#snl au

[newfoundstateof]

good in a room | chapter one | m

“Anyway, I need to hit the road…” He checked an imaginary wrist watch. “Ten minutes ago. But it was nice meeting you, Mel.”

He started to jog off but looked over his shoulder and pointed to her with a grin. “Shoot me an email. I think we’d make a pretty good team!”

---

OR the kingdon SNL AU no one asked for

[neeska3]

Desperately need Marauders SNL AU LIKE PLEASE.

Like a fully crack fic.

Remus and James are head writers. Remus is barely in any sketches but whenever he is there the sketch is a hit.

Sirius is like the pretty/hot one who dates everyone but is like secretly in love with Remus.

James can go the jily or jegulus route but I think Regulus is definitely not part of the cast. I think he is a producer or maybe in the legal department. Lily is everyone’s fav of course. I also love jegulily ngl.

Peter, James, Sirius and Remus joined at the same time and have been besties since. They had Please Don’t destroy vibes. Peter has since left and became a fulltime stand up comic. No bad blood there.

Mary would be the make up person and is besties with Sirius. Marlene is def part of the cast but more of a performer than a writer. She is having a thing with Dorcas, the stylist.

Don’t know what Barty and Evan are doing. Barty really gives me Pete Davidson vibes for sure though. I think Evan can also be in admin. Pandora is definitely a writer and writes the craziest, most fever dream esque sketches.

Idk what else. Please if I writer wants to run with it please adopt.

[elposting]

and everyday my book of mormon snl au becomes a little bit more real

[hooker2ooo]

Cold Fronts & Cold Opens: A Falsettos x 30 Rock AU. (I don't know guys it's modern, it's got like SNL and WNBC. I was tired when I came up with it.)

Chapter One: Meet-Cute Adjacent

Marvin Gardens woke at 5:30 a.m., as dictated by both muscle memory and dread. Three things happened, in order: he silenced the alarm, stared at the ceiling, and thought about whether Jason had left his math homework in the living room again.

Coffee was already waiting. A cold brew he prepped nightly, out of both efficiency and the knowledge that if he had to interact with a French press before sunrise, he’d commit a crime.

By 6:45, he was spooning artificial dye-loaded cereal into Jason’s bowl, skimming weather alerts from his phone, and asking questions like “Did you brush your teeth?” and answering ones like “Do Pokémon eat breakfast?”

At 7:58, Marvin kissed his son’s head, dropped him at school, and walked into 30 Rockefeller Plaza wearing a slate blue suit and an expression just north of “please don’t talk to me.”

The weather segment at 8:30 went fine. It always did. He was dryly funny in a way that got him Twitter “clout” from moms who couldn’t tell he was gay, or maybe they did and didn’t care, and meteorology students.

“Temperatures climbing faster than my therapist’s hourly rate,” he joked, and got a chuckle from the anchor.

Afterward, he met with Charlotte at One Medical. The oddly located office of his best friend on the second floor of 30 Rockefeller Plaza. She told him to lower his sodium and consider “letting people in.” He told her he’d try, which was a lie.

Then it was back to his desk, where he quietly ate a banana with a fork. Not because he was quirky. Because he didn’t want to get his tie dirty.

—

Whizzer Brown arrived at Thirty Rockefeller Plaza like he always did: immaculate, barely on time, and pretending he hadn’t spent the night with a new writer whose name he never asked.

He wore a vintage SNL crewneck from the Dana Carvey era and carried a cup of ice and what could be estimated to be around six shots of espresso. His hair looked like it had been done by angels. He smelled like Le Labo and very expensive denial.

“Morning, sunshine.” Cordelia, his sickeningly optimistic best friend, said from behind the cafeteria counter.

Whizzer grinned. “How’s the food today?”

“Still barely legal.”

“Perfect.” He winked. She handed him a breakfast sandwich that was more Styrofoam than egg.

