#I’ve had too many concussions in my lifetime that my friends always remind me of the stupid shit I’d say

[cultofdixon]

Don’t bite my head off, sunshine

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • Being concussed isn’t fun. But ones gotta admit, the concussed thoughts are pretty chaotic • SFW/Smol ANGST • TW: Injuries / Concussion

Requested by: Anon

“You may have a concussion” Daryl frowns kneeling before his partner while he gently palpates parts of the back of her head to make sure of no prominent bumps or even a gash he hasn’t caught yet.

“I am a-okay baby” Y/N sung poorly making the archer grimace a bit but he knew she was going to be a bit out of it.

The fall was pretty nasty.

The two were on a hunting trip, something they’ve been doing more often once they arrived to Alexandria and even after the herd/Wolves incident. But Daryl is the better tracker and has more knowledge of their surrounding environment compared to Y/N who is getting better at tracking but isn’t familiar with the surrounding forest by their home.

Which lead to Y/N tracking down this deer but when the tracks stopped, she didn’t. She kept walking and eventually fell into a small ravine. It didn’t help that there was a creek running through because when Daryl came running and spotted Y/N at the bottom. She was on her stomach, not moving, and the stream picked up some blood.

He really thought he was going to go home explaining how Y/N died. But thank god when he came down carefully, she slowly sat up to show that the gash was her shoulder and not from her head. But tumbling down still had her hit her head a few times.

Leading us to now where Daryl carefully brushes away the hair blocking the forming bruise on the right side of her forehead. He gently touched it, watching her retract but he wanted to make sure it wasn’t too swollen in the area.

“You gotta take off your shirt so I can bandage that shoulder” Daryl states setting his pack down. He also carried her out of the ravine prior to checking her injuries.

“Not to see my boobs?” She teased as the head injury was starting to make her a bit more forward and stupid, later.

“This is some fucked way to see my girl’s boobs” He scoffs. “And no. I ain’t lookin’” he says as he got his first aid kit out hearing a sad ‘Aww’ from her in response. “Yea got a tank top on?”

“Mmmmm….maybe. Maybe not”

“Y/N, please”

“What if…I don’t?”

“Then I gotta give you my shirt.” Daryl says as he grabs the bandages he will need to patch her up and then realized where she was getting at. “Girl, I ain’t strippin’ for yea if yea lyin’”

“I is wearing…another shirt” Y/N mutters disappointed as Daryl sets everything he’ll need on top of his bag before helping her get out of the ruined shirt gently.

Y/N sat perfectly still, a bit too perfectly because Daryl did startle her when checking her pulse once. But she was still enough for him to patch up her shoulder and let the two relax a moment even if her brain was still a bit scrambled.

The moments of silence freaked out Daryl, but he knew startling her would only make her mad or wince. He doesn’t like either.

“How’s the pain?”

“Meh”

“Are you lying to me?”

“Meh means bad”

“Since when does ‘meh’ mean bad? It’s usually a blow off” Daryl questions watching her shrug a little before having another moment of awkward silence but this time she was looking up at the sky. Her small head tilt up made Daryl think about how much sunlight they might have left. He’d like to get her home before anything.

As Daryl packs up a bit, including her knife. He doesn’t want her to do something dumb in this loopy state. While she continued to look around at everything in the woods as she became hyper focused on this small bug inching closer to her shoe. A praying mantis.

“Y/N, what’s the pain level no—-“ Daryl turns to her seeing her carefully pick up the praying mantis off her shoe since it decided to climb on her. “You want me to kill it?”

“No! It prob has kids out there” Y/N scoffs holding the little dude in her hands looking down at it.

Then suddenly tossing it aside which shocked Daryl.

“You were so fucking gentle with it, whyd yea do that?!”

“It was lookin’ at my man funny”

“What does that even fucking mean?!” Daryl questioning watching her face turn into confusion for a moment. “What is happening??”

“That was a praying mantis right?”

Great. She’s got the short term memory loss with the concussion Daryl groans. “Yeah”

“Don’t have sex with it” What the fuck “it will eat you after”

“Yknow, good call” Daryl decided to play along while throwing his pack over his shoulder and getting up. “It was lookin’ at me all seductive-like”

Y/N nods agreeing with his words as he extends his hands toward her to help her on her feet. Once Daryl got his arm around her to support her, just in case, while starting the walk back home.

“That’s how they get yea” Y/N pats his back with her blank daze going on on her face. “What if humans were like that? Females finding their potential male mates…then fuckin’, but instead of the fuck and dip, the female just CHOMPS his head off.” Her emphasis on the word ‘chomps’ made Daryl cringe a bit. “The upstairs head too” now that made him have sympathy pain for the downstairs one.

“Yeah…don’t bite my head off, sunshine”

“No promises” She slurs a bit before looking at Daryl and taking every feature on his face to memory, but it looked more like staring which lead him to stop.

“What?”

“You’re too good lookin’ to bite your head off” Y/N smiles using the hand that wasn’t on his back to pat his cheek which made him roll his eyes but smile as well.

“‘M glad I’ve got yea, and we agree you ain’t gonna bite my head off” Daryl smiles starting to walk again listening to Y/N making biting sounds.

This is going to be a long walk.

[rorynne]

Reckless

Pairing: Doctor!Bucky Barnes/Barton!Reader

Summary: You aren't really known for making the best life choices. But maybe Doctor Barnes can convince you to be a little less risky?

Warnings: Doctor!AU, mild swearing, vague depictions of injury and general doctoring.

Word count: 1.6k

A/N: This was inspired by two asks sent to @bucky-plums-barnes that i just really wanted to see made into a fic. So here it is, unbeta’d and barely proof read. Dont say i didnt warn you

You weren’t hurt, sore, maybe, but you were not hurt. You winced as your friend hit a pothole in just the wrong way, okay maybe you were a little more than sore, bruised. It wasn't even the worst thing you've done all week, you just... landed wrong, that's all. It's definitely not as bad as that time with the fire pokers. Natasha shot a frustrated glance at you in the rear view mirror as she drove, “Who the hell has the brilliant idea to jump off a two story building sober?”

“Clint dared me, what the hell was I supposed to do? Be a coward?” You defended as Natasha sent her poisonous glare to the man sitting in the passenger seat. A man who probably has collected as many scars and injuries as you have over the years, you two were not known for good decision making.

“Hey!” Clint threw his hands into the air, “Don't drag me into this I wasn't the one that jumped.”

