#slightly cracktastic

[tabbyrp]

📻 + Tabs and Cory

I don't start shit, but I can tell you how it ends Don't get sad, get even -Vigilante Shit drop a 📻 + names for a short drabble or collage inspired by a song lyric from T.Swift.

Some say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.

Some clearly had never been to a gathering catered by Betty’s Delicious Snacky Morsels.

“They know that abbreviates to BDSM, right?” Tabby flipped the business card over, examining both sides as if checking for confirmation of the joke. Instead, she only found more contact details for ‘Betty’, the cartoon logo promising a warm granny type with apple pie fresh from the oven. 

“Rule number one when picking a business name.” Cory took her own sample of the card, studying it with considerably more grace than her companion. “Always check the initialisms.”

“Also check if you’re going to get caught out trying to steal our menu.” A couple of other guests passing by cast confused looks, then chose to scuttle on faster from Tabby’s storm-cloud face. “It’s almost identical to what we had at that engagement party last month, if they’d ordered their duplicates from Wish or some other drop shipper.”

While Tabby was a second away from stomping on the ground akin to Rumpelstiltskin, Corinne laid a calming hand on her shoulder. “I understand it’s frustrating, but word of mouth will deal with it. Between us and the other good caterers out there, Betty won’t pick up repeat customers.”

“Cory, she even stole our ice luge.”

-----

When the premises of Betty’s Delicious Snacky Morsels suffered a catastrophic loss of power, the insurance claim processor spent some time assessing the file, wondering how electricity failed to reach only the freezer containing an ice sculpture of… the woman blinked, took off her glasses, cleaned them, and read the screen again. An ice… luge… of a phallic nature. A quick Google search showed a similar design from an engagement party posted all over Instagram, the small catering company who designed it tagged in the comments. A company that was definitely not Betty’s Delicious Snacky Morsels, solely owned and operated by Chad Carmichael.

The woman clicked the declined button and moved on to her next claim.

[zeemczed]

I finally started posting my cracktastic BNHA (with special guest House M.D.) fanfic.

Expect slightly less dense Toshinori Yagi, a completely different slate of villains (except maybe Stain), inadvisable use of grappling hooks, powerless Deku AND Bakugo, BAMF Uraraka, and stuff getting very weird.

[spectrum-skull]

“...you know, I have a feeling this is Arthur’s Pay-Back for the Aggressive Self-Care Day yesterday that happened. Still questioning HOW I got dragged into that but I can see the appeal.”

[battlemastercoffeeco]

Batty, a slightly meta question about your writing for a change of pace 🤗💛

Which of your percolating story ideas is on your mind the most and what's the most interesting aspect for you?

hmmm now that's an interesting one 🤔

I think the overarching thru lines on the monsterfucker au is what has most of my attention (aka the "hunger...." outline), which can be frustrating bc I have an e n o r m o u s amount of metaphorical coffee grounds that I'm trying to put thru a fricken office Keurig that ppl forget to remove used pods and refill with water 😆

so like, I have a Plan for the big fic (it's literally 8 individual sections rn and those may break into chapters 😖) and I have this whole story in my head with important world- and character-building details but??? putting into words to share???? ⚠️ PLEASE CLEAR ROLLERS AND RELOAD PAPER TRAY ⚠️

and then. there's the multitude of vignettes and minifics that branch off the main line. lil in-between scenes that are So Clear in the head and distract from attempts to actually articulate the Important Base AU Fic 🤦

and then I went and joined a discord server that now has me brewing a cracktastic clone wars fix it, h e l p 🙈

[janiedean]

Here's an idea for you: An Eros/Psyque AU ft. Jaime as Eros and Brienne as Psyque. Short drabble. Yours truly, Cracktastic.

I DON'T KNOW IF I CAN MAKE IT SHORT BUT LET'S SEE TO KICK THIS OFF also... I might have slightly thrown a spin on this for reasons but I hope you enjoy the scifi take because it wanted to happen like that u__u

--

"Will you ever let me look at you?"

I wish I could, Jaime thinks, and says nothing in the darkness surrounding them.

Oh, he can see her. The advantages of having enhanced eyes in comparison to her species, even if they look the same, technically.

He knows she can't see him.

"I can't," he says, wishing he could bring himself to stand up and leave their - her bedroom.

"And what's so bad about you? Your sister certainly isn't hideous and she can't shut up about how I'm only alive because of your useless charitable self, and where I come from I'm hideous, so however you look like... I really don't care. And I'd like to say thank you to your face. It's - it's not because you hate how I look, right?"

She sounds so earnest.

Like she means it.

"I think that I made clear I don't," he answers, and she blushes at once, he can feel her cheeks heating in the darkness, and he just wishes he could see them in proper light, too -

And he just can't say yes.

