#eccessive

[osappleobeneduci]

BENEDUCI: "PROCURE DELLA REPUBBLICA INDAGHINO SU RAPPORTO TRA SUICIDI IN CARCERE E MEDINALI SOMMINISTRATI"

LE PROCURE DELLA REPUBBLICA INDAGHINO SUL RAPPORTO TRA I SUICIDI IN CARCERE ED I MEDINALI CHE VI VENGONO SOMMINISTRATI . “La situazione nelle carceri italiane è estremamente drammatica come anche dimostra il dato, senza precedenti, dei 43 suicidi nei primi sei mesi dell’anno ed è assai probabile che esista una diretta relazione tra l’incremento tra i gesti estremi a volte infausti tra la…

[anewp0tat0]

looks like I can draw again!!

Sebastian called him "orphan" for the rest of the week.

[gayoar]

🔴 LIVE NOW: LOCAL SUBSTITUTE TEACHER SKINS GAME SHOW CONTESTANT ALIVE ON CAMERA: LET THE SHOW BEGIN!

version without glitches under the cut!

[livetogether--diealone]

Lewis got 2 penalty points in addition to the 5 seconds penalty, tell me there is no double standards

[disaster-vampire]

eating ikea's crisps feels like pouring salt directly into your mouth and chewing it

[maaruin]

Most RPG video games I have seen or played would be improved by having less combat, often dramatically less. Too much combat is immersion breaking.

[be-appy-71]

Forse le mie emozioni sono eccessive ma non è facile desiderare a metà, amare a metà, illudersi a metà.

A tante mezze misure, preferisco sentimenti pieni e smisurati... ♠️🔥

(Fabrizio Caramagna)

[angelap3]

Questa giovane ragazza che vedete in foto ha passato molto tempo rinchiusa in ospedale, rintontita da dosi eccessive e spropositate di Serenase, un potente antipsicotico, somministratole per anni e anni. Valium, in endovena, in dosi massicce, anche fino a sei iniezioni al giorno, elettroshock. Legata mani e piedi al letto di un un' ospedale, lasciata per giorni tra feci e urina a marcire tra le lenzuola di una stanza, dimenticata da tutti.

Ha amato solo un uomo, più della scrittura, Dino Campana. È stata la più grande Poetessa del Novecento.

Il suo nome era Alda.

Il suo cognome, Merini...❤️

[parolerandagie]

Improvvisa la voglia di un bicchiere di vino bianco: la avverto con la ragione, che immediatamente la trasforma in un racconto, di profumi deliziosi, di freddo contatto tra il palmo della mano ed il calice, di sapore fresco, rinvigorente, ma soprattutto la sento nella pancia, nell'istinto, nel percorso dei nervi.

Non lo berrò, non aprirò nessuna bottiglia, non me ne verserò alcuna generosa quantità; perché è tardi, perché è lunedì, perché non è giusto, perché non si fa, perché sarebbero calorie gratuite ed eccessive, e con tutti questi perché zittirò la voglia, la ridurrò a migliori intenzioni a propositi più consoni e morigerati.

Rifletto, mentre lo faccio, su quante voglie ho zittito e quante ne zittisco quotidianamente, magari senza nemmeno averne piena coscienza di farlo, e quanto questa briglia all'istinto faccia di me una persona meno felice.

La risposta la so e la voglia, nel frattempo, offesa dal mio sminuirla, mi abbandona, portandosi via un poco di colore dal mio mondo e dal mio umore, adesso grigi entrambi.

[applejuicefruit]

hey, could you do one of Oliver giroud, with an age difference ( reader 23/24 ) where the reader feels insecure about her relationship with Oliver, and thinks he is only with her for sex, one day she will leave and go get drunk, and when she comes home Oliver will try to take care of her and she will say she feels/or thinks he is only with her for sex, that when he gets tired of her he will leave her for someone else and other things, and then Oliver will comforting her and making sure she's the only one for him and that he's not just with her for sex, and they'll talk about it and in the end, everything works out (sorry if it's confusing)

I love Olivier please send me more requests!

Olivier Giroud x reader

Daddy issues

Doubts started filling your mind when you read all the comments on your recent post with Olivier. It was a simple selfie with a simple heart in the caption, nothing wrong you thought. But all the mean comments made you feel insecure of your relationship.

“He’s dating her only for the sex, he doesn’t really love her” someone said.

“I bet she’s good in bed” someone else said.

“Poor thing, she really thinks he loves her?” another one said. You’ve been only dating for a year and you remember when you started dating you both were on the cover of every gossip magazine in Italy. Mostly because you were only 23 and he was 36 so people assumed you were dating him just or fame and money but you really loved him, with all of your heart but of course, they don’t care about that.

So now you were contemplating whether staying at home and waiting for Olivier to come back home from training or texting your friends and asking them to go out and drink.

