#traffic offenses

[diagnozabam]

Vinul fiert și conducerea: ce trebuie să știi despre alcooltest și legislație

Vinul fiert este o băutură tradițională de iarnă, populară în târgurile de Crăciun și alte evenimente festive. Totuși, chiar dacă fierberea reduce concentrația de alcool, vinul fiert conține încă un anumit nivel de alcool, care poate influența rezultatele la alcooltest și, implicit, capacitatea de a conduce în siguranță. Experimentul polițistului Tavi Perțea Polițistul Tavi Perțea a realizat un…

[s1lv3rp4w3dc4t]

writing this down now, I joked about tango winning.

[mimikip-stuff]

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!!

For my Christmas present to all of you, you're more than welcome to add your oc or any character you would like next my boy Skunk! Like a big holiday card! Please make sure you tag me so I can see your addition! Have fun, be nice, and make sure there's space for others to draw!

[vyrsm-txt]

I always love seeing your other art and ocs in different situations than normal. But I'm still down bad for your characters and want to see them all eat.

I’d like to draw more foodplay / stuffing / cannibalism stuff too, but I’ve been a bit low on inspiration for it lately 🫠 I feel like I mostly want to stuff my friends’ OCs instead of my own, but maybe chatting about my characters on here more could give me ideas!

(Though I will note that I would not consider the works I post to idolkilling to be my “other” art—it’s my main art! Belly kink stuff is, rather, what reflects “different situations than normal” in my works, since while I enjoy it and indulge for fun, my OCs aren’t belly-focused characters or anything)

[crifevergreen]

Traffic shippers scary me sometimes

[foreststarflaime]

My personality and achievements in life can all be summed up by the fact that I read the Hobbit in 4th grade and from that day forth decided to simply become a fantasy adventurer irl

[polepositioned]

moots n whoever else feels like it PLEASE send me your controversial f1 opinions/takes on anon and we'll discuss

[whywoulditho]

being ableist is insane yesterday i was lost and a blind person gave me directions

[betterdonutgalaxy]

Ok the idea of an object oc who weaponizes a wheelchair (or whatever) could be kinda funny and cool, perhaps they do it because they got made fun of multiple times for being in one or the city he lives in (would fit with the character I wanna do) decides to not really make the place the most wheelchair (or anyone that happen to have wheels) friendly

[enchantedephiphany]

Was awake thinking about the citizenship order... one person shouldn't have the right to change something so fundamental, no matter what you think about the subject.

The expansion and connected abuse of power makes me feel like this is the whole country. That there's nothing we can so and more will keep happening and getting worse and worse.

Perhaps I should do something. It does get worse if no one does anything. But I have almost no power. Plus-- if I think about this at all, it stresses me do I don't sleep,and when I don't sleep, such as 5 hours last night, I can't think and am not effective in anything and start emotionally falling apart really easily. So... it's a self defesting cycle.

Perhaps all I can do is ignore. Or leave. Not accept.... I ignored last time and look what happened. But at least for me, perhaps my instinct was correct. I get too stressed out. When its something encompassing the whole country.... it feels like it's everywhere and could get me at any moment. And more things may happen that actually ruin my life. They could take away my free insurance or make it so it's harder to do my own business-- even if I do nothing.

Perhaps should concentrate on just doing what I can... surviving which i barely am doing rn. What happens when it comes for someone barely surviving??? If I can somehow just get to the point I can get some money.... be able to escape anything bad... try to achieve my dreams and ignore everything.... then perhaps later have more mental ability to deal w standing up for democracy through writing... I want to but i can't think without sleep and I can't sleep while thinking about it. I can't sleep anyway! I have to renew my sleep somehow... reduce stress so I can earn a living and live on my own... just the basics.... yet I was going to do something... not strong enough... to not do what's in the core of my being erased a huge part of me. Yet I need to just live rn...... :(

I wish I could get enough money to go to another country.... if that's even possible anymore. But i would probably be too stressed out and not sleep enough to survive if I went to another country... I'm trapped. In my current incarnation I get too stressed about everything not just this and idk how to stop it. I told myself a million times to just stop thinking and sleep, but my mind wouldn't listen to me!!

And I cant talk to anyone. No one cares about me. A few family... idk if they'd understand. Some are sympathetic to the current administration.

