#him having to admit that they forgot kevin twice lmao

[bisexualmultifandommess]

I just watched the new home alone because I was bored and I loved the films as a kid and I’ll be honest I liked every character except for the kid lmao he annoyed me so much

Also love that Buzz was in it and love that we now know that Kevin prank calls him every year so he still holds a grudge and honestly who wouldn’t 😂

#him having to admit that they forgot kevin twice lmao #home alone #home sweet home alone #kevin mccallister #buzz mccalister

[elsaclack]

2019 writing meme

bc why not

i was tagged by @startofamoment and @disruptedvice!!! thanks guys i appreciate it lmao

things i’m for sure going to write:

the remaining six chapters of the royalty au i started in november of last year!! all of which have been outlined!!! and i’ll post a snippet of what i have written of chapter 5 below the cut!!

the remaining peraltiago kiss prompts in my inbox

the remaining starmora kiss prompt in my inbox

rewriting the enemies to friends to lovers in one night at a wedding oneshot that i stupidly forgot to cross-post before i deleted the original elsaclack

a groundhog day soulmate au wherein two soulmates relive the same day over and over and over again until they fall in love

things i’m very likely going to write:

a soulmate au in which a person’s soulmate appears to them 5 times throughout their life before they meet and helps them make 5 major life decisions that leads them both to their first irl meeting

an organized crime au wherein jake and amy are both independent con artists whose paths consistently cross, giving way to an extremely competitive (and flirty) kind of co-existence. at least that’s how jake sees it, up until he screws amy out of a $100,000 score - that’s when he finds out amy isn’t an independent con artist, but rather a worker bee for an extremely pissed-off mob boss who now wants them both dead. featuring a tech-savvy (and weapons-savvy) rosa and hitman charles

a set it up au wherein jake is on desk duty working as holt’s assistant for the foreseeable future and amy is kevin’s TA

a sound of music au that includes SEVEN of the peraltiago babies flying around fanon lmao

things i’d like to write at some point:

the proposal au that has literally been like 2-3 years in the making

a blatant and full-fledged hunger games au

ANYWAYS i also have like 342983649278 half-written and abandoned one-off wips in my docs that i might borrow from or finish at some point or another but i’m trying to not set myself up for failure by adding them to this list lmao. i’ll grab a few snippets from some of those just to throw them out there in the universe as an apology for being so inactive lately!!

i’m not sure who all has been tagged yet so forgive me if you’ve been tagged: @philtstone @johnny-and-dora @taxicabsandcupcakes @the-pontiac-bandit @johnnydora @snlsamberg @bklyn-ninenine and @proofthatihaveaheart!!!

no pressure tho obviously like please feel free to ignore!!!

ANYWAYS!!!!!

******ALL OF THESE ARE SUBJECT TO CHANGE BEFORE PUBLISHING (WHERE APPLICABLE LMAO)******

you’re a king and i’m a lionheart ch. 5 preview:

It’s been precisely three weeks and five days since that secret, blessed afternoon in the library with Amy, and each day that has passed has been another stone tied around his ankles. He looks up for the first time since sitting down some twenty minutes earlier - she’s grimacing at him through the mirror, a deep valley of concern creasing the space between her brows, and as he shoots her a grimace of his own she catches her lower lip between her teeth and sets about nibbling. “It sucks,” she finally says.

“Well, yeah,” he leans back in his seat, until his shoulders brush against the warm, soft plane of her stomach, hidden beneath her uniform. “Most of this shit does.”

She grimaces again and reaches up, hands sliding over his shoulders to gently squeeze. “I wish I could say it’ll be over soon, but…”

“We both know it’d be a lie.”

“I may have a silver lining,” she kneads the pads of her thumbs into the knotted sinews of muscle lining his shoulder and his head drops forward automatically. “I’ll be there through the whole thing and I can probably get you out early.”

He groans appreciatively - both at her reminder and at the perfect warmth and pressure she’s applying to his shoulders and neck. “You’re an angel, you know?”

She huffs out a quiet laugh above him - and it’s the first time he’s heard it here, between the two of them, in a long time.

Three weeks and five days, to be exact.

a random neighbors au:

“So,” he says as he wriggles his key into the lock on his mailbox. From the corner of his eye he sees her head turned toward him, frozen in the act of rifling through her mail. “Are you a magician?”

He turns toward her to find her staring at him like he’s just beamed down from outer space, and for half a second he almost bails. Her brow is furrowed and the corners of her mouth are pulled down. “What?” she asks.

“Are you a magician?” he repeats. He waits until she’s blinked twice, before adding “‘cause when I look at you, everyone else disappears.”

The silence that follows rings just long enough for him to regret approximately eighty-seven percent of his collective life choices. She arches a brow and turns a little more fully toward him, but otherwise remains motionless until he forces himself to swallow thickly.

“That’s what you’re gonna go with?” she finally asks, and even though the vast majority of her demeanor is now overflowing with derision, he’s certain there’s a spark of amusement in her eyes. “Of all the cheesy pickup lines in the world, you’re going with...magician. You can’t honestly tell me you thought that would work.”

