#frat au next gen

[valaruakars]

We Have Chemistry (Together)

A bonus chapter/prequel oneshot for Let's Get Physical

Gen || Jayce & Viktor || 3.7k || Modern/College AU || Ao3 Link Tags: Baby frat boy Jayce, developing friendships, misunderstandings, emotional hurt/comfort (shitty), hazing, underage drinking (for us USAmericans), alternating POV, no Beef!Reader today sorry babes

Help is high on the list of what people typically want from Viktor. Usually in class. Sometimes in the elevator beforehand or in the hallway after, or following a light tap on the shoulder in the library. All academic help, strictly speaking. But this wasn't about their lab report.

Sweaty palms, shaky hands—he’s got one shot at this. One phone call. He knows the landline and his mom’s cell by heart, but he can’t call her. Can’t let her see him like this. Can’t think of who the hell else to call—who even memorizes phone numbers anymore?—so maybe he’d better get comfortable with sleeping upright and a permanent wedgie. There are worse things, like the disappointed purse of her lips; the way she sighs and bows her head and makes him wonder if it’s his fault her hair’s already shot through with gray.

Except.

Area code, same as the rest. Dorm number. Cait’s birthday.

He types it out. It looks as familiar on the screen now as the first time he saw that string of numbers, when the coincidences jumped out at him as the patterns in numbers always do. Enough to make an impression, apparently. Just like the person it belongs to.

Who, in all likelihood, won’t be thrilled about this.

But he decides then and there that he’s just desperate enough for normal underwear and his too-firm twin XL bed—and, fuck, there’s a quiz in materials performance first thing in the morning so he really needs the sleep—to hit call.

It rings three times. He feels a hot surge of nausea two in, the rising urge to puke into his purple foam hat. It’s bitter in his throat like those IPAs he didn’t want to drink in the first place, but he’s never been great with peer pressure.

And on the fourth, above the rustling:

“Hello?”

He sounds annoyed.

He usually sounds annoyed, but sometimes Jayce wonders if it’s all in his head, because Viktor’s voice softens when he explains the equations to the girl that sits next to him and snaps her gum too loud and misses every other class. He’s heard it gently ask the professor for a letter of recommendation in the hall after lecture, and lilt into the phone—in what? Russian?—on the bench outside before it. It’s only when Viktor’s talking to him, which is already rare, does it get quick and terse.

But maybe he hears it wrong half the time because there’s part of him that’s been intimidated since day one. That first day of class, when he’d taken the last seat at the front and stuck his hand out to the guy beside him. He was nervous. It felt like the right thing to do. But those egg-yolk eyes had ticked curtly from Jayce’s hand to the professor he’d just introduced himself to, with a detour to his crooked pink bow tie. Maybe it was a little much with the blazer and ironed slacks in sweltering August. And in hindsight, yeah, maybe shaking the professor’s hand and explaining how this class fit into his three year plan was definitely too much, but Jesus fucking Christ *was it also too much to just come out and call him egotistical *for it.

Without even shaking his hand! Who does that?

Really, he’s just trying to make this feel like a good idea. It’s not.

It’s also too late to back out. “Hey—Hi, yeah, it’s Jayce… Your lab partner. From chemistry?” He’s already started running his mouth.

“Ah. I realize.”

He wrings the hat in his lap. The iron-on stars are starting to peel off. Glitter flakes cling in the creases of his wet palms. It’s delusional, isn’t it, to imagine that Viktor doesn’t hate him.

Only with a deep breath can he get himself to say, “I know it’s late…”

“It is.”

“But I really need your help.”

—

Help is high on the list of what people typically want from Viktor.

It’s what he’s good for—all those questions along the lines of, ‘Did you do the homework?’ which means, ‘Can I copy it?’ (No.) Or, ‘Do you know what he’s talking about?’ which means, ‘Can you explain it like I’m five?’ (Yes, but try to keep up.) *Sometimes it’s, *‘Have you taken any of Heimer’s classes?’ which either means, ‘Can you give me the study guides?’ (There aren’t any.) or ‘Can you tutor me, but we somehow hook up and never speak of it again?’ (Depends.)

That’s usually in class. Sometimes in the elevator beforehand, or in the hallway after, or following a light tap on the shoulder in the library. All academic help, strictly speaking.

But this wasn’t about their lab report.

If anything, it should’ve been about their lab report. Because what else could Jayce Talis—who moved seats after the first day of class and made a face like a whipped animal when they were partnered for lab work last week, who pledged a fraternity (abhorrent) and has his pick of pretty friends—possibly want from him?

It feels as though he blinks and thirty five minutes of his life have just dissolved* since he hung up the call, so lost in theoreticals of *why *and *me that curiosity itself must’ve found his pants and his wallet and led him here by the hand. Rumpled, but fully clothed. This is novel and extremely necessary considering he’s standing in a squat, brutalist building at the front desk of campus security.

All because Jayce asked, ‘Can you come pick me up?’

And Viktor simply agreed.

There’s no bail, no paperwork, no real formality here. The only requirement to walk Jayce out is to be over the age of eighteen, and he clears that easily enough. The state ID he hands though the sliding glass window of reception says as much, but he still has to remind the campus cop who flips it over three times like there’s something confusing about it that it’s just as legitimate as a driver’s license, thank you.

“Time to go, Talis,” the man bellows, snapping Viktor’s ID onto the counter with thick fingers and no further acknowledgement. As he pockets it, a metal chair scrapes across the linoleum somewhere out of frame, behind a door with a decades old pin-punch lock.

“You’re a lucky one, kid,” the officer chuckles, deep and phlegmy with the sound of black lung. “If I hadn’t laughed so hard you’d be at county intake right now.”

“Do I… Um, do I need to sign something?” Jayce asks. His voice is world-weary more than ass-kissing.

“You want this on record?”

“No, sir.”

“Then there’s the exit.”

By that point, Viktor’s already tapping his way to it. Jayce will follow, and with his long legged stride, he will catch up easily. Probably to thank him with that performative politeness that drives him to say ma’am or sir *or to *shake the hands of strangers, and then they’ll go their separate ways after has Viktor served his purpose. Like whatever this was never happened.

Behind him, a hydraulic arm shrieks, the intake door claps shut, and Jayce whispers an apology to no one for rattling the lobby’s musty silence as Viktor pushes outside. The tepid night air rushing against his face, and because he’s not rude, he holds the door open for Jayce.

But Viktor gets stuck. Or maybe stunned. Perhaps it’s flummoxed, or even transfixed. There’s no one perfect word to describe why he’s stopped, blocking the door and staring, which is rude, but happens to him with enough regularity that he’s owed a pass or five, and he’s using one now.

He blinks.

Blinks again.

Once more, and yes, Jayce is still standing in the doorway clutching a cheap wizard hat in his hand and a child sized blanket around his body. It strains around the bulk of his arms, stretching, cracking the gold vinyl stars. It matches the purple beneath his eyes, complements the tawny red his face is turning, and does not, in fact, reach low enough to cover his too small speedo.

Or the knee high boots.

A cape, Viktor realizes. Not that he’s just eyed Jayce from top to bottom with enough scrutiny to notice that he’s unnaturally hairless and his thighs are ribbed with stretch marks, or that his own face is set in a hard frown like this is all somehow unsavory. (It’s… not. Definitely not.) No, Viktor simply notices that the starry patterned blanket has a collar, which makes it a cape.

And despite this revelation, the fact that Jayce is mostly naked remains unchanged.

‘Why’ is on the tip of his tongue. It usually is; its natural habitat is in his mouth. But Jayce’s eyes flit from Viktor’s down to his pointy toed boots, then back up again, and he preemptively explains, bitterly, “Nothing in the lost and found fit.” Which actually explains nothing.

Viktor nods as though he understands (he doesn’t), and forces himself to just start walking.

Jayce tails him down the sidewalk in uncomfortable silence. It’s when they pass the parking lot that Jayce picks up the pace, falling into stride side by side. The pieces fall into place too—late night, terrible costume, and now, the acerbic smell of stale beer wafting off him. Frat party.

It’s worse on Jayce’s breath. “So…” A tight, tried sort of impatience undercuts his attempt to sound casual. It’s familiar. Understandable, too, after sitting through a scared straight experience on a weeknight. “Where’d you park?” Jayce asks.