Idk how to connect to ppl and get a support system. I have almost nothing. It's hard for me to get traction when I get stressed easily ... and even harder when I can't sleep. I feel like im almost nothing. Mind stops working. I may not even be able to write today bc mind is bad. I'm just floaty out here... in a daze..... all i can do is talk on Tumblr then watch TV shows.... not affect anything. Barely alive, don't even have basic foundation of health (arm pain off and on and this other weird thing plus bad sleep out of nowhere.... dreaming my way thru life trying to avoid stress then want to do things to help.. to really live how I want and support what I care about-- but i find I really can't meet challenges esp if can't sleep.... at 40 earning barely enough and barely skills except writing and have a Pol Sci degree... trying to learn more skills and build career/entre now but moving forward is stressful.... hard to see future.... I want a degree but I need enough $ to pay for it... survival all I can do but want more... need sth to live for, not suppress what's in heart.... but need to just live.... barely do more in this state... which is even less than what I've always been... hard seeing your true self and how inadequate you are-- can't even survive on your own--

Ignore it to survive

Sleep! Plz!!

Write

Try to get money

This month

School?

Travel?

House???

Help Ukraine

Fight injustice and for freedom -- could I ever do that even in writing bc im so.... inadequate

[diagnozabam]

Conducerea sub influența alcoolului: sancțiuni și riscuri conform legislației actuale

Conducerea sub influența alcoolului este una dintre cele mai grave abateri în trafic, iar legislația din România prevede sancțiuni drastice pentru cei care încalcă legea. În funcție de concentrația de alcool în aerul expirat sau în sânge, șoferii pot fi sancționați cu amenzi, suspendarea permisului sau chiar închisoare. Când se consideră contravenție? Conducerea sub influența alcoolului este…

[charmcoindied]

actually my mom has a subscription to southern living and we scan a lot of the recipes from it to keep them on the computer. . . . wondering if i could use ocr to put them in notion somehow instead of keeping them all saved as image files i think my parents would appreciate that

[igottatho]

The media giants won’t tell us this, but there are protests happening all over the US. With the coordinated BDS (Boycott, Divest, Sanction) movement, large corporations like Sbux and Wackdonalds are feeling the hurt - collective action Works.

Text for the tweet below the cut, for those comrades who need it.

I found this via Instagram yesterday, Feb 14.

A screen grab of an Instagram post, titled: ���Golden Gate Bridge Briefly Blocked by Activists Calling for Cease Fire in Gaza’

Post credited to kqednews and reads: ‘Activists calling for a ceasefire in Gaza blocked traffic on the Golden Gate Bridge this morning around 7:30 a.m. Traffic was closed for about 20 minutes and reopened by 8 a.m.

Israel is preparing for a military offensive in Rafah, a city and location of a border crossing at the southern end of Gaza where Palestinians are seeking refuge but unable to leave, prompting warnings by President Joe Biden to not proceed without a plan to protect civilians.

In the Bay Area, protestors had previously blocked the Bay Bridge in November to draw attention to the humanitarian crisis in Gaza.’

The image shown is taken from the Golden Gate Bridge, where 4 activists are wearing masks and holding a large banner-sign that says “STOP ARMING ISRAEL”, behind them you can see traffic lined up.

Original post here.

[echoxshxrx]

.

[avaleigh16]

Y/n: You really put aside everything and came all this way for me? How did you even get here so fast?

Gaz: Several traffic violations.

Ghost: Three counts of resisting arrest.

Soap: Roughly thirteen cans of energy drinks.

Price: Also, that’s not our car.

〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰

Y/n: We need more help. Maybe I should call my friends.

Ghost: ... Your what?

Y/n: My friends.

Soap: Are they saying “friends”?

Price: I think they're being sarcastic.

Gaz: No, no, no, this is delirium, they've cracked from being awake all night. Hey, Y/n! All of your friends are in this room.

Y/n: I have other friends! You asked me to make new friends, I made new friends! It was a task. I complete tasks.

〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰

Y/n: This food is too hot... I cant eat it.

Ghost: You’re very hot, and I still eat you.

Everyone at the table: *silence*

Gaz: YOU GUYS ARE DISGUSTING!

Price: One dinner... I just want ONE DINNER!

〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰

Y/n: If you want my advice-

Gaz: No offense but you’re the last person I want relationship advice from. You tried to kill Ghost. Multiple times.

Y/n: First off, that was before we started dating. Secondly, he also tried to kill me.