Whizzer was beloved at SNL by fans, the new star with a smirk that could disarm critics and a sense of timing that made him look effortless. He wasn’t.

He read every note. Memorized every script. Rewrote jokes in his head that he’d never get the chance to pitch. He slept with people who didn’t matter and avoided calls from the ones who might.

Cordelia once told him he lived like a man five minutes ahead of a nervous breakdown. He told her that was generous.

He loitered in the halls today, killing time. He didn’t like being in the writers’ room too long. Too many people he’d kissed. Too many ideas he didn’t write but would have to sell anyway.

—

Marvin left Charlotte’s office, one hand holding a disposable coffee cup filled with oatmeal, the other holding a folder of both weather briefings and doctor’s pamphlets in hand: “Coping with Stress for Dummies”

He rounded the corner with a grimace. Whizzer turned into the same hallway, humming something jazz-adjacent under his breath.

They collided, not dramatically, but awkwardly enough. Marvin’s oatmeal dropped. Whizzer’s espresso hit the floor.

“Damn it,” Whizzer muttered, stepping back just as Marvin crouched down.

They looked up at the same time.

“Oh,” Whizzer said, offering a practiced smile. “You’re the weatherman.”

“Meteorologist,” Marvin corrected flatly.

Whizzer picked up the folder. “Whizzer Brown. SNL.” He extended the papers. “I do impressions of celebrities and I’m currently wearing your breakfast.”

Marvin blinked as he wiped espresso off himself.  “It’s fine. I didn’t like that tie anyway.”

He said as if he hadn’t been forking a banana that morning to keep it safe.

“You’ve got one of those faces that looks like it proofreads emails for fun,” Whizzer said, re-adjusting himself.

Marvin cleared his throat. “Thanks. I think.”

“Never mind,” Whizzer grinned, already stepping back, folder handed off. “You’re too serious. I like it.”

Marvin watched him disappear down the hallway, his crewneck tugged slightly to the left, just enough to show the faint outline of a bruise someone else had left tthere.

Whizzer didn’t look back. Marvin didn’t either.

But something shifted.

Forecast: strange weather ahead.

[puzzled-pegasus]

"Welcome to the Weekend Update. I'm Jason Grace."

"I'm Annabeth Chase."

---

Might post some stuff about an SNL related AU soon...

[durinsheir]

standards & practices: a hobbit snl au by durinsheir

mature | bagginshield | wip

A great and terrible doom has come to the 17th floor of 30 Rockefeller Plaza: the new Senior Editor of NBC's Broadcast Standards & Practices department.

Chapter One

[highqueenofelfhame]

rm day nine

masterlist // kofi // redbubble // etsy day nine: co-stars/ co-hosts, etc. 1.6k

shoutout to @whimsicallyreading for that joke

The first time that Rowan saw Aelin Galathynius, he was shaking her hand across a table the first night they were to select a slew of sketches for her to perform on Saturday Night Live. She was the host for the week, and everyone had been buzzing about her arrival. Not only was she a widely successful model and actress with more than a few awards under her belt, she was known in the entertainment industry for being a wildfire. Despite that, she was also known for being extremely kind to everyone she’d ever worked with. It made the cast and crew excited to get the chance to work with her, too. 

The first thing that he’d noticed about her was her eyes. Such a brilliant shade of turquoise, squinted at the corners from her wide grin. The explosion of gold around her irises matched the gold of hair almost perfectly. Rowan had heard the term ocean eyes a thousand times, but this was the first time he’d understood it. There was so much depth to them, the faint green where the blue met the gold, the smallest flecks of brown scattered throughout. Rowan could have drowned at them. Willingly. 

She was so breathtaking that it took Rowan a beat too long to realize that they’d been shaking hands for a little too long, her small hand warm and smooth in his own. It was another beat for him to realize he’d yet to say his name, though she’d said hers, and she was looking at him expectantly. And a little more knowingly than he’d like. 

“Rowan. I’m one of the head writers on the show.”