Lack of a car notwithstanding, the implication he’d ever be swindled out of eight hundred dollars a semester to park on campus is a joke. Not a laughable one. “I took the bus,” he flatly answers.

“Oh.”

For a moment, Viktor can ignore the palpable disappointment—that he is disappointing. He can even empathize with the situation. Riding public transit dressed like that isn’t exactly ideal. But then Jayce asks, “They run this late?”

“The city ones do.”

And then Jayce says, “It’s just… I don’t have any money.”

“They’re free to students.”

And then Jayce mutters, “Uh, cool. Good to know,” because he doesn’t have to know, has never had to know. And suddenly Viktor doesn’t feel so bad for him anymore, that he gets to learn tonight that need-based scholarships don’t buy cars or taxis, and that sometimes it’s slightly inconvenient when you fuck up. Perhaps that should be more obvious to someone who just lucked out with a slap on the wrist for flagrant underage drinking.

Except they stop and Jayce takes one look at the bus stop bench; notices—what is hopefully just—dried, congealed soda spilled across one side. He asks, “Do you want to sit?” because he’s ignorant, yes, but not the worst to ever live.

Viktor says, “No, thank you,” knowing what Jayce doesn’t: the bus schedule, and that up and down in short order won’t feel particularly good.

When it grinds to a halt at the curb two minutes later, Jayce pulls his student ID out of his boot and soldiers onboard with his head down. He collapses full bodied onto the seats running parallel down the center aisle the same way he'd collapsed on the bench outside: hunched over with his face in his hands. Luckily, people are sparse at this hour, and there is nobody sitting across from them. Unluckily, someone in the back laughs openly.

With so much space, Viktor leaves an open seat between them. It feels right. But in the awful fluorescence before the lights wink out, Jayce’s skin looks waxy and his shoulders rise and fall with the deep, intentional breaths, and Viktor is struck by how alone he is—how strange it is that he’s alone in this. Where are the drunk friends that should’ve been picked up with him, or the cavalry that should’ve pulled up in a dirty Jeep with Greek letters on the bumper to save him?

He sits up as the dark bus drives on, soberly tucking his cape and forearms over his stomach, and Viktor snatches his eyes away. It doesn’t add up—not really. Jayce* does not particularly like him*, and Jayce has other friends.

He should probably ask which dorm is Jayce’s or if he knows what stop to get off at, but he knows the right question now. “May I ask—?” Viktor tries.

Only to be shot down with a clipped, “No,” which is strange to be on the other side of, but he’ll learn nothing from it.

Viktor nods and sits back quietly, the plexiglass window cool against his skull. The vibrations ghost shifting patterns behind his eyes. The silence is filled with the rumble of the engine accelerating, and the time with drafting a polite, impersonal email in his head to request they not be partnered together in the future.

At the next stop, two people get off, and when the bus drives on the silence is different. It lacks the subtle undertone of whispers and snickering, of other passengers entirely. Viktor opens his eyes to find there’s no one else left but the driver with her headphones in.

“Okay, fine,” Jayce suddenly sighs, like he’s been holding his breath the whole time. “Ask.”

They don’t look at each other. Viktor watches the traffic light ahead tick to green out of the corner of his eye. “Why did you call me?”

Jayce leans back and groans, pained, into his hands. “No, about the outfit. You’re supposed to ask about the outfit, or the night, or how I got caught.” He pulls the tiny cape tightly around himself again. It doesn’t contain how badly he smells of pore-distilled alcohol and nervous sweat. “Any of those.”

He considers, briefly. “Explain the night, then.”

“I went to this pledge party…”

“On a Wednesday?” admonishes Viktor, who is known to stay out at the library until they banish him at close and sleeps the minimal amount to function most days of the week; who smokes and drinks and fucks enough for at least two frat boys, just in a wholly different context. Who is, sometimes, kind of a hypocrite.

“It’s Thursday now,” Jayce corrects as if it matters, stalling for seconds. “It was mandatory, okay?” He’s embarrassed, shrinking in his seat. “They had us drink, then confiscated our phones and gave us these costumes. I was supposed to do magic—” which explains the conical wizard hat, ”—but I wasn’t doing a good enough job, so I had to go out onto campus on a special errand,” he accentuates with limp, one handed air quotes, “to, uh, get something.”

“Is that not considered, eh…?” Viktor forgets the word. It doesn’t have much of a place in his vocabulary; was never really relevant during freshman year orientation.

“Yeah, it’s hazing, but it’s not a big deal,” Jayce snaps, filling it in defensively. He deflates just as quickly, resigning to his lot. “It’s just something that happens.”

But Viktor shrugs, “I see no benefit to the situation.” That’s putting it mildly. He’d rather amputate his own leg than be humiliated and told what to do. “Quit.”

This is, apparently, an offensive suggestion. “It’s—No, it’s about the connections.” Jayce is resolute. “Networking. Knowing the right people who can probably get me in the door at the places I want to be one day.”

One word stands out: “Probably?”

“It’s not exactly guaranteed, but if it means the odds are better…”Jayce is less resolute. Like he’s trying to convince himself, confidence in his own choices waxing and waning fretfully.

“And,” asks Viktor, “you think this is worth it?”

“I don’t know,” Jayce whispers in a small, scratchy, tired voice. He knows what this means. The heinous costume; risking his academic career; having to embarrass himself in front of a classmate he hardly knows or cares about. “I just… I thought it would make it easier to make friends, but I don’t want the whole *parties and drinking and girls and ‘haha, isn’t it funny I failed that test?’ *experience.” For a moment he looks like he wants to put his face into the hat in his lap and scream. Instead, he pinches his eyes shut. “They pushed me harder than anyone else tonight, because they know I don’t belong. My grades just bring up their stupid academic average.”

Viktor doesn’t know what to say. It’s not uncommon, this helpless sensation of floundering when confided in, when faced with the enormity of things outside his ability to change or control. He didn’t know what to say when the girl he was tutoring last year told him she lost her scholarship, or when he caught Heimerdinger’s last TA sitting shell shocked on the bathroom floor after finding out their partner cheated. He didn’t know what to say when his mother told him babička wanted to go home home to die (she’s fine, just dramatic and bitter about getting old), or when she saw him changing his shirt while they were packing up the apartment and cried for how she failed him (she didn’t).

He does know that saying I’m sorry never feels right. That it’s empty, and nobody really feels better hearing it. But Jayce is smart and attractive and also, perhaps, just dramatic too. He belongs somewhere, even if he hasn’t found that place yet. “How valuable could these, eh, connections with stupid people be, hm?”

“I mean,” Jayce mutters, “it’s not that they’re stupid—”

“Don’t argue. I’m aware of nepotism and how it functions,” Viktor huffs, tempered by Jayce’s soft laugh of the same quality. “There are always other avenues to get what or where you want. Find them. Your time is better spent than,” he gestures broadly, “on this.”

“Yeah…” Jayce nods. It’s a kinder resignation this time. The troubled creases in his face start to ease away. “Okay.”

Cars pass. Silence settles, strange in that it’s easy. Or, it starts to. But Jayce takes a breath. Hesitates. Takes another one that turns into, “There was no one I could call.” He crosses his legs. Uncrosses them again. Can’t get comfortable with himself or the admission:* *“Not because they took my phone, there just isn’t anyone else.”

“Your friends?”

“Still in high school, and she’s not even old enough to drive yet.” He finds himself on the receiving end of a curious stare, and gets the why of it wrong. “It’s not like that, I swear,” he cringes. “She’s a lesbian, Viktor.” Which is all fine and good, but has nothing to do with why Jayce is speaking in singular. He asked about the plural.

“Your roommate?” he tries.

“Dropped out two weeks ago, and please don’t suggest my mom next.” Jayce rolls his eyes, and they don’t find their way back. He stares off, down at the floor, canting his head away. There’s glitter in his hair. “Trust me on this. It’s not like I wanted someone who hates me but has an oddly memorable phone number to be my one phone call tonight.”

He would’ve been allowed multiple phone calls is the first thing that Viktor thinks. The second: “I don’t dislike you.”

Another eye roll. “You gave me a look.”

“I look at plenty of people,” Viktor hand waves.

