#la mia bambina

[illsadboy]

Quando si cerca di andarsi a sdraiare nel letto e trovo lei così, tranquilla e beata... Benedetti i gatti! Loro si che fanno la bella vita. 🐱

[maledettadaunangelo]

E quando me ne sarò andato, continua a vivere. Non addolorarti, risollevati ogni volta che sentirai il suono della mia voce e pensa che io sto vegliando su di te. Sorridendo. E non ho sentito nulla quindi, bambina, non soffrire. Sorridimi solo.

Eminem, When I’m gone

[piccolaanima01]

Sono diventata l'adulta di cui avevo bisogno da bambina e sarei pronta a mangiarmi il mondo per proteggere la pace di quella bambina

[givemeanorigami]

Ognuno ha un talento, il mio credo sia palesemente essere la zia preferita.

[olocennes]

.

[natipvrmorire]

È buio perché ti stai sforzando troppo [...] Con leggerezza, bimba,con leggerezza. Impara a fare ogni cosa con leggerezza […] Sì, usa la leggerezza nel sentire, anche quando il sentire è profondo. Con leggerezza lascia che le cose accadano, e con leggerezza affrontale [...] Dunque getta via il tuo bagaglio e procedi. Sei circondata ovunque da sabbie mobili, che ti risucchiano i piedi, che cercano di risucchiarti nella paura, nell’autocommiserazione e nella disperazione. Ecco perché devi camminare con tale leggerezza. Con leggerezza, tesoro mio.

- Aldous Leonard Huxley

[al-sapore-di-sigarette]

La bambina sputafuoco - Giulia Binando Melis

(Foto mia)

[lumioluna]

comunque challengers + saltburn in questi recenti tempi hanno dimostrato che l'ex marito di mia mamma aveva ragione quando mi diceva di leggere meno libri e andare "a toccare gli uomini"

[swallowtail-ageha]

Mostrato a dei miei amici e hanno detto "in una notte senza luna" con l'immagine del fumo davanti simbolizza lo smog che blocca la vista 💀

TROVATO,,,

[peaches2217]

“You’ve gotta take a nap, bro.”

“Then I’d have to stop looking at her.”

“She’ll be here when you wake up.”

“But I gotta make sure, yeah?”

“That’s what I’m here for, you big doofus. You know I won’t let anything happen to her!”

Luigi knew better than to take it personally, his brother’s protests and the silences between them. Reasoning with Mario when he was short on sleep was always an ouroboric cycle; the key to victory was to wear him down, tail him relentlessly in endless verbal circles, until at last he was tired enough to believe that dropping everything for a quick break was his own idea, at which point he would happily concede.

He’d always been stubborn like that. And as Luigi was quickly learning, the only thing more stubborn than an exhausted Mario was an exhausted Mario with a sleeping newborn in his arms. But he’d procured a nap himself and was armed with an endless supply of coffee and a foot-tall stack of Better Toads and Gardens. He could play this game all night long.

When another silence fell over them, he peeked over from an article on propagating winter roses and watched for a moment. Nothing new to observe. Mario still cradled his daughter’s head to his heart, his thumb stroking her cheek; his eyes were heavy yet soft and full of wonder, an equally soft (if slightly dopey) smile on his lips.

Luigi felt a similar smile creep onto his own face. He’d be lying if he tried to deny how precious the sight was, or how it made him want to melt into the loveseat they shared like gooey candy left too long in the sun. Fatherhood looked good on his brother. He’d always suspected it would.

Of course, it would look a lot better once Mario wasn’t visibly on the verge of passing out. And maybe after he took a razor to the stubble prickling his chin and cheeks and neck. And a good shower wouldn’t hurt, either. But for now, one hurdle at a time.

“Remember that talk we had?” Luigi leaned to his opposite side to fetch his drink from the end table, overcrowded with magazines. “You’ve gotta take care of yourself if you’re gonna take care of anyone else.”

“I know,” Mario groaned, dragging the last syllable out like a petulant child who’d been asked to clean his room, “and I’m gonna! You know that! But I gotta make sure she gets rested up first, yeah? All these new sounds and sights; that’s hard work, taking it all in! She’s too little for all that excitement.”

That dopey smile widened, and as Luigi polished off his fifth cup of coffee, Mario began cooing beneath his breath: “Sì che lo sei! Mia bellissima principessina! Mia albicoccetta sonnolenta! Papà adora così tanto la sua bambina! Sì! Sì!”