Thing is, she was supposedly a scientist, on the planet she comes from. It was his father's ship destroying hers and killing everyone else on it because they don't - they don't do others coming to their planet. They've stayed hidden since forever and no one is interested in contacting any other, as much as he disagrees, because Westeros is a shit planet, but that's not even the point.

The point is that she hadn't died in the shipwreck, merely passed out, and Cersei just wanted him to shoot her on sight, but - but after their falling out, after he realized she didn't care for him one whim, he refused. And no one else wanted the job - cowards, all of them - and... well. It had taken him a while of haggling with both Cersei and his father to reach a deal - what is that, Jaime, want a pet alien for yourself because you miss me that much? What would you do in order to save that worthless human? Marry her? Spare me, she had said, and Jaime had said well try me, and -

Well.

The poor girl woke up married to someone from another planet, unable to leave the part of the house he resides in, and she can't look at him. The point is that no other species in this universe is supposed to know us, Jaime, his father had said, his voice cold as ice. If she never lays eyes on you then you may keep her, if not she dies. Then it turns out that Cersei had visited her, and Jaime has no idea what bullshit excuse she came up with to justify it that wouldn't be worth for him, but.

But everyone - his father, the fucking defense council, whatever - that no, she couldn't see him.

Thing is, he had explained her the situation, the first time. He also apologized for it. She had thanked him. Nothing else happened. Then he came to visit again because he wanted to know where she came from, and she started talking, and -

And things happened.

He doesn't know why on her planet she'd be considered hideous. He thinks she's unique, for that matter - that tall, with all those muscles, those pretty blue eyes staring straight into your soul, and so what if her hair looks like straw and she has freckles everywhere over her face and she doesn't look exactly feminine? He likes her. He also likes how her thighs feel around him when she rides him in the dark every other night, and how prettily she moans when they fuck, and - and sex with her is nowhere like sex with Cersei. For one he feels like she actually wants him and she can't look at him the way Cersei did, so intently and almost with envy, and he wishes he never realized that, but. But.

"Did my sister say that?" He adds when she says nothing in return.

"Yes," Brienne says, "and from what I hear and what you said, you're far from useless. And - I value kindness in people, and even if you did this just to pay me a favor I would... take it into account."

He never let her touch his face, figuring it would be the same as looking at him. Maybe he could. Maybe it could be a compromise.

But he doesn't want to risk it.

He - he likes her. Maybe too much. Maybe he has wished he could just steal a ship and go to her planet and leave this miserable place they almost laid to waste with endless resource mining. Maybe -

But he can't, not now.

"You might be one of the two people who thinks I... can be kind," he shrugs. "And I might value that. But I can't. Wish I could, though. And I don't know if I look hideous. I feel like I am most of the time, though," he confesses in the darkness, closing his eyes to at least even things with her. She sighs - is she thinking about when he told her about why he killed the former president of the defense council, when he wanted to nuke the other half of the planet because they were consuming too many resources and no one else would do anything about it?

Maybe she is.

They have treated him like he's a necessary evil since then, though. It's been almost fifteen years. He's tired.

"You're not," she whispers, "I can hear it. And I won't - I won't look at you if you don't want me to. I swear. But I really wish I could."

He nods, leaning closer, kissing her softly, not moving away when her fingers brush against his cheekbone before moving to his hair. He can allow that, he decides. No one ever said that was forbidden, did they?

Thank you, she whispers against his lips before kissing him back.

Her skin is soft under the fingertips of his own left hand, and he wonders if she has suspicions about why he never touched her with the right - it's been scarred with fire since Aerys, you can feel it, he hates it and Cersei hated it when he touched her with it -, but she never said anything else, and she smells in a way no one on this planet smells, none of the scents of the soaps she was given actually stuck to her skin, he wonders if everyone on Earth smells this good or if it's just her, and he doesn't ask, just - just inhales her as he kisses her a bit deeper.

One day.

One day, he'll let her look at him, when he knows they won't have to face repercussions one way of the other.

But not now.

Not now.

[rk1kmoods]

Just Markus finding out sweet pure Connor was designed to be an unstoppable killing machine

A slightly cracktastic edge to this one. 👀

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Handshake

Sam Winchester x Harry Styles (Yes, really.) 

Word Count: ~1k

Warnings: Nothing, really? Some suggestive dialogue?   

A/N: So a while ago @deanwanddamons​ requested a rockstar AU, and my brain ran the fuck off with that, leaving all the original details in the dust and giving me this cracktastic pairing instead. @fookinghelljensensthighs​ sent me a picture of Harry Styles in a collar and encouraged me, so I think this is mostly her fault. Idk. Rockstar AU! 

You can now read more in this ‘verse (with more coming soon!) right over HERE. 