Ghost: It’s true. It was mutually attempted murder.

[er1nne]

nobody else sits shotgun besides you, and rafe knows that but...

(do not copy or plagarize, original work)

The sleek black Range Rover sat parked under the soft golden glow of the setting sun, its glossy surface gleaming like liquid ink. The car was pristine, as always—because Rafe Cameron wouldn’t have it any other way. The sharp scent of leather and the faint trace of his cologne lingered as you walked up to the passenger side, the low hum of the engine vibrating softly through the quiet evening air.

You paused for a moment outside the car, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you adjusted your purse. Rafe’s head was tilted down, scrolling through his phone with the same casual confidence he carried everywhere. His other hand rested on the steering wheel, the gold watch on his wrist catching the fading light. He didn’t look up, but even from here, you could feel the magnetic pull of his presence. You smiled to yourself, anticipation bubbling at the thought of spending the afternoon being spoiled—because when Rafe decided you deserved it, he always went all out.

But as you reached for the door handle, something caught your eye. The passenger seat—your seat—was wrong.

It wasn’t just wrong; it was offensive. The seat had been pushed back, too far for someone of your height. It was subtle, but it struck you immediately. You froze, staring at the seat as unease prickled up your spine. Rafe always made sure everything was perfect for you, and this? This was not perfect.

You opened the door slowly, climbing in and surveying the situation like a detective piecing together a crime scene. Your seat, your perfectly adjusted, exactly-the-way-you-like-it seat, was ruined. Someone else had been here. Someone who wasn’t you. You frowned, settling into the seat with a huff as you quickly adjusted it back into place.

“Rafe,” you said, voice tinged with irritation but calm enough to be dangerous.

He glanced up from his phone, his sharp blue eyes flicking to you with a faint smile. “Hey, baby.” His gaze softened as it lingered on you, but then he caught your expression. His brow furrowed slightly. “What’s up? Why do you look like that?”

“Like what?” you shot back, already feeling defensive. You shifted in your seat, crossing your arms and staring out the window as you adjusted the air vent slightly—anything to avoid his gaze.

“Like you’re pissed at me,” he said, his voice tinged with confusion. He tossed his phone into the cup holder, his full attention on you now. “What happened?”

You stayed silent, your lips pursed in a pout as you watched the world pass by outside the window. Normally, Rafe’s presence in the car was all you needed to relax—his hand on your thigh, the low rumble of his voice, the way he effortlessly dominated every space he was in. But tonight, his hand felt absent. Distant.

And he noticed.

“Alright, what’s going on?” Rafe’s tone was firmer now, his hand reaching across the console to rest on your thigh. His thumb brushed gently against your skin, a small, familiar gesture that usually drew you closer to him. But tonight, it didn’t. You stayed quiet, your arms still crossed as you leaned further into the door, your head resting against the cool glass.

Rafe’s frown deepened as the silence stretched between you. He turned back to the road, the engine humming softly as he pulled out into traffic. The Range Rover glided smoothly onto the main street, but his gaze kept flicking to you every few seconds, sharp and assessing. Normally, your presence filled the car with a lightness he loved—your chatter, your laughter, the way you’d steal glances at him when you thought he wasn’t looking. Tonight, though, you felt far away. Closed off.

His hand stayed on your thigh, the warmth of his touch steady, but it didn’t ease the tension buzzing in the air. He drummed his fingers lightly against your skin, a quiet rhythm that matched the faint beat of the music playing through the speakers.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he said after a while, his voice soft but probing. “That’s not like you.”

You didn’t respond, your gaze fixed on the blur of buildings passing outside the window. The streetlights flickered over your face, casting shadows across your features, and Rafe caught the way your lips stayed in that same faint pout. Normally, his hand on your thigh would’ve earned him some kind of reaction—a glance, a soft smile, maybe even that playful laugh of yours that he liked more than he’d ever admit. Tonight, though, you stayed stiff, unmoving, your arms still crossed like you were guarding yourself.

Rafe sighed, his thumb pausing mid-circle. “Baby. Talk to me.”

Still, you didn’t answer. Instead, you shifted slightly, pulling your leg away from his touch just enough for him to notice. The motion was subtle, but it sent a clear message: something was wrong.

“Okay, what the hell is going on?” His voice was sharper now, laced with frustration, though his eyes stayed on the road. His hand returned to the steering wheel, his grip tightening as the car slowed behind a line of traffic. “You’ve been in a mood ever since you got in. What happened?”