That was a good sign. A babbling Mario was a Mario desperately trying to keep himself awake, and thus a Mario mere minutes from giving into sleep. Luigi set his cup back onto the table and draped his reading material over the loveseat’s arm so he could commandeer baby duty at a moment’s notice.

“You can barely even keep your eyes open. It’s not safe to fall asleep holding a baby,” Luigi reminded him. “I’ll hold her for you. She’ll probably still be snoozing away by the time you wake up!”

Mario’s smile gradually faded, and he squinted down at his little girl, as if contemplating every divot of her visage. Luigi swore he could hear the squeak-squeak-squeak of rusty, overworked cogwheels rotating deep within his brother’s brain.

“What if she isn’t?” Mario eventually asked.

“Isn’t what?”

“Snoozing. You know? What if… what if she wakes up before I do? What if she needs changed, or…”

“Then I’ll change her. No sweat.”

Mario shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

“Mario, I’m a plumber. You think dirty diapers scare me?”

“No, I mean—” he gulped, catching a quiet, heavy breath. “Won’t she be scared? If she wakes up and she needs something but her mama’s asleep and her papa’s asleep, she’s gonna think she’s all alone, and—” His voice cracked as he spoke, and as soon as he stopped talking, his bottom lip began to wobble, fat tears pooling in his eyes.

That was also good. A weepy and irrational Mario was a Mario on the precipice of surrender. This would be over soon.

“No!” Those tears leaked out as he buried his face into the crown of her head, planting little kisses to her hair between affirmations. “No no no, Papà non andrà da nessuna parte, albicoccetta! Non ti abbandonerò mai!” Mwah! “Mai!” Mwah! “Mai!”

“Stars’ sakes, Mario, you’re not abandoning her.” Luigi made a point to keep his voice even and sympathetic as he scooted closer, draping an arm around his emotional brother’s shoulders. “I can wake you up if she needs anything,” he promised. “But you know she’ll be okay! As long as she’s clean and cozy, she’ll sleep like a— well, you know.”

Mario sniffled. “You’ll keep her cozy?”

“The coziest. She’ll be so cozy she won’t even know you passed her off to me!”

“...But we don’t smell the same! She’ll smell you and know it’s not me!”

“Bro. She’s a baby, not a dog.”

“But she’s so talented! So smart!” Mario hiccupped and turned to wipe his face across his shirt sleeve, already stained and crusty from the fifteen times he’d used it as a snot rag prior. “She stopped crying as soon as she heard her mama! She opened her eyes when I talked to her for the first time! She knows these things!”

If she already knows your smell as well as she knows your voice, then you really need that shower. Luigi bit back a chuckle and cleared his throat. No, he’d be every bit as incoherent and emotionally raw in Mario’s shoes. Comfort now. Snark later.

“Look at me, bro.” He pulled back just enough so that Mario could look up at him, and that alone was a victory, because he hadn’t looked away from his daughter in hours. And looking into his eyes now, red from tears and foggy with fatigue, Luigi knew with even greater conviction that he was on the right track. “If she wakes up — the second she starts acting scared or sad or needy, I’ll wake you up.”

“You promise?”

“On Polterpup.”

“You won’t just grab a nurse, or make Peach—” Something like horror flickered across Mario’s face, and suddenly he leaned in, his brows scrunched and his tone sharp. “Swear you won’t wake Peach up. No matter what. Don’t even think about it! Swear that on Mama’s grave!”

Luigi blinked. Well, if he’d been entertaining thoughts of waking a new mother after she’d spent all day in labor (which he wasn’t, at least not too seriously), those thoughts went flying out the nearest window. Mama Mario would personally descend in a chariot of angels to smack him with a rolling pin for committing such an act in the first place; what wrath would he incur if he also spited her name in the process?

Yeesh. That was an intense request, even (or maybe especially) for Mario.

Still, he clapped a hand against his brother’s shoulder, nodding firmly. “Sulla tomba di Mamma. Lo giuro.”

Finally, Mario’s face softened, and he lowered his head with a sigh. Luigi met him halfway; he cupped the back of Mario’s head and touched their foreheads together, and there they savored a moment of quiet resignation, taking in each other’s calming presence.

Wow. It had only taken three hours to reach this point. Honestly, Luigi was quite impressed with himself.

“Alright.” With one last sigh, Mario broke free and turned his attention back to the bundle in his arms, kissing her forehead gently. “You be good for Zio, okay, sweetie? He’s gonna take good care of you.”