The afterparty is in someone’s hotel suite, and as far as these parties go, it’s a little mellower than Sam expected. Not that there aren’t any dilated pupils in sight, obviously, but nobody’s dancing on a table yet, or anything. 

Sam feels high enough on the adrenaline of the show. He’s just been sitting on one of the couches talking drum equipment with one of the techs and he still feels giddy in that warm, floaty, really-good-Ecstasy way. Cas is listening to something Lindsey is saying, with rapt star-struck attention, and he doesn’t seem to notice his empty glass. Charlie’s flirting shamelessly with a pretty girl Sam hasn’t met, drinking water as usual. 

Dean’s pacing himself pretty well, too, sitting across the room playing acoustic duets and occasionally sipping on his whiskey. He’s wide-eyed and twitchy, but it’s just from excitement. Stevie hasn’t come in yet; Dean sneaks a glance at the door every few minutes, looking breathlessly excited, and it makes him look like a teenager again. 

Granted, they haven’t had the best luck with Christmases, but when the invitation came in to open for Fleetwood Mac at Madison Square Garden, Dean’s expression was everything Sam imagined a normal kid might look like on Christmas. Puppies and candy and Christmas, all over his face. 

Sam’s at the makeshift bar someone’s set up when the door opens, and there’s Stevie herself, sweeping through the door in a whirl of black fringe. She’s shepherding a younger guy who looks vaguely familiar, but Sam can’t place him; he’s half-hidden behind his long hair, slouching, head ducked like he’s trying to be inconspicuous. 

Stevie looks a little different from the poster of her that hung over Dean’s bed for a decade, but she’s still striking, and she’s the sort of person who lights up the entire room with her smile. She shakes hands with Cas and leans in to whisper something to a very overwhelmed Charlie, and then she heads for Dean. She kisses him on the cheek as he greets her, clearly complimenting him, and Sam’s slightly concerned Dean will pass out from happiness. 

He watches Dean for a minute before smiling to himself and turning back to the table, looking for the whiskey. Someone else reaches for the bottle at the same time, and Sam gets a glimpse of blue nail polish and chunky rings before a low, accented voice is apologizing. 

“No, go ahead,” Sam says bemusedly, looking down at the guy who’d come in with Stevie. He’s young enough to be her grandchild. Sam debates asking if that’s the case, for a second, before reminding himself of the cringeworthy time he’d asked a similar question to someone who turned out to be a Rolling Stone’s wife. 

“Here, then,” the guy says, with a little smile, and he fills Sam’s glass before grabbing his own. 

“Thanks.” 

Sam’s slightly distracted by his outfit; there’s lace involved, and a sturdy leather cuff on each of his wrists that bears the stamp of one of Sam’s favorite companies. It’s a company that makes bondage gear, to be specific. Sam’s torn between being a little bit turned on (he tells himself it’s just Pavlovian conditioning to the sight of those cuffs) and being even more curious (and mildly concerned) about how this kid knows the band.  

“Cheers,” the guy says, and lifts his glass in a quick toast. 

Sam clinks it with his own and takes a sip. “I’m Sam.” 

“Yeah, I know,” the guy says, looking up through his lashes and smiling. 

Sam’s more than a little taken aback, at both the smile and the recognition. He loves being able to hide behind the drum kit, not least of all because of the relative anonymity he enjoys from casual fans. 

Besides, those dimples are pretty startling. So are the eyelashes. Huh. 

“Good show,” he says thoughtfully. “I like what you guys did with ‘Woman In White,’ changing it up like that. Keeps the old stuff fresh.” 

“Thanks,” Sam says, grinning. Apparently the surprises are just going to keep on coming tonight; most of the sort of people who end up backstage at Madison Square Garden don’t actually listen to the opening band. He hesitates and asks, “How do you know her?” 

“Stevie? I was just a big fan,” he says, with a familiar hero-worship sort of smile evident on his face. “I brought her a carrot cake, we got to talking. She was nice enough to give me some advice. You know.” 

Sam doesn’t know, because that’s not the sort of thing that just happens to people.

“Cool,” he says. Sam doesn’t ask the biggest question on his mind, which is who the fuck are you? People who are that sort of famous tend to get huffy when they’re not recognized. 

This guy just looks amused. As if he knows exactly what Sam is thinking, he says, “I’m a musician. Well, I sing, mostly... and play guitar. Can’t drum, though. That’s probably obvious.” 

“Obvious?” 

“Soft hands.” It sounds like a secret in his quiet, husky voice. He holds one hand out between them, palm-up. “Can always recognize a drummer. It’s the calluses.” 

“Ah,” Sam says, and holds up his hand for comparison. 

“Speaking of, I don’t think I properly introduced myself.” He takes Sam’s hand, now, and shakes it slowly, holding eye contact in a way that makes it feel almost outrageously flirtatious. 

