I will write a book one day about how I feel about every aspect of Emily Stone. She’s a full genius or she has found her genius and she’s given it so fully and beautifully. I think everyone who works with her, everyone who, you know, brushes shoulders with her or even kinda makes eye contact with her gets a shot of sunshine.

How is one person
So gosh darn cute
That I actually want to punch them in the face
Every single time they talk to me
Just because I want to stop them
From being so cute
Because their cuteness is killing me
How is one person
Such a dork
That it makes all other dorks look cool
In comparison
Yet they make it seem adorable
How is one person
Capable of making me feel
So happy or so mad
Just because of how incredible they are
How is one person
Whom I’ve only known for a few months
More important to me than people
Whom I’ve known for years
How is one person
That clueless to how amazing
They really are
When they could actually be an angel
In disguise


#20 Pokemon Go

preview + code

After a good response to making the menu, I went ahead and made a theme to go with it! I hope it came out alright? I tried to make it function as similar to the app as possible.

Basic features:

  • 400px posts
  • popup menus (main navigation and about)
  • 4 custom links
  • 15 custom colors
  • optional full sized background image
  • background and about/sidear image

Other features:

  • transfer button is the reblog button
  • pokeball menu
  • hp bar (type in the percentage to change it)
  • team selection (whichever team you pick, the logo will appear in the about popup)

icon from this post

team logos from here

Likes/reblogs are always appreciated and please let me know if you run into any bugs!

They were delighted
(why try to hide it)
When she started to fly –
and so was I

six feet above
and unaware that she had
crossed the fatal line
feathers and wax

She felt it before she
Smelt it – sensed it
Saw it; dripping wax
down her smouldering back –

To Earth
She fell – the bullet
Out your gun.
She lost her aim, trajectory
The girl who flew
Too close to the sun.

—  The Girl Who Flew Too Close To The Sun

nessiepresso requested (kinda): Derek calls Stiles “my little dalmatian”

“Okay, you just sit right there,” Stiles says, hand stretched out like he’s trying to hold Derek in place with the Force. “I’m going to get my laptop, it’s right here in my bag. Not leaving, see?”

Derek gives him a petulant look, unfamiliar from such heavily dilated eyes as much as because it’s coming from Derek. He fidgets under the blankets and pillows Stiles has piled on top of him, more as a deterrent than a real attempt to keep him still. “Stiles,” he mutters, grumpy. It’s the only word he’s said for the past hour.

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles agrees, flopping back on the bed next to him. He shoves some pillows out of the way, opening the computer across their laps. Derek just looks at him, frowning and puzzled, and Stiles gives him a tiny smile. “Those fairies got you pretty good, huh, big guy?” He reaches out to ruffle his hair, sort of relieved when Derek’s frown deepens. He’s definitely still himself, in there.

“Deaton promises it’ll wear off soon. But for now…” He taps a few keys on the laptop, pumping his fist when the video player pops open. “Disney marathon!”

It probably says something about their relationship that Stiles has no problem carrying the conversation without Derek’s input. “You’re so lucky Mrs. McCall took everyone else to IHOP,” he says, throwing an arm over Derek’s shoulder and settling in. “If Allison makes us watch Brave one more time I’m going to vomit everywhere. I am completely serious about this.” He grins at the familiar opening credits, leaning his head back against the wall.

“I freaking love dogs. Have I ever told you that? Probably not, because you’d get all growly and think I was insulting you, but whatever, I still do.” Onscreen, dalmatian spots followed a musical score. “Scott tried to get me to volunteer at the clinic with him one summer, but…” Stiles shakes his head. “All the puppies that show up there are sick, man. I couldn’t take it.”

The camera opens on a London cityscape, and Stiles finds himself abruptly silenced by calloused fingertips pressed to his lips. “Stiles,” Derek says, eyes glued to the screen. Stiles bites back a laugh and hushes obediently.

They make it to Cruella’s first appearance before Derek’s addled mind starts to wander, and the fidgeting starts up again. Stiles, having anticipated this, opens his mouth to start spouting off whatever occurs to him first, but falls quiet once more at the soft press of fingers on his face, this time splayed over the hollow beneath his cheekbone, thumb sliding up behind his ear.

“Spots,” Derek says, soft, and Stiles realizes he’s fitting his fingertips to each of his moles. It’s kind of weird, but Derek’s pretty weird when his brain isn’t full of fairy dust, so he lets him connect his dots.

Then he says, “My little dalmatian,” dangerously close to crooning, and Stiles can’t help the snort that escapes him. 

Wow, dude,” he says. “We are definitely sending Melissa flowers in the morning.” Derek leans closer to nuzzle his cheek, press his lips to his “spots,” and Stiles swallows, adds, “Or a fruit basket. Both. I’m not picky.”

“Stiles,” Derek says, and covers his mouth again.

I want to be

that ink filled     heart beating     girl




   whose voice splits seas

                            eyes grow trees  

       hidden in forests

                       of tongues and touches

with palms as open

                                   as the full moon

       I want to make you              howl

                                       for a sign

  the kind you feel not see

                                        like air in lungs

                          hope in veins

I want to be that girl

 you see                           but you don’t

         I want to be your girl 


Mother Mary In Modern Times

The doctor told my mother she could only be that
just once, the day my sister arrived.
But then she became mother twice,
in the form of me, and by God
has she been paying for that miracle ever since.
My grandmother signed up to be a live kidney donor
but she was deemed mentally unfit
to give such a gift without
receiving anything in return.
The adoption made her determined to help those in need
but also sent her on wild goose chases for family and
a mother who never wanted her.
So she looked for love in men and failed
the first time round, with the father to her children,
but the second time she found a man who
married people for a living and married her to stay sane.
Suddenly my grandmother was vicar’s wife
but still my mother did not find faith in church until
me. One would think she saw God in the
birth of a child who was never meant to be, but no.
She leant on God when she realised she had
trouble on her hands, that first night I came
home with a man unknown to her,
that first night I came home inebriated
with substances you cannot buy in the liquor store,
that first night I came home and
turned back around, walked out the front door
when she presented me with dinner.
I sent her to church to pray for the strength
to hold her fists back and prize her clenched teeth apart.
But each time she told me she hated me
I know it only hurt her, because she loves me.
She always wished to swallow those words back down and
instead, ask to brush my hair.
Despite every heavy stone I cast her way,
Despite all the breakdowns she had for each time
I broke her down,
Despite the fact I still cannot give her
that four letter word I’ve mentioned so freely,
she loves me.