“No, a look,” he insists. “It was this ‘if we were in a Russian prison right now, I would shank you’ kind of look.” Viktor narrows his eyes, so he specifies, “When we got assigned in lab?”

“Why,” Viktor asks slowly, “is the prison Russian in this scenario?”

“Because you’re—”

“No. Do not finish that sentence.” Wildly rude and too common of an assumption, but, “In the spirit of forgiveness, I will let that slide,” he holds up a slender finger, “once.” Jayce mouths sorry as Viktor considers the sort of look his face is being accused of. “I…” But he only remembers reading the clear disappointment on Jayce’s. “Was probably thinking about something at the time,” Viktor shrugs.

“How much you wish I’d switch majors?”

“Mm, no. It was the end of class, so probably how much homework I could accomplish before work study, or how late to my next class I could reasonably be if I showed up with coffee from the dining hall.”

“Yeah, but…” He pivots in his seat. His thighs squeak on the plastic. “But you still called me egotistical on the first day of class!”

Yes, when Jayce made a painful show of ingratiating himself to the professor before class. Jayce throws that in his face like some sort of gotcha; in reality, it ranks one of his top ten social failures. “It was a question.” He was simply asking if, in hindsight, the action could be misconstrued as egotistical. “Not a criticism.”

But Jayce scoffs, “How was I supposed to think that when you wouldn’t even shake my hand?”

“It was stuck.” Viktor lifts up his right hand. Empty, but the cane still comes with it, dangling where it’s looped around his wrist. “You took yours away before I could get it out of the strap.”

“But I didn’t know yet that you—” Jayce scrubs his hand down his face, quiet until he whispers a revelatory, “Fuck.” Then a slightly hysterical, breathy, “Fuck,” and he’s smiling, gap-toothed and too brilliant for the lateness of hour.

“Eh, still a weird thing to do, though,” Viktor shrugs. He’s smiling a little too. It’s a private, wry thing. It’s a start.

And by the time they finish, on the other side of campus, on a sidewalk, at a bus stop much like the one they came from, things are very different.

For instance, Jayce has put the horrible wizard hat on. Ironically, of course.

They meander past the library, its windows tall and dark, cutting across the quad in front of it toward the residence halls. “What was your special errand, anyhow?” Viktor asks. “You never said. I’m curious.”

“Yeah, well, I’m trying to forget the horrors. Y’know, of getting caught trying to break into a building with my entire ass out,” he says sheepishly, catching the hat as it starts to slip. It’s not his entire ass. Only about eighty five percent. “I had to borrow something.”

There’s a word he’s avoiding. “What, exactly, were you trying to steal?”

“Borrow,” Jayce counters. “There’s this paperweight in Heimer’s office. Looks kind of like chalcedony, but it does have these faint striations, so I think it might be agate—

“I’m familiar.”

“Anyways, that. I was supposed to get that. Probably because it was impossible.”

“Mm, no, not impossible,” Viktor hums. “You should’ve called me sooner,” he says, dragging a carabiner from his pocket, stripped of paint and utterly ancient. When he holds it up, the street lights catch on tens of little metal teeth. “I have the key.”

[feynites]

I know that this is going back a bit, but I was re-reading some Frat AU stories and was wondering, did you ever tell us how Pride came into Mythal's care? Did he get along well with any other Evanuris as a child?

Mythal’s grandfather had been known for his indiscretions, at least in certain circles. 

Her mother had been sure to keep track of such things, lest anyone come forward to try and claim rights to her inheritance. Which had been substantial for its time; though Mythal herself had been the one to build it into a proper empire.

She had inherited family secrets in addition to family funds, of course. Grandfather had three bastards, each to different servants in his household over the years. The eldest two, sons, had been successfully hushed up by way of some careful societal manipulations - some blackmail and slander angled towards their mothers, a well-timed of a modest sum to help ease the expenses, included along with some tickets out of Tevinter. One bastard uncle died in military service, before he ever - to Mythal’s knowledge - managed to spawn. The other was still living in Halamshiral, working in the pet supply business. His husband bred Anderfelian Mastiffs. They had raised several foster children, though Orlais’ adoption systems were sufficiently labyrinthine and costly enough to ensure that they had never legally adopted any of their progeny. 

The third, the youngest, was Mythal’s bastard aunt. Born ten just ten years before Mythal herself was. Grandfather, of course, attempted his usual routine, but by then he was getting on in his years. And Mythal’s mother had better control of the family’s assets, and was also in position of a bleeding heart. Vanas, as the girl was called, was born to one of the maids who worked at Grandfather’s summer house. She was, as Mythal’s mother would put it, ‘a little slow’. Medical professionals would probably have a more comprehensive term for it, but as ‘Aunt’ Vanas had never been diagnosed, Mythal was uncertain of it.

Vanas’ mother was given a permanent position working at one of grandfather’s garden supply stores, and a trust fund healthy enough to ensure that she and her daughter lived comfortably. Grandfather had never acknowledged her, but the little family had also never pressed for more. Vanas’ mother was, as Mythal understood it, a timid woman, so it was a surprise when she managed to get herself killed in her early twenties. Just a few weeks after her daughter’s sixth birthday, she was caught ‘stirring up trouble’ at an elven rally just outside of Minrathous. There was no autopsy and the official police report listed her cause of death only as ‘accidental’.

Six-year-old Vanas was placed with her mother’s surviving relatives, who proved far less tractable than their daughter. When she had first started inheriting the family secrets, Mythal had sifted through piles upon piles of paperwork. Attempts on the part of Vanas’ aunt and grandparents to sue to Evanuris estate. They had alleged sexual assault on the part of Grandfather, though of course they had no proof, and no daughter to even come forward and make the accusations herself. Vanas’ mother had been eighteen. Perfectly legal, if wholly reprehensible in terms of her grandfather’s behaviour - honestly, Mythal didn’t doubt the legitimacy of the case. But it had never gained any ground, either.

Her own mother’s guilt was evident in a multitude of payments and allowances, however. Some of the claims filed about Vanas’ care needs were inconsistent and even outright contradictory, but Mother had simply paid them all. By the time she had passed, Vanas was over thirty, and Mythal was in her twenties, and severely reducing the charity towards her had been simple enough. The first time her relatives kicked up a fuss, Mythal made it clear that they would no longer be indulged. She counter-sued them, and produced sufficient false tests and scores of discrediting information. An investment in and of itself, but at the end, not only was she no longer bleeding funds into her bastard aunt’s family, but Vanas’ paternity had been legally refuted.

Neatly closing that door; though, there was always the risk of a proper test somehow opening it again.

A risk which multiplied when Vanas had a child of her own. As with her mother, the parentage of her offspring was questionable. Sure enough, Vanas’ relatives used that as a sufficient excuse to have the child’s DNA tested - while the results did not miraculously narrow down the possible sire, they did match with Grandfather’s bloodline. But of course, by then the family had no means of obtaining skilled enough legal counsel to move forward on that. Mainly they had just sent a lot of scathing letters and e-mails, until Mythal had one of her lawyers threaten to sue them for harassment.

Vanas son, Isil, grew up. He was older than Mythal’s twins by a good four years. Still she kept an eye on him, particularly when he went off to college. By all accounts, he had inclinations in-keeping with Grandfather’s own. A family flaw, she supposed. At times she had been quite sure that Falon’Din had inherited it. Before she lost him, and then it hadn’t mattered anymore.

Grief made so many things seem hollow in its wake.

Isil was easy to track by his criminal record, at least. He never finished college, and was picked up multiple times for assault, harassment, petty theft, vandalism - the usual charges against angry young elves with no wealth or influence to shield them from consequence. He disappeared for a while, and Mythal wondered for a few years if he had just gotten himself thrown off a dock somewhere. When he came onto her radar again, he was living in the Free Marches. Apparently he had fled Minrathous and taken up in Starkhaven, instead, and was applying for a job with one of their gardening stores.

Concerning.

Some digging revealed that Isil didn’t seem to know the connection, however, and had simply been applying to most retailers who were willing to pay elven employees a decent wage. Mythal cleared him to get the job. It would make keeping an eye on him even easier. Though he was, without a doubt, a lackluster employee. 

At least his arrest record dropped significantly.