“It’s a pleasure.” Was he making it up, or did that almost sound like a purr? Her accent was lovely, he detected both Adarlan and Terrasen in her voice somehow. The accents on their own were similar to each other, yet the way they melded together in her voice was like two puzzle pieces coming together. 

Rowan had seriously been thinking too hard about it. 

All week they met at that table, the first two days going over which sketches she wanted to perform that he and other cast members had come up with for her. Pride swelled in his chest when she’d laughed so hard at one he’d written that she’d needed several moments to stitch her professionalism back together. It had been an immediate yes through the sound of her giggles. The next day she’d asked if they could rehearse that one first. 

It was, again, to no small amount of satisfaction on Rowan’s part. 

Rowan had a reputation amongst his co-workers. Nobody had ever gotten him to laugh. A few small smiles here and there, which they all held over everyone else’s heads. But nobody had ever gotten him to truly laugh. Not because they weren’t funny-- the cast was full of the funniest people Rowan had ever met. It was just because it took someone completely knocking his legs out from under him before it happened. This week, with Aelin as their host, he’d had to turn his head more than once to keep from truly laughing. Something about this girl continued to surprise him. She had received those small smiles more than even his Weekend Update co-host, Fenrys, had ever received. Even when he and Fenrys swapped jokes and Fen tried to make him look absolutely horrible. 

But this girl… she had such a crackling personality that it was hard not to be taken under her spell. It was stupid, so incredibly stupid, but Rowan was so taken with her. He’d never believed in love at first sight, but gods damn him if he wasn’t starting to believe in it-- just a little. 

And it seemed that someone had clued her into the fact that Rowan Whitethorn didn’t laugh, because she spent any free moment she had trying to crack him. Rowan sat in the audience, scrounging headlines and turning them over in his mind while he made a slew of jokes to choose from later, and he didn’t miss the way she looked over at him after delivering solid punchlines. He tried to hide his smiles in his glass of water, or by chewing one of his ‘grossly healthy snacks’ as she’d declared on day three. But more than once she’d punched the air in victory because they’d snuck out and made a short-lived appearance before he’d willed himself back into a neutral expression.

It was during dress rehearsal that cracked him like an egg, and the joke wasn’t even that funny. 

She was standing on the stage, seated on Dorian’s lap with a blanket draped over the both of them. He was in a motorized scooter and in makeup that aged him to look as though he were an old man. It was the sketch that Rowan had written that sent her into such bright, tinkling laughter. 

Aelin had her arm draped around Dorian’s neck while everyone listened to the stage manager speak. When Lorcan was done, he walked off stage and Aelin’s eyes found him in the audience. Rowan was sitting with a few of their other cast members that weren’t part of the sketch, along with a handful of producers and other big-wigs when she’d looked into his green eyes and asked, “Do they call you ‘Whitethorn’ because you have a pale prick?”

The joke itself wasn’t that funny. Rowan wasn’t sure why he found it so outrageously hilarious. Maybe because she was acting like part of the permanent cast when she’d only been there a handful of days. Maybe it was because everyone else usually cowered in his presence, which could be quite overwhelming, he’d been told. 

Regardless, he’d been unable to stop himself from sinking down in his chair, a handful of papers covering his face, as he lost all control and began laughing. His whole body was shaking with the sound, a deep rumbling that he couldn’t hide even if he’d wanted to. When he lowered the papers, still cracking up, his cast was just gaping at him. Even their genuinely funny jokes hadn’t gotten this sound out of him, and Aelin looked just as surprised as the rest of them. 

“How the fuck?” Dorian mumbled under his breath, barely detectable over the mic he wore. The way they were all staring at him made it even harder to collect himself. It took a solid few minutes before he was able to clear his throat and sit back up in his seat. It was a bad joke, but it had really gotten him. And the jokes didn’t stop there. She kept trying to attain a second laugh every moment she was able to no avail. 

