#зрелая

[zrelka]

[noisypuppygladiator]

Миньет зрелые

[bloganatoliiderun]

МОЛОДОЙ ЛЮБОВНИК

Молодой любовник. Канал ПСИХОЛОГИЯ И ОТНОШЕНИЯ расскажет вам о том, есть ли перспектива у отношениях зрелой женщины с молодым любовником и что делать дальше.

[knigosvodblog]

Сама себе хозяйка, или Развод с драконом

Ссылка на источник: Читать дальше »

[nataliasquote]

Honesty pt. 10 | n romanoff

good luck, babe

masterlist

summary: the morning after hits hard, especially when secrets are kept and guilt runs wild. but if there’s one thing that can help Kaia take her mind off everything, it’s dance. but new additions resurface old memories and suddenly things aren’t so calm anymore

pairings: enemies to… drunken mistake to… (natasha romanoff x o!c)

wc: 5.5k

note: hiiiii :) i’m so glad you’re all loving this series!!!

-⧗-

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck

Clarity is a bitch. Or at least that's how Kaia felt when waking up with a throbbing head. Yelena was still asleep, one foot dangling off the side of her loft bed as she gently snored. The dorm curtains were shitty and did a horrendous job of keeping out the sunlight, and even at 10am, it felt like the middle of the day.

Kaia tugged her blanket up around her shoulders and tried to fall back to sleep, but suddenly last night hit her like a train and she shot up, her stomach not quite keeping up with her fast movements and sending a queasy feeling sloshing around her midsection.

Those lips. The hand on her jaw. The other on her waist. The teeth that grazed her bottom lip and sent a jolt to the back of her knees.

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck

Her first college party kiss would have been a cause for celebration if those lips hadn't been attached to the face of Natasha Romanoff. Kaia sheepishly turned to Yelena's bed, eyeing her blonde hair splayed out across her pillow, and muttered a small "I'm sorry," before grabbing her phone and settling back against her pillow.

Her lockscreen, a picture of her and Yelena at the beach last summer, was fairly quiet, only a few notifications from Wanda who had sent pictures over from the party. Half were blurry or covered by a finger, but there was a cute one of Kaia grinning over her cup, clearly moments away from laughing. She saved them all and flicked through her apps to scroll through instagram, anything to shut her mind up from its racing.

But all her attempts were fruitless and she threw her phone to the side with a groan, tugging her comforter up over her face. If she hid from the world for a few days, all would be well... right? Oh, and she might as well quit the dance team now because there was no way she could ever look Natasha in the eye again. Poor Wanda would be forced to endure practice alone forever.

"Will you shut up?" Yelena grumbled into her pillow, not bothering to move as she spoke. "If you're gonna regret your life choices, at least do it quietly so I can sleep in peace."

Kaia mumbled a small apology and carried on staring into the darkness covering her face. That was, until she felt something soft land with a thud on her stomach. She threw her covers back with a grumble and was met with one of Yelena's green throw pillows staring back at her.

"настоящая зрелая," she muttered. (Real mature).

"тогда заткнись," Yelena retorted quickly, easily slipping back into Russian without a second thought. It was natural for the two to have full conversations in their mother tongue, and as much as Kaia resented the language thanks to her parents, it did come in handy when gossiping in public. (Then shut up).

The blonde had evidently given up on her precious sleep and was half propped up against her pillows, one leg hooked over her comforter to cool herself down. Kaia mirrored her after reaching for the window beside her bed and pushing it open to allow air to circulate the small dorm.

"Not that I want to get up any time soon," she began, a yawn cutting her off mid sentence, "but what do you want to do today?" The blonde shrugged her usual response, much to Kaia's annoyance. "Полезный." (Helpful).

"I have homework but I don't want to do it." Typical Yelena, she put everything off until the last minute and then drove Kaia insane with her stress. "It looks pretty out there though."

"I'm going to turn into your mom and say you can't go outside until you've done your homework."

"And I'll turn into your mom and..."

Kaia smirked. "And do what?"

Yelena buried her face in her hands as she answered "nothing", even if Kaia's lack of attentive parents had long been a running joke throughout their friendship. Melina did more of raising Kaia through her teenage years than Nadiya Lenkova did, although she was incredibly humble about it.

Somehow over the course of an hour, both girls had dragged themselves out of bed and got dressed enough to wander over to the dining hall with grumbling stomachs and salivating mouths. The pancakes were Kaia's breakfast favourite and Yelena never passed up the choice of bacon before 12pm. It was rather quiet on campus so they took their time, moving slowly until they had finally settled beneath a large tree on the grass where Yelena could finish up her assignment and Kaia attempted to get a tan. Which never really happened to her - she usually just burned.

As Yelena typed away and occasionally mumbled her answers out loud, Kaia lay with her eyes closed and her arms tucked behind her head, listening to the sounds around her as she zoned out. Her body still felt thick with sleep, probably still recovering from last night, and the warmth of the sun on her bare legs was so comforting she felt herself nodding awake, far too comfortable in the grass.

"Lena, I'm going to go get another coffee, do you want one?" She sat up, groaning as several places in her spine clicked as she stretched.

The blonde pushed her sunglasses up into her hair and grinned. "Oh, yes please! The usual, if you don't mind." She was squinting slightly as she looked up at Kaia, whose head was blocking the sun. It created a little halo around her hair, still straight from last night, and actually looked quite pretty.

Kaia nodded and grabbed her phone from the blanket and wandered off towards the coffee shop on campus. It took far too much money from her but she'd never had a nicer latte and the atmosphere was just her vibe. And it was the perfect central point between the arts centre and her dorm, which definitely didn't help.

She ignored the table where she had sat with Natasha only the day before, not having the brain power to start that spiral again. There wasn't much of a queue so she was at the register in no time, fiddling with her bracelets as she rehearsed her order in her head.

But all nerves flew out of the window when a familiar face greeted her with a recognising smile, blue eyes sparkling at the sight of her.

"Kaia, right?"

"Steve!" She said, surprised. "You did not strike me as the type of guy to work here. Hi."

He looked down at his navy blue apron and smoothed out the wrinkles sheepishly. "Yeah, well, it's just a little something on the side. I do it more for the people, really." It certainly suited him and he seemed comfortable behind the counter, blonde hair tousled slightly from the heat. "How are you? You were at the party yesterday, right?"

"Yeah, I was," she replied, slightly confused as she hadn't seen him at all. "But yeah, I'm good. You?"