“No, you didn’t.”   

“Sorry, was excited to meet you, forgot my manners,” he says, without letting go of Sam’s hand. “Harry.” 

“Mind me asking if I’d recognize any of your music?” 

“I don’t mind, no,” Harry says. The sparkle in his eyes makes Sam feel like he’s missing a joke. “But… probably not.” 

“Why do I feel like you’re lying?” Sam asks, with a teasing smirk. “Nice cuffs, by the way.” 

Harry’s eyes light up delightedly for a split-second, but he just laughs, finally letting go of Sam’s hand to tuck his hair behind his ears. 

“Nice to meet you,” Sam adds, and means it. 

.

Follow-up is here! 

.

If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a note here! 

.

[maryellencarter]

The Rogue Squadron Discord is doing a book club of The Courtship of Princess Leia, which is an extraordinarily cracktastic book. It's not good by any stretch, but it does include among other things C-3PO dancing and singing about "The Virtues of King Han Solo" (it only makes slightly more sense in context). Which reminded me that there is in fact footage of Threepio tap-dancing, because The Muppet Show was like that sometimes. XD

[nancysgillians]

Mercedes vs Tina; Finn/Quinn vs Will/Terri; Comeback vs Child Star; 4 Minutes vs I Am Changing :)

Oouufff these were evil! Jk jk!

Mercedes vs Tina - I love both of these characters dearly but I have to go with Mercedes. Her voice is phenomenal, her character development is stronger, and she has the greater storylines and relationships (Kurt, Rachel, Quinn, Sam, Santana). 

Finn/Quinn vs. Will/Terri - I don’t love either of these but I would pick Finn/Quinn. 

Comeback vs. Child Star - You’re funny spaceorphan - I see what you did here. Ask me about the episodes that don’t have Klaine, EH?  Whelp I am going to have to easily go with Child Star - it was cracktastic, the songs were better and Alistair Finneas O’Connell is introduced! 

4 Minutes vs. I Am Changing - This is the quintessential glee song question - do you go with the emotional rendition/song with a purpose or the up beat cover that does not always serve a plot purpose? I love the vocals on both of these but 4 Minutes edges it out for me slightly because Rachel and Will’s reaction to Kurtcedes kicking ass is vindication. 

[queenoftheblackpuddlexoxo]

In keeping with the cracktastic energy of TAZ, I do have some fun and funny headcanons about Cal.

She is enamored with the voidcats. Cats in general, but the voidcats especially. Much to Argo's dismay.

She's a half elf (her mom's an elf, her dad human) and has cute lil pointy ears. And slightly pointy teeth.

Calliope once worked at a neko maid cafe when she was 20, 21. Even though she keeps swearing that she's gonna burn it, she still has the uniform and anyone who knows about it is sworn to silence on pain of death.

Cal also likes birds, especially magpies and pigeons. She befriends any and all birds that come by her dorm.

Her whole entire aesthetic is based off of Little Red Riding Hood...with a splash of Fitcher's Bird.

[tabbyrp]

Random drabble prompt: People are stupid

Why? It was a logical question. Why did she do it?

One of her usual trademark shrugs in answer. The non-committal gesture which silently expressed Tabby didn’t know, or perhaps that she didn’t care. Followed up with a casual ‘seemed like a good idea at the time.’ Because she’d have to turn it into a joke. The story funnier when she got to tell it her way. When it went a little something like this.

“So, I was standing at the bus stop. Totally minding my own business, sipping from my bottle of water and staying hydrated.” Technically it was flavored, sugary-water, but a story isn’t always about the minutiae. “Then there’s this woman talking to her friend, and she’s loud. Like, workmen drilling on the street at 3am loud. Not a death-penalty offence, I get it. And she’s talking about her kid, Princess-Dixie-Rose or Princeton or whatever. Poor Princie has a stomach bug, and I actually feel for the rugrat. That’s rough. And mom has apparently left Princie with Grandma because mom needs some ‘me time’, though personally, I bet Grandma thought her puke-filled days were behind her.”

“Anyway. So I’m still chilling, waiting for the bus. The friend, who hasn’t said much, mentions that her son got a bit unwell after his last immunization shot. And then, the mom goes ‘Oh, I’m still fighting Princie’s father over that. I’m worried he’ll sneak Princie to the doctor and fill him with all those poisons…’. And look. It’s kinda none of my business. I know it’s not. But you hear about those babies getting sick and dying from whooping cough or measles. And even I got all my shots. So…”

Not a shrug this time. More an expression of utter lack of regret. “… I threw the contents of my bottle of water at her. Then, I yelled at her to fucking vaccinate her kids.” A small, reflective pause. “Possibly I should have stopped there, and –not – thrown the empty bottle at her head, even if it was only plastic. However, it shows that I have grown as a human being because at least I didn’t punch her in the face.”