Even in the weariest depths of acute oxytocin intoxication, Mario knew (with minimal convincing) that his own child was just as safe with his twin as she was with him. Luigi cleared his throat again, some fluttery but not unpleasant feeling bubbling in his chest. He knew better than to take that for granted.

Zio. Oh, he loved that title.

He found himself uttering his own stream of soothing nothings as he plucked the baby from Mario’s arms, leaning back against the couch cushion so he could prop her against his chest. Stars Almighty, she was her papa’s spitting image. Her chubby cheeks, her strong jaw, her dark hair — she was Mario if he had Peach’s eyes and nose and shaved off his mustache and was also thirty years younger. A little Mini-Mario.

Luigi clicked his tongue softly at his precious little niece, resting peacefully in his arms, entirely unphased by the transfer. Another trait she’d picked up from her father, it seemed: she was one heck of a heavy sleeper.

He would tear down the sky and blow up the stars for her. Funny, how quickly one can devote their entire being to something so small.

“C’mon,” he said, facing his brother again, “let’s get you somewhere more—”

Mario was out cold. He hadn’t even laid back or made himself comfortable; he just slumped forward, his mouth open slightly, his eyes lightly shut.

Great. Speak of the devil…

“Hey.” He glanced back down to the infant in his arms, ensuring her neck remained stable as he nudged his brother with his shoulder. “Come on. Don’t do this! There’s a perfectly good sofa literally right across the room!”

His rationale went unheard. Mario swayed in place for a moment, eyes still closed, and then slouched into Luigi’s side, his head landing square on his shoulder. A quiet snore escaped him as he made contact, and then nothing.

Luigi stared down at his unconscious twin in stupefaction, eventually casting a longing gaze at his gardening magazine, still open and waiting for him on his opposite side. Mario wouldn’t be moving anytime soon. He could, in theory, free himself, but given how the hypervigilant dad-to-be had trained himself these past months to startle awake at the slightest sudden movement…

Well. Their shared moment of resignation hadn’t just been for Mario’s sake, then.

Ah well. Best not divide his attention while babysitting. With a lighthearted huff, Luigi carefully repositioned himself, pulling his legs beneath him and leaning against the loveseat’s arm (and creasing his poor abandoned magazine in the process) so he could more appropriately support Mario’s bulk. Both father and daughter remained undisturbed as he shifted into a more comfortable position.

“Starai una rompiscatole come Papà?” he whispered to the bundle in his arms. He tried to sound annoyed, if for no one’s sake but his own, but he couldn’t possibly drop the grin that tugged at his cheeks.

His niece smacked her tiny lips, nestling a bit deeper into her blanket with a quiet noise. At the same time, Mario snored again, settling against his brother in his sleep.

A Mini-Mario indeed.

“Oh, sì!” Luigi nuzzled his nose into the crown of her head, planting little kisses to her hair as she snoozed. “La rompiscatole preferita di Zio! Sì che lo sei! Sì!”

[deadlynightshade00]

ti guardo e annego, animali senz’anima, nessun limite. i tuoi schiaffi, i miei occhi da bambina. mi apri e scavi tra le cosce ormai livide, lì dove mi schiudo. trovi miele, miele dolce, a gocce, poi a fiumi, ma mai per te. ho sulle labbra il nome di un altro. tremo, ti seguo con il corpo, i fianchi, la schiena, lo sguardo. sono schiava del tuo tocco e le tue mani diventano le sue. si fa strada il mio piacere, rumoroso più che mai e avvolge tutto, anche te. prendi tra le labbra il mio sesso, la lingua se ne impadronisce lentamente, in una tortura che pare portarsi via la mia lucidità. fumo mentre lo fai, ne riempio la stanza e la testa. ti accarezzo con in bocca l’ultimo tiro e tu mi guardi, sconcia, nuda, mentre la spengo. ora ti faccio vedere come si fa.

[s-a-f-e-w-o-r-d--2]

Perché nonostante l'età e l'esperienza... A livello relazionale sono sempre una bambina... Ancora arrossisco e mi imbarazzo davanti a una persona che mi piace o mi fa i complimenti... Ancora mi emoziono per le piccole cose, sono ingenua e spesso non riesco a trattenere la mia emotività... Spesso mi dicono che dovrei crescere... Che le parole illudono e le persone deludono... Che non mi devo far lusingare e non devo credere a tutto... Ma sinceramente la mia spontaneità non riesco proprio a vederla come un difetto... Anzi credo sia il mio pregio migliore... Anche se spesso mi fa soffrire...