“Yeah you did you went first!”

“Why do I associate with you two?” Natasha groaned as she pulled in front of the hospital. “Clint, carry them inside so I can find a place to park,” she ordered and Clint jumped into action, very carefully pulling you out of the back seat. You winced as a shock of pain pulsed through you when he touched your ribs, yeah, bruised.

The wait for the ER wasn’t nearly as long as you expected it to be, probably because Clint ended up carrying you into the hospital, alerting all of the nearby staff. It only took about ten minutes for your name to be called. A nurse forced you into a wheelchair as she seen you attempt to limp to the examination room, much to your dismay. She quickly got to work taking your vitals and taking you to get x-rays done before wheeling you into your examination room.

“Seriously, I think everyone is getting far too worked up about this, I feel fine,” you said to Clint and Natasha as you waited for the doctor.

“You didn't see how your head hit the pavement.” Clint said, making sure not to meet Natasha’s glare.

You threw your head back in frustration causing the dull ache in your head to explode into a burst of pain. You hissed, holding your head in one hand before finally adding, “Yea but it stopped bleeding, that's all that matters right? This is a complete waste of time.”

As if to answer your question, the exam room door opened, and in stepped a young doctor with steel blue eyes and brown hair tied into a messy man bun. Well damn, if the ER doctors were going to be this cute maybe it wasn't a waste of time. “When I seen ‘Barton’ on the chart I was expecting Clint’s name next to it. You didn't tell me there was two of them Natasha.” The doctor said, shaking his head as he looked at the charts.

“Hey, I already had my monthly visit to the ER, doc.” Clint protested before gesturing to you, “Now it's their turn.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow as he looked between the two of you, “There was far too much to unpack in that statement than we can get to today.” He sighed before sticking out his hand to you “I’m Doctor James Barnes, but you can call me Bucky. I've already patched your brother up on a number of occasions. How are you feeling?”

You blinked once or twice before shaking his hand, “I feel fine, I’m just a little bruised is all. I promise you Dr. Barnes, these two are just overreacting.”

Bucky glanced  at you incredulously before looking at Natasha who was thoroughly unamused at driving her friend to the ER at three in the morning. “Does a general disregard for their own health and safety run in the family?”

“No.” You and Clint answered in unison.

“Yes.” Natasha said, arms crossed.

Bucky sighed, “Well, you have two broken ribs according to the x rays, but your ankle isn't broken so that's a plus.” He shined a light into your eyes, causing you to wince in pain as your headache pulsed angrily. “Do you know what year it is, doll?”

You paused, distracted by the nickname, “Uh, what?”

“What year is it?”

You grew slightly distracted again as you noticed the sway of two dog tags hanging from his neck, “2019?” You almost guessed, forcing your attention back to his question.

He nodded at the answer, checking things off on his clipboard, “Any head pain, nausea, dizziness?”

“I hit my head on the pavement, Of course it hurts.” You shrugged, sounding a bit snippier than you intended. “I mean, yeah but I’m okay, I walked it off.”

He raised a concerned eyebrow as he moved to your ankle. “How did you even manage all of this?”

“Yes Y/N, Tell the nice doctor how this all happened.” Natasha frowned, leaning back into her seat. You flushed slightly as the ridiculousness of the plan set in.

“Well, I mean, Clint and I were watching some parkour videos, where people jumped off high ledges and stuff.” Bucky’s eyebrows shot up in horror as you started your story, completely distracted from treating you ankle. “So we tried jumping from the roof of our apartment building. Turns out it's harder than it looks.” He looked at you dumbstruck, before opening his mouth and closing it.

“You could have broken your neck and died. You're lucky that you're even sitting here for me to patch you up doll.” He frowned, as he started to wrap a bandage around your ankle. “You've got a sprained ankle, two broken ribs, and a concussion out of the deal. You shouldn't be so reckless.”

You winced as he tightened the wrapping, “I've walked away from worse. Normally I just don't bother coming in unless I don't stop bleeding, or something is bent wrong.”

“You shouldn't be walking at all,” he argued, growing slightly frustrated by your disregard for your health. “You could have seriously been hurt, and honestly you should be coming into the ER for much less than this.” You bit your lip at his pleading face, he looked like a kicked puppy as he scolded you for your recklessness. Did he really have any right to be this damn cute? The answer to that was no, but you sure as hell weren't complaining. “Next time you get hurt like this, promise me you aren't going to try to walk it off? I already know enough reckless punks to last me a lifetime.”

He looked at you with his kicked puppy face and you felt your stomach flutter. “I promise.” You mutter as he helped you up and handed you a set of crutches. Maybe coming to the ER wasn't so bad after all.

You started to become a regular face at the hospital, much to Bucky’s relief and dismay. As it turns out, you are more reckless than your brother, often finding yourself in Bucky’s exam room once or twice a week, each time earning a thorough scolding from him on making good choices. Every once in a while his lectures would be peppered with pet names and flirtatious remarks that sent your heart a flutter. When he wasn't available to take care of you, his friend Steve would make sure to patch you up then usually minus the scolding.

Slowly, Bucky started to expect you to come in on certain days, usually the weekend, late at night seemed to be when you had your brilliant daredevil ideas. When you came in at different times, the other doctors and nurses were all sure to let him know you were okay. He took solace in knowing that, as long as you were coming in, that meant you were at least breathing.

A solace that was cracked when one week, you just didn’t come in. No one had seen you, or Clint, all week causing Bucky to grow concerned. Had you just not gotten hurt? At this point he wondered if that were even possible for you. Had you fallen back into not going to the ER? That was possible, but you always seemed happy to be patched up by him, would you really just suddenly stop? Inevitably his mind fell to the worst possible outcome, one that Steve had to repeatedly remind him probably wasn't the case.

It only got worse when two more weeks passed without you showing up. Bucky felt like he was losing his mind. He was practically sick with worry, trying not to do something stupid himself, when the head nurse handed him a medical chart. “Your patient is in room three.” She smiled slyly before moving onto the next task in her day. His heart leapt to his throat when he seen the name on the chart.

The relief he felt seeing you as he opened the exam room door was unimaginable. You looked up at him sheepishly with a badly swollen wrist, He was just glad you weren't dead. “Where on earth have you been doll?” he asked, quickly getting to work on bandaging your sprained wrist.