It’s not her most hilarious tale, but rarely do the true gems come from misadventures on public transport. So, she ended this retelling with a wry-half smile and a little mote of wisdom. “What can I say? Buses are the worst and people are stupid.”

[elcorhamletlive]

hey since we’re talking fave verses, which one is yours? personally i’m a huge fan of ults, i think it’s so interesting and a bit of a different take on the main comics universe, which i appreciate. also the angst, hurt/comfort, and fluff potential is off the charts

I have... mixed feelings about the ults canon I’ve come in contact with (mostly slightly negative, tbh), but I’ve come to really love the concept of the characters and the way fandom plays with them. There is, as you said, lots of potential for different takes.

I also enjoyed the cracktastic-ness of AvAc, which as a game kind of sucked, but had very fun storylines and dialogue. Ultimately though, I’m still an MCU person through and through. I really love these movies and this verse.

[tinysartorius]

That just sort of...happened.

My feelings on the latest chapter of Drift Compatible by the utterly delightful @jbaillier whose fabulous fic and clever comments bring me joy and a temporary emotional tourniquet in the midst of Our Idiots’ Only Slightly Improved Pining and Angst Marathon.

Normally I enjoy Mycroft but this incarnation is a shoe-in for the Worst Brother Of the Century Award.

(Still undecided about a few things including the text, but I’m pretty happy with the result! Even if it is based on the cracktastic co-commenting and not the actual fic...oops.)

[following-the-drum]

Torts, Gavels, and Sleighbells

A Harlots Holiday Fic for Harlots Week at the beginning of September... well when the muse hits you! 

Characters involved: Idk um like two characters... Violet Cross and Josiah Hunt

Parings: I recommend a nice brandy (If you are of age) or a tea 

Ratings: Well surprisingly not much to give it any higher than a teen for language!  

Warnings: Don’t read this fic and drive at the same time. Uh use protection? Um the writer (me) is insane? This is my first Fanfic of this variety? Also American so attempting at remembering what traditions British people use to celebrate Christmas.... so will definitely get things wrong... I apologize in advance so here it is without further ado this Cracktastic-spastic-fanfic-introduction is in no way relevant to the actual fic in tone...

Snow fell in that wet manner, not at all like the movies the waiting room seemed to have on repeat. Josiah Hunt never paid much mind to any of the holiday traditions keeping rather secular, not that his profession allowed much time to be otherwise. Pulling his glasses from his face while he rubbed the bridge of his nose, the paperwork spinning in his mind. He reached forward and tapped the speaker button, “Miss Cross?” Silence from the other end. He sighed and attempted again, “Miss Cross?” 

His door opened and Violet popped her head in, “Yes Mister Hunt.” The opening of the door allowed one to hear they lobby movie, the singers crooning about snow, snow, snow. 

“How is your girlfriend Miss Scanwell fairing?” He asked looking up, he ought to visit the young woman, a recent near fatal car crash involving a Lord Fallon or some other. This being the same young woman he had nearly asked out on a date not long before. After all  the young Miss Scanwell attended his church, he had learned that the two were dating and now maintained some distance. The girl was now a subject of a case he would soon be part of overseeing. “I was thinking of paying her a visit to wish her well this holiday. Offer my best and all.”

“Dressed as you are she’s likely to think your the grim reaper not a well wishing visitor.” Miss Cross had entered his office and now stood arms crossed over stacks of files. She was wearing a cheery red suit with a Rudolf-the-red-nosed-reindeer pin on the left lapel. A pair of flashing light bulb earrings flickered festively from each ear. 

This only further proved her point as he caught sight of his reflection in the standing mirror of his small closet containing his robe and wig, it was important to maintain a professional appearance, one knew someone in ten steps he reminded himself. A dark crisp business suit not one color in his wardrobe, not even his tie was to be a splash of color against the black and white. “W-w,” He took a moment to steady himself. “-what would you recommend?” 

“Perhaps a jumper? You won’t be on the clock or the Queen’s salary even if you are you could use some cheer yourself. S’also cold outside might keep your” She stopped herself as if catching the word before it escaped her mind out her mouth, “-self-” clearly not the original word. “-from freezing.”

Hunt raised an eyebrow at her, “And where at this hour would I find such a jumper?” It was late enough in the evening and with the weather. 

“Well you might want to try opening the gift I gave you,” Violet gestured to the now buried under mail package. 

Hunt looked over and felt embarrassment creep up reddening  his face. “Miss Cross, I didn’t expect. Th-that is I didn’t get you anything.” 