"We left pretty early last night so I didn't get a chance to say hi. And you were with your girlfriend, I think."

Kaia blushed hard and ducked behind her hair slightly, his comment catching her off guard. "Oh, no I'm not- Natasha was just helping me clean up my dress."

Steve shot her a strange look before tapping on the register screen. "I didn't mean Natasha, I meant the blonde girl. Yelena?"

"Oh! No, Yelena's not my girlfriend."

Dipshit.

If the floor could just open up and swallow her right then and there, it would have been perfect. Kaia mentally slapped herself but laughed it off, passing a joke about Yelena being protective, but the air had shifted slightly and she cursed herself. "I'm still as single as ever, trust me. That hasn't changed since the last time we spoke." What an idiot. Stop. Talking.

"I'm surprised," he said, looking at the casual but cute outfit she was wearing. "Especially with how you looked last night. Beautiful."

"Thank you, really," she muttered, still unable to take compliments without becoming a blushing mess.

"Anyway, we're lucky there's no queue behind you. What can I get for you?"

"Can I get a caramel iced macchiato and a vanilla iced latte please?" The order slipped off her tongue like it was second nature. Yelena was very much a creature of habit and rarely strayed from her order, making Kaia's life easier.

Steve punched her order into the machine with ease and held up the reader for her to pay with her phone. With the shop being so empty, he kept up small talk as he prepared the drinks, adding an extra serving of caramel drizzle to Yelena's drink and upgrading their drinks to large as a friendly gesture. Kaia leaned against one of the taller tables and laughed with him, occasionally smiling at his coworker who was restocking the trays on the counter.

She felt bad for not giving Steve a chance before, because he was a sweet guy and surprisingly easy to talk to. As she walked away with two coffees in hand, a soft smile lay on her lips, similarly to the one he had drawn on her cup with his sharpie. It felt nice making new friends, especially ones in beneficial places like the coffee shop.

"Cука, I thought you'd died or something," Yelena called out as she spotted Kaia approaching, white converse crushing the grass where she stepped. "Was it really that busy?"

Kaia shook her head and laughed at her best friend's dramatics as she handed over the drink and settled back on the makeshift picnic blanket. "No, it was quite empty."

"Then why did it take a century and a half for you to get two drinks?"

Kaia shrugged. "I was talking to Steve. I didn't know he worked there." She spotted the smiley face beside her name again and smiled, loving the small gesture.

Yelena, however, did not share the same feelings. She wrinkled her nose up in disgust after taking a sip, and that was not because of the coffee. "Please don't tell me you have a crush on my sister's ex? I cannot and will not deal with that drama in my life. You two hate each other enough as it is."

Kaia's mouth turned sour. Part of her debated telling Yelena about last night's incident but her white t-shirt would not appreciate being drowned in coffee as a result of the blonde's rage.

"I don't have a crush on anyone, you'd know if I did. And besides, I'm here for me and for us, that's it. Dating is off my radar." Dating sure was, but making out with her best friend's sister in a bathroom and getting handsy and then lying about it? Clearly that was better in Kaia's standards... Oh, she was vastly different to her old self and she'd barely been at college for a month. Bucky would probably slap her around the head if he knew what was going on.

"Good, because you're mine and mine only."

"Sure," Kaia said, in the most believable tone. "Sure I am."

-⧗-

Natasha

"Natasha, get down here!" There went Natasha's idea of a peaceful morning. Maria's shrill voice echoed up the stairs, forcing the redhead to reach for a sweater and trudge down the stairs with a scowl. Stella was leaning over Maria's shoulder as they studied Maria's laptop on the kitchen counter with wide smiles. "Coach Kate is coming back next week! She's taking over the dance team so we actually get a real competition season."

Natasha stopped dead in her tracks. Coach Kate was one of her favourite people and she'd taken time off for her health and hadn't planned to return until Natasha's senior year. She was the one who had put her full trust in the redhead to keep things running smoothly whilst she was away because she saw so much of herself in that girl. She'd helped Natasha realise her true potential and acted like her mentor, opening up her office when Natasha felt like she had nowhere else to go.

"How do you know?"

"She's sent out an email," Maria replied, turning her screen so Natasha could see once she'd broken out of her mini trance. "She has no idea about any of the new team members..."

"It's fine, she trusted us to make the right decisions and I think we have." Stella looked down at Maria and raised her eyebrows subtly. It wasn't like Natasha to be so optimistic, but clearly the news about Coach Kate had sparked her. "Stel, do you have everyone's numbers?" The blonde nodded, reaching for her phone. "Make a group chat and tell everyone to be in the studio early tomorrow night. They're not gonna know what hit them."

"Coach Kate is going to love them," Stella said as she typed away. "Especially Wanda. We know how much she loves technique like hers."

Natasha hopped up onto one of the breakfast bar stools and placed her chin in her palm, a lazy smile on her face. Her year just improved tenfold, pushing everything bad out of the way, including everything with Kaia...

Kaia.

Okay maybe she'd spoken too soon. Because the second that name sounded in her head, last night flashed back like a freight train. Usually she didn't care about her actions at parties, and this would be no exception if she hadn't locked lips with the one person she'd been sworn off for years. Her sister's best friend really wasn't her smartest move, but alcohol made her cocky and Kaia brought out a side of her that no one else did. She zoned out from the conversation, her mind now filled with the irritating brunette and her tiny little dress.

Who was she to take a dare so seriously anyway? Natasha never cared for that sort of thing, she was above it, but seeing Kaia so helpless beneath her touch threw all rationality out of the window and had Natasha pouncing like a starved animal. She shuddered at the thought. Yelena was going to have her head on a platter and she was secretly thankful her phone was still upstairs so she didn't have to face its inevitable buzzing.

"Nat? Hello?" Stella waved a manicured hand in front of her face and made the redhead jump, her chin falling with a jolt. "Did you listen to anything we just said?"

"No, sorry," she said, yawning. "What's happening?"

Maria rolled her eyes and closed her laptop, placing it beside the vase in the centre of the table. "All we said was we're going to wait until Coach Kate gets to know everyone before announcing Stella's soloists and duet partners because you know how picky she can be." Kate was a bit of a control freak, especially when it came to her dancers.

"And this way you might get to be a soloist again!" Stella piped up, far too enthusiastic for a Saturday morning but no one was going to tell her to tone it down. It's who she was, sunshine personified.

"Maybe," but Natasha's voice didn't quite hold the same optimism. "We could be a trio."