And if he had any bastards of his own, no one ever came forward with them. He attempted to start a string of online businesses, none of which lasted more than a year, or made any significant gains. He never married, but eventually he started living with one of his coworkers. Said coworker ended up moving out again after a few months, and vanished from Mythal’s notice, until they turned up a year after the fact, with a baby in tow.

Isil refused to open the door for them. Apparently it made for quite a scene on the street, and someone uploaded a video of an auburn-haired elf banging on the door and swearing inventively; a crying babe perched on their hip, while Isil could be seen peering out of the nearest window and then ducking away by turns. Amusing; but also tragic, and complicated.

Mythal did not consider the unacknowledged bastard of an unacknowledged bastard to be of much concern, truthfully. She had grandchildren by then, two foundlings, and parenthood was making Dirthamen increasingly intractable on the subject of the family business. But Elgar’nan was in raptures, of course, and she found herself endeared by the reminder of how sweet he was with little ones.

Still, she kept an eye on things. It always paid to keep an eye on things. Every so often someone had come forward to try and claim they were a part of the Evanuris family, and Mythal liked to know whether or not they actually were before she thoroughly destroyed them over the matter. It helped her determine how much she wanted to ruin their lives over it.

She wasn’t heartless. But she had no patience for inept social climbers.

A month after the video’s release, the baby - Pride, by name; ironic - turned up at one of Elgar’nan’s charity facilities. In Starkhaven, with legal relinquishment by his guardian taking place, rather than the usual drop-and-dash. Mythal was less than pleased with the official channels being used; it meant that the parent was potentially interested in trying to reclaim him.

She decided to leave things be, for a while. She considered having someone adopt the boy out. Isil didn’t seem concerned about the existence or fate of his spawn, and while the elf who had given birth to him had dotted their i’s and crossed their t’s on all the convoluted paperwork needed to ensure that he couldn’t be sent out into a closed adoption, they were a nobody. An unemployed cashier living on food stamps. It would be simple enough to change the paperwork. An elf like that would never be able to afford the legal advocacy needed to outdo her team.

Then Pride would be in the hands of people who would most likely never, ever be able to track down his parentage, and all would be well. She could close that door as soon as Isil died - most likely of lung cancer, given his preference for buying cigarettes. 

Ironically, those were also made by Evanuris factories.

But making a move risked tipping her interest, too. Paying people to interfere, even the must loyal of hirelings, left a trail of its own. And guilt often tended to intercede where little babies and remorseful, impoverished parents were concerned. So Mythal put the idea aside, and left things be. The first time she saw Pride in person was during the winder holidays, when Elgar’nan set out for his usual tour of gift-giving and visits to the children. She opted to go with him that year. Mostly out of curiosity.

Pride was a bright-eyed baby. Elgar’nan sat him on his knee for a good portion of his visit, and Mythal found herself scrutinizing him for familiar features, despite herself. He had auburn curls and pale skin, and one of those particular baby mouths that always looked to be on the verge of wobbling. 

He didn’t look the faintest thing like most members of her family. But he resembled Isil, and Vanas, and the sweetly-smiling maid Mythal had only ever seen in one photograph. And somehow he made her think of Dirthamen, too. When he was little enough to be carried around by Elgar’nan in that ridiculous chest harness; resting his cheek against his father’s chest, while Falon’Din drooled on his back.

The memory of her eldest sent a pang through her.

So much energy, she had put into her children. Carrying them and teaching them, making them fit to inherit their legacy. To help her expand it. But in the end, so much of it had been a waste. Falon’Din was a waste. Andruil seemed set on making herself a disgrace, and Dirthamen was growing more distant by the day. And Sylaise, petulant Sylaise, was still convinced that she could somehow outdo her.

The thought stayed with her, long after she and Elgar’nan had left the charity home. Somewhere in the grand scheme of raising her children, she had erred. 

But, that didn’t mean the situation couldn’t still be salvaged, either.

Her children knew one another, and they knew their inheritances. Dirthamen did not need to do much, in the end, to keep his position as the family’s heir. Andruil was obviously unsuited to it, and Sylaise had decided to fashion herself more as competition to Mythal than to any of her siblings. He knew that she couldn’t really replace him.

A new child, though... that might plant a seed of doubt in those three wayward heirs of hers. Might remind them that things are not always so secure as they believe.

And Pride is a member of the family. Albeit a secret one. Mythal would never actually supplant one of her children for some bastard cousin, of course, but she thinks her mother’s ghost would not be best pleased with her leaving the child in an orphanage. Acquiring him for herself, though, might just be the answer to more than one problem.

If anyone were to let slip that Pride’s paperwork had been changed, then the logical assumption would be that it was because Mythal and Elgar’nan wanted him all to themselves. Not that it had anything to do with his bloodline. Investigating that would, at best, turn up an unemployed cashier and a singular youtube video - not terribly incriminating elements in and of themselves.

The more she considered, the more she liked the idea. Orphan were often even more eager to please and insecure than most children, and going from a facility to a mansion with wealthy benefactors was an actual fairytale of sorts. Mythal would not officially adopt Pride, of course - but she could dangle the possibility in front of her children whilst fostering him. Grooming him for a suitable position in the company. How nervous would Sylaise become, should she educate the boy? How long it would take for Dirthamen to begin seeking her affections again, once he feared that his status as only surviving son might be lost? Even Andruil might temper her behaviour, particularly if Pride should turn out to be a mage...

But that would a sticking point. Evanurises were mages. Her children would not feel nearly threatened enough by some stray fosterling who had no magical talent.

Mythal deliberated, and then concluded that to be the deciding factor. If the child showed signs of magical aptitude, she would take him. If not, then she would arrange for him to find a home with some suitably ignorant family.

A year passed. Pride was still too young for magic to be determined either way, but his parent, inconveniently, decided to return to the charity house. They had found a job, they explained, and a place to live, and they wanted their son back. The facility, of course, had to hand the matter over to Starkhaven’s social services, to perform the necessary assessments and inspections. Which provoked questions, and questions were the very least of what Mythal wanted.

She called in a debt from an old friend, one she still had plenty of leverage against. And Pride’s inconvenient parent was given some... discouragement. Not directly connected with reclaiming her child, of course. No. That wouldn’t be needed. All that Mythal really needed was for them to doubt their ability to provide him with basic, essential care. They had already demonstrated a willingness to relinquish him under those circumstances, after all. So, the steady job was lost, and the little apartment they’d acquired was subjected to several inspections that deemed it unlivable, and inside of a month the ‘problem’ was back on the streets, sleeping in cardboard boxes once again.

With the case for reclaiming their son suitably destroyed, Mythal waited another year, and then altered Pride’s paperwork. She encouraged Elgar’nan to rebuild the orphanage in Starkhaven, to create better security, and in the meanwhile the children living there were sent to various other facilities. Ferelden’s, Kirkwall’s, Val Chevin’s... and of course, Arlathan’s.

The second time Mythal met Pride, he was sitting on a warm rug on a playroom floor, playing with the dust motes in the air. It was a subtle game. But as she watched him, he made little currents with his fingers; and the dust motes in the sunlight coming in through the windows all moved. He giggled, opening and closing his tiny fists, and did it again.

She made up her mind.

When she headed towards him, Pride looked up at her with wide eyes once again; and then a broad smile.

Mythal smiled back.

“Hello, little one,” she cooed.

[selenelavellan]

oh 16 Felasel and Darevas (frat next gen)

16. Hide and Seek/Manhunt

This depends a lot on where they’d be playing this, and how much prep time they’re allowed. If they get prep time, Felasel would probably win. Assuming it’s just a spur of the moment ‘on your mark get set go’ sort of deal...

Darevas would win.

He’s better outdoors than Felasel is. He’d be more willing to hide in unfamiliar places, and less prone to getting distracted by spirits. Plus, Darevas is better at thinking on his toes. He’s much better at ‘go with the flow’ than Felasel is, so I think he’d be better at moving when needed, as opposed to his brother who would likely just find One Good Spot and set up as many defenses as possible.

[vargonautic]

Boop! for anY OF THEM

Mirlen wants to visit All The Places. All of them. She travels as often as she can, but even at home never ever stops exploring. No matter if she’s on the same road to the house she walks every day, there’s a tree there somewhere she hasn’t climbed yet, surely

Sometimes it leads to new great views or neat hidden clearings, sometmes i leads to an angry old man yelling at her to get off his land

[hrryfics]

uni

Shakespeare (series) @strawberriestyles

In which Harry is a poetic frat boy who just so happens to be the TA for your new English class.

