Another Bad Wolf..




ransom and i got married several months ago in an intimate ceremony, but recently had a larger reception for more family and friends, and it was a blast! as we’re both writers, it seemed fitting to have the event at one of our favorite bookstores: the last bookstore in downtown LA. we’ve had a lot of requests for photos, so i thought i’d drop a few here. hope you enjoy them as much as we do! 

:::for the especially curious:::

my bouquet: was made from the pages of ransom’s novel (miss peregrine’s home for peculiar children).

our photographers: brandon + katrina of brandon wong photography.

venue: the last bookstore in downtown los angeles.

catering: the extremely fabulous heirloomla.

flowers: from floral art!

rentals: furniture from found rentals, dishes from dishwish!

the band: one of our favorite local indie bands, the gallery.

hugs and books!



wait who is that horse

This is beautiful!

"I met my wife at a Star Trek convention. She was study abroad from France and spoke little English, and I didn’t know a lick of French. So, for the first few months of our relationship, we communicated by speaking Klingon."

Hear more tales of nerdery in this week’s Pwn Up! (via dorkly)

Okay I’m not even a Star Trek fan but that’s beautiful.

(via tchy)


the knowledge that your immigrant parents have a whole world of knowledge to them, that they know myths and legends that you don’t, that they know pieces of culture that you don’t, that they know a tongue that your tongue will never taste

the knowledge that your parents’ knowledge is incomplete

the knowledge that your immigrant grandparents know even more, that the things your parents know come from your grandparents, who learned from their parents, their grandparents, every piece becoming more and more fragmented as it’s passed down

until there’s you, holding onto a sliver of something magnificent, something too big for you to comprehend, something unbelievably rich and complex

there are lands your feet will never know

there are stories your heart will never hold

there are words, heavy words, fluttering words, words of every color and shape that your tongue will never utter

there is so much that you are a part of

and yet, so much that you will never grasp

the weight of that knowledge—that you have left, not of your own volition, but of your circumstances—that you can never go back, that you have lost upon your very birth—is almost unbearable

but what do I even know

I know so little

and what little I know, hurts with its incompleteness



do you ever have a plan for the day and suddenly it’s 4pm and you’ve achieved literally nothing 

I believe Douglas Adams and John Lloyd came up with a word for this feeling. image