Maria couldn't hold back her laughter and quickly clamped her hand over her mouth. "The day I become a contemporary dancer, it's over for both of you."

"I'll be waiting. We should get her a gift!"

"Oh wait! I saw the perfect thing the other day!" Stella visibly jumped in the air and raced out of the room, blonde hair streaming behind her. The other two girls shared a look and Natasha moved to the fridge to grab a snack, seriously needing the energy if her day was starting this abruptly.

-⧗-

Kaia

The studio was buzzing with chatter as Kaia wandered in, slightly out of breath from having to rush across the whole campus to be on time. Stella had called everyone in early for a meeting but gave no details, so rumours started flying left right and centre. Wanda had taken their usual spot in the top corner so Kaia made a beeline, running over and flopping down just as the three musketeers walked in. Natasha didn't spare a look in their direction, too busy talking to Maria who nodded as she set up her speaker.

"Do you have any idea what's going on?" Kaia hissed, but Wanda shook her head.

"Okay, is everyone here?" Stella asked, scrolling through her phone simultaneously. Natasha frowned and turned towards her, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Where is..?"

"She's coming in a few minutes or so. Just gives us enough time to settle in and explain everything that's going on."

If it was obvious that Kaia was directly avoiding Natasha's gaze, Wanda hadn't picked up on it. The brunette kept her gaze down and busied herself with organising her dance bag, slotting her shoes in the correct pockets to keep her hands busy as Wanda chatted away about her day. She swore she could feel Natasha's eyes on her but the small glances she took out of the corner of her eye proved that the redhead couldn't care less. Maybe the kiss really was as meaningless as she'd thought. That should have been a good thing, so why did she feel so dejected about it?

"What is going on?" Cora suddenly spoke up, voicing everyone's impatience and confusion. Stella looked at Natasha for the go ahead and then rubbed her hands together like a Disney villain.

"Well," she began, anxiously peering at the studio door. "Anyone who isn't a freshman or a sophomore will remember Coach Kate-"

Cheers erupted from the juniors who were clearly pleased about Stella's words, and Kaia's eyes went wide. She knew who Coach Kate was purely through Natasha but never thought she'd get to work with her, not this soon at least.

"Well, we got an email yesterday to tell us that she's coming back. Her surgery went well, and she was cleared, so-"

Poor Stella could never finish her sentence because the studio door opened slowly and a black haired woman walked in, a wide smile on her face as half the team jumped up to greet her with a large group hug. The freshman and sophomores stayed seated on the floor, whispering amongst themselves.

Kaia watched on in amazement, her eyes automatically drifted to Natasha who had hung back a bit. She looked hesitant, fiddling with her necklace as a distraction. Kaia knew how much Natasha loved Coach Kate, she'd mentioned her countless times after her first year at college, and it was refreshing to see the unguarded state in comparison to her usual tense and defensive demeanour.

The group hug dispersed and as the rest of the team chattered excitedly, Natasha took her chance and stepped forwards, her face breaking out into a smile that made her eyes sparkle as her coach hugged her tight.

"Of course Natasha is her favourite," Wanda commented. "Do you think she's mean too?"

"I hope not," Kaia muttered, although her thoughts were far away from Wanda. She watched Natasha's for a second longer before pulling her eyes away to Maria who was watching her with an odd expression.

"If you haven't guessed by now, everyone, this is Coach Kate." Natasha introduced her with a small smile, vastly different to any other expression she usually carried. "Do you want to introduce yourself properly?"

"Sure!" The woman couldn't have been taller than 5"7' and she had a bouncy energy about her. She squeezed Natasha's shoulder and waved at Stella before stepping forward and scanning the team of dancers before her.

"Hi everyone, I'm Kate and I'll be your coach for this season. I don't know how much the girls have told you, but I was out for an injury last year so I'm really excited to be back and see what you've got for me!"

"We missed you, Coach Kate!" One of the juniors piped up, earning another round of cheers that had Wanda joining in too.

"I've missed you too! And it's refreshing to see a lot of new faces too," Kate observed, winking at Wanda and Kaia in the corner. "I hope these three have been keeping up my work. Especially Nat."

"I work them hard, don't you worry."

"Damn right she does," Wanda whispered to Kaia. It was a lot to process and the brunette Russian sat slightly bewildered. Now she had one more person to prove her worth to, because there was no saying what changed Coach Kate would want to make. Maybe even cuts, which was Kaia's worst nightmare. Her anxiety really did play up when it came to change.

Natasha graciously gave everyone thirty minutes to get refreshed and dressed before she officially started rehearsal, wanting to show Coach Kate everything they'd worked on. And of course there was improv, which luckily Kaia enjoyed.

Meanwhile, a certain redhead was having a hard time keeping her head screwed on straight. This was going to be harder than Natasha thought. She'd convinced herself that the kiss was nothing more than a drunken mistake brought on by a dare, because that's all it was, and that it meant nothing, so seeing Kaia would go back to normal.

But watching her dance, it was impossible not to look at her, especially during improv. Her musicality and emotion was what made her such a captivating dancer and Natasha couldn't help but be engrossed in the way that she moved. Kaia's natural elegance was increased tenfold as she almost floated across the studio floor, turning and jumping like she was weightless. Natasha had to force herself to look at the other dancers in the smaller group so she didn't get caught, for her stomach flipped too much to be natural.

As the music stopped, applause sounded and Coach Kate rose from her chair, scanning the five dancers before her.

"That was amazing girls, well done." The dancers blushed. "You, the little one, what's your name?"

Kaia faltered, double checking that it was indeed her that had been called upon. "Um, I'm Kaia."

"You are gorgeous to watch," said Kate, shaking her head in disbelief. "Where did you train?"

"Firebird Studios, back in Hamilton County-"

"You trained with Natasha?" She turned to the redhead who nodded curtly, glancing at Kaia for a split second. "Why am I not surprised? So you've danced together?"

"Somewhat..."

Kate nodded, looking between the redhead to her left and the brunette in front of her. "You look like you'd make good duet partners."

If you blinked, you'd have missed it. The two dancers locked eyes and Natasha subtly shook her head, pressing her lips together as a warning. Kaia just shifted uncomfortably and avoided Natasha's gaze, suddenly feeling exposed as she felt everyone's eyes on her. But her moment was short-lived as her group was excused and she returned to the side, earning a squeeze on the arm from Wanda who was buzzing by her side. Ever the supportive friend, she was.

