I'm terrible with this kind of thing. Let's see. I was born in '86. I currently live in Boise, Idaho, but was born and raised in San Jose, California. I'm terribly shy and have social anxiety. I was born all kinds of broken but finally appear to be stable now, so hopefully no more hospital trips for me.
I'm technically named Kris, but I'm so used to people calling me Auntie, I get weirded out by hearing my given name. I will also respond to Krispy Khicken.
I'm a giant nerd who loves video games and tv and the Internet. I like Kingdom Hearts. Saint's Row, Halo, Legend of Zelda, Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy XII, Supernatural, Archer, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, How It's Made and myriad others. And, of course, slash.
Hufflepuff is best house!
My ask and submit boxes are always open, so don't hesitate to drop me a line. Anything goes, okay? Happy thoughts, depressed thoughts, suicidal thoughts, poetry about candy, whatever you need to talk about. If you really need to send anon-hate to someone, I'll take that, too!
Also, I tag ALL THE THINGS! (But let me know if you want me to tag something specific. Please!)
Derek’s standing in the middle of the kitchen, staring down at the phone in his hand like it’s about to sprout tentacles and attack. When he looks up, it’s with a face that’s Seen Things, Man - capital letters and all.
“I-” Derek stops, seems to gather his courage. “I picked up the wrong flyer.”
Stiles frowns. Then he notices the crumbled mess of paper in Derek’s hand. It’s black with red font which, granted, is actually the new local pizza joints branding.
It’s also the branding of the BDSM Dungeon Erica and Boyd had checked out on the weekend (it was on the job okay? Vampires are serious business. Stiles absolutely hadn’t trawled leather works sites with Erica for three hours afterwards, at all.)
“Um,” Stiles says.
“I made it through the whole order,” Derek says, voice haunted. “He only stopped me when I said I wanted grated cheese.”
Stiles doesn’t even want to know what his face is doing right now. “Because he realised you had the wrong number?”
Derek clutches at the bench, like it’s the last thing in his universe that makes sense. “Because he wanted to give me his.”
I just seen “Star Trek: Into Darkness” and just as Benedict Cumberbatch jumped off a ship in a high-tense part of the movie someone in the audience yelled “GOD DAMMITSHERLOCK NOT AGAIN, DO YOU EVER THINK ABOUT JOHN.”
metatron walks into a random office in heaven and sees a dozen desks situated in a half-circle facing the door. it’s odd, though, because the large leather swivel chairs all have their backs situated to him.
“hello?” he calls out, hesitantly.
as one, the chairs swirl around, and metatron feels himself pinned with the righteous, furious gazes of ten people, all with their fingers steepled before them, all glaring at him.
metatron’s head turns slowly from left to right, taking them all in, feeling his spirits sink as his eyes slide past the cold fury in the faces of ellen harvelle, bobby singer, rufus turner, jo harvelle, linda tran, jimmy novak, mary winchester, jessica moore, sarah blake, and victor hendricksen.
the silence hangs heavy for a moment.
bobby’s gruff voice breaks it.
“heard you were fuckin shit up and messin with my boys.”