“You kept telling me that I should be less reckless, so I decided to try it out.” You have a slight chuckle of a laugh and scrunched your nose before you continued. “Turns out it's boring.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You're gonna give me a heart attack doll. Do you know how worried I was not seeing you for three weeks?”

You stared at him biting your lip. “You know,” you said eventually, “there's other ways to be able to see me that don't require a trip to the hospital.”

He paused, looking up from bandaging your wrist before nodding and giving his flirtatious smirk. “Do you want to meet up for lunch this week doll?”

You grinned at his invitation. “Sounds like it'll be more fun than spraining my wrist trying to climb a wall.”

His jaw dropped. “You did what?!”

[misstinfoilhat]

The Boy in the Belfry, part 13. A Bungou Stray Dogs fic

All is dark. All is calm. All is good.

The only thing he can hear is the muffled sound of his fellow agents getting to work around him, and the only thing he can feel is leather gloves carefully caressing the side of his face and occasionally swiping away the unmanageable bangs from his face.

All is okay. All is over. All is well.

His father is dead. He knows. Not even a termite like his old man, can withstand what had to be more than ten stabs to the head, and at least ten more to the chest. To be absolutely sure, he genuinely hopes that Mori will cut his head off and feed it to the pigs. Or better yet, his heart. You can never be too sure considering all the pestered animals that can keep on living without their heads. He'll let Mori do whatever he wants to the body, as long as it's not burried beneath the same ground as his mother and sisters. He'll let Mori feed his sickest fantasies, just to make sure that the motherfucker burns in hell.

All is still. All is numb. All is dead.

                                                          -xXx-

Atsushi was stunned. With trembling knees, he was able to take one step before his legs buckled under his weight, but Yosano was quick to react out and caught him before he could hit the ground. She'd been keeping an eye out for all of their younger agents during the bloodied act, knowing fully that the sight before them would be overwhelming to anyone- and especially someone as inexperienced and impressionable as Atsushi.

Even if they all knew about Dazai's past in the Port Mafia by now, Yosano (and to an extent, Kyouka) was probably the only ones who were capable of even nearly understanding what kind of measures Dazai has had to go through, to survive a lifestyle in the mafia that he did not choose for himself, but had been molded and broken into by callous hands.

The horrors he must have seen, as well as executed himself... from her own experience, she knew it was horrendous. And him, being a former executive, she could only begin to imagine how much worse he'd been through.

But he had been exposed to such cruel acts himself.

Until now, she was the only one in the agency who had seen the hideousness that had been done to his body underneath the bandages. It was nothing but evidence of a lifetime of torture.

But now, they had all seen it. What the mellow tempered jokester was hiding underneath the bandages.

Yosano got awakened from her thoughts as Atsushi ripped himself from her grip and ran out of the church. With that, she was reminded of the chaos around her. Her heart pulled her in one direction, wanting to make sure that Atsushi was okay, but a persistent Kunikda yelled for her assistance in the other.

“Kyouka,” she started to say but needed not to say more. The petite girl ran after her friend- probably a little relieved to get away from the situation. Yosano made a mental note to talk to her later. This whole event probably brought back some very unpleasant memories for her too.

Yosano hurried and ran to Dazai's aid.

                          ��                              -xXx-

“Atsushi-san?” Kyouka asked as softly as her already pleasant voice could muster, as she saw the boy huddled up and cradling himself right outside the door of the church. “Are you alright?”

Atsushi didn't answer, only grabbed his legs tighter and faintly shivered from the rain and sour wind.

“You should come back inside... I don't want you to get sick. They have covered the... body,” she added.

“It's not that...” Atsushi finally answered quietly. “I can take a dead body, Kyouka. I've seen blood and gore before. It's just...” he took a deep breath trying to make his voice sturdy. “I can't see Dazai like that. He's... he's supposed to be unbreakable, you know?”

Kyouka lowered her head. She knew, but she also knew. Knew a few things about the Port Mafia that Atsushi didn't. Things about Mori that anyone outside of the mafia would never know.

“You know,” he chuckled, almost humorously but couldn’t quite muster it, “...once, he carried me all the way back to the infirmary after a really bad fight downtown. He had several broken ribs, a concussion, and a pretty bad knee injury. Yosano and Kunikida literally had to tackle him to the ground and tranquilize him to treat his injuries,” Atsushi recalled bitterly. 

“Seeing him in such a vulnerable state right now... it's breaking my heart. I just can't take it. He's the closest thing to... maybe not a father, but at least a big brother, or a cool uncle, that I've ever had.” 

Atsushi bit his lip and added, “Also, seeing how he just used the remains of his energy to execute such a brutal killing... looking completely and utterly... unfeeling and unfazed by it, sends shivers through my whole body. I'm not sure I know that person...”

A touch on the arm from Kyouka interrupted him. She looked keenly into his eyes with her piercing light blue ones.

“Please, Atsushi. There's a lot you don't understand about Dazai-san. There's a lot none of us will ever understand. But, you saw the marks on his body and you heard what the preacher said. I'm not sure if any of us would have acted any other way if we were in his position.”

Atsushi knew she was probably right. He knew if he was in the same desperate state of mind as Dazai had been in then and there, and been given the opportunity to fight back- he probably would too. It wasn’t like he hadn’t fought in blind rage before himself.

Even so, he would need some time to process what he had just witnessed.

                                                         -xXx-

Kunikida hardly ever acted spontaneously. Obviously, even he couldn't foresee every possible turn of events, but it wasn't for the lack of trying.

This entire day had been agonizingly out of his control, and as Dazai fell unconscious after the confrontation and savage killing of the preacher (he wouldn't even give the man the acknowledgment of calling him Dazai's father), he decided to give in to the moment, letting go of his analytic thought process and acting purely from instinct and heart.

And his heart said to screw everything and get Dazai out of there alive.

Chuuya had already made it to Dazai. Kunikida could see him comforting and sheltering him, but wanted, all the same, to kick the vertically challenged Chucky look-a-like's face in for misusing his and his partner's trust.

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded, reaching the two, hitting Chuuya's stupid hat off, just for his own satisfaction.

The redhead didn't even flinch and was more concerned with making Dazai comfortable despite his injuries.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered. Kunikida didn't know if he was referring to Dazai, him or both of them. Probably the ladder. “I didn't know that Mori would let it go this far, but I should have. He always takes it too far.”

Kunikida looked for the Port Mafia boss, but he had already disappeared.

'That fucking coward.'

He snapped his fingers and got the attention of Tanizaki and Kenji, as he noticed Yosano being held up with Atsushi.