Later that day when several of his friends asked why it had been so funny, he’d shrugged. “Probably because nobody that hosts even tries, and she’s been trying relentlessly. Reminds me of you lot, and I didn’t think anyone would ever fit in that wasn’t hand selected to be part of the show. I don’t know. It took me off guard.”

It was enough for them, it seemed, because they stopped asking. Aelin had beamed at him later, a bright white smile beneath red lips as they all went out for dinner that she insisted on paying for. Rowan had returned it. 

From the time Aelin started her monologue to the last note their musical guest, Nehemia Ytger, played, the show was damn near perfect save for a few breaks from the cast. In Rowan’s opinion, it was one of the best shows they’d ever had and would probably go down as one of the best SNL episodes in history. It was definitely Rowan’s favorite, that much he knew. 

It was when they were crowded on stage at the very end, everyone congratulating each other while the camera still rolled that caused a complete and viral social media frenzy. Of course, the hashtags regarding the show were full of fans favorite sketches and lines, but the majority of the tweets, instagram, and facebook posts were about one moment in particular. 

Aelin was standing next to Rowan on stage, wearing a gold gown made of glittering threads that clung to her body in the most spectacular of ways. It left absolutely nothing to the imagination, bordering on looking more like a nightgown than anything, but little details here and there kept it from looking so. On a runway, he supposed it would have been beautiful. On her? It was breathtaking.  

The crowd was cheering, the band was playing their exit music, and the cast and crew alike were congratulating and hugging each other over the success of another show. The camera was still broadcasting live to the entire country when Aelin rose up on her toes and whispered in his ear.

“I’m not wearing anything under this dress,” she’d said, her breath hot and tickling his skin. Every hair on his body raised and he barely suppressed a shiver down his spine. Rowan could feel the heat flood straight to his face, some of his blood going south of the border and he thanked the gods that Elide was standing in front of him and blocking the camera’s view of his lower region, lest he have tented pants on national fucking television. Rowan knew then that his face was red as all hell-- even the tips of his ears, and Rowan had never been so hyper-focused on being touched as he was where Aelin’s fingers were gently wrapped around his forearm. 

Sure, social media was talking about the hilarious sketches and the brilliant chemistry Aelin had with everyone on set, but the majority of the posts said one thing, the wording altered slightly to match their user.

WHAT THE HELL DID SHE SAY TO MAKE THIS MANS TURN SO GODSDAMN RED?! I’M SCREAMING

[wangxianficrecs]

❤️live from new york by varnes

❤️live from new york

by varnes

E, 87k, wangxian

Summary:  Wei Ying lets out a long, ugly groan. “I am fine, Lan Zhan. Everybody is overreacting, it’s so embarrassing for all of you.”

“You had undiagnosed pneumonia, which you walked around with for weeks until you passed out during dress,” Lan Wangji corrects him. “It got a big laugh, until everyone thought you were dead.”

He keeps his voice even and does not tell Wei Ying that it had been Lan Wangji who caught him, who called the ambulance, and who rode with him to the hospital, where he was yelled at by nurses who wanted to know why he hadn’t noticed that Wei Ying couldn’t stop shivering or string proper sentences together.

“Rumors of my demise have been vastly overstated,” Wei Ying says. “Anyway, I’m already feeling much better. Basically fine. Really almost completely back to normal, so stop babying me and tell me why the fuck you let your stupid brother hire the worst man in the world to host our show.”

-

OR: the one where they all work at SNL, Yanli's ex-boyfriend is hosting, and that's just the beginning of everybody's problems.

My comments:  This was sooo funny, ohmygoodness, but also chock full of pining and withheld communication and stupidly sacrificial idiots. Author juggles an ensemble cast flawlessly, and everyone's personality shines in the rawest and most shamelessly hilarious way (I saw someone comment that they were all feral, which suits). Story is most often lwj POV (he and wwx are co-head writers) and this boy is SO IN LOVE, but doesn't want to damage what he's got, so he stays silent (mostly). Their relationship drama is subsumed in the utterly hectic week that leads up to a Saturday show (Sunday is off, Tuesdays have a hallucinatory never-ending feel, Fridays are actually much busier than Saturdays).