~ Virginia ~

[mccek]

Tutto è cambiato da quel 2010,

anni passati buttata in un letto, 

salvata per miracolo, le ore sotto i ferri sono state dieci, 

per me sono state eterne, mi sentivo inerme, 

“la paziente ha perso troppo sangue, la situazione é complicata, 

non ho mai creduto a Dio, sempre pregato gli angeli che mandano segnali dal cielo, 

questa vita ti ha maneggiata bruscamente, mai stata delicata,  

ti ha tolto l’uso dei tuoi arti, 

non sapendo che il tuo punto di forza é insito nel tuo carattere, 

quanta forza di volontà, non ti fai mai abbattere, 

ma dimmi un giorno come farò a dimenticarti? 

Conservo con me quel delfino trovato in una giornata triste dentro un cassetto, 

tuo figlio é sempre quello di un tempo, 

un concentrato di ansie e incertezze, 

che scrive i suoi mostri sopra un foglietto,

dicevi “non piangere”, guarda dentro la tasca,

di anni ne avevo 6, a scuola piangevo ogni santo giorno, 

tant’era la paura della solitudine, che chiedevo alle maestre sé fossi rimasto solo, insicuro delle mie stesse insicurezze,

speravo nessuno vedesse, stringevo il delfino, 

chiudevo gli occhi, allontanando quelle paranoie  trasportate dalla burrasca,  

di idee negative succubi di voci “cattive”, 

ti chiedevo “Mamma? 

Perché quando gli altri piangono io stringo loro la mano e sorrido?

Se quando piango loro mi fissano, ridendo a squarciagola come in un grido?”

“Ognuno é fatto a modo suo, 

non tutti hanno un cuore compatibile col tuo”.

“Non ha importanza se nessuno ti ha compreso, 

non ti sei “abbassato”, non hai cercato compassione, per essere accettato”,

Tu come me davi retta a tutti, poi quando c’era bisogno, “ognuno c’ha i sui impegni”, (già!),

strano come poi piangano lacrime di coccodrillo mentre sei disteso su una bara.

Stesso sangue, avvelenato dalla vita, dal pregiudizio inutile di chi fingeva di esserci vicino,

umani come medicine, un giorno ti elevano al settimo cielo, i restanti ti rigettano l’inferno, 

finisci in para, dicono “passerà”, nessuno ci tiene, impara.

Ti sento piangere le notti, 

con due tumori che si fanno spazio nel tuo corpo, silenziosamente, 

mi dici che non molli, anche sei distrutta, “non voglio spegnere quel tuo sorriso”, 

io non ne conosco di altri motti, 

mi guardi, mi stringi, col corpo che trema, la mia anima lo sente, 

io invidio il tuo essere, fragile e tenace, 

tu non vivi, sopravvivi, lotti,

come quando ballavi il tango, 

cambiavi l’atmosfera, 

la tua? La classe di chi soffre senza farlo notare, 

a ogni tuo passo il mio cuore accelera, 

professionisti che dicevano “incantevole, come

una bambina si diverte in mezzo al fango”.

In una vita di spine, senza una rosa,

sei un’artista nel dipingere le mie giornate, 

metti ordine fra miei pensieri come in un quadro a ogni dettaglio i suoi colori, 

siamo io e te e papà, stretti dentro un incubo, sappiamo che ogni giornata potrebbe essere preziosa, 

ho sempre dato tutto per scontato, bastava dirti grazie, rispettare le tue urla, i tuoi dolori.

Quante volte mi hai detto ti vorrei aiutare? 

Ma testardo davo retta solo a me stesso,

capendo che una donna é l’unica soluzione, 

se ti sa guardare dentro, é più erotico del sesso,

ti scrivo le mie lacrime del cuore, 

quelle che nessuno vede, 

mentre dentro sé stessi ogni equilibro cede.

Ti ho detto troppe volte, “se ti spegnessi metterei fine ai miei giorni”, 

tu solo una cosa mi hai risposto “fammi rivivere in quei giorni”.

[clarissasworld]

La sposa bambina

Guardavo gli occhi di mia madre che sfuggivano ai miei, mentre il vestito nuziale mozzava il respiro, i giochi, i sogni.

Ero il pegno con cui mio padre tolse il debito.

E poi fu festa...

E poi fu mani di uno sconosciuto che cinsero le mie spalle

Sorriso enigmatico, lui d'improvviso il mio sposo.

Cosa dovevo fare io?

Cosa fa una moglie?

Ho imparato con le bambole.

E la notte arrivò...

Notte che non conosce più il giorno

Aprì le mie carni e le squartò, incurante delle mie suppliche...