“Please, if you're up to it, would you mind... trying to find something to cover the body with?” he asked quietly. Even with somewhat pallor looks, they both complied, probably relieved to get a task to distract themselves, even if it was a messy one.

He turned back to Chuuya and Dazai, only to realize that Dazai's face started to look strained, fusing into a tight grimace as his body gradually started trembling worse and worse.

“He's having a seizure!” Kunikida exclaimed and pushed a frozen Chuuya away, quickly turning Dazai on his side to clear his airways. “Yosano!”

                                                             -xXx-

The ambulance drove off with Dazai, accompanied by Yosano. Chuuya had redeemed himself a little by helping them to get rid of the body before anyone else would see it, as well as cleaning up the mess that had been made. They put their trust in Yosano to come up with some kind of story to explain Dazai's (somewhat embarrassingly for both the ADA and the hospital) third disappearance (sporting an external fixing device on his leg and a broken back) from the hospital and the state they sent him back in.

“You have some explaining to do,” Kunikida stated sternly to Chuuya, as they watched the ambulance drive off.

“I don't think I'm the right person to do that,” he said simply, but couldn't hide the clear discomfort of being interrogated.

“Your namby-pamby boss vanished out of the thin air. He didn't even stick around to make sure that Dazai was okay,” Kunikida retorted sourly.

Chuuya smirked slightly, crossing his arms and started to walk towards his bike. “I don't mean Mori, Kunikida-kun.”

At first, Kunikida was confused by the statement. He watched the back of the mafioso as he walked calmly away. 

Then it dawned upon him.

Could Dazai already have known what was going to happen?

…

Of course, he could.

                                                             -xXx-

Dazai looked peaceful in spite of Atsushi's inability not to imagine the scars that lay hidden underneath his bandages. The third operation in just a little less than a month had taken its toll on his mentor, and understandably so.

Atsushi didn't know if he would ever be able to look upon the man who, despite his many flaws, he had regarded as his hero, the same way ever again. He looked the same, but somehow, he felt different.

Even so, he hadn't moved from his bedside since he'd been allowed into his room in the ICU. The others from the agency had returned to the dorms to get some much-needed rest, but something inside of Atsushi's stomach had made him unable to leave Dazai there by himself.

Dazai twitched slightly in the bed. Atsushi automatically stood up, leaning towards the railings, watching intently as his mentor started to wake up.

Bewildered hands moved towards his face, trying to remove the intruding nasal cannula before his eyes had even opened.

“Uh, no, stop it. I think you need that,” Atsushi said nervously, grabbing Dazai's hands and placed them gently back by his side.

“So annoying,” Dazai sighed hoarsely, before falling back to sleep.

Atsushi smiled.

Maybe Dazai was the same after all.

[itswhatimreallythinking]

My boyfriend can't be this cute (guidelines to dating Lance McClain)

My gift to @tamaraneankori. Merry Christmas to you girl (hope it’s still christmas at you place). You ask for a fluffy fic and this is the sweetest thing I ever written. It came out longer than I expected (happens to all my fic actually) but I had so much fun writing this. Hope it lives up to your expectation.  

@klance2017secretsanta

AO3

Summary: Keith have a cute boyfriend

A.K.A Keith’s constant dilemma of battling his raging hormones while his boyfriend remain oblivious

A.K.A Keith is doomed

From the first moment, he laid eyes on the blue-eyed boy across the campus ground Keith knows he was doomed. From tantalizing caramel skin to a dazzling smile, and sparkling eyes that he wants to keep looking into for the rest of his life, Keith had fallen hard.

 And the worst part is the boy, Lance McClain, have no freaking idea.

 Despite his flirty words and affectionate behavior, Lance is actually very dense when it comes to people’s affection towards himself.

 Many times, Keith just want to forgo all the courting (that all went unnoticed) and kiss the Cuban till he gets the memo. If Hunk didn’t constantly remind him that Lance like romantic gesture he might do just that. It’s not easy though. From the number of times Pidge came close to ripping her hair off, he guessed that she too is close to saying fuck it and shove both of them into a locked room.

 So, it’s understandable when he believes that Hunk is sent from heaven to be his impulse control and the best wingman ever. Without him Keith would have bombed this a long time ago.

 But he didn’t.

 After months of pining and extreme courting, (he once brave a snowstorm to get Lance McDonald’s because he happens to mention in the group text that he have a sudden craving, even Pidge was impressed) Lance finally get the message and reciprocate his feelings.

 It was the best day of his life.

 Yes, Shiro, it’s better than the day the papers finally went through and they really became a real family. Stop looking at him like that. Go complain to someone who cares. Who? Oh, he don’t know, Allura maybe? Of course, he’s still mad. His ‘brother’ decide to ditched his birthday party because he rather ‘Netflix and chill’ with his girlfriend for god sake. DON’T TOUCH ME!

 Anyway, that day was the best day of his life, but also the start of his unending dilemma. He’s not sure he’s going to live past 50 if this continues. Not with the constant spike in blood pressure and head trauma.

 Being friends allow Keith to spent time with the Cuban, while this is good it’s not enough. Keith always wants more. They said to be careful of what you wish for and only now did he come to fully understands that saying. Because, if he thought Lance was cute while being his friend he is so not ready for the level that is of the boyfriend.

 He can’t count how many times he bangs his head against hard surface just to keep his emotions under control.

 Thus to save himself from early demise he constructs up a list of guidelines that will (somewhat) make his life as Lance’s boyfriend (and to be the best boyfriend ever) a little easier.

 #1 Be more open-minded

He had said this many times. Lance is gorgeous. Anyone who disagrees can fight him on that. Even Pidge once admit it to them in secret (and also threaten them with a lifetime of suffering if anyone as much as hint it to the Cuban). So it’s quite understandable when someone tries to make a move on his boyfriend.

 More than once that Lance’s friendliness got taken out of context as an invitation to sweep the Cuban off his feet. Now that will not do. Sweeping Lance off his feet, literally and figuratively, is Keith’s job.

 He’d hold his tongue when they were still friends but now he’s not going to let it slide. Many times it became a fist fight (if they’re a guy and of course he always wins) because talking doesn’t work with these people.

 Lance always gave him an earful while tending to the cuts and bruises, asking why he feels the need to start a fight, that he was never like this before. He keeps mum during all of it but after months of coaxing and disappointed looks, he cracked.