Excerpt 1:  There is no “end” to Tuesdays. There is Tuesday, and then later Tuesday, and then midnight Tuesday, and then timeless Tuesday, when it stops being nighttime but isn’t yet morning, and then eventually the sun is up and it’s not Tuesday on the calendar but it’s still Tuesday spiritually, because no one has slept and everyone is all hopped up on caffeine and cigarettes.

Excerpt 2:  Some funny bits: 

“Laughter is the best medicine!” Wei Ying wheedles. “Come onnnnn, Lan Zhan, I’ve been rotting away for months and months, if someone doesn’t let me get a joke on TV in the next twenty minutes I’ll die. I’ll literally be forced to fling myself out of the Jiang family’s beautiful bay windows, and on the way down I’ll shout, ‘This was avoidable! This is because Lan Zhan wouldn’t let me punch up the promos!’ and then you’ll be fired for secondhand murder and it’ll be a tragedy like the sketch comedy circuit has never seen.”

Lan Wangji says, “Second-degree.”

“What?”

“Murder. Not secondhand.”

Wei Ying furrows his brow. “...I’ve heard it both ways,” he says. “That would make a good detective show spoof skit, though. Secondhand Murder.”

“Mn,” Lan Wangji agrees. “Murder She Wrote, but an idiot.”

“Keeps suggesting a series of increasingly implausible manners of death,” Wei Ying agrees, scribbling on the back of the takeout menu. Yanli and Lan Wangji share a look. “All the deaths are like — incredibly obvious and she goes buckwild with her theories anyway.”

“Police keep asking her to leave.”

“I want to be one of the victims,” Yanli says. “Put like, a sword right through my chest, but I’m still alive, telling the cops what happened, and she’s still like, ‘No no, that’s what the murderer wants you to think.’”

“Gruesome! Love it,” says Wei Ying, making a note.

Excerpt 3:  some just plain esoteric turns of phrase:

Lan Zhan mutters, “Wei Ying,” in that voice of his. He says Wei Ying eight million times a day but never the same way twice. A mood ring of Wei Ying. Wei Wuxian wants to be fully dead about it, wholly and completely excused from this earth because of how Lan Zhan says his stupid name.

“Lan Zhan,” he sing-songs back. “Ah, Lan Zhaaaaan.”

Excerpt 4:  Some gut-punches: 

Wei Wuxian wants bruises; Lan Wangji wants scars.

_____________________

ETA: There's a Sequel!

It's 19k of sheer delight as our boys go to the courthouse to get hitched... only to find out they've been married for the past 3.5 years. How. How did this happen? Wwx points out that they've never had anything but married sex which is very responsible and traditional of them. But still. How do you get accidentally married???

Excerpt:  “How are you so chill about this,” Wei Wuxian demands, turning his face into Lan Zhan’s palm and kissing it at the center. “I feel like someone just informed me that everyone else on the planet except me has two dicks, and you’re just like, tralala, dry cleaning.”

“It’s easier for me,” says Lan Zhan, very tenderly. “I’ve always had two dicks.”

Wei Wuxian laughs, helplessly. “Lan Zhan.”

modern au, SNL au, saturday night live, humor, comedy, pining, FOREST OF PINES, light angst, lots of jokes, ensemble cast, feels, oblivious wei wuxian, oblivious lan wangji, idiots in love, slow burn, lack of communication, self-sacrificial idiots, flirting, getting together, everyone ships it, top lan wangji, bottom wei wuxian, roommates, hijinks and shenanigans, comedian everybody, jiang siblings, friends to lovers, found family, adorable juniors, happy ending, favorite, @itsvarnes​​

(You may wish to REBLOG as a signal boost for this author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)