“You could give me the holiday’s off, I’d like to spend time with my friends.” Violet looked at him. “Perhaps have my monitoring anklet removed?”

Josiah looked at her, “I’ll think about it.”

“ ‘course you will.” A look of disappointment mixed with what others would note as resentment. 

“Miss Cross, I must remind you, when you took this opportunity you agreed to the terms.” He had pulled his hands together almost like he was going to start praying. “Probation is not meant to be a permanent punishment, your freer than a cell.” He added. 

“Yes Sir,” Violet barely concealed the eye roll as she opened the door of his office. 

“And Miss Cross one more thing, if you could bring me a cup of tea that would be lovely. My office is rather cold today.”

“Or maybe it’s your heart,” She muttered under her breath.

“Wh-what was that?” He asked.

“Yes Sir.” She left his office giving him a forced smile. 

He sat at his desk and waited for a moment before going over to the package. Paper sporting holographic snowflakes on a green background, it was clearly wrapped with care topped with a bow with a candy cane pattern, now squashed. He was careful to unwrap the package folding the paper setting it aside he opened the box pulling back the tissue paper and felt a soft smile break over his face. Despite the short time of her working for him she had noted that he enjoyed reading and while he stayed to scripture mostly he did occasionally delve into fantasy literature. Upon a black background of cashmere was a Santa residing upon a throne of candy canes holding before him a candy cane like a sword stabbed into the ground. It was clearly a parody of Game of Thrones a book series, he hoped would be finished soon given the age of the author. 

Dark lense filtered eyes fell on the calendar, Miss Cross had been working for him in a form of internship rather than spending time in prison. An odd program he might turn into something bigger should it work well for her. He wasn’t completely heartless, she had worked hard and more than often proven herself to be much more reliable than initially thought. There was little he could do for the anklet being removed and he wasn’t certain that she was ready for that. His eyes drifted to the jumper still resting in the box in front of him, it was rather cold in his office. 

After some time he went out of his office as the day was coming to a close, perhaps she had gotten distracted and forgotten about his tea. That was fine, he didn’t need it now. The lobby movie had been shut off and the lights out. “Miss Cross?” He saw her getting ready to leave a warm hat pulled over her head. 

“Yes?” She looked up at him clearly tired or annoyed, with her the expressions seemed to be intertwined. 

“About the holidays, I suppose it wouldn’t be so har-hard to give you the day off or two, after all it is Christmas and perhaps allow for your anklet to be given a broader radius during those two days. I expect you to be back in your usual radius by the day a-after-” He had looked away from her as he continued holding out the letter bearing his signature and permission. 

Violet looked at him then spied the jumper pulled over his shirt neatly under his coat and a smile broke out, “Seems you aren’t such a Scrooge after all.” She took the letter then handed him a lukewarm mug of tea. “Sorry I forgot your tea Mr. Hunt.”

He allowed a soft tug of his own lips to turn up slightly though his lips were still rather tight-lined. Taking the mug of very over brewed tea.  “It’s alright Miss Cross, I can only imagine I’ve been a bit of a-”

“Git?” She blurted out then chuckled.

Hunt nodded, “That’s one way of putting it.” He was warmer now due to her gift. “Thank you for the Jumper, no one has given me such a thoughtful gi-gift in years.” 

“Thought you could use some color,” Violet smirked. “See you after the Holiday and Merry Christmas Mr. Hunt.” She nodded and left to finish up.

“Merry Christmas, Miss Cross,” Hunt smiled as he went back into his office. 

[janiedean]

Dear Cracktastic, I have no idea if you know or like Prince of Tennis but thanks to you I'm now imagining an high school AU where young prodigy Jaime, rather than losing his hand, completely wrecks his arm because he's a self-sacrificing idiot who'd do anything for his team (the Kingsguard, full of exceptional if not particularly nice or tactful slightly older players he desperately wants to impress, and lead by local Mad Coach Aerys?) except caring about his own health and well-being...

... which leads him to quitting tennis in just about every possible way when his team still loses the National tournament and many blame him for it as if he meant to get injured to sabotage them or something. A few years later, thankfully, his new jaded and bitter self runs into a fresh and hopeful tennis prodigy, who just happens to be in need of mentor who (unlike Coach Roelle) hasn't been giving her shit about how maybe she'd feel more "comtortable" in the boys' team for years by now. Bonus: at some point, in pure Prince of Tennis spirit, someone tries to bully Brienne by telling her that of course someone like her could only manage to get mentored by a guy who technically didn't even get to be an only glory - and Brienne reacts by almost hitting them in the face with the tennis ball in a move calculated to scare the shit out of them without actually harming them, right before indulging in a looooong flashback about romantically training on the riverbank with Jaime at sunset.