 “Because you’re you and I’m me that’s why.” The answer rendered the brunette speechless and Keith to gather himself for a bit to soldier on.

 “Lance do you realized how amazing you are? You… you’re beautiful and smart and friendly and hundreds of other positive traits. I’m unsocial and hot-headed and…and I still don’t understand why you agreed to go out with me.” Lance stared at him with a blank look on his face, Keith turned his head away. “When I saw those guys, with their slick hair and perfect teeth…and money to spoil you the way you deserved. I just felt so threatened, so scared, that you would suddenly realize that you can do a lot better than me and-”

 “Leave?”

 Even if that what he’s about to say hearing it coming from Lance’s mouth made his heart dropped to his feet. He heard the brunette heave a tired sigh and he grinds his teeth. He really shouldn’t say all that, now Lance will know what a loser he is. A sharp flick to his forehead made him yelp in surprise. Looking up he was met with a murderous glare. Lance is furious.

 “I could not believe what you just said,” the words were drawn out in a snarl that reminds Keith of a predator. The Cuban got right up in his face, their nose touching, “you see me that shallow? That a pocket full of money and a few nice words could lure me away?”

 “NO! I would never. It’s just that…”

 Lance pinched the bridge of his nose, muttered a few words in Spanish, and if Keith has ears they’d be drooping right now.

 He didn’t hear Lance take a huge calming breath but he did feel it when two warm hands cradled his face and then he’s looking into a pair of deep azure eyes.

 “Now you listen to me Keith,” gone were the terrifying snarl replace with a voice so soft his heart shuddered in his chest. “To me, you’re the most passionate and loyal person I’ve ever met. You’re kind-hearted and so strong, and may God have mercy on those who dared lay a finger on any of us because I know you will do whatever it takes to protect us. You have no idea how happy I am when I know you love me too.” Keith’s breath hitched when Lance lay his forehead against his, looking at him so adoringly it makes him want to cry.

 “I love you so much, Keith. I want us to be together for the rest of my life and I hope you feel the same way.”

 Instead of a verbal answer, Keith pulled Lance in for a kiss, desperate and sweet and full of promises. When they part Lance give him a soft smile before gaining a serious look. “I don’t know where you get those silly notions about yourself from. So, I need you to write down all the names of every person who ever made you feel that way so that I can have a private chat with each of them.”

 Keith burst out laughing.

 After that, whenever he saw someone flirting with his boyfriend he would step up beside the brunette and laced their fingers together. If that is not enough to drive them away the kiss (tongue included) usually does.

 #2 Accept that you will always come after Hunk

Halfway through the second year of college, they decide to move in together. By moving in he means moving into the recently available room across from Lance’s old one that he shared with Hunk. Shay is replacing Lance next semester when her contract expires.

 They were in the middle of unpacking (mostly his stuff since Lance just has to carry his from across the hall) when the Cuban's phone rang. He was not paying attention but after hearing the sound of the phone hitting the floor and seeing Lance’s devastated face, Keith wished he did.

 Hunk was involved in a hit and run case. Thank god the other party was a motorcycle. The Hawaiian got a concussion, twisted ankle, a broken arm and dozens of cuts and bruises. But he was fine. The smile he gave them the moment Lance burst into the room is proof enough. Lance has to refrain from jumping from sheer relief.

 Hunk has to stay in the hospital for another 3-4 days to make sure that nothing is critical. Lance demand he be allowed to stay with him. Hunk also begs the doctor to let him stay.

 He shared a look with Shay then. The large Samoan girl had known them longer than he does and was the one who constantly assured him that there is absolutely nothing going on between Hunk and Lance. They’re just really really close.

 He looks at Lance smoothing down Hunk’s hair who’s giving a sweet smile and have to bite his tongue. Shay has been doing this far longer than him. If she can then he can too.

 After Lance grabbed his stuff and leave for the hospital again, Keith is left alone to looked around at the messy room. More than half of the boxes were still unopened and he couldn’t be bothered to continue. It’s not moving in together if he’s the only one unpacking.

 He has a quick late dinner and went to bed. Before he can drift off his phone rang.

 “Hey, mi amore, you’re asleep yet?” Lance's face is illuminated by the light of the screen while Hunk snores softly in the background. Keith smile tiredly and they spent their first night together apart, talking till he fell asleep at the phone.

 Lance called 5-7 time a day, once in the morning, once before going to bed and anytime in between. Whenever his thought drifted to the messy room (boxes still at the same place where he left them) his phone will be blowing up with messages from Lance saying how much he missed him. With the hospital visits, constant phone calls and text, Keith didn’t have the time to be lonely.

 The day Hunk was released Keith came home to a candlelit room and homemade dinner. Seeing the brunette standing in their room again made everything right with the world. After dinner, Lance took him by the hand and led him to their bedroom.

 The sight of caramel skin scantily clad in delicate white lace undergarment made it suddenly hard to breathe.

 “How about we start breaking in the bed,” voice dripping like honey with kisses just as sweet, Keith lost himself in Lance.

 Yes, he thought, that is an excellent idea.

 #3 Ignore the morning complaints

With his sunny personality, one would think Lance is a morning person. Oh, how wrong they were. A morning Lance is a cranky Lance and you don’t want to approach him before he has his morning coffee.

 Keith untangles himself from the bundle of blankets and clinging long limbs. He drowsily stretches out his body and drops a kiss on his still sleeping boyfriend’s cheek before making his way to the bathroom.

 Lance was just stumbling into the bathroom when he got out of the shower. The other was wearing the same pair of sweatpants he was wearing yesterday. Well, he was wearing it before Keith decide that he look better without it. Bite and kiss marks littered tanned body, couple that with tousled hair and a slight limp in his steps, Lance looked thoroughly fucked.

 “Wipe that smug look off your face Kogane”, Lance spit out venomously, “this is all because of you.”

 If this was half a year ago Keith would have been hurt. Now, he took it in stride.

 “You weren’t complaining last night”, he invaded Lance personal space, “or do I have to remind you.” He blew teasingly into the Cuban’s ear and quickly move away to avoid the other’s hand from swatting him like a fly.

 “Get away from me!” The Korean barked out a laugh and walk out of the bathroom. He searched around in the closet with Lane still going on in the background.

 “Look at all these marks, and after I told you to go lightly on the neck because I have a presentation today. I can’t cover all these with make-up. Now I have to wear a turtleneck, in summer. Who wears a freaking turtleneck in the summer? A douche that’s who. I’m going to look like Steve fucking Jobs trying to sell an iPhone.”