As the other groups performed, it gave Kaia a moment to collect her thoughts. Never had she been so scrambled in such a short amount of time, and the way everything in her mind revolved around Natasha made her want to scream. The one thing she promised herself at college was to not let that redhead meddle with her life, yet here she was, not even a month in and already having a midlife crisis. Now would be a really good time to have a mom she could talk to, but the brunette wasn't even sure she had the right phone number for her mother, who was probably cruising around Moscow decked out in more designer clothes than Kaia could even fathom. Why did she have to get lumped with the shitty parents?

The rest of the technique class allowed her to drift away from her breakdown and into the calmer headspace that dance brought. Focusing on her muscles and her turnout blocked out the rest of the world and brought a strange sense of serenity to her whirlwind life. And following Coach Kate provided an extra level of focus which Kaia was grateful for.

She gossiped with Wanda during the water breaks and even chatted to some of her other teammates seated around her, all bonding over their new found love for their coach. She was spunky and witty and never put anyone down, giving words of encouragement instead of barking corrections left right and centre. The atmosphere in the studio was already lighter and it showed in the way the team danced.

Coach Kate, typical behaviour, threw everyone in at the deep end after the break and called for some partner work, wanting to push the dancers out of their comfort zone and assist each other in some simple routines. Stella and Maria had joined the class, leaving Natasha as Kate's assistant, which worked out as an odd number when she wanted to demonstrate. But her eyes sparkled as she looked around the room and fell upon the pocket rocket she'd mentioned before.

"Kaia, come here for a sec, I need you and Nat to be my guinea pigs." The redhead almost choked on her water that she'd bent down to sip but maintained her professionalism and stood back up with what she would call a smile but everyone else called a scowl. "Okay, so, I want the smaller dancer in front and taller behind," Kate instructed, watching as her dancers shuffled in their pairs. Wanda stood to the side awkwardly, her partner now missing thanks to the demonstration.

Kaia tugged her shorts up so they sat a little higher around her waist as she stepped in front of Natasha, feeling like a rabbit in the headlights. All eyes felt like they were on her but the only ones she truly focused on were the ones boring into the back of her skull like lasers. Natasha didn't want to be in this position anymore than she did, but they couldn't protest. Not when this was Kaia's chance to make a good impression on Coach Kate, who would most likely dictate how the rest of her dance year went. She dreaded what would come next.

Kate instructed Kaia to extend her leg out to the side in a tilt and guided Natasha's hand to her calf so she could help pull her leg over before Kaia rose up on relève and gracefully floated her leg back down to the floor, resting the weight of her leg in Natasha's palm.

'It's just dance', she told herself repeatedly, trying not to flinch as Natasha's hands came to her waist. She waited for the dread to set in, the pit that usually formed in the depths of her stomach whenever she was within a few feet of the redhead.. but it didn't come. Sure, her mind was racing at a million miles per hour at the feeling of Natasha's hands on her bare skin, but as they moved through the sequence per Coach Kate's instructions, there was no feeling of repulsion.

Kaia felt... safe? Natasha's grip was strong, even as she assisted her jump, and they moved together, their bodies synchronising like they used to. Kaia couldn't look Natasha in the eye as she turned around for a split second and her heart felt as though it would burst out of her rib cage if they continued like this any longer. It was pure adrenaline, it had to be. They were both capable dancers who adapted well and could dance like this with anyone, despite Coach Kate's comments at how well they flowed. She definitely wasn't helping the pair feel any less uncomfortable.

Yet Kaia couldn't gauge how Natasha was feeling, not with her usual stony facade blocking each and every emotion out. She just moved through the motions, acting as nothing but a demonstrator for her coach. She couldn't think too hard about who she was dancing without feeling slightly put out by it. She prayed for the sequence to end so she could step back and regain the distance she had built between Kaia. The brunette smiled softly at her as they finished but Natasha barely reciprocated. Why would her attitude change so suddenly?

"We've still got it," Kaia dared to whisper, trying to lighten the atmosphere between them but instantly regretting it as Natasha's head whipped around like she'd cursed her family. "I meant-"

"I thought we had an agreement," the redhead hissed.

Kaia's face fell in confusion. She was just being nice. There was no reference to their past at all, she'd put that behind her, but maybe Natasha hadn't. Her eyes narrowed in thought as she looked at the redhead beside her, who was doing her best to ignore her by looking at Kate. Kaia felt a shift inside her and her expression softened, shaking her head as she walked back over to Wanda. Maybe she didn't know Natasha as well as she thought she did, which unnerved her. Maybe there really was nothing behind the kiss they shared except resentment and alcohol. Kaia was getting whiplash with how quickly her mind had jumped to conclusions and she wanted to dunk herself in an ice bath and press 'factory reset' in her brain. Maybe that would flush the intense overthinking out of her system.

She was unfocussed for the rest of the session and Wanda picked up on it, but chose not to pry when Kaia repeatedly forgot a section of their dance or lost her balance. She knew dancing with Natasha had rattled her friend and despite being incredibly nosy and wanting to know all the details, the Sokovian bit her tongue and held back on the questioning, instead offering words of reassurance that Kaia accepted gratefully.

As the class dispersed into the changing room, Kaia sank down onto the wooden bench and pulled her phone from her bag. There were a couple of school emails and a photo from Bucky, but Yelena's name at the top of the screen caught her attention the most.

From: Yel

Come back to the dorm quick. I want u to meet someone 🏃‍♀️

Kaia wrinkled her nose as her posture collapsed. She wasn't one for social gatherings when she was tired, nevermind not looking her best after an intense and sweaty practice. But she threw on her sweatpants and trudged back over to her dorm, but not before glancing at the now-closed coffee shop where she had been yesterday. Her dance bag hit her thigh as she climbed the stairs and fumbled with her ID badge to get onto her floor. Who Yelena had found, she had no idea, but she braved a smile and pushed the frizzy baby hairs away from her face as she opened the heavy door.

"You're back!" Yelena announced, leaping off her bed and running to hug her animatedly. Kaia stood and took it, patting her best friend's back before eventually pushing her away so she could enter the room properly. "How was it?"

"I have so much to tell you, but- who's this?" The sheepish looking brunette seated at Yelena's desk gave a small wave as Kaia looked her up and down. The Russian was never judgemental, but her hardened stare and once over that she gave the stranger made her shrink under her gaze. Russians were incredibly intimidating.

"Kaia, I want you to meet Kate!"

Kaia's face dropped. "Another one?!"