Symphonies of You (series) @theasstour

Part-time violinist and full-time procrastinator, Y/N, has a total of five problems after only the first week of starting Battersea, University of London.

The Tutor (mini series) @atlafan

Y/N is female hockey player, that needs a tutor for her psychology gen ed. Harry ends up being assigned to her, and at first she’s annoyed at how proper and studious he is. However, things change when she bumps into him one night at a party. 

Serendipity @stellarboystyles

friends to lovers college au

Past Lovers @oghoneytryst

where 18-year-old film student! harry exposes all of his vulnerabilities in one final plan of desperation

Criminology Instructor Part 2 @jawllines

Harry is Y/N’s Criminology instructor 

Romeo Plays Xbox @mysweetcreaturestories

So Long @harry-smiles

An AU where you and Harry are at university and the daily carpool turns into something more.

Literature @drowninherperfume

An imagine in which Harry is a literature student and conveniently, so are you.

You Absolute Asshole @rue-by-another-name

You keep parking in my parking spot right outside my house, you absolute asshole. Why do I have to wake up at 5am just to tell you off, only for you to smile and wave as if you aren’t a thief?

Can I sit next to you? @hesbrightstar

Harry and Y/N are both shy uni students who decide to get to know each other better. 

Breakout Room @gucciwins

Harry is chatty and Y/N wants out

Roses and Vanilla @stylesloveclub

In which y/n and Harry aren’t really close until y/n falls in the shower, and Harry falls in love.

Crush @jarofstyles

Harry and Y/N both have a crush on each other 

Drunken Football @lovetorn

a weekend getaway with harry and your friends 

Bunny @celestialrry

Harry's shy and you need a tutor.

[vveissesfleisch]

tog Chapters: 3/3 Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020) Rating: Explicit Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Characters: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Nile Freeman, Andy | Andromache of Scythia, Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Keane (The Old Guard) Summary:

The next several classes continue like this: Nicky finds his seat before the lecture, like any normal person who gives the barest minimum of fucks, and the Frat Boys show up between five and ten minutes late. Nicky turns to look, only in disapproval, of course, and Frat Boy 1 inevitably catches his lingering scowl and makes it known with a little wave or a wink or a salute, causing Nicky to avert his eyes and spend the remainder of class trying to slow his heart rate.

Today, however, instead of the usual acknowledgment, he lifts up his neon purple tank top to reveal an absolutely flawless, mouthwatering six pack.

Nicky blanches. He didn’t realize guys could look like that in real life, nevertheless guys he knows (rather, guys who are within irritating proximity to him due to gen ed requirements).

He drops his shirt with a smirk, then proceeds to have the audacity to blow Nicky a kiss. Nicky inhales sharply, but by the time he remembers to school the arousal on his face into a pissy glare, Frat Boy’s already facing forward, jotting down notes, looking for all the world like an innocent, diligent biology student.

What an absolute prick.

A/N: My Joe/Nicky college au is finally finished! Now featuring amazing art by @eiseul​ (embedded in chapter 1 of the fic!).

 Chapter 1 

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

[justanartsysideblog]

New Beginnings

Felasel and Cirimeni enjoying their first morning coffee in their new apartment, maybe? Cirimeni stole Felasel’s sweatshirt. Aaaaaaaalso...Happy Birthday @my-beautiful-thief!!!!

[goldendiie]

Did anyone ask for a Cars College AU?

Lightning McQueen: Trust fund freshman, full ride athletic scholarship for football. Majoring in business, but wants to make a career out of his sports. Paired up with Sally in a gen-ed history class, but they hate each other. They eventually run into each other at a frat party, and hit it off. 

Sally Carerra: Academic scholarship freshman, worked hard to get into the school. Majoring in law in the hopes of owning her own law office; can often be found at the library studying for her next exam. Paired up with McQueen in a gen-ed, dislikes him initially for his playboy “I-get-what-I-want” attitude. Once they get to talking, however, she grows to like him. 

Doc Hudson: Football coach and head of the Kinesiology department. Played for the NFL for a number of years before a career-ending injury, which made him incredibly jaded in the face of anyone else’s success. He initially tries to dissuade McQueen from becoming a professional athlete due to his own hubris, but eventually grows to foster him towards his dreams. 

Mater: Sophomore agriculture major, though is thinking of dropping out and going to trade school. Meets McQueen at the frat party, follows him around for a while, and formally introduces him to Sally.

Sheriff: Campus cop. Often hangs around the Kinesiology office with Doc. He’s generally pretty lenient, though he’s known for busting Fillmore and Ramone’s frat parties when they get too out of control.

Red: Campus fireman, hangs around Sheriff. He’s had to put out a fire at the frat more than once, but at least he’s getting paid for it. 

Flo: Junior music production major and cheer captain. Can usually be found hanging around Ramone’s frat, or at the karaoke bars around town. Comes to be one of Sally’s closest friends after meeting her at a frat party, and often has valuable advice about maneuvering the college life. 

Ramone: Junior design major, frat boy, and Flo’s boyfriend. Has ambitions of becoming a tattoo artist, though right now he’s mostly focused with throwing the biggest ragers of the season. He supplies the booze, Fillmore supplies the drugs, and everyone else supplies the fun. 

Fillmore: Junior poli-sci major, frat boy, local beer pong champion, and Sarge’s not-boyfriend. Very politically oriented-- if there’s a protest on campus, it’s more than likely that he’s there. Very good at getting ahold of drugs, though it’s not something he’s willing to risk his neck for. 

Sarge: Junior kinesiology major, wrestling captain, designated driver, and Fillmore’s not-boyfriend. He can often be found directly to Fillmore’s left; because of this, he’s an honorary member of the frat. 

Luigi & Guido: Sophomore exchange students from Italy, studying fashion design. They somehow end up at one of Ramone and Fillmore’s frat parties, and they make friends from there. 

[bastardtetsu]

critical thinking | ch①

pairing: kuroo tetsuro x gn!reader

genre: college au, enemies to lovers, tsundere!reader, slow burn

wc: 1.9k

warnings: swearing, being a theatre major 

※ mlist | ● ② ③ ④

you knew it was a dumb bitch move to procrastinate on your science requirement.

trying to schedule gen-eds around the demanding requirements of your theatre degree was already a nightmare, and your aversion to maths and sciences makes it even more difficult to find classes that both fit in your schedule AND don’t make you want to actively drop out of school. you weren’t sure why you thought putting off your one and only science credit until your final semester was going to solve any of that. so, you couldn’t be shocked when your only option to graduate on time ended up being 9am chemistry 1. on a monday, no less.

the first class is just as bad as you expect. the lecture drags on for ages, and as much as you will your sleepy morning brain to wrap your head around the concepts being thrown at you, no amount of caffeine, color-coded notes, or mental gymnastics can ford the river of brain-muddling frustration standing between you and a passing grade - the one you need to graduate.

panic begins to set in as you visualize all the hard work you put into your degree rendered useless, all because of a class that doesn’t even have to do with your field of study. who decided there had to be a science requirement anyway? i don’t need fucking chemistry to get a theatre degree??

“if you’re having trouble with anything,” your professor announces, bringing your attention back to the lecture that's finally wrapping up, “the tutoring center on campus is a great resource. i also hold office hours at the times listed on the syllabus. that’s our time for today folks, have a good week.”

you check the syllabus - all of the professor’s office hours conflict with your other classes, of course. asking your classmates is out of the question, seeing as you’re the lone arts major in a sea of STEM and pre-med. as annoying as it is to have to add another item to your schedule, tutoring seems like the only option if you want any hope of graduating. luckily you have some time before your next class, so you pack up your things and head for the tutoring center.

you pray that a decent chem tutor is available during any of your limited free time as you approach the lady at the desk of the tutoring office. she informs you of several with hours later in the week, none of which align with your schedule, and one who is available for the next hour. you figure tutoring right after class isn’t a bad deal - especially considering it’s your only option. the woman gives you a classroom number and a name - kuroo tetsuro - and you set out.

it doesn’t take you long to find the right classroom, but you aren’t prepared for the sight that is waiting for you there. a strong jawline and a mess of black hair that appears to stick up on its own catch your eye first as he taps away at his phone screen, his bored slouch doing nothing to hide his imposing height.