.......................... listen I don’t know shit about either tennis or prince of tennis but I WANT THIS AU LIKE NOTHING ELSE BECAUSE IT FITS SO PERFECTLY I WANT TO SCREAM TT

[notbang]

43. undone

Congratulations, you’ve won this cracktastic AU to 3.09.

Rebecca Bunch has unhinged him.

Poked, prodded, reshaped, redefined and then ultimately unraveled and undone him—it’s the only explanation for his idiotic, unprofessional and decidedly dangerously-skirting-the-lines-of-illegal behaviour. Rebecca Bunch dumped him and he’s losing his goddamn mind.

It’s the only explanation Nathaniel can come up with for how he finds himself in the back of an Uber in the early hours of Saturday morning, drunkenly making out with the office administrative assistant on their way back to her apartment.

*

He’s well on his way to seeing double by the time he bumps into her at the bar, so it takes him a second. There’s something naggingly familiar about the mousy girl that slides into the seat next to him, struggling to get a leg up on the slightly too-high stool, her phone gripped tightly in one hand.

Nathaniel does a double-take, then groans.

“Ugh, what are you doing here? And don’t you wear glasses?”

He gestures with a splayed palm at her face, and Maya’s hand goes instinctively up to her nose then stops when she realises there’s nothing there. She has to comically raise her minuscule voice for him to hear her above the music.

“I’m trying out contacts. And binge drinking. My self-esteem is currently at an uncharacteristic low and I caved to peer pressure and crushing societal expectations regarding beauty standards and how girls should just wanna have fun. Do you eat comfort carbs now?”

He looks down at the bowl of fries in front of him and then back up at her face. If he squints a little it’s definitely the same girl that leaves her weird arm-shaped backscratcher lying around the office in a questionable show of hygiene but if he doesn’t then she doesn’t and that almost, concerningly, works for him.

Maya looks down at her phone for a moment then huffs, shoving it aggressively into her purse.

In an unexpected twist she kisses him first, taking him by surprise so that all he can do is stare at her for a moment, her eyes impossibly close as she presses her mouth firmly against his. She makes to pull back when she realises he isn’t reciprocating but then he shuts off his brain and stumbles into her, hands grabbing blindly at whatever they can find.

He’s just a guy who’s been dumped, after all. He can’t be held responsible for his actions.

*

Maya is as impossibly tiny as he is tall, and the absurdity of the height difference doesn’t make it easy on either of them. He guesses she knows what he’s thinking as he trails his eyes over the surfaces of her apartment, calculating.

“My housemate has a swing,” she offers helpfully. “Clips right over the door.”

He’d be lying if he said his curiosity wasn’t piqued but he’s not sure either of them is currently coordinated enough to pull that off, and the bed is still looking like the easiest option. He steers them in what he hopes is the appropriate direction, helping her shed his shirt along the way. She’s less efficient in dealing with her dress and the confusing arrangement of undergarments beneath it, so he sits down on the end of her comforter and waits. She disappears into her walk-in robe.

“So even though this is just a one-night stand, I want you to know this bedroom is a safe space, and I don’t kink shame.”

She re-emerges wearing a pair of black Minnie Mouse ears, the pink sequinned bow fastened between them flopping down over her flushed forehead. She pushes it up in lieu of her glasses.

“It’s the best I could do on short notice. So anyway, what’s your fursona?”

He opens his mouth but no words come out because has no idea what the hell she’s talking about but he doesn’t get a chance to answer anyway because she’s on him again, launching herself into his lap with more energy than he thinks he’s ever seen her exhibit. He lets himself lean back into the mattress—she seems surprisingly happy to drive whatever the hell it is they’re doing and he figures her on top is probably the best way for them to go about this, anyway—and pats absently at his side pockets for his wallet, trying to remember if he still has a condom on hand.

Maya draws back suddenly, breathless.

“What are your feelings on three-ways? Would you participate in an MMF or no? As a loud and proud bisexual woman I definitely enjoy the MFF dynamic and feel like the alternative could be a bit much to deal with but I try to keep an open mind.”

He scrunches his face up and twists his head back on the pillows, heaving a heavy sigh.

“I don’t…” He shakes his head. “Do you always talk this much?”

“My friends tell me I’m a rambling drunk, which is why I normally stick to Shirley Temples. Sorry. Sometimes I lack boundaries and alcohol destroys the very delicate filter that holds back some of my more progressive thoughts. It’s okay, though—like I said, my apartment is a judgement free zone, so feel free to unload about whatever.”

“You need to take those off,” he says, jerking his chin up at the ears. “You barely look twelve on a good day so this is hard enough for me as it is. How old are you, anyway? You know what—never mind. As long as you’re above the age of consent, I don’t want to know.”

She slides off him, knees curling into her side.