[demofanus]

✨Kirsty core✨

Небольшой апдейт по событиям в её личной жизни:

Хоть мне бы и хотелось, чтобы Кирсти была более осмотрительна в своих новых отношениях, но она уже полностью отпустила себя и влюбилась в Шейна по уши. Долгое время я пыталась разглядеть столь же сильную симпатию от Шейна, но он оказался гораздо скромнее в выражении своих чувств, однако это не означает, что к Кирсти он ничего не испытывает (и недавнее событие с предпоследнего скрина это очень даже подтверждает))))

Шейн довольно часто уезжает по работе в командировки, и мне кажется, что это положительно сказывается на их отношениях — всё-таки Кирсти много лет была одна и ей важно сохранять свое личное пространство, так что с рабочим графиком Шейна у неё по-прежнему остается достаточно времени на себя любимую. Но когда они наконец-то встречаются, то заваливают друг друга автономными романтическими приятностями!🥰

В общем, между ними определенно царит зрелая и уверенная любовь друг к другу. Никаких поспешных решений я (и они) принимать не буду, потому что мне не хочется отдавать Кирсти кому-то, не будучи полностью уверенной в том, что ее будут боготворить. Она заслужила самой огромной любви и уважительного отношения к себе, так что будем присматриваться к Шейну и дальше, но то, что он настроен серьезно, меня уже радует)

[greynatomy]

Who The Hell Are you?

Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader

This is a chapter from my wattpad book that I haven’t had any motivation writing from, but is one of my favorite chapters so I wanted to share it on here.

I changed my oc’s name to yn so if you see a name that’s not natasha or yelena then that was my oc.

Let me know what you think!

-grey

———

Standing in the kitchen, Yelena hears someone trying to pick the lock on the front door.

“I know you’re out there.” She says to the person on the other side of the door.

“I know you know I’m out here.” She hears a woman’s voice muffled by the door.

The door opens, then slams shut. Yelena grabs her gun, waiting for the woman to come closer.

“Then why are you skulking about like it’s a minefield?” She asks, pointing the gun in front of her.

“‘Cause I don’t know if I can trust you.”

Chuckling, “Funny, I was going to say the same thing.”

“So, we gonna talk like grown-ups?”

Turning the corner, Yelena points the gun at the woman. “Is that what we are?”

Both women point the gun at each other, Yelena slowly walks backwards as Natasha walks forwards.

“Put it down before I make you.”

“You put yours down.” Natasha replies.Yelena trips, “Watch you step.” Yelena chuckles softly.

Standing in the middle of the kitchen, They both grab the others’ gun, quickly pointing it back at each other.

Yelena and Natasha are now impatient, starts kicking each other. Yelena grabs Natasha and slams her to the walls. Switching it up, Natasha then grabs Yelena’s face and lifts her up to crash into the cabinet over the sink. Pushing her face down, Natasha tries to get her to stop fighting.

“Stay down. Stay down. Stay down!”

Letting out a scream, Yelena grabs a plate and smashes it on Natasha’s head. Grabbing a towel, it quickly gets wrapped around her neck, but uses it to her advantage to flip Natasha over her into a door breaking the glass.

Slowly getting up, staring at each other to intimidate, Yelena grabs a knife from the kitchen and stalks towards Natasha.

Trying to find something to use, Natasha sees a stapler and grabs it just before Yelena swings the knife at her. Swinging their desired weapons at each other, the take turns, blow for blow, kick for kick, hoping one would give up.

Both weapons quickly get disarmed by the other, Yelena tackles Natasha into the wall, Natasha grabbing the curtains off its rod and wraps it around Yelena’s neck, Yelena doing the same to Natasha after dropping her on the floor.

Both laying on the floor, cutting off each other’s breathing, Yelena being the stubborn one, won’t give up first.

“перемирие.” Truce. Natasha says, holding a hand out.

Letting go, Yelena gasps for air, unwrapping the curtain from her neck. Both laying on the floor for a bit, Yelena tries to catch her breath.

“ты вырос.” You’ve grown up.

“Ни хрена.” No shit. Yelena says, getting up from the floor. She walks to the kitchen, grabbing the vodka from the refrigerator and some shot glasses.

“You had to come to Budapest, didn't you?” Natasha asks, following Yelena.

“I came here because I thought you wouldn’t. But since you’re here, what bullet does that?” Yelena asks pouring some shots, then pointing at the wall.

Natasha looks behind her. “Not bullets. Arrows.”

“Ah, right.” She says, taking a shot.

“If you didn’t think I’d come here, why’d you send me these?” Natasha ask, putting the familiar bunch of vials on the table.

“You brought it back here?” Yelena walks away, Natasha following closely behind.

“I’m not here trying to be your friend, but you need to tell me what that is.”

“It’s a synthetic gas. The counter agent to chemical subjugation. The gas immunizes the brain’s neuropathways from external manipulation.” She explains, grabbing a bag.

“Maybe in English next time?”

“Это противоядие от контроля над разумом.” It’s an antidote to mind control.

“настоящая зрелая.” Real mature. Natasha replies, rolling her eyes.

“Why don’t you take it to one of your super-scientist friends? They can explain it to you. Tony Stark, maybe?” She asks, packing her bag with clothes and weapons.

“Oh, yeah. We’re not really talking right now, so…”

“Great. Perfect timing. Where’s an Avenger when you need one?”

“I don’t want to be here. I’m on the run. You could’ve gotten me killed.”

“Well, what was I supposed to do? You’re the only superhero person that I know.”

Suddenly, they both hear the front door open and close. Natasha quickly puts a new shirt on, grabbing a gun, while Yelena freezes, wide-eyed.

“Yelena Belova!” They both hear. Natasha points the gun at the door.

“Дерьмо.” Shit. Yelena grabs Natasha’s gun, lowering it. Natasha looks confused as to why Yelena looks nervous and not grabbing a weapon.

“Что, черт возьми, ты сделал?” What the hell did you do? Yelena starts to chew on her bottom lip, not moving from where she’s standing. “Лучше тащи свою задницу сюда, прямо сейчас.” You better get you ass over here, right now.

Yelena slowly walks out the door, to the kitchen, Natasha quietly follows behind, still being alert.

“Привет дорогая.” Hi, sweetheart.

“Не говори мне "Привет, дорогая". Что случилось?” Don't 'Hi, sweetheart' me. What happened? Yn irritatedly asks, hands on both of her hips.

“Well, you see, it was not all my fault.”

“Oh, yeah? Enlighten me. Who else did this?”