 Keith laughs at the last comment. Pulling a shirt over his head he realized that Lance had gone quiet. He moved to a blind spot the mirror can’t reflect and peek inside.

 Lance is staring at himself in the mirror with a soft smile on his lips. Fingers lightly tracing the marks Keith left behind from one to the other with a look of utter fondness in his eyes.

 Is someone screaming? He’s definitely hearing screaming. Oh never mind, that’s just him. Screaming. Internally. BECAUSE HIS BOYFRIEND IS FUCKING ADORABLE!

 Keith felt the blood rushing to his face…and the lower region.

 Maybe if they’re real quick? No no no nope. Lance would kill him if his perfect attendance is ruined because Keith can’t keep it in his pants. He took a couple of calming breaths and announce that he’ll be outside making breakfast.

 “Bacon and sunny side up for me, please. Love you.”

 DAMMIT LANCE! YOU’RE MAKING THIS REALLY HARD.

 #4 Always have an extra set of contacts at hand

“Aww, I’ve run out of contacts.”

 That was the comment that turned Keith’s normal weekend into a nightmare. He poked his head into their bedroom to see Lance rummaging in his side of the bed nightstand drawer. He walked closer to see if there’s anything he could do to help.

 “AH HAH!” Keith's mouth went dry when Lance plopped a pair of glasses on his nose. Of course, Lance has a pair of emergency glasses, anyone who wears contacts does, it’s only common sense. But, damn, why is it getting hot in here?

 Since they planned to stay in and study for the upcoming exam week, they postponed the contact lens shopping to this evening when they go out for dinner instead of now. Sitting on opposite end of the dining table, books and pens scattered messily on the surface, they lost themselves in their reading.

 Actually, it’s only Lance who’s reading.

 Keith is busy gawking at his boyfriend.

 The more he stared the wilder his imagination became.

 Lance is an honored student who got roped into tutoring the delinquent Keith after class. They’re going over everything Keith learned that day. Lance was patient while Keith kept getting angrier at his own failure.

 “This is useless. I’m never going to get it, you should stop wasting your time with me.” Keith sulked in his seat while Lance looks at him calculatingly. The honored student’s glasses flash as he got up and got right in Keith’s face. The Cuban’s arm was on either side of his chair caging him in. The sharp glint that Keith had never seen in the good-natured boy’s eyes before sent a jolt of electric down his spine.

 “How about we try a different method,” Lance whispered against his lips before closing the distance. The kiss was hot and wild and ended quicker than he would have like. Chasing after the departing lips a finger stopped him in his track.

 “Ah, ah,” the Cuban said in a sing-song voice, “only if you get the next question right.”

 Lance sneezed and Keith snapped out of his daydream. Lance smile sheepishly at him and he quickly looks down not wanting him to see the blush on his face. Keith can only get a paragraph in when he turns the page and saw a picture of a team of doctors on the other side.

 Lance is a doctor and the owner of a small clinic. Keith is a police officer who often comes in to have Lance take care of his wounds of the day.

 It was after midnight when Keith stumble into the facility with blood down his arms. Lance's face paled and he orders the officer to sit down on the bed while he rushed around gathering supplies, mouth complaining all the while.

 “He was holding a knife to the woman’s throat. What do you suggest me do then?”

 “Not offering yourself as a substitute would be the first step.” The doctor bites out harshly and Keith let it slide because he knows Lance was only worried about him. He took off his shirt as instructed and shiver when the cold air made contact with his skin. He bites down the hiss at each pierced of the needle just to keep the doctor from frowning any deeper.

 When the cut was stitched and wrapped up nicely Lance dip down to kiss tenderly at the bandages. Keith’s heart melts at the sight. His breath hitched when those lips glided up to mouthed at the old scar on his collarbone as he's pushed down onto the bed.

 “That one and this too. All because you have to be a hero. Coming here with blood all over yourself, always threatening to kill me with a heart attack.”

 “Sorry,” his take in a shuddering breath when the brunettes bite at his neck.

 Lance climb on top on him and settle himself on his stomach, pants gone leaving him in only his briefs. Keith wants nothing more than to run his hands down those smooth thighs.

 “Nope. It won’t heal if you keep moving it.” Lance hold down his wrist gently as he looks down at Keith. Hooded eyes from behind the glasses met his own hungry ones.

 “Now be a good boy and lay still while I punished you for scaring me.”

 The doctor grinds down on his crotch and Keith shiver in anticipation.

 A sharp cold against his cheek abruptly ended his fantasy. Lance smiled at him cheekily eyes dancing with mirth from behind those damned glasses.

 “Here”, the brunette hand him a can of soda before popping his own. Tanned fingers caressed his shirt, looking him up and down appreciatively. Lance did buy it for him after all.

 “It suits you.”

 Suits

 Lance and Keith are high profile lawyers working for a different firm who often handle the same case. This time Keith is the defender while Lance is the prosecutor, both going neck-to-neck, not backing down an inch.

 Keith can’t remember how he ends up sprawl on the bed underneath Lance but he’s not complaining.

 The Cuban looks downright sexy in that form-fitting deep navy suits that accentuate his eyes behind those clear frames. One tanned hand combing through soft brown strands while another slowly pulled off the tie. Keith swallowed thickly. His eyes follow as pink tongue dart out to lick their owner’s lips seductively.

 Lance give him a vicious grin promising one hell of a good time, “you’ve been a very naughty boy, Keith.”

 Keith slammed his head on the table making Lance leaped away in surprised.

 Shit

 This is serious

 Also, why the hell is he always the bad one in those scenarios? Is he developing a new kink? Fuck, he is, isn’t he?

 “What the hell Keith!? Are you alright?” Lance is frantically checking his forehead (ow that hurts, he shouldn’t have done that). The close proximity with Glasses Lance makes him take a sharp breath. Before his brain can conjure up another fantasy he quickly dragged Lance towards the door.

 “Hey! What-where are we going? Keith!”

 “Contacts shopping. NOW!”

 #5 Endure the scratches

Lance is a scratcher. Whenever the Cuban is on the receiving end Keith will come out looking like he’s been in a fight with a vicious cat. Long thin red lines will adorn his back for days stinging irritatingly whenever he got sweaty.

 So, for the sake of trying out new stuff, Lance suggests they use handcuffs.

