#Multa.

[elchaqueno]

Denuncian nueva multa a Cosaalt por falta de informes ambientales

El asambleísta departamental, Anibal Rodríguez, ha denunciado que la Cooperativa de Agua y Alcantarillado de Tarija (Cosaalt) ha recibido una nueva multa de 270 mil bolivianos por no emitir informes del manifiesto ambiental del año 2023, sumándose a una sanción anterior de más de 2,7 millones de bolivianos por la misma falta. Esto significa que Cosaalt acumula multas por un total de 3 millones de…

[major-toast]

Passenger

@rosekillermicrofic // May 14th - insane // words: 856 // minors dni

Speeding down the highway, the landscape is rushing past them, a nervous blur of the black night sky and bright neon signs. Evan’s eyes flick down to the dashboard of their trusty Dodge Challenger. And so do Barty’s.

140 miles per hour. 150. 200.

They’re fucking fast.

“Hit the gas, Rosie!” Barty laughs, turning in his seat to catch their trackers tailgating them. They’re fast too. But, considering Evan will turn off the car lights any second, plunging them into total darkness and vanishing the Challenger into the cool air of the night, they stand no chance. Barty’s grin takes up a new dimension of delight.

“Any faster, and I’ll lose track of the road signs”, Evan mumbles, taking one last sip of his soda can. 

Scrunching up the frail metal within his palm, he then throws the remains out of the open window, one hand safely secured to the wheel. For a moment, Barty hoped the can would hit the windshield of the SUV behind them, but to no avail. Disappointed, he clicks his tongue, focussing back on the road ahead.

“Fuck the road signs!” he says. “If one of the pigs wants to stop us now, I’ll show him how pretty his brain looks on the pavement. Didn’t bring those TEC-9s for nothing.”

Huffing, and with his arms crossed above his chest, he slumps back into the passenger seat, propping his feet up against the windshield.

It was supposed to be an easy job; in and out. No witnesses. A simple kidnapping with a shit-ton of ransom money as a reward. But, of course, it had to be a trap, a botched operation. If Riddle wanted to get rid of them so desperately, he should have done it himself, and not sent out a bunch of bloodhounds.

What an egomaniacal, deranged coward. Barty will be all too happy to greet him with the gun inside his pants. And this time, he doesn’t mean his cock.

Roll the windows down, this cool night air is curious. Let the whole world look in. Who cares who sees anything? I’m your passenger.

At the sound of the radio echoing back his own sentiment, the grin reappears. Usually, Barty listens to no one, but the moment couldn’t be more fitting.

“What- what are you doing?” Evan questions warily, his eyes fleetingly glancing over at him.

“Living” comes the simple reply.

Before the pretty blonde can do anything, Barty has rolled the windows down.

Without unbuckling his seatbelt – because why would he fasten it to begin with? – he climbs out halfway, nothing but his waist and legs keeping him inside the racing car. Feeling the harsh air whip through his hair and prick his nose and ears like a thousand tiny needles, an ecstatic cackle bubbles from his lips.

This. This is what it means to be alive, to breathe.

If only for a short moment.

“Get. In”, Evan grunts, pulling Barty back with one harsh tug on his blood-soaked shirt. “You maniac are getting us both killed!”

Almost as if to lend his words some weight, Evan swerves hard right, trying to avoid crashing into the slowing car before them. The tires screech deafeningly in protest and the centrifugal force shoves Barty back into the passenger’s side door. Left and right, empty beer cans and other trinkets are flying through the tiny space, and with one last bumpy correction of his course, Evan gets them back on track.

“Beautiful”, Barty breathes in admiration, his piercing eyes alighting with new fire and his hands shaking from excitement. “No one can drive like you can, Rosie.”

“Save your compliments until we’re fucking out of here, Crouch.”

He looks over to him, watches the wind dance inside his blonde locks. If they go crashing down, Barty will be glad to crash with him.

Here I lay, just like always. Don’t let me go. Go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go. Take me to the edge.