“She did.” Yelena says, pointing at the wall behind her.

“Funny. No one is there.”

“Wha-” She looks behind her not seeing Natasha. “Come out from behind the wall.”

Natasha slowly walks from the other side of the wall, revealing herself.

“Ah, Natasha Romanoff.” Yn scans her up and down. “Do you usually come to peoples homes and destroy things?” She sarcastically asks.

Yelena let’s out a snort, seeing Natasha shrink from Yn’s intimidating gaze.

“Uh, well, n-no.” Clearing her throat, Natasha puts her tough act back in front and asks, “Who the hell are you?”

“Yelena, it is very rude to not introduce me.” She says, poring herself two shots of vodka, downing each, right after the other. Natasha looks at Yelena, hoping to get an answer.

Yelena let’s put a loud sigh. “Natasha meet Yn… my wife.”

“Wife?!”

“I know. I can’t believe I married her either.” Yn say, walking up to Yelena to give her a peck on the cheek.

“Замолчи.” Shut up. She says, rolling her eyes, letting a small smirk show. “Okay, we are getting distracted.” Yelena says, becoming serious again. Turning back to Natasha, “I kept checking the news, expecting to see Captain America bringing down the Red Room.”

“What?” Natasha asks, shocked. “Taking down the Red Room? What are you talking about? It’s been gone for years. Dreykov’s dead. I killed him.”

Letting out a small laugh, “You don’t actually believe that, do you?” Yn asks. Seeing the look on Natasha’s face, she turns to Yelena, “She really does believe that.”

“Dreykov’s dead. It took almost destroying the entire city just to get to him.”

“If you’re so sure, then tell us what happened. Tell us exactly.”

“We rigged bombs.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Clint Barton. Killing Dreykov was the final step in the deflection to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Nodding and shrugging, “Simple as that?”

“Yeah, sure, ‘simple.’” She states, walking away from the couple. “That’s what I’d call imploding a five-story building and then shooting it out with the Hungarian Special Forces. Took ten days in hiding before we could even get out of Budapest.”

“And you checked the body?” Yelena asks, grabbing a gun off the floor, stuffing it in her pants. “Confirmed the kill?”

“There was no body left to check.”

“Oh, come on. You’re Natasha Romanoff. THE BLACK WIDOW and you don’t do something as simple as making sure he is actually dead. A body does not just disappear.” After a moment of silence, “You’re also forgetting about Dreykov’s daughter.”

The three of them freeze, hearing muffled footsteps. The ceiling suddenly explodes, creating a hole. Yelena snatches the vials, stuffing them in her bag. Yn follows her, pushing them both to the wall.

Widows are flooding into the door. Carefully peaking around the corner, Yelena sees two Widows jump down from the hole they created in the ceiling. Running across the room to a different room, Natasha grabs them both and slams them into the wall. Yelena reaches and turns the knob, making all the lights explode.

Momentarily distracted, Natasha, Yelena, and Yn take down a couple windows and makes a run out the front door. Peaking to see the other Widows, Natasha hides behind a wall as they start to shoot at her, same with Yelena. Yn grabs a grenade from Yelena’s bag and throws it downstairs to the Windows.

Running up the stairs Natasha asks, “Where are we trying to get?”

“Motorbike! East side of the building.” Yelena answers.

Jumping out the window, onto the roof, the trio try to run as fast as they could to the motorbike. Jumping and sliding down the roof. Finding a metal pole thing, Yelena quickly unlatches some screws and pushes her foot on the side of the roof, to disconnect it.

A Widow that has been chasing them jumps off the roof and onto the pole, slipping, but Natasha grabs onto her.

“I got you!” However, the Widow grabs her knife and slices Natasha’s hand, making her let go, so she falls. “No!”

The pole crashes to the side of the building, Yn and Yelena crashes into a window as Natasha falls off the side, crashing into the vents in the way.

Yelena groans and slowly gets up, using the wall for support. She limps over to where her wife is laying. “Yn, hey. Are you okay?”

“Lena, yeah. We have to go.”

Running down the stairs, out the door to where Natasha is, Yelena and Yn come to an abrupt stop, seeing her standing over a dead Widow.

Putting the vial back with the other’s being too late to free her, “Do you believe us now?” Yelena softly asks.

“How many others?”

“Enough.”

[danaelita]

Мне сегодня сказал друг итальянец, что он младше меня.

Ему 29.

Он думал что мне 30. Потому что я более зрелая, чем он, вот и подумал что мне 30 просто я молодо выгляжу.

Пытаюсь понять...мне комплимент сделали или обосрали 😂

[vbart459]

Искренность

Я ценю искренность в людях и в себе. Искренность она проявляется не только в словах,но и поступках,намерениях и чувствах.

Я выступаю за искренность. Конечно,не все рассказываю людям,если скажу честно. Фальш если использовать только ради спасения или если без этого не выжить,а так зачем постоянно надевать маски, через которые не видно его самого кто он есть.

Я понимаю почему люди лгут,фальшивят и надевают маски.Я таких людей не пытаюсь осудить в этом посте. Потому что на опыте поняла,почему люди могут так проявлять себя. Я сама была в ситуациях когда приходилось скрывать свое настоящее лицо,но было нужно для моего спасения, чтобы не сделать еще хуже себе.

Искренность и честность освобождает от боли внутри.Искренность помогает открыться себе ,людям и миру,но без лишней наивности.

Часто принято искренность равнять с наивностью. Искренность более зрелая форма доверия и открытости,а наивность больше�� детская открытость и доверия многому. ( по-моему мнению)

[zrelka]

[casualbos-bir]

Одиноким людям, не выбирающим оставаться в своём одиночестве, довольно часто буквально навязывают некую всеядность, откровенно стыдят за разборчивость и запугивают, что если долго будут приглядываться, то сорок пресловутых кошек бесповоротно войдут в их холостяцкую квартиру.

Но одиночество, особенно то одиночество, в котором человек понял, что он не один, а с собой, и обустроил на этой простой правде свою жизнь - это вообще не маркер какого-то обречённого отчаяния, в котором важно вцепиться хоть в кого-нибудь, чтобы оправдать себя в глазах социума и переживающей мамы.

Кстати, то очень условное неодиночество, которое получается в результате таких вот "вцепляний", гораздо разрушительнее самого тотального одиночества...

Механизмы выбора у одиноких людей, не отравленных своим одиночеством, могут быть очень осознанными, взрослыми и честными.