You huffed softly, the sound barely audible over the hum of the engine, but it was enough to make him glance at you again. Your jaw was set, your fingers gripping your purse in your lap like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Finally, you spoke, your tone clipped. “Why was my seat pushed back?”

His brows shot up in surprise. “What?” He faces you now seeing the totally serious pout on your face.

“My seat, Rafe,” you said, gesturing dramatically to the space around you. “It was pushed back. Too far back. Someone’s been sitting here.”

He stared at you for a moment, like he was trying to figure out if you were serious. When he realized you were, his lips curled into a faint smirk. “You’re mad about the seat?”

“Yes, I’m mad about the seat,” you said, your voice rising slightly as you sat up straighter. “This is my seat. My spot. And someone else sat here. Why would you let that happen?”

Rafe blinked at you, caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief. “Baby, it’s just a seat—”

“It’s not just a seat!” you cut him off, your hands flying up in exasperation. “This is the one place where I get to sit and feel like I belong. And someone else—someone else—ruined it.”

“Sweetheart,” Rafe said slowly, dragging the word out like he was trying to soothe a feral animal. “You’re being a little dramatic.”

“No, I’m not!” you snapped, glaring at him. “You wouldn’t understand. This is sacred ground. You don’t let people mess with sacred ground.”

He laughed then, a short, disbelieving sound that only irritated you more. “You’re actually serious about this?”

“Yes, Rafe, I’m serious,” you said, your voice dripping with indignation. You turned back to the window, your arms crossing again as you sank into your pout. “It’s disrespectful.”

Rafe let out a long, exaggerated sigh, his hand slipping from your thigh to rest on the console. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re actually mad at me over this?”

“You let someone else sit here,” you said, your voice softer now but no less accusing. “This is my seat, Rafe. I belong here. Nobody else.”

For a moment, the car was silent except for the low hum of the engine. Then, Rafe reached over, his fingers gently tilting your chin until you were forced to meet his gaze. His blue eyes were sharp, but there was a flicker of something softer beneath the surface—something like amusement mixed with fondness.

“You’re impossible,” he said, his voice low and steady. “But fine. Nobody else gets the seat. Happy now?”

You hesitated, your pout faltering as you searched his face. “You promise?”

He smirked, leaning in closer until his lips brushed against yours in a brief, teasing kiss. “I promise.”

You huffed, your irritation melting under the weight of his touch. “Good. Because this is my seat. Don’t forget it.”

“I won’t,” he said, his smirk widening as he leaned back in his seat. His hand found its way back to your thigh, his thumb resuming its slow, hypnotic circles. “Now, can we go? Or are you gonna keep holding me hostage over a seat?”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Fine. But don’t think I’m letting this go.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Rafe said, his voice laced with amusement as he shifted the car into gear.

“Actually,” you said, your voice cutting through the quiet hum of the engine. He glanced over at you, his brows raising slightly in curiosity. “I want my name stitched into the seat.”

Rafe blinked, his lips parting as if he hadn’t heard you correctly. “What?”

“You heard me,” you said, crossing your arms again as you turned to face him fully. “I want my name stitched into the seat. That way, everyone knows this spot is mine.”

For a second, he just stared at you, his sharp blue eyes searching your face like he was waiting for the punchline. When it didn’t come, he let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely,” you said, your tone leaving no room for argument. “You promised, Rafe. This is my seat. I don’t want there to be any confusion in the future.”

He tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re insane, you know that?”

“And yet, here we are,” you shot back, the faintest hint of a smile creeping onto your face. “Now, are you going to do it or not?”

Rafe sighed dramatically, his free hand running through his hair as he muttered something under his breath about how you were going to be the death of him. But the amused glint in his eye betrayed him, and you knew you’d already won.

A few days later

When you climbed into the Range Rover for another one of Rafe’s spontaneous outings, you paused, your eyes catching on the passenger seat. There it was, stitched into the leather in elegant, looping script: Your Name.

You turned to look at him, your lips parting in surprise. He just leaned back in the driver’s seat, his smirk as smug as ever. “Told you I’d take care of it.”

For once, you didn’t have a snarky comment. Instead, you leaned over, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’re the best,” you murmured, your voice soft with genuine affection.

“Don’t forget it,” he said, his hand already finding its way back to your thigh as he started the car.