“um... hi, kuroo?” you say tentatively. his eyes glance up from his phone, slightly startled.

“oh, hey,” he responds, sitting up a bit, “you here for tutoring?”

“i am,” you reply with a half smile, “y/n.”

“kuroo. nice to meet you, y/n,” he pulls out the chair next to him as an invitation, “what year are you?”

“i’m a senior,” you say as you make your way over and sit down, “i’m in chem 1.” he definitely seems taller up close, even sitting down.

“chem 1? as a senior?” he asks derisively, his lips curling into a smirk. embarrassment and annoyance shoot through your chest.

“i’m a theatre major, alright,” you respond dryly, “i’m just trying to get my science credit and go.”

“left it ‘til the last minute, huh?” that smirk is still on his face.

“yeah, not my best decision,” you reply, trying not to let your annoyance seep through, “but i’m just trying to pass this class so i can graduate.”

“well, hopefully i can help with that,” he says smugly, “i may be a lowly business major, but i’m pretty good with chem if i do say so myself.”

a business major. of course. you’re familiar with the future capitalist machinery of the business school from your limited experience with the frat parties they so densely populated. needless to say, the impression was not good.

“so what do you need help with?”

“um...” you pondered, “all of it?” he snickered.

“you’re gonna have to be more specific if you wanna get anywhere.” his tone is dripping with amusement. is he trying to piss you off?

“ugh,” you let out an exasperated grunt, suddenly averse to showing any kind of weakness to this jerk. you pull out your notebook and flip to the page where you had attempted to take notes earlier. “this stuff.”

he leans over to take a look at your notes, and as his eyes scan the page you suddenly notice his smell - some fancy-smelling cologne with like, sandalwood or some shit - and his strong but elegant bone structure. i could cut myself on those cheekbones, you think.

“these notes are terrible.”

annnndddd he ruined it.

“well i can’t exactly take good notes if i have no clue what’s going on,” you counter, “isn’t that what you’re supposed to help me with?”

“i can try,” he says with an amused grin, “but I’ve never seen someone struggle this much with the basics on day one.”

now, you could put up with a lot of shit, but the one thing you cannot stand is being condescended to. especially not by some egotistical capitalist fucker who barely knows you.

“look,” you say pointedly, holding back the urge to throat punch him right then and there, “i’m really busy, and i just wanna pass this class, so if you could help me without being a dick about it i’d really appreciate it.”

“aw, but where’s the fun in that?”

his lips twist back into that patronizing smirk - he’s definitely trying to get a rise out of you.

“fuck off,” you say with a roll of your eyes, refusing to take his bait, “are you gonna teach me chemistry or not?”

he chuckles quietly again, thoroughly entertained. “sure. only because I’m so kind, and i could use the challenge.”

you scoff, but hold yourself back from retorting. you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

at first, it’s excruciating. you loathe this douchey business bro getting off on being condescending while explaining chemistry to you like you don’t understand anything - which, to be fair, you don’t. but that somehow makes you resent him more.

granted, once you actually get down to business, kuroo is actually a pretty good tutor. he’s not actively annoying when he’s actually trying to teach you something, and he’s surprisingly patient and good at breaking things down. dude is smart, there’s no denying that.

nevertheless, even when he’s not being snarky, every correction he makes seems to fluster you more. you hate looking stupid in front of others, and something about kuroo seems to amplify that feeling by a thousand. you blame his attitude.

as you fumble trying to wrap your head around the unfamiliar numbers, symbols, & formulas, you’re simultaneously attempting to maintain a shred of dignity in front of this man who clearly thinks of you as the dumbest bitch on the planet. and the more you struggle, the more you worry he’s right.

“seeeee? i told you it wasn’t that hard!” he hums as you finish off another homework question you’d been struggling with. he can’t seem to praise you without being patronizing as fuck, either. you look up from your page momentarily to shoot him a glare.

frustration and embarrassment simmer inside of you with each of his snide remarks, but you hold yourself together and divert the attention back to studying each time. the restraint it takes not to deck him right in his pretty face is honestly deserving of a nobel peace prize.

“not bad,” he muses as you finally finish off the last of your homework, “and it only took you two and a half hours!”

“i’m floored,” you deadpan. your brain is too exhausted to formulate a more clever comeback. then you suddenly realize - “hang on... has it actually been two and a half hours? i thought you were only available for one??”

“technically,” he shrugs, “that’s when my tutoring hours end. but I wasn’t doing anything after, and you seemed like you needed the extra help.” that shitty smile is back. you can feel your blood boiling, but at the same time that... is actually pretty nice of him?

“ah... th-thanks,” you mumble, still resistant to showing any signs of weakness - much less gratitude - to the messy-haired prick.

“so, should i expect you back next week?” his stare reminds you of a cat sizing up its prey.

“uh... maybe,” you say. you honestly don’t have an answer yet. “i have to run though, i’ve got another class to get to.”

“don’t be a stranger,” he grins, “you’re gonna need a lot of help if you wanna graduate.”

you shoot him another glare as you swing your bag over your shoulder.

“i’ll think about it.”

he's still smirking at you as you walk out the door.

—

as much as you’d like to deny it, there’s not much to think about. none of the other chem tutors are available when you are, and there’s no way you’re passing the class without the extra help. and, as insufferable as he is, kuroo did help you get through your entire first week of homework successfully.

of course, you still resent having to rely on some nasty ass, pompous business major to mansplain chemistry to you every week so you can graduate. well, technically it’s not mansplaining since you don’t actually know anything about chemistry. and you technically also asked him to do it. but god, does he have to be such a dick about it??

it’s just an hour or two once a week, you reassure yourself, you can put up with it.

this is easier said than done, of course. the following monday, you begrudgingly approach the same classroom, empty except for one (1) chickenhead douchebag, who promptly stares you down with the most shiteating smile you’ve ever seen.

“oya oya~ look who decided to come back!” he croons.

“don’t flatter yourself, it’s not like I had much of a choice,” you respond flatly. why is he still looking at me with that dumb expression?

“true, there’s no way you’re passing on your own.”

“listen,” you reply pointedly, “some people have better things to do than worry about how many neutrons are on hydrogen or whatever”

“hydrogen doesn’t have any neutrons.”

“COOL!!!! i just want to graduate!!”

“well then you’re gonna need to know that hydrogen doesn’t have any neutr-”

“ALRIGHT, i got it,” you huff, “can you just… help me figure out this balancing equations shit? WITHOUT being an asshole about it?”

“hmm… sorry, i can only accept one request at a time.”

this is gonna be a long fucking semester.

a/n: eeeeee this is the first time i’ve actually wholeheartedly attempted to write a fic in lord knows how long (possibly ever?? idk them memories repressed) and my first time posting my own writing so i hope y’all like it !! everybody who’s ready to see me trash talk k*roo t*tsuro say way ho

[scurvgirl]

Walk of Shame

I was listening to some music and “Walk of Shame” by P!nk came on and well...this idea happened. 

How Felasel and Katra met! Or how my brain thought of them meeting this afternoon.

Felasel belongs to @selenelavellan.

Frat AU

In retrospect, going “home” with a guy who lived in the fifteenth floor of a freshman high-rise dorm was probably not the best idea.

Katra moves her leg and the futon makes no noise – good. Bit by bit she inches off and away from the still naked nameless guy she met last night. He seemed decent enough, well, decent enough to give her an orgasm. She has no clue about the rest of him. She rummages as quietly as she can for her panties. She’s still wearing her bra thankfully, that’s ultimately more integral to her leaving her decent. She finds the frilly lacy things under a CD…right! The guy’s mixtape or something. Music major.

She grabs her skirt and matching crop top, then laces up her boots. She finds her purse and checks her phone.

6:45 AM.

Well. It’s not the earliest she’s ever left a one-night stand.

No messages thankfully, though she sees there’s a new email from her mother. Katra resists a groan and shimmies as quietly as she can out the door. The hallway is absolutely trashed and there’s a naked guy passed out in front of the communal bathroom. There’s a nearby blanket that she tosses over the guy because she’s just a good person that way.