Им и вправду не нужен абы кто. И речь не о гордыне, намеренно завышающей свои тщеславные планки.

Речь о хорошем контакте с собой, о понимании своих потребностей, о знании собственных преимуществ и ограничений, исходя из которых можно быть более конкретными в своём выборе.

В одном старом фильме есть эпизод, где мужчина и женщина, после короткого знакомства и случившейся близости, одновременно осознают, что ни в чём не совпадают, но смущение их столь велико, что никто не решается нарушить создавшуюся тишину.

Тогда женщина выдыхает, грустно улыбается и спокойно произносит: "Ты одинок, и я одинока. Но нам не обязательно становиться ��омео и Джульеттой".

И они благодарно расстаются, поняв, что если одиночество - это единственный общий фактор, а всё остальное - нет, то истории не получится.

Зрелая близость определяется не объективными характеристиками людей, а их субъективным восприятием друг друга.

То есть, установки по типу "я - хороший, всё делаю правильно, а значит, меня нельзя не полюбить", абсолютно беспомощны там, где не сложился диалог, не возникло эмоциональное и физическое влечение и не появилась та естественная лёгкость, при которой вчера ещё чужой человек становится своим на уровне необъяснимого внутреннего принятия.

Выбирают не хороших и не плохих.

Выбирают тех, кто ложится на сердце со всеми своими оттенками, как хорошими, так и плохими.

И после долгого одиночества это особенно очевидно.

Лиля Град

[really-name]

Получен статус: хорошая дочь

К нам пришли гости, посиделки во дворе, шашлыки, выпивка. Обычно на сия мероприятиях сижу в доме, но не в этот раз, мне пришлось выйти и в конце вечера успокаивать маму. Слова поддержки, всё такое

В итоге: все в слезах, маме стало лучше, а гости в афиге говорили какая я зрелая и хорошая опора

Вечер удался

[knigosvodblog]

Выкраду вместе с забором

Ссылка на источник: Читать дальше »

[goshminherz]

Думаю, этот текст больше для женщин.

«Письмо любви, написанное её запахом на его губах»

Почему мужчина любит женщину? Почему именно её, а не другую, а если другую — то почему тогда? Почему одно мгновение взгляда может перевернуть всё, что он знал о себе до сих пор? Это ведь не про секс. Секс — это маленькая вспышка на экране, фейерверк, который сгорает и исчезает в дыму. Она может прекрасно готовить, может собирать гостей за большим столом и даже управлять империей, но это всё — декорации, как сцена в театре, где главное — не кулисы, а то, что происходит внутри актёра, когда он вдруг понимает: сейчас живёт по-настоящему.

Мужчина любит женщину, потому что она — его портал. Она — дверь, которую он не может открыть сам. Как бы он ни бился, эта дверь поддаётся только лёгкому прикосновению её пальцев. Он идёт за ней не потому, что слабый, а потому что чувствует: за этой дверью — новый мир, которого он один не построит. Он силён в архитектуре, он воздвигнет стены, мосты, чертоги. Но она знает, как провести свет между этими стенами. Она знает, как заставить пространство дышать, и тогда все его конструкции наполняются жизнью.

Он влюбляется в женщину, потому что рядом с ней его душа вспоминает про небо. Без неё он как корабль, слишком ��олго стоящий в гавани: прочный, надёжный, обросший водорослями. А она — ветер. Она наполняет его паруса не воздухом, а смыслом. Она не делает его счастливым — она делает его живым.

Женщина способна вывести мужчину из мира войны, из битвы с самим собой, из внутреннего фронта, где он десятилетиями сражается с тенями собственного страха, сомнений, вины. Она вдруг ставит чайник на огонь, оборачивается, смотрит ему в глаза — и он понимает, что не нужно больше ни с кем воевать. Потому что дома тепло. Потому что за её спиной мир, в котором всё можно отпустить. И когда он расслабляется, впервые по-настоящему расслабляется, как воин, снимающий доспехи после долгой битвы, он начинает плакать. Эти слёзы — его освобождение. Она — его амнистия.

Он любит её, потому что рядом с ней он вспоминает, что он не инструмент. Он не молоток, не плуг, не щит. Он может быть стихией, может быть тихим дождём или огнём, может быть ручьём, по которому она пройдёт босиком. А может быть небом, которое отражается в её зрачках.

Мужчина ищет в женщине не просто спутницу. Он ищет свою звезду навигации. Он может знать карты, но он всё равно потеряется в океане, если не будет этого света. Он ищет Ту, кто может смотреть на него и видеть в нём не то, кем он себя считает, а то, кем он может быть. Он сам забыл. Она помнит. Она помнит, кем он был до того, как стал железным, до того, как построил стены из логики, планов и решений. Она знает его доисторическую версию. И он любит её за это.

Женщина даёт мужчине вдохновение, но не как бензин в мотор, а как дыхание жизни в глиняную фигурку. Она не кричит: «Ты должен!», она просто молчит, когда он творит, а когда он закончил, она смотрит и говорит: «Ты сделал это». И ему больше ничего не нужно.

Но чтобы это стало возможным, он должен быть готов. Если мужчина не готов, он схватится за женщину, как утопающий за спасательный круг. Он будет требовать, ждать, просить: «Спаси меня». Он станет ребёнком в теле взрослого. И тогда любовь станет клеткой, где оба начнут задыхаться. Он будет ждать, что она его удержит, а она — что он её спасёт. Но зрелая любовь — это не об опоре. Это об обмене. Это когда ты приходишь к другому, не чтобы опереться, а чтобы отдать. Когда тебе настолько много, что ты переполнен, и это не бремя, а дар.

Два зрелых человека в любви — это два костра. Они горят рядом, но не гаснут друг от друга. Они согревают пространство, и каждый может отойти или приблизиться. Они свободны, и именно поэтому остаются. Потому что не нужно никого держать, кто сам хочет остаться.

Мужчина любит женщину, которая не требует его любви. Которая улыбается ему, как богине улыбается звезда: «Ты можешь быть любым». И он хочет быть тем, кто вдохнёт в неё жизнь в ответ. Хочет, чтобы она росла. Потому что чем выше она поднимается, тем больше у него крыльев. Это как две птицы, летящие рядом: когда одна вспоминает, как парить, другая вспоминает, зачем у неё крылья.

Мужчина любит женщину, потому что она даёт ему вечность. Не словами, не обещаниями, а тем, как она смотрит на него в утреннем свете. Он видит в её глазах бесконечность, которой можно верить. И понимает, что всё, чего он искал — уже здесь.