“We ran into each other in a bar, remember?” she says, wringing the mouse ears in her hands. Then, “I think I’m having a quarter-life crisis.”

Something about the despondent look on her face reminds him briefly but agonisingly of Rebecca and he groans, scrubbing his hand over his eyes. He can’t deal with this right now.

There’s a chirrup from the nightstand and she reaches across him, narrowly avoiding elbowing him in the nose. After a minute Maya looks up from where her fist is clenching around her phone, jaw set defiantly.

“Have you ever tried cocaine?”

*

Nathaniel can’t get through to his guy so they settle for her bottle of peach schnapps instead, drinking out of coffee mugs, cross-legged on her living room carpet.

“You’re not missing out on much,” he assures her. “It was probably a bad idea anyway. We can not and say we did. Just tell your friends it was underwhelming. First times usually are.”

Maya downs the rest of her drink and rises to her feet. She’s pulled on his chambray shirt and she’s swimming in it, the soft blue-grey swamping her insignificant frame.

“So,” she says with renewed confidence. “Enough talking. Enough drinking. Let’s Ryan Gosling and Emma Stone this thing. Hashtag Crazy Stupid Love. Hashtag you raise me up. Hashtag the lion and the mouse. Hashtag… I’m all out of hashtags but let’s do it. Let’s go.”

“I don’t know if you know this,” Nathaniel says wryly, gazing up at her from the floor, “but you’re literally speaking another language right now.”

“You’ve never seen Crazy Stupid Love?” When he continues to stare at her blankly she tries again. “How about its seminal precursor, Dirty Dancing?”

“Ohh,” he says, pointing at her as understanding dawns on him. He pulls himself to his feet. “You want me to do the whole lift thing, right? Chicks dig that for some reason. Yeah, okay. What do you weigh, like ninety pounds? I could bench press you in my sleep. Let’s do it.”

She gauges the appropriate run-up and he catches her by the waist and hoists her over his head, surprising himself with the smoothness with which he manages to carry off the manoeuvre despite his inebriated state.

Maya lets out a tiny squeak, her small frame tensing in his hands.

He tries to peer up at her and stumbles backwards slightly, earning himself another yelp. Her eyes are scrunched tightly shut.

“Okay up there?”

“Perfect,” she insists, the high-pitch of her voice suggesting otherwise.

She doesn’t seem sure what to do with her legs and he readjusts his grip as she squirms, shifting the delicate illusion of balance he’s barely able to maintain. He realises she’s veering dangerously close to the overhead lamp and sidesteps out of its path.

“So now what?”

“Now you put me down. Only sexy.” The words come out garbled, in a tense and nervous rush. “It’s a tried and true romcom staple.”

He’s not sure he nails the brief but he manages to fumble her back to her feet without dropping her, setting her in front of him, only slightly unsteady.

“Was that seductive? Are you feeling seduced?” she asks, tugging on the hem of his shirt where it’s ridden up over her thighs.

“Sure,” he says, noncommittal. “Consider me seduced.”

When she shoves him back on the bed and crawls over him and he can’t get it up it’s absolutely only because Maya talks too much and he’s drunk too much and nothing to do with the fact that once he started earlier he now can’t stop thinking about Rebecca and the stubborn sting of her rejection, the fog of the alcohol no longer doing any good at keeping that particular hollow ache at bay. 

He grits his teeth and ignores the pricking sensation in his already bloodshot eyes. This has already been an embarrassing enough hit to his ego. He’s not going to cry as well.

*

Maya falls asleep halfway through administering the world’s most ineffectual hand-job and Nathaniel slips quietly from the bed, oddly relieved.

He passes out on her couch and when he wakes in the morning it’s to Maya looming over him in a fluffy robe—impressive, given her stature—her arms crossed haughtily over her chest.

She’s wearing her glasses again, and it’s oddly comforting despite the circumstances.

“There’s a bunch of rolled up bills on my coffee table. Did we do cocaine in my living room last night?”

“No,” Nathaniel says, waving his hand dismissively and trying to ignore the pounding in his temples as he sits up. “I mean, we thought about it. You wanted to practice rolling twenties just in case. But that’s as far as we got. Drank a lot of schnapps, though.”

She tugs her robe tighter around her with one hand, holding up his dress shirt in the other.

“Did we…?”

“Also no,” he supplies flatly. “Not for lack of trying, but it was probably for the best.”

She gingerly hands him back his shirt and he takes it, avoiding her eyes as he slides it over his shoulders and diffidently does up the buttons.

He realises he never asked her what exactly she had going on that had sent her off on her own personal spiral in the first place. He’s satisfied he didn’t, and still doesn’t want to.

He clears his throat.

“So if we could just never talk about this whole thing ever—and I do mean ever—again, that would be great.”

*

He pats her awkwardly on the head as he leaves.