The elevator. Where is the elevator?

She steps over Naked Guy and starts on her epic search for the elevator.

It’s…somewhere back, she thinks. Through the alcohol haze she thinks it’s in the far right…but it could also be left...or the other left. Oh boy. She sucks her bottom lip under her teeth and puts her hands on her hips. Well, shit. Why are there three hallways? Do they all lead to the place? Why isn’t there a fucking map?

A door clicks open just behind her and she turns to see a tall guy carefully step out of the room. He’s…an elf, which is a little surprising considering the height. But whatever.

“Hey, hey you,” she whispers. He turns to her and narrows his eyes.

“What?”

“Where’s the elevator?” She hisses. He raises an eyebrow at her and crosses his arms.

“Did you not come up on it?” He asks and she rolls his eyes.

“What? You want me to admit to my drunken slutty ways? Fine, yeah, I was drunk and a little distracted by the tail I was trying to snag. Now help a girl out? Elevator?” A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do and if that involves being upfront about her sleeping around –

“Felasel?” Comes a muffled voiced from the other side of the door. The guy’s eyes widen briefly and he starts walking at a brisk pace down the left-left hall.

“It’s this way,” he says in a dry tone.

She sucks in a breath and follows after him, “Ha! You’re just like me!”

“Excuse me?” He replies as he rounds another corner, jeez this thing is like a labyrinth – who designed this thing anyways?

“Don’t try to deny it – going to parties, getting drunk, sleeping around,” she says, skipping after him as quickly as she can. Him and his long legs carrying him farther than she can manage reasonably in her heals.

He sighs, “Don’t project your own coping mechanisms on me.”

“Oh ow, low blow mister literally running away from his one night stand,” she snipes back.

“I am walking.”

“Metaphorically running. He said your name and vroom vroom, off you go.” They finally make it to the elevator and she slams the button, summoning it from its depths.

“I am uninterested in the awkward ‘so that was nice,’ ‘yeah, um,’ – there’s no point,” he informs her and she nods.

“Yep. That and I couldn’t remember my guy’s name.” The elevator dings and they step into it. It makes a weird warbling noise and she frowns at it.

“Alright, if I had been sober I would not have gotten in this thing.”

“It’s fine, just old,” he says then presses the button to close the doors. The elevator begins its slow descent down and she fishes through her purse. Where is it, where is – aha!

“Huzzah!” She pulls out a pack of emergency toothbrushes with the little bead in the center for cleaning. It’s a new pack, never been opened and she quickly tears into it.

“There’s two, if you’d like one,” she offers. He looks down at the package, noting how it’s only just been opened. He takes the toothbrush and she stuffs the plastic back her purse before beginning to scrub at her teeth. It’s one of the first lessons she learned about sleeping around. Bring a toothbrush, your mouth is going to feel horrendously skunky and you won’t have a thing to alleviate it.

The elevator dings for a floor that is not the ground floor and she undoes it with the flick of her wrist and some well positioned magic.

She turns to see him scrubbing away at his teeth too. Good, she’s glad to help a fellow slut out, even if he is on the taciturn side. The elevator stops with a small jolt and the doors drag open on a screechy wheel. Honestly, who built this thing?

She makes her way to the water fountain visible from the elevator, quickly rinsing her mouth out. He joins her and makes a face of distaste as he cleans himself up. She adjusts her bra, not bothering to hide it. The thing hasn’t been on right all night and now it’s starting to really hurt. She fluffs her hair and checks her makeup in the compact in her purse. Not…horrible, though definitely sporting a more raccoon look than is attractive.

She looks over to the stranger, or…Felasel she guesses.

“Were you at the Omega Tau party last night?” She asks.

“Yes, briefly,” he answers coming up dripping and frowning.

Perfect!

“Awesome!” She exclaims, taking out a post-it note and pen. She quickly writes down her name and number and sticks it to shirt.

“Katra, call me! I can be your wingman, I’m awesome at getting people laid. Also, just a great friend in general, hit me up.” She wiggles her fingers at him, dons her sunglasses and strides out of the dorm and into the horrible sunlight. Yick.

Come Monday, classes start up with a sort of sickening glee. Yay learning but ugh, the homework involved. Another ignored voicemail from her mother and she bounds off to first class of the day. She skips by a coffee cart manned by an exceptionally handsome man and she winks at him as she passes.

Note to fucking self – wake up earlier to get hot coffee from hot hot man.

She finds her classroom without too much trouble thankfully and arrives a few minutes early. And lo! She strikes gold! In the corner sits a familiar face, dressed similarly to how he’d dressed that night.

“Felasel!” She waves and his head snaps up. She’s not sure if it’s panic or surprise on his face but it’s not a good expression.

She snags the seat next to him, plopping down with a wide smile.

“What a delight to see you again – in fresh clothing too!” She chuckles then pulls out a Tupperware filled with doughnuts left over from the night before. The bonus of being rich being and able to treat all your neighbors with doughnuts in the middle of the night. She holds it out to him.

“Hungry?”

He eyes the pastry before reaching in and taking one. He takes a bite then gestures at her.

“We’re not friends.”

“We’re going to be the best of friends,” she corrects and nibbles on her own doughnut. Oh college is going to be the best.

[pastelninjaimagines]

BNHA College AU (pt. 1)

The LoV

Tomura Shigaraki

Sophomore Poli Sci major with a minor he got unintentionally in Philosophy (he took so many philo courses for fun that when he got his degree it was put as his minor…oops)

His professors either hate him or love him bc he will debate them harshly in class, often twisting their words to prove his point which more than likely completely contradicts the professor’s standpoint. Other students learn quickly to stay clear out of the discussion when Tomura is arguing bc he will tear them down scathingly. His tongue spares no one. Most of his classmates, especially those in his major and that have multiple classes with him, hate his guts and love when he decides not to show up bc no one else can get a word in during discussion. He rules it and holds no punches. He’s been called in multiple times to his advisor’s office to discuss complaints. Not that Tomura cares in the slightest. It’s not his problem that other students can’t handle debates with him.

He joined the frat with the purpose of taking it over. He was a legacy and knew he was guaranteed a bid (thanks AFO). As soon as elections came up, he swooped right in and became president his second semester at college. 

Started a war with the other frat on campus after he got into an intense argument with the rival president during a party (*cough*it was with overhaul*cough*) and now everything is a competition between the two frats. From recruitment to who can throw the best party, it’s a feud. They both try to get the other frat in trouble, occasionally calling security over petty things or when the other has parties.

Has days where he always wants to be around someone and will knock on every door in the house until he finds someone to hang with or he’ll do a 180 and leave the house for a few days. No one’s quite sure where he goes. Also no one’s allowed in his room or he will throw a fit. It’s his personal space and it’s off limits for everyone who he doesn’t expressly decide to bring in. Dabi likes to jab that Tomura keeps dead bodies in there. 

Dabi

Junior history major bc he thought it would be a walk in the park...he was mistaken

Never goes to class or leaves his room, unless it’s to go smoke with Twice or for parties. He takes as many classes as he can online. The very definition of “c’s get degrees.” Completely regrets being a history major bc of all the research papers he has to write and how much of a pain researching can be, but it would be too late for him to change if he ever wants to graduate on time. And he does wanna graduate so he can stop relying on his old man’s money. 

He never goes home for breaks. He’ll stay in the frat house even over winter and summer break. He will go home with someone else if he’s invited. Jin has invited Dabi to come home with him for multiple summers after they became close and it’s become their tradition. Tomura noticed that Dabi stays over break very quickly despite it being something that’s not talked about and invited him to come with for the winter holiday as well. 

The incredibly reluctant vice president to Tomura’s president. It was the first time he ever decided to hold office, bc he decided that he could push most of the work onto Tomura and Jin. He ends up doing more work than he intended, vice often being more clerical work than president in the first place, but also bc he low key enjoys the work. And enjoys bossing everyone around. But he’s the best delegator anyone’s ever seen

Won’t see him emerge from his room for days until he runs out of his stashed food. Music is always blaring from his room to the point where almost every other frat brother has told him to turn it down and often not so nicely. When he goes for a night out, he very rarely returns home alone. Jin and Tomura who are his two neighbors either stay somewhere else until Dabi and his guest have quieted down (or he’s kicked his conquest out) or have to turn their music up if they don’t wanna hear Dabi’s bed banging against the wall.  