Он хочет её не для себя. Не чтобы забрать, удержать, спрятать, поставить как трофей на пьедестал своей важности. Он хочет, чтобы она расцвела. Чтобы смеялась так, как будто никогда не знала страха. Чтобы шагала легко, как будто под ногами у неё не земля, а облака. Чтобы её глаза светились так, что даже темнота начинала таять, стыдясь своей тяжести.

Он хочет, чтобы она была собой. Даже если это «собой» унесёт её далеко от него. Потому что любовь мужчины к женщине становится настоящей только тогда, когда он в состоянии выдержать её свободу. Выдержать её высоту. Даже если его самого начинает качать на этих высотах, как альпиниста на самом краю утёса. И он держится. За своё сердце. Потому что понимает: её полёт — это тоже его крылья.

Женщина, которая вдохновляет мужчину, — не обязательно та, что всегда нежна или всегда мягка. Иногда её слова режут как лезвие. Иногда она становится ветром, который сбивает с ног. Но он остаётся. Не как мазохист. А как тот, кто знает: буря приносит дождь. Дождь питает землю. Земля даёт ростки. Она не разрушает его. Она обновляет его. Сбрасывает с него старую кожу. Старые мысли. Старые страхи. Она делает ему больно, чтобы он проснулся.

Мужчина рядом с такой женщиной умирает несколько раз. Умирает тот, кем он был. Оживает тот, кем он быть может. И он благодарит её за каждую такую смерть, потому что с каждым разом он всё меньше боится. Она делает его бесстрашным. Не за счёт героизма или войны, а за счёт простого знания: он может быть разным. Он не застрял в одной роли. Он не замер навсегда в одном амплуа. С ней он не должен всегда быть сильным, всегда знать ответ, всегда побеждать. С ней он может быть живым. А это куда ценнее.

Иногда он сидит в молчании, смотрит на неё, как она перебирает волосы пальцами, как хмурит брови, читая книгу, как ставит чашку на край стола, рискуя уронить её, и он улыбается. Потому что именно в этих мелочах он видит вечность. Видит, как она живёт, не думая о том, как она выглядит или что скажут другие. Она просто есть. И это знание — что она есть — успокаивает его, как ничто другое в жизни.

Мужчина любит женщину не потому, что она лучше других. Не потому, что она — приз или награда. Она — его дорога домой. К себе. К тому себе, которого он давно потерял среди побед, поражений, планов, целей, битв. Она умеет нащупать в нём самое главное. Того мальчишку, который верил, что жизнь — это приключение. Того мужчину, который мог держать за руку друга и молчать, зная, что всё хорошо. Того воина, который может сложить меч и просто смотреть на закат.

И вот это чувство дома он оберегает в ней. Потому что понимает: это не она принадлежит ему. Это он принадлежит этому пространству между ними. Этому полю, где они встречаются настоящими. Там, где можно ничего не объяснять, ничего не доказывать, ничего не добиваться. Просто быть. Просто дышать. Просто любить.

А любовь у зрелого мужчины — это не «я тебя люблю». Это «я рад, что ты есть». Это когда можно молча подать ей пальто или налить чай, или просто поправить прядь волос, и в этом будет вся вселенная. Это когда его сила — не в том, чтобы что-то взять, а в том, чтобы оберегать пространство, в котором она может цвести. Чтобы не давить, не ломать, не лепить из неё идеал. А подставлять руки, если вдруг ветер слишком сильный.

Любовь мужчины к женщине, той самой женщине, — это когда он видит её божественную природу. Не из книжек, не из лекций. А потому что чувствует. Потому что знает: если она улыбается — значит, мир спасён. Если она поёт на кухне утром — значит, жизнь продолжается. Если она рядом, значит, можно снова быть собой.

И он благодарит её не словами. А тем, что сам становится собой. Сам идёт в свою глубину, сам перестаёт бояться своей тьмы, своей ярости, своей нежности. Потому что она показала: всё это — он. И он ей за это не обязан. Он просто любит. И этого достаточно.

Вот почему мужчина любит женщину. Не за секс. Не за ум. Не за доброту. За то, что она его космос. И за то, что рядом с ней он снова человек.

Автор: П. Твардовски (Псикус Таткин)

[dyadkova]

Незрелая любовь говорит: «Я люблю тебя, потому что я нуждаюсь в тебе». Зрелая любовь говорит: «Я нуждаюсь в тебе, потому что я люблю тебя».Эрих Фромм

[gorit-vremya]

Поделилась на сеансе своими чувствами по поводу одного воспоминания, где я испытывала все время стресс при общении с детьми.

Я сказала ей, что совершенно не знаю, как правильно и экологично общаться с ними. И одна из моих коммуникаций показала все мои шрамы в тот день. Тот день дал мне понять, что я ещё не достаточно зрелая для того, чтобы являться авторитетом для детей.

Блять, у меня у самой детства не было, потому что всегда происходила какая-то хуйня, последствия которой я не осознавала слишком долго.

И вот фраза моего психолога:

«Дети — это зеркало, оно показывает нам, как мы относимся к себе. Ты критикуешь себя и игнорируешь собственные потребности, когда тебе необходима забота. Ты такая, потому что так относились к тебе в детстве».

Я усвоила, что с детьми нужно разговаривать через понимание, принятие, поддержку и любовь.

Потому что ни один ребенок не откажется от того, чтобы находиться под чьим-то крылом.

Она хотела от меня внимания…

от чего и провоцировала меня своим поведением ещё больше и я ещё сильнее осознавала что теряю контроль над ситуацией, и я была на тот момент слепа и глупа. Вела себя как взрослые в моем детстве; глупые, грубые и пустые. Я думала, что никогда не буду такой, ведь, раньше я сама осуждала таких людей….

Сейчас мне стыдно за свое поведение, стыдно, что я поддавшись стрессу общалась с ней как с каким-то роботом и излишне давила на неё.

Нет, нельзя быть такой…

У моей матери, как и у меня, такого опыта не было. Но я не хочу быть как она: глупой, безучастной, неосознанно агрессивной и разрушающей.

Я знаю, что буду расти дальше, несмотря на ту боль, которую переживаю, когда сталкиваюсь с чем-то нормальным. Потому что то, что я наблюдала в детстве, навязалось мне как норма, но я из дисфункциональной семьи

Нужно всего лишь начать с себя, научиться себя саму беречь…

Быть человеком - это труд