Those Who Live In Glass Houses Something Something

im going to have a stroke

If William Shakespeare knew what neopronouns were he’d be unstoppable

i imagine someone saying to aziraphale something about making peace with your demons, and him completely missing the point and just pulling teeny crowley out of his pocket and just going "oh well, I've done more than that, I've made friends with mine 🥰" (vague spoilers in the tags)

you ever have “cry and scream yourself awake” level nightmares that are immediately the stupidest premises imaginable the moment you actually wake up

Sometimes I think I left a part of me in an old cereal box, the one with cartoons on the front and puzzles on the back, half solved in crayon, soft and smudged. Sometimes I remember sitting on the kitchen floor, feet cold against tile, watching dust dance in a shaft of morning light like it had secrets to tell if you watched long enough. There was a radio playing some song I didn’t know the name of but sang anyway. My mum’s humming from another room,the scent of toast, burnt a little, but home. I think I'd give everything to go back just once.

Not to stay.

Just to sit for a moment, legs crossed,sun on my knees, and not know yet what heartbreak was.

Mama I don't want kids, I say. For the hundredth time. Mother has this look on her face, it sits still- something between disappointment and bewilderment. But who will take care of you, she says, when you're older? And that is a rotten feeling. To believe that a child is only as good as what it does for its parents. To believe you are only as good as you give. To believe you owe someone, only to feel love. Who deserves this? Who deserves this wretched snarling beast sitting in my chest, whispering, shrieking- give, give, give.

-Ritika Jyala, The Beast that makes me Give

Some angles of Jinx without "shimmer light"

Always an angel never a god | Vi and Jinx

They say love is salvation.

I disagree.

Love is judgment.

It sees into the corners of your soul you thought were safely hidden.

It forces you to confront not only who you are, but who you could have been.

And in that confrontation, something breaks and something is born.