 Keith didn’t know he has a bondage kink until he saw his boyfriend naked and cuffed to the bedpost. The sight of the brunette writhing on the bed stir up something primal within him. That night he couldn’t get enough on Lance. Not that he ever had enough but that night was on a whole other level.

 Keith went to sleep thoroughly satisfied not noticing that Lance was less vocal than normal.

 He was eager to go again the next day. The thought of his restraint boyfriend plaguing him throughout the day. They barely made it to the bed before Keith was ripping off his clothes and Lance’s.

 He let out a blissful groan when he finally gets to enter the Cuban, but somehow he couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was missing. A sniffle pulled him out of his thought and his heart dropped when he saw tears running down Lance’s face.

 “No”, the brunette whimpered and fear grip at his heart.

 He hurt Lance

 He wants to die right now

 Keith quickly gets off him and tears spring to his eyes when he sees Lance weakly tugging at the restraint.

 “Lance,” he choked out past the lump in his throat, “baby, I’m so sorry.” He unlocked the cuffs and the brunette throw himself into Keith’s arms holding on tightly. Keith hugged back just as fierce, head burying in the crook of Lance’s shoulder, “I’m sorry I hurt you, Lance.”

 He felt the brunette shook his head, “no, you didn’t hurt me. It just…” Lance pushed away from him but Keith holds on tight not allowing the brunette to go far. “When I have that thing on, I can’t touch you.” He nuzzled Keith’s nose, “you’re right there but I feel so far away. I don’t like that.”

 “Then we’ll stop using it.” He kisses at the red mark on the brunette’s wrist apologetically.

 “But you like those handcuffs.”

 “Not enough to make you cry.” He lay the hand on his cheek nuzzling into it, “nothing is worth making you cry for.”

 Lance’s tears come back anew and his heart clenched, “I’m sorry Lance, please stop crying.” He kissed away the tears at the corner of those blue eyes he loves so much, “I never know what to do when you cry.”

 Their lips meet in a soft kiss, so sweet and loving and everything Keith wanted. When they joined together again as one, with Lance’s arms clinging to him, he finally understands what was missing. This is what missing. This connection, this intimacy, they always have when making love.

 His back is full of scratches again, but with Lance laying soft kisses on each one as an apology, Keith realized he don’t mind.

 #6 –

 “KEITH!” The owner of the name came back to his senses and look at the boy sitting beside him. Oh, they’re on a date right now, aren’t they? Keith kicked himself mentally. Before he could apologize Lance was already resting his forehead against his, looking at him with worried eyes. His heart hammered in his chest.

 “You’re a bit warm and you look kind of dazed. Let’s go home, we can do this another day.” The brunette tugged at his hand for him to stand up. Keith wants to protest, but after a bit of contemplation, decide against it. Who is he to say no to having Lance fuzzing over him. Also, if he plays his card right he’ll get to monopolized his boyfriend for the whole weekend. Now isn’t that a thought.

 Making their way home Keith lift up their joint and to lay a kiss on the back of Lance’s. The Cuban looked back at him with a fond smile, soft red splayed across his face.

 Keith fell in love all over again.

 He understands long ago that Lance is dangerous. Deadly so. He’s a lethal weapon tailored to bring Keith to his knees with only a smile. Trapping Keith within his blue eyes with no means of escape and he loves it. Lance could ask him for the moon and he swears he’ll find a way to give it to the brunette.

 Keith smiles happily as he watches his boyfriend flitted around the room, gathering blankets and pillows and piling it around him creating a comfortable nest on the sofa. He took hold of the bronzed wrist before its owner can disappear into the kitchen. He tugged lightly and Lance yelp as he falls into Keith’s waiting arms.

 Their lips gravitate towards each other. Languid and soft, he carefully pours his feelings into the kiss, and the next, and the one after that as well. He scoots closer to the backrest and Lance climb in beside him without protest. Smiling exasperatedly the brunette open up his arms and Keith tuck himself into them. He breathes the smell of Lance in deeply into his lungs and felt himself relax.

 “You’re spoilt. I’m spoiling you.” The Cuban lament half-heartedly as he lay soft kisses along the milky temple. Keith agreed by trailing kisses along the column of bronzed-colored throat, making pearls of laughter spill forth from Lance’s mouth.

 Listening to that wonderful sound while being encased in Lance’s arms Keith wondered if this is what happiness feels like.

 Yes

 It definitely is

[sixshelves-blog]

7: How to Be a Person in the World, by Heather Havrilesky — On Finding Advice for Myself

Dear Polly Sarah,

How do I take steps to feel less like this all the fucking time?

‘This’ is, essentially, the elements of my anxious brain trash: How can I be strong enough to deal with my own troubles and also help others? How do I handle jealousy and regret? How do I stop comparing my own worth to other people? How do I stop being so damn hard on myself all the time?

I think anxiety is something I might always live with to some degree. The ways I am sensitive and think about things too much is such a part of me, I would not be me without it. It feeds my empathy. It feeds my art and the ways I see the world. But I want living in this world to be easier on the day to day, and the ways that affects my overall progress through life.

There are things I want to do more of and better: write, read, exercise, organize, love, activate. And yet I go through periods where I spend a great deal of my time worrying about money, with the crippling deathlike grip of debt choking away my focus from anything else. Doing math in my head to make accounts balance against the things I want or need to do, and when they don’t balance, beating myself up over not being able to pay my bills or buy myself a simple thing I need or want.

I recently turned thirty. Older friends have told me that when they reached their thirties, they started caring less about things they obsessed over in their twenties. I want that to be true for me, even as I can feel my body disagreeing with me more than it used to, and I’m worrying about death even more than ever: my own, my family’s, everyone who is living in this backwards world. I feel like we’ve ended up in the wrong timeline. But I also feel like I need to get my shit together at a less irregular pace than I have strived before, because who knows how much time there is left?

How can I be a person in the world when this world is making less and less sense?

Anxiety 101

Dear A101,

You sound more like the room number than course number of a college class—you also sound like maybe you need to go back to therapy.

Listen, A101: I’m you, and you’re me. There isn’t a lot of advice I can give myself that I haven’t already given. But what would Heather Havrilesky say in an Ask Polly column? First, she’d definitely say you need therapy. Then I think she’d remind you of how young you are.

You’ve turned thirty. Thirty! If you’re lucky, that’ll end up being only a third of your life. There are women in your family who’ve lived well into their nineties, or even past one hundred. If you’re not lucky, then that’s all the more reason to wrangle your anxiety into something that you can live with for whatever amount of time you have left.