“Do you trust me?” Barty murmurs into the warm space between them.

“Of course, I trust you”, Evan replies.

“Blindly?”

“Blindly.”

Without another word, Barty leans forward then. Gently, he wraps his hands around Evan’s face, covering his eyes. Freezing at first, the pretty blonde relaxes into the touch easily, his grip slackening on the wheel.

“The road is empty. There is no one in front of us”, Barty coos. “You got this, angel. Let me be your eyes-“

“-and I’ll be your wings”, Evan finishes, a small smile stretching over his lips at the familiar words. 

Confidently, he presses down on the gas pedal, increasing their speed once more. Filled with pride, Barty gently kisses his cheek.

“There is another sloth right in front of us. The right lane is empty. You have about 15 seconds.”

Shifting gears and slowing down without effort, Evan taps the wheel. Gracefully, they avoid yet another crash. Yes, no one can drive like his Rosie. No one knows the road like he does.

“You are one insane motherfucker”, Evan smiles as Barty lifts his hand again. He simply shrugs it off.

“As long as I am yours.”

[viejospellejos]

Cuando tiene novio:

Enviado por: Nagras

[kassaneiti]

[haahka]

Suomen elinkeinoministeri:

[elbiotipo]

Hay que hacer una intervención humanitaria en EEUU para introducirlos al concepto de verdulerías. Que pongan alguna en los garages esos de los suburbios.

[welele]

[drugsforaddicts]

Tää on nyt joulu ja juhannus yhtä aikaa!!

–Sad bojere bitches aina kun jotain vähänkin poikkeavaa tapahtuu

Tuli selväksi, vaikka aihe ei ole niin paljon ollut isä-näkökulmasta juuri nyt esillä!!!

[frikatilhi]

Haluan teidän kootut kommentit koko Ihku-raportista, kiitos.

"11/10, no notes, op on kirjaimellisesti täydellinen"

"Toi on oikeesti mitä itsekin suoltaisin tänne jos oisin ollu tuola baarisa"

[devflamme]

i love being brazilian and having twitter blocked but using a VPN anyways because My Favorite Character Is Getting A Show And I Need To Know Everything About It. oh youre gonna send me a R$50k fee? dont care dont have the money

[salmiakkisaatana]

Hei muuten piirrätkö?

Joskus aaaaaikoja sitte joo mut se ei ollu ihan mun juttu. Ei riittäny kärsivällisyys :D

Nykyää lähinnä tuhertelen jotai hassuja pikku juttuja ja teen taidetta niist jotenkin! Lähinnä vent art-tyyppistä kamaa ja sit jotain omaks huviks piirreltyi juttui.

Täs on hassuja pikku kumiankkoja ja sit tommone puoliks muuten vaan tuherreltu ja puoliks ihan oikeen tarkotuksen sisältävä teos :<

[elchaqueno]

Multan a Cosaalt con 270 mil bolivianos por no presentar informe ambiental

La Gobernación de Tarija impuso una nueva multa a la Cooperativa de Servicios de Agua y Alcantarillado de Tarija (Cosaalt) por no presentar el informe del Manifiesto Ambiental correspondiente al año 2023. El asambleísta Aníbal Rodríguez informó que esta es la segunda multa que se impone a la cooperativa, sumando un total de 3 millones de bolivianos debido a que no presentaron este informe durante…

[major-toast]

West Coast

@rosekillermicrofic // August 9th - heart // words: 631 // cw: slightly suggestive content

„You’re sick?“

„Yeah?“

„Really?“

„Yeah!“

„Dorcas, do you need any more proof than… that? God, one more word out of Crouch’s mouth and not even hearing aids will compensate for the damage done to my ears.”

“Stop being dramatic, Regulus! I am sure this is nothing a bit of tea and honey won’t solve.”

“Oh, yes. Definitely.”

Regulus rolls his eyes wryly, ignoring Dorcas’ scolding glare. Barty wants to laugh, but – fuck – it hurts.

“In all honesty, I don’t think it will”, he croaks instead, coughing the moment the words leave his mouth.