He can feel his face flooding with heat, embarrassment like static prickling up his spine to the back of his neck. She’s still staring at him expectantly, her mail now apparently forgotten as she lowers her hands to her hips, and when he tries to swallow it’s like the Sahara in his throat. “Uh,” he coughs a bit awkwardly, letting his keys hang from the lock so he can properly rub the back of his neck. “I just thought - since we’re the only ones in here -”

“No, I got that part,” she interrupts, a smile beginning to form in the curves of her face. “That was the only slightly redeemable part of...whatever that was supposed to be. But tacking it on to calling me a magician is definitely not achieving what you’re trying to achieve here.”

A brief, nervous laugh escapes his chest on an exhale, and this woman is still staring at him - though her amusement is far more pronounced now. In fact, he’d go so far as to say she looks mirthful in the way she appraises him from head to toe. “That definitely wasn’t my best,” he admits, reaching up for his keys, pleased to find his hands steadier than he expected them to be. “Can I get a do-over? And...maybe your number, while I’m at it?”

Her answering laugh is bright and loud and it simmers in his veins; it seems to catch her off-guard as it does him. She shakes her head and lifts her mail to her chest again, almost like she’s trying to put a barrier between them. “That was a little better,” she admits through a smile, “but still not great. Do any of those ever work for you?”

“Sometimes,” he nods, finally getting his mailbox door open just to find two overdue bills and a copy of Busty Ladies magazine inside. He stares for a beat, and then closes the door. “No mail for the falcon today.” he says cheerfully.

“The falcon?” she repeats - and all the derision from before is back.

“Oh, yeah, my - my gym buddies call me ‘the falcon,’ y’know, ‘cause - ‘cause I’m so badass.”

She stares, mouth just slightly agape, and he regrets ninety-three percent of his collective life-choices. “Wow,” she finally manages, backing a pace toward the door, and then another. “Well, uh, it was...interesting meeting you, Mr. The Falcon.”

He laughs, and she grins, and then she’s backing away earnestly and he’s left with the feeling of grasping at straws. “Ja- uh, it’s actually Jacob.”

“Jacob.” she repeats.

And he panics. “I don’t know why I said that, no one actually calls me Jacob. I mean, it’s my real name, it’s my - my full name, or proper name, or whatever. But my mom is the only one who calls me that and she only does it when I’m in trouble.” She’s almost to the doorway now, looking at him the way he suspects she looks at people who try to corner her in bodegas to passionately warn her of a looming apocalypse, and she’s about to disappear. “It’s Jake.”

She pauses just beside the doorway, head cocked just slightly to the left, and unreadable expression on her face. “Hi, Jake. You’re really weird.”

the hunger games au:

“What do you mean?” Jake asks. Santiago shifts, eyes darting to the right toward the end of the table, suddenly looking like a cornered animal. “Your game ended four years ago -”

She makes a noise, a loud “tch” sound between her teeth, and he falls silent. “I left the arena four years ago,” she says slowly. She’s still gripping her empty glass tightly, like it’s the only solid thing in the room. “But I’m still playing the games. The games are never over. They drag you back every year so you have a front row seat, they make you...talk to people,” she seems to have a hard time forcing the words out of her throat, which strikes Jake as a very Diaz-like thing to do. “It’s just...it’s never over. Never.”

The train passes into a tunnel, and suddenly the entire dining cart is thrown into an eerie, rapidly flashing orange light. The shadows cross Santiago’s face quickly, and she suddenly seems much older than she did before. She leans forward across the table toward him, and when her mouth opens, he catches the slightest smell of whiskey on her breath.

“Trust me, Peralta,” she whispers. “There’s only one loser in the games. And that’s the last one standing. The games only end when you do.”

“I don’t want to die.” he says, in a voice that is not his own, too dark and tense and quiet. “I don’t want to, I don’t want to...how, how do I...please, Santiago,” he finishes in a whisper, “help me.”

The tunnel ends, and the cart is once again bathed in the soft yellow light from the lamp on the side table behind her. He sees her swallow thickly, her fingers bone white for how hard they’re curled around her glass. She chews the inside of her cheek and casts a glance out the window toward that cluster of glittering lights in the distance growing steadily closer, before she returns to his face. “I-I can’t -” she rasps, pauses, clears her throat, and starts again. “I can’t...guarantee anything. You know that, don’t you? There’s nothing guaranteed about any of this, okay?”

His fingers and toes are numb and his heart feels like the flutter of a hummingbird’s wings against his breast as he nods. He grips the edges of the nearest plate and pulls it closer, until the edge digs into his chest.

“Okay,” she whispers, “I’ll help you.” Her right hand drifts to the deep divot in the tabletop from where Rosa’s knife had landed hours earlier, fingertips tracing and catching on the scar.

His chest quakes with a shaky exhale. Relief floods through his veins, hot and strong, and his whole body sags in heedy relief. “Thank you, God, thank you Santiago -”

She taps the bottom of her glass against the table loudly, cutting him off, and then turns her head up toward the ceiling. “Amy.” She says after a moment.

“I’m...what?”

