+ qu'hier − que demain

ENFJ. Twenty year old political science major with a music major boyfriend that sings and composes classical music. We're writing an opera. Being a librettist is hard.

The Darklings [bits and stuff]

My wife walked in the office, just in time for the last of the evening sun to cast her face in a mixture warm rose light and dark, deep shadow.

"Honey? Are you coming to bed?"

"Just a minute, sweetheart."

Raena had always been beautiful. [add details here] As children, we had been the best of friends, until one day I asked her to be my love and then for her to make it forever a few years later; she said yes both times and I couldn’t be happier.

I invited my wife to come sit next to me, moving over to one side of the wooden bench I had picked for my desk; wide enough for my wife to join me at the desk, as I enjoy her company, and large enough if I want to my hands against it as I read.

Raena made her way towards me, walking in front of the large wooden expanse before me, stepping out of the light from the window, her face enveloped in darkness. Raena came and sat next to me, resting her head upon my shoulder, enveloped in the cold moonlight once more.

"The bed is cold when you’re alone."

"Sweetheart, you’re never alone," I said with a smile. I placed my hand upon her stomach. She hadn’t been alone for several months now.

"A baby can’t hold me in the night, [insert name of her husband here.]" she responded with a faint smile. Bless my wife, she has been through enough. When you’ve lost three children before you could even hold them in your arms, it’s hard to be optimistic about a fourth. "What are you doing, anyway?"

Early on in our relationship, I had made the mistake of telling her ‘Nothing’ in response to a similar question in expectation that she would neither understand nor care. She quickly proved me wrong. The daughter of a businessman, my wife had had the resources and the time to do and study everything I could only dream of as a child.

[Insert bits about him being from the Moorelands that I literally just thought about and how it was a cold and heartless place and that it was hard and he was poor and yeah]

She could recite the great epics of old from memory, discuss business with the most respected men of their trades, and discuss the failures in battle strategy in the few wars we have had, all without blinking an eye.

"I’m reading, love."

"What are you reading?"

"There have been stories of…. happenings lately."

"Define happenings." Raena has been more cautious as of late. A product of having a child you fiercely want to be able to bring into the world.


“Writers are creatures of habit, as are humans, but writers aren’t necessarily human, are they?”

—   Alyssa Hubbard (via maxkirin)


what if your house was haunted but the ghost had ocd. you come home to find your stuff arranged by color. you feel breathing on your neck as you sort your laundry. you hear faint screams if you leave the bathroom without washing your hands. green ooze trails down your walls in perfectly even stripes


forever and ever, amen.


forever and ever, amen.

(via claudiajeancregg-concannon)


(Source: dajo42, via wannabeabigman)



do you ever hate someone so much but you don’t even have a valid reason

you’re just like


And then they give you a reason and its like


(via hutness)



Chinese Translation Fails

I wasn’t gonna reblog it but then the tiny grass was dreaming

I dunno how you top that

(Source: iamkillingtimeon, via hutness)





comment s’appelle un chien qui vend des médicaments?

un pharmachien

why the fuck is this joke in french and why there is 26k notes am i missing something important

something really important

what do you call a dog that sells drugs?

a pharmacy

yeah it’s really only funny in french

(via hutness)