You opted for the second one, of course. So you called them and asking them to meet at your favorite club in one hour while you started getting ready and sent a quick text to Olivier telling him that you were out with your friends and that you will come home later in the night.

Once you got ready you called a taxi, knowing that probably you would be too drunk to come back home by yourself and waited for it to arrive.

You were wearing a short but not too short black silk dress with a pair of heels and your black leather jacket finishing your look. Nothing to eccessive but you wanted to feel comfortable with yourself, trying to shield away all the negative comments you’ve been reading all day that made you feel uncomfortable and insecure.

The taxi arrived and drove you to the club where you saw your friends waiting for you. Back into the club you all ordered a cocktail first, then a second one, then a third one, ending with your best friend buying a bottle of champagne for all of you and you offering two rounds of tequila shots. Three hours later and you were all completely waisted except one of your friends just because she didn’t like alcohol so she only got some pepsi for her. Olivier texted you how the night was going and if you needed him to pick you up but you simply sent him a “no, see u at home”. Before leaving the club you wanted to drink a little more so you got yourself a beer and got more that waisted. Your mind was spinning and if it wasn’t for your friend holding you up you would have collapsed.

“Okay y/n it’s time for you to get home…I’m gonna take you home okay? Let’s go” your friend said helping you in the car.

“No I don’t want Olivier to see me…he doesn’t love me, he will think I’m childish” you mumbled in your drunk state.

“What are you talking about? He loves you very much y/n…yeah maybe you’re a bit childish but that makes you, you…don’t worry about it okay? Let’s get you home so you’ll be with your lover” she joked about it but you were too drunk to even understand her words.

Once back home she helped you get in, Olivier hearing a car sound knew this was you so he opened the door and thanked your best friend for bringing you back home.

“Thank you” he smiled at her once you were sat on the couch.

“She’s drunk” your best friend said “and talking nonsense…take care of her please”.

“Of course…thank you for bringing her home, she sounded mad when I texted her earlier…” he told your best friend.

“No, not mad, just heavily drunk” she smiled at him and he laughed looking at your drunk figure sat on the couch.

“But really, thank you” he thanked her again and helped her out.

He came back sitting on the couch but you shoved him away.

“Baby are you okay?” he asked you softly.

“No. Why are you with me Olivier?” you asked him, not being able to control your emotions and letting the tears fall.

“What are you talking about y/n? I’m with you because I love you…why this question?” he softly asked you, hating to see you cry. He knelt in front of you while you were sat on the couch.

“Just admit you’re with me just for the sex…In the end you will leave me for a more mature woman, a woman who can give you children and a family because I’m too young for you and-and one day you will realise that I’m not the one you want and…” you mumbled in a very drink voice “…and you will look for someone else and that day will break my heart but I know it will happen, I mean…we have - I don’t remember right now” you started counting with your fingers “a thirteen year age gap and that’s a lot you know? I’m scared you’ll find someone better because it’s not that hard finding someone better than me…” you whispered the last part, telling him all of your doubts and fears. He smiled a bit watching how you mumbled those words mostly because you were drunk as hell but he couldn’t help but feel a little bit guilty because he was the reason you were feeling that way.

“Y/n, mon amour…listen to me, I love you, and you are the only woman I want to have in my life okay? I don’t care if we have more than a ten year gap, I don’t care if you don’t want to have kids right now, I couldn’t care less, the only thing I care about is you…I love you, je t’aime…not for the sex, not because you’re young but because you’re you and I love you so much…” he said holding your hands and kissing the palm of them softly. He put one of his hands on your chin gently lifting it up so you could watch him in the eyes and see that he was telling you the truth.

“Princess why don’t we go to bed uh?” he asked you softly.

“Are you telling the truth?” you shyly asked him.

“Of course baby” he smiled at you “I would never lie to you, never…”

“Okay” you smiled back at him.

“Let me take care of you baby…” he helped removing your heels and gently carried you in your shared bedroom. He removed your leather jacket and your dress. You felt a bit vulnerable standing in front of him almost naked, not that he’s never seen you naked but in your drunken state you felt more exposed.

“You’re beautiful mon amour” he smiled at you kissing your cheek.

“Thank you” you mumbled.

He removed your bra and dressed you up in one of his clothes. Just a comfy sweater that was too big for you so you used it as a pajamas.

“Oli…” you whispered.

“Mh?” he looked at you.

“I think I have to throw up…” you rushed yourself to the toilet just in time before you let all your alcohol out.

Olivier held your hair and gently massaged your back, comforting you.

After you were done you washed your teeth while Olivier got you a glass of water.

“I’m sorry…” you said sitting on the bed.

“For what baby?” he apprehensively asked.

“For causing a scene…again…” you sobbed a little.

“You’re drunk baby, it’s fine, really, plus I don’t mind taking care of you mon amour, it’s my way to show you how much you mean to me…” he kissed your lips softly and helped you laying in bed.

Your head on his chest while his arms were wrapped around you and one of his hand was back on your hair gently stroking it. You fell asleep in a minute, too tired to even say goodnight.

“Goodnight mon amour” he whispered in your ear while he turned off the lights and held you close to his body so you could feel safe and protected.

[troppofragile-quantosensibile]

Penso che chiuderò il blog. Ultimamente mi sono state fatte domande anonime un po' eccessive, non capisco tale accanimento nei miei confronti, non ho mai fatto nulla di male, non ho mai offeso nessuno. Eppure continuo a ricevere insulti da tutti i lati

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[abatelunare]

In quattro

Per problemi avuti in passato, mia mamma è costretta a prendere una medicina (della quale ovviamente non ricordo il nome) in pastiglie. Fin qui non ci sarebbe nulla di particolarmente bizzarro. Le hanno prescritto un dosaggio di 25 mg, che però non esiste minimamente. Così lei deve prendere le pastiglie da 100 mg (eccessive, per lei) e spaccarle in quattro. Ditemi voi se è possibile. Anzi, non ditemelo. Lo so già.

[arreton]

Accettare di essere un essere umano e non una creatura eterea significa accettare che il proprio corpo emette degli odori non sempre piacevoli. Odoro, allora, la mia pelle anche se non profuma come vorrei e mi dico: questa sono io (?) e per la prima volta non c’è sensazione di schifo o paura di essere schifosa. Sogno, questa mattina, di sanguinare “dalle parti intime” – come dico in maniera delicata alla psicologa – nel sogno dico che volevo liberarmi in tutti modi di quella bambina abbandonandola da qualche parte ma non ci sono riuscita e allora ho dovuto abortire, credo che fosse sottinteso che avessi abortito spontaneamente. Confesso alla psicologa che interpreto il sogno come un avere ucciso la mia necessità di dover essere una bambina, dato che in questo ultimo periodo è un pensiero a cui mi sto dedicando parecchio, aver ucciso la necessità di dover essere per forza la bambina che non sono mai stata, necessità alla quale mi ci stavo aggrappando in maniera quasi disperata. La psicologa ne dà una lettura interessante: sognare di sanguinare “dalle parti intime” e quindi il menarca potrebbe significare l’accettare di diventare donna, che per farmi prendere in considerazione non devo fare i capricci, puntare i piedi, ma che posso gestire le situazioni in maniera equilibrata ed adulta perché adesso mi vedo prima di tutto io e quindi di conseguenza anche gli altri. Mi piace sempre come risuonano le mie parole, le mie riflessioni, in lei, quello che mi restituisce è sempre qualcosa di arricchente, che mi stimola a pensare qualcosa di inedito o riconsiderare qualcosa a cui avevo pensato e/o mi era già stato detto. Allora voglio crederci che sto accettando di essere una donna, di non essere più una bambina che va protetta ma un’adulta che può: che può scopare, che può viaggiare, che può fare un tatuaggio se ha voglia, che può tagliare i capelli e colorarseli di fucsia se ne ha voglia, che può lavorare fuori e costruirsi una vita. Essermi liberata di un qualcosa che ormai era diventato un peso mi ha fatta sentire enormemente leggera anche se ancora non so bene come gestirla. Ma non voglio gestirla, semplicemente voglio vedere quel che mi si pone davanti e cercare di sfruttarlo meglio che posso a mio favore. E soprattutto non voglio privarmi di qualcosa per delle paure irrazionali, eccessive.

[alexredgrave]

I remember years ago reading criticism against Greedfall for glorifying colonialism because the protagonist is "literally a colonialist" and there are likeable and sympathetic characters from colonialist factions and... I'm currently playing it and damn, media literacy really is not a skill everyone possesses, because the game could not be more overt in it's criticism of colonialism, forced assimilation, missionary work and evangelism, eccessive land exploitation for profit...

[ambrenoir]

Non ho pazienza per alcune cose,

non perché sia diventata arrogante, semplicemente perché sono arrivata a un punto della mia vita,

in cui non mi piace più perdere tempo

con ciò che mi dispiace o ferisce.

Non ho pazienza per il cinismo,

critiche eccessive

e richieste di qualsiasi natura.

Ho perso la voglia di compiacere

chi non mi aggrada,

di amare chi non mi ama

E di sorridere a chi non mi sorride.

Non dedico più un minuto a chi mente o vuole manipolare. Ho deciso di non con-vivere più con la presunzione, l'ipocrisia,

la disonestà e le lodi a buon mercato.

Non tollero l'erudizione selettiva e l'arroganza accademica. Non mi adeguo più al provincialismo e ai pettegolezzi.

Non sopporto conflitti e confronti.

Credo in un mondo di opposti.

Per questo evito le persone rigide e inflessibili.

Non mi accompagno con chi non sappia incoraggiare o elogiare.

I sensazionalismi mi annoiano.

Soprattutto, non ho nessuna pazienza per chi non merita la mia pazienza.

Meryl Streep