Maybe he shouldn’t have partied outdoors until the brink of dawn… in the middle of December. But – ah well – mistakes are there to be made. At least, he got a sick new tramp stamp.

Dorcas groans.

“This is horrible! Absolutely fucking horrible! You knew how important this gig is! Why in God’s name would you get sick now?”

Barty shrugs. How is he supposed to know?

“I could do the vocals, no problem.”

All heads turn to Evan, who is sitting by his drums and lazily twirls one of the sticks in his right hand.

“What?”, he challenges, raising a brow. “I can sing.”

Dorcas slumps. With a sigh, she says, “Guess we don’t have a choice, do we? Crouch, do you feel well enough to shred your guitar?”

Barty nods.

What is one messed up gig, in the grand scheme of things?

Later that night, the hall is brimming with anticipation. No one has ever heard Evan sing before. Not even Pandora, she claims. Barty, however, isn’t fooled. He has seen her blink three times. Something she always does whenever she’s lying.

Usually, he’d pry it out of her somehow. But not tonight.

Tonight, he’ll be blown away.

Once the light dims, and they walk on stage to an already cheering crowd, Barty opens with a slow solo on his guitar. Immediately, hysteria washes over the audience; more than a few groupies crying and screaming in the front. Barty winks at them with a grin before stepping away from the microphone.

Tonight, someone else will be their darling.

Down on the West Coast, they got a sayin'. If you're not drinkin' then you're not playin'.

Barty falters, his heart missing a beat. Immediately, his eyes snap over to Evan.

Hitting the drums with not a care in the world, he’s closed his eyes. His blonde hair is swaying in sync with the beat of his drums, his voice a low murmur as he serenades the mic.

It’s soft, mellow; a warm cadence in a whirl of raspy notes and fastening beats. For a second, Barty believes to have entered heaven a bit too early.

Down on the West Coast, I get this feeling like it all could happen, that's why I'm leaving you for the moment.

Evan’s eyes find Barty’s. Briefly, his mouth curls into a satisfied smile. Then, his attention focuses back on the crowd before changing the vocals into a harsh growl.

Barty swallows. He doesn’t know whether his cock is hard or his knees are weak. Most likely, a bit of both. Louder than the drums, his heart thrashes in his ears.

“Are you going to play or just stand here?” Dorcas hisses as she slowly moves towards him, her hands easily tapping the strings of her bass.

Barty jolts, jumping back into action.

I can see my baby swinging, his Parliament′s on fire and his hands are up. On the balcony and I’m singing, “Ooh baby, ooh baby, I′m in love.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

Barty will never let him live this one down.

Yes, he thinks while he bangs his head to the melody, playing with the pacing of his riff. Angel, I think I’m in love.

He’s going to marry that bloke someday.

The song referenced in this post is mac glocky's cover of West Coast in the style of Deftones. This version can be found here. I highly recommend checking it out.

[viejospellejos]

Los Mossos piden a un conductor que firme la multa que les están poniendo y pasa esto:

[luutakiituri]

Etäpääsykokeet menee loistavasti, en saa alotettua tehtäviä koska

>oon liian väsynyt

>en osaa suomea (äidinkieleni on suomi)

>mulla ei oo motivaatiota tällä hetkellä

>oon yliajattelija

Mitä meinaa "tärkeitä merkkipaaluja elämässäsi" 😭😭😭

[surkeasilakka]

Downtun Abbey jatkuu, vau!! :D Koskela on pyytänyt teetä lukusaliin ja hovimestari Hietanenhan sen tietysti tuo :)

Keep readingin alla tällä kertaa paneelit tarkemmin ja meikäläisen pikkuruiset harakanvarpaat selvennettyinä!

K: Sisään. Ai... Herra Hietanen.

H: Tämä tee on hankittu suoraan Englannista. Lajike on nimeltään 'Earl Gray'.

K: Hm.

H: Teehen ei ole lisätty mitään, toivomustenne mukaan.

K: Kiitos.