit my goose feathered pillow and I was lost in the comfort of my king size mattress for one.
Link to part one - https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/itt8u1/storm_of_the_century_part_one/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf
submitted by BobbieGeno to nosleep [link] [comments]


2020.09.18 18:40 AlternateSalt Strand voyuer

VTuber Stranding submitted by AlternateSalt to SaltsAnime [link] [comments]


2020.09.18 18:40 falseadress best way to splice #6 awg soow cabtire?

What is the best way to splice #6 fine strand cabtire soow?

I was thinking of using big blues and enter the cables into a 4x4. But thinking it might be better in a 4-11/16.
submitted by falseadress to electricians [link] [comments]