She drops her chin again, and when her eyes find his he’s suddenly violently transported back in time to that moment in the Market four years previously, hours before her reaping, the last time he saw her eyes so clear and bright and present. “It’s Amy,” she says, “you can call me Amy.”

a sound of music au:

Mrs. Simms and Maria both start toward the staircase, a tense silence lingering behind them. Neither Jake nor Captain Santiago move until they hear a door click shut upstairs; the moment the silence descends again, Captain Santiago releases a breath and drops her head.

Somehow, her posture is still ramrod straight.

“I apologize, Mr. Peralta,” she says as she turns toward him, and suddenly Jake is aware of the deep crescents carved into the skin beneath her eyes and the weary way her shoulders curve inward beneath the padding in her suit jacket. “My priorities have just changed. I’m afraid I can’t focus on whatever it is you’re here to do -”

“Assist in the process of recovering from your injury,” he recites quietly.

She blinks, and then shakes her head slightly. “Right. Yes. That. I’m afraid I can’t do that until I find a replacement for my children’s nanny. I think it would be best if you just returned to the hospital for now.”

She starts toward the door, clearly expecting him to follow, but his feet remain planted on the floor. Her gait is uneven - he can see the slight limp on her left side, perhaps a tender knee or hip - and that same strange feeling from the day before is overwhelming in the cavern of his chest once again. “What if I stepped in as a nanny?” he hears himself ask.

Captain Santiago freezes in place, and then slowly turns back to face him, trepidation written as clear as day across her face. “You’re aware of the fact that there are seven of them, correct?”

He nods.

Her brow furrows. “You would be able to properly carry out your duties as a nurse in addition to nannying my children?”

He shrugs. “I don’t imagine the recovery process would be too extensive, since it seems like it’s only your left knee?” He raises his brows and glances at the knee in question.

A look of surprise flashes across her face. “Very observant,” she says, and he gets the feeling that it’s mostly to herself. He doesn’t respond; for a long moment they merely stand staring at each other. “Alright,” she finally says, “I’m willing to give this a try. But the moment the nursing process interferes with my children and their schedule, it’s over, and you will return to the hospital at once. Am I understood?”

He has to resist the urge to salute. “Absolutely, ma’am.” he says instead.

a the good place au (where jake and amy knew each other through competing precincts in the nypd and “hated” each other in life and therefore immediately recognize each other in the after-life):

The Architect takes him to his new home - something tailored specifically for this Other Jake’s tastes, something straight out of his personal nightmares - and he’s really starting to think that he’s going to get away with this. The Architect is showing him the television system and he’s watching point-of-view clips of advocacy works in Uganda and there are fifteen framed paintings of clowns in the corner and someone is knocking on his new front door.

And when the front door opens to reveal the person on the other side, all his hopes of staying are dashed.

Of all the people in the entire universe who could have been assigned to this afterlife neighborhood with him, of all the people in history who could have knocked on his front door, it just had to be Amy freaking Santiago.

-

She does, for whatever reason, wait to question him until after The Architect is gone.

Jake stalls as long as he can closing that front door, taking care to examine the knob - this big round thing that looks to be artificially rusted, how lame - and when he finally, slowly turns on the spot, she’s standing several paces ahead of him with her arms crossed tight over her chest and her foot tapping impatiently.

And suddenly he realizes that she’s wearing a pantsuit in the afterlife.

“So -”

“Don’t.” she snaps, and he drops his gaze to his feet with a nod. “I don’t know what’s going on or why you’re here, but there’s clearly been a mistake.”

“I could be in The Good Place -” he says indignantly.

“Did you even know you while you were alive? You were the most arrogant, pompous, self-centered and conceited human being I’ve ever met in my life!”

“Oh, please, Santiago. Just because I had a little bit of confidence -”

“I wasn’t finished.” she interrupts sharply, and he rocks backwards to his heels, feeling the door’s cool surface brushing against his shoulders. “All you ever cared about was looking cool and being the best. That’s not confidence, it’s arrogance.”

The all-too-familiar urge to argue with her bubbles up like bitter bile in his throat, but after a moment he feels himself deflating, the fight leaving him all at once. “You’re right,” he shrugs, and if he’s not mistaken there’s surprise cracking through that steely expression on her face. “I mean, the guy - The Architect? - he got my name right, but...that’s it. Those -” he gestures to the television, where the memories are still soundlessly playing on the screen “- are definitely not my memories. He mentioned that I was some kind of death-row lawyer and human rights advocate?”

Amy snorts - clearly in disbelief - but Jake smiles tentatively all the same. “Yeah, that’s obviously incorrect.”

“Here’s the real kicker, though - he said I was also a volunteer firefighter. Can you imagine?”

She pulls a face, laughs a more genuine laugh - and the defensiveness in her eyes diminishes half a degree. And later (much later) he’ll pinpoint this as the moment that hope sparked back to life inside his chest.

#tag game #sorry this got long #anyways thank you again for tagging me #and i'm excited about all the awesome fics coming down the pike from everyone!!! #em speaks #b99 #jake x amy #my b99 fics #sorta