Chillest at parties, is the Plug(tm) and always on aux. A lot of freshman girls try to get his attention so that they can mooch off his booze and dope, sometimes it works sometimes it doesn’t. Depends solely on if he’s feeling generous that particular night or not. But bc he’s the definition of low key, he tries to keep the parties that they throw at the house from getting too crazy. No one wants the clean up nor do they want to get busted and have an infraction on the frat. Will kick people out for becoming too rowdy and heavily enforces the banned list. Just wants the parties to be chill and fun with people they like invited. Now, when the boys go out for parties, they can all be as crazy as they like bc it’s not in their home. 

Himiko Toga

Psych major with a minor in chemistry

graduated high school early so is on the younger end for being a college freshman, bc of this the boys are very protective of her during parties when other guys get a little too close

Joins basically every single club on campus after attending the club fair no matter what it is and after a couple of weeks knows basically everyone on campus. Toga ends up dropping most of them and only sticks with the sorority she joins, SGA as one of the freshman reps, and the chem club. She also tried out for the cheer squad, did it for a semester and then quit bc it was boring. Every year she goes through this cycle of joining new clubs and then dropping most if not all of them bc they can’t keep her interest

Within the sorority she’s the Social Chair and is always planning mixers with the frat. Every other week there will be a mixer between the two, most are just normal parties where the sorority goes over to the frat house and hangs out. Even if one isn’t planned, this normally occurs on the weekends. Toga herself practically lives over at the frat house bc she’s always there. She knows the door code and is usually just sitting on the common room couch if the boys are out. They’ll come back to find her there either watching tv or studying and not think anything of it. It’s abnormal if they don’t find her there. Otherwise, she’ll always knock on their doors until someone answers and invites herself in to hang out. She makes it her personal mission to get Dabi out of his room and be social. This has yet to truly succeed. 

Has constant crushes on random boys she sees at parties and talks to Jin about each and every one of them. But she never pursues them. She keeps it only to talking Twice’s ear off and stalking her would-be-crushes on social media. 

Twice/Jin Budaigawara

Maths major somehow 

he’s a two-year super senior bc he keeps failing his seminar and online classes that he forgets he has

When he does go to class he’s always late. Doesn’t matter how early he gets up, though most times it’s because he misses his alarm. Dabi lives in the room next to him and often bangs on the wall for Jin to stop his obnoxious alarm. That wakes him up. 

Somehow was elected the frat’s treasurer. He always forgets that people owe dues, so some members (Dabi) don’t pay until Jin eventually remembers…more than halfway through the semester. The frat is always able to finance their functions however, so Tomura doesn’t boot him from the position. 

Won’t do his own homework but will do others’ assignments for pay, or some weed (Dabi has him do his research papers when he’s feeling extra lazy). Will also help his fellow frat brothers and Toga on homework for the gen-ed required math course 

Spinner/Shuichi Iguchi 

Computer Science major sophomore

He aspires to be a game developer and goes religiously to class. He never wants to miss a day and the others give him shit for his perfect attendance. Also does all of his studying and homework in the library to make sure that he gets all of it done and in peace, otherwise when he’s at the frat house, someone is always bothering to play video games with him or just use his consoles. He’d rather do his work in private.

Has a student worker job as a server in the cafeteria. He prefers when he’s on kitchen duty and help prepare food, but ofc he’s almost always scheduled as a server. It’s a little more tolerable when he’s on deli duty and make sandwiches, but he hates being a server. Money is money though and he won’t quit. 

Gym rat and has thoughts about joining the wrestling team. Goes at really odd hours mostly at night after his shift at the caf to let out stress. And then after that plays hours of video games without showering. Everyone complains and Dabi has thrown soap at him to get the point across. Plays and doesn’t move until dawn. Someone functions enough to go to class and stay awake. No ones quite sure how he does it. 

He and Tomura have video game tournaments and it’s always a spectacle to see them go at it. Every week they try to best each other at a different game and it always involves major trash talk (the score is currently Tomura 56, Spinner 34 - and he’s salty Tomura beats him so much). They also talk about new releases together and revisit old favorites from their childhood. 

Mr. Compress/Sako Atsuhiro

Junior theater major with a minor in art theory 

“Come to the production we’re putting on, guys.” “Come to slam poetry tonight in the caf! There’s free food.” He will drag the others to all of his performances, often bribing them with food or alcohol. This works 95% of the time. 

He puts his all into his performances, often times getting lead roles. He’ll do his costumes himself and bring them back to the house to work on them and even props. He’s a pretty crafty guy and fixes anything that’s in need of mending in the house. All ripped clothes come to him for fixing. But, he spends countless hours preparing for his roles. He’ll often gather the boys (and Toga) in the common room and give a reading of his script, he’ll assign other parts at random and see the rest of the LoV unenthusiastically (aka just Tomura and Dabi - the rest are good sports helping Atsuhiro practice) read off the script while he puts his heart and soul into it. 

The Sergeant and Arms and the Social Chair for the frat. He enforces the rules but also plans the parties. Helps Dabi enforce the party “rules” when they throw one at the house. Keeps detailed lists of who can and cannot enter, and which brother brings which guest so that they can be held responsible. Pretty organized with his officer duties and keeps on top of things. Always tries to put on a show during the parties, whether it be magic or even getting karaoke started mostly to impress “the ladies.” Dabi likes to shut him down and tell them that’s not gonna get him laid. Also likes to host casino night and sets up tables for black jack and poker. These are always pretty fun bc he runs it like a speakeasy. “Invite only. Bet what you want at your own risk. The house will not reimburse for lost (or stolen) money.”

[feynites]

Was gonna do more Reincarnation AU, but I wanted a scene from the first lifetime to set some context. So here, have a sort of ‘jump back, jump ahead’ to Kel and Pride’s firstborn! (Doesn’t contain spoilers for how the actual main frat au plot arc will resolve, though). <3

“Babe, it’s not gonna fit,” Uthvir decides, actually a little winded, as Thenvunin lets out a frustrated sound and tries again.

The gigantic stuffed halla refuses to wedge itself any further into the backseat of their sedan, however. Its horns keep getting caught, and no matter how Uthvir tries to angle it from the other side, there’s just no way to squish the sheer bulk of it in without blocking the rear view more than their better sense would let them drive with. Thenvunin gives one last heave, trying to smush it down in a way that will at least let him close the door, and then finally seems to give up, too.

It’s his own fault, really.

Uthvir told him to go one size smaller.

“We’ll just take the truck,” they say, and not for the first time. “It fits in the truck.”

The truck in question is a relatively new acquisition, and no matter what Thenvunin says, Uthvir doesn’t think it’s actually a testament to some mid-life crisis on their part. It’s a good truck, particularly useful for driving out of the city, or hauling around ridiculously massive presents. Like giant stuffed halla. Uthvir doesn’t think the red is that dramatic, and in their defense, the flames were already painted along the sides when they got it.

“But what if we have to take the baby somewhere?” Thenvunin replies, slumping against the side of the sedan. He’s red-faced and winded, and as ever, that tends to make Uthvir think of other times when he tends to be red-faced and winded. His hair is braided back, and he’s wearing the ‘World’s Best Grandpa’ shirt that Pride gave him a couple weeks ago, as part of his ongoing efforts to get his father-in-law to glare at him less.

It was a smart move, Uthvir will grant.

“The car seat fits in the truck,” they say.

Thenvunin frowns.

“But the truck is too…” he says, gesturing vaguely. “It gets drafty in the cab.”

“It doesn’t,” they counter. Because it really doesn’t, the truck is new and very nicely insulated.

“Yes it does,” Thenvunin insists.

They let out a sigh.

“Well, then, if we need to take the baby somewhere, we can use Kel’s car,” they reason. “Or Eda’s.”

“Eda might not be there,” Thenvunin argues.

Uthvir just looks at him, at that. Their middle daughter has practically move in with Kel and Pride at this point. It’s looking to be a pretty steep competition over who will get to spoil the newest addition to their family more. Thenvunin is making a pretty obvious bid with the stuffed halla that’s taller than Uthvir is, and a lot of the kids are getting in on the action. Felasel was over the other day, still convinced