Imaginary Numbers

If I want to subject myself to toxic people, I'll just read the comments on literally any article about female-led comic book properties.

Nobody gets to pick where they’re born or who they’re born to, but everybody gets to pick their family. Make good choices with yours.” —

There are losses we don’t move past, no matter how hard we try. Some wounds, once inflicted, bleed forever underneath the skin. All we can do is learn to live with them.

No one deserves to be the only living example of their own kind. No one should be that alone in the world.

We understand now that we were unwilling to set aside our prejudices and our fears for your species of Birth, and to acknowledge that what matters is not Blood, but Belonging,

Not dying at all would have been better—way better—but I guess I always knew that we couldn’t win forever. That’s not how the universe works. Sooner or later everyone has to lose. Even the good guys.

an unending stream of letters that seemed to lose all meaning as they went on. Words were like that. They were fragile, mutable. Their meanings changed depending on the context.

was sitting on the couch, sullenly drinking a glass of orange juice. It was amazing how much resentment she could direct toward citrus.

Even an echo can be afraid, given the proper motivation.

It didn’t have a mind, not in the sense that I could reach out and touch it, but it loved her all the same; some things are more important than thought or logic.

Sometimes I’m glad I don’t have a heart. It means it can’t be broken.

There’s no such thing as ‘normal.’ Whoever came up with that idea was probably selling something nobody wanted to buy.

She calls it her “weaponized white woman” routine, and it’s a calculated ruse she’s taken everywhere from cryptid extraction runs to political protests, where she spends a lot of time putting herself between the authorities and anyone she deems to be more vulnerable. Which is everyone.

Thankfully, while we all come from the Spider-Man school of combat- the bad guys can't hit you if they're too busy trying to figure out what the hell you're talking about- my parents had always been very clear that there was a time and a place for helping your enemies improve. The middle of combat was neither of those things.

They respect the territorial claims of the unspeakable.

Magic is a headache given flesh.

I needed us to win, and I didn’t see any feasible way for us to be able to do it.

All the lights in the main house were on, turning it into a beacon against the grasping hands of night.

Wow, I replied. Weird. Where r u? Text grammar makes my teeth ache a little.