So what if there were things you would’ve liked to do in your twenties—some of those things probably weren’t going to be as great as you’d hoped anyway. And some of them you still have a chance to do in your thirties. You are capable of publishing more writing. You are capable of nurturing your body into better health. You are capable of getting yourself out of debt, or at least not gasping out from under it every fucking second of your days.

You are capable of being a person in the world. And part of being a person in the world is this: You have to cut yourself some slack. Don’t be so hard on yourself when you aren’t the perfect friend, or girlfriend, or daughter, or writer, or anything. None of us are. Literally no one can be good all the time. But does everyone walk around worrying, or lie in their beds crippled with shame, whenever they’re less than what they wanted to be? Gosh, I don’t think so, or else nothing would ever get done! And we’d all be unpleasant killjoys!

Write it down: I am enough. I am okay. I am stronger than I believe. Believe it. 

What are you really worrying about, Anxiety 101? You’re worried about being alone. You’re worried that your boyfriend will leave you, your friends will leave you, your family will die, and you’ll still be a writer who doesn’t write every day and an anxious lonely person who has less than no money to live. You’re worried that you will leave them, that you will follow that escapist impulse in you to just leave when you’ve been hurt and deal with the regrets later. You’re worried that all of this will happen, and you’ll blame yourself for all of it. You couldn’t be smarter, you couldn’t be prettier, you couldn’t be more generous with your time or more in control of your finances. You just weren’t strong enough to stay. You weren’t enough even for yourself.

Step back and take a good listen to that anxious brain trash: Enough for what? Are the people you love good enough? Are you cruel enough to them to think in terms like that? I don’t have all the wisdom, and neither does Polly, but I think the part of my brain that tries to understand the world instead of dwelling on my anxious brain trash knows a thing or three:

You do not have to be good, wrote Mary Oliver.

The people who are happiest in this world—the most connected, beautiful, fulfilled creatures—they are not good all the time. They fuck up, and they keep moving. They forgive themselves.

Dear Forgiveness, I saved a plate for you. Quit milling around the yard and come inside, wrote Richard Siken.

When was the last time you forgave yourself for anything? Who are the people you admire—are they good? Polly is a readily available example of this: You respect this woman’s work and courage and kind brutal honesty so fiercely, it inspires you weekly. But is it good? Is she enough? Those are not words that make sense outside of anxious brain trash. Hell, you’re a writer—reimagine some better language to frame and illuminate your life.

Do not let yourself be led by your own anxious brain trash.

Talk back to it. Speak more kindly to yourself. Practice empathy with yourself above all.

CHERISH YOURSELF, wrote Polly.

Fucking believe it. Fucking be alive, as my autocorrect says.

Let’s take an example: Are you a fucking idiot for not exercising on New Year’s Day and eating a bunch of bread and not finishing this blog post you’ve been trying to finish for weeks?

No. Actually, you slept until two in the afternoon because your body needed it, and it made you and the cat happy, his warm body curled against your stomach under the blanket. You took a walk, evolved a new Pokémon for your Pokédex, and cashed in on a gym that you were still in from the day before. You made bread from scratch with your own two capable hands, plus nourishing soup for you and your boyfriend, and you ate it together while watching The Fellowship of the Ring, because it’s comforting and familiar and makes you cry in a good way. You ate the rest of the bread and finished some good beer, and it made you feel good. You didn’t finish that piece of writing, but you put in a good couple hours of progress, and progress is not nothing. I’d even go so far as to say it is something. It was a good beginning to a new year and a new decade of your life.

You are not an idiot. You are taking baby steps, and baby steps are healthy and good. If babies were this cruel to themselves when they were taking actual baby steps, nobody would ever learn how to walk.

And do you want to know something else? I wrote most of this two months ago.

I’ve been too busy and too afraid to look at it again, so I’ve been thinking it’s incomplete. I've been thinking: What could I possibly write about for this post that would encompass everything Heather Havrilesky’s book evoked in me? I didn’t dare to think that I had maybe finished a new blog post for this book that I’ve felt like I didn’t know how to talk about. But I did! In a moment, I can call this complete and move on to the next book in my backlog of read-but-not-written-about books!

Two months ago feels like a lifetime ago already. Two months ago, not only did we still have a good man as president, but on a personal level, I had not yet: paid off one loan and two credit cards, started going to the gym and yoga a little more often, written two new poems, participated in three protests, gotten a minor concussion, or made some great new friends.

A101, we are capable of progress. How do you be a person in this nonsense world? Care for yourself and the people you love and the world around you. Accept that sometimes you might feel like strangers for awhile, and that's natural. Sometimes you won't know much at all.

But trust in the reality of good things to hold onto, whether it's baking fresh bread, holding your boyfriend’s hand, or making a stranger truly happy with your kindness. Trust in the joy of doing things, of doing something; that feeling of being capable and focused on making something out of nothing.

You are not the first person to experience existential death anxiety. How many fucking artists are there who've created art in the face of the fear of death? Under how much worse circumstances? I know this concussion accident shook you really hard, and you were afraid to even start writing again ever since then, because what if you couldn’t? But we’ve got this, honey. Keep going.

Polly wrote: Life is not about knowing. Life is about feeling your way through the dark. If you say, ‘This should be lighter by now,’ you’re shutting yourself off from your own happiness. So let there be darkness. Get down on your knees, and crawl through the dark. Crawl and say to yourself, 'Holy GOD, it’s dark, but just look at me crawl! I can crawl like a motherfucker.’

Remember when you were an idealistic kid who naively believed that by the time you were old, there would be no more war, we would make contact with alien life, cancer would be cured, and so many more mysteries and problems would be solved? You were ignorant to the complexity and ignorance and greed of the world back then. You believed in things that very likely will not come true (or at least not in your lifetime), but you had hope. Keep a bit of that—you need it now more than ever—but forgive yourself if sometimes you still believe a little too much, or not at all.

The world is letting us down, we are letting each other down, but if we are going to keep going forward, we cannot start by letting ourselves down. You're not dead yet, and neither is the world. Wake up in the morning, wash your face, and remember that you can't do everything, but you can do something. So go do a little bit of something every day. It might not be enough, but you will be taking the best damn baby steps you’ve taken since you first learned how to walk.

Polly Sarah

Previously Read: The Year of Yes by Maria Dahvana Headley

Next Up: Wild Mind by Natalie Goldberg