E quando fra le mie gambe un fiume porpora mi tolse ogni forza, allungai la mano, sfiorai la bambola che avevo portato con me e diventai di plastica, senza sentimenti, senza più vita, ignorando il dolore...

-Cetty Cannatella

[da-rulah]

If you don't mind, how about a HC for each Papa getting to hold their first born for the very first time?

Oh goody, it’s “hurt Bee” day it seems. I don’t even want kids but oh my god…it’s too precious.

Primo

He never expected to have a child, certainly not at his age but here he was at his lover’s side, patting your forehead with a damp cloth as you writhed in the pain of childbirth

“You’re doing wonderfully, Amore. Just a little more…”

You were practically breaking his frail hand in your grip, but he didn’t care. He was here to give you whatever you needed, just incredibly grateful for you and the gift you were giving him

When he hears that cry for the first time, his head snaps from watching you to the source and his eyes tear up immediately

The ministry’s midwife hands him his daughter for the first time as you catch your breath, utterly exhausted

“Bellissima… la mia bambina… (my little girl…)” he weeps, pressing his lips to her head as she fusses in his arms.

You’re shaky and exhausted, but he sits beside you, holding her close to you to see her for the first time.

“Amore, you have given me more than I could dream of…”

Secondo

Secondo has spent his time annoyed at the infirmary staff for not taking good enough care of you - although they were doing a fine job

“No, more pillows! Sei inutile… (you are useless…)” he grumbles

When you begin to push, he’s encouraging, reminding you of the strength that Lucifer himself gives you daily to be the fiercest woman he has ever met

He chuckles when you tell him to piss off, blaming him for the pain you’re feeling

“This is your fault, bastardo!” you howl at him, gripping his shirt and pulling him nose to nose to scream at him

He wouldn’t ever tell you, but you were frightening him a little…

He hears that cry, and he gets nervous. This was it, he was a father…

He doesn’t want to fuck this up, not like his own padre inutile

“Would you like to hold her?” asks the midwife

Her… he had a daughter.

When she’s in his arms, he smiles down at her with a softness you had only seen when he looked at you.

“If anyone would dare to hurt you, li brucerò vivi (I will burn them alive…)”

Terzo

Terzo would talk a big game, say he wasn’t scared of fatherhood, but he was terrified…

He had no idea how to hold a baby, much less change a diaper or feed the thing

In the infirmary, he is somehow still flirting with you? More so to make you laugh, take your mind off the contractions

When the doctor offers you laughing gas as pain relief, he takes a puff too, giggling with you about something totally nonsensical

When you’re pushing, he’s sat behind you on your bed, propping you up and holding your hands while you crush them in your grip

“You can do it, Tesoro. My Bella Donna, my world…”

He’s kissing your shoulders, talking you through it

The doctor holds his son out to you first, and you hold him to your chest as Terzo looks over your shoulder, his hand cradling his head

“It’s a boy?…. IT’S A BOY!”

He’s overjoyed to have a son, can’t stop muttering “I have a son” under his breath, pride and tears sparkling in his eyes

He lets you have your first moments with him, pressing pecks to his forehead as he cradles his head in one hand, covered in a dark tuft of hair

He turns your chin to kiss you, lingering there for a second

“Thank you, Tesoro…”

Copia

He’s pacing in the delivery suite, until you groan with another contraction and then he’s by your side in seconds, holding your hand and whispering praises into your ear

When it comes time to push, he’s right there with you again

He can’t stop talking, muttering to himself or to you about how much he can’t believe it’s here, that he’s about to be a father…

He makes the mistake of taking a look down there, horrified by what he sees when you’re crowning.

“How are you doing this? Oh my… Sathanas…”

“Copia get back up here!” you yell at him between pushes. He practically jumps to your side again, fussing over you

He doesn’t know how to help but he knows this isn’t about him

When the doctor holds his son out towards you both, he asks if Copia would like to cut the chord

“Will it hurt him?” he asks, so concerned until the midwife reassures him and hands him the scissors, guiding him as he so gently cuts

Once his son is wrapped up, the midwife hands him over to Copia, who’s a snivelling mess already.

“Tesoro, he is so beautiful, you should see!” he weeps, being overly careful with the tiny little boy in his arms as he shows him off proudly to you.

His tears continue for a good few hours, fresh waves coming every time the two of you pass him between yourselves.

Genuinely, this warmed my cold little heart 🥲

[al-sapore-di-sigarette]

La bambina sputafuoco - Giulia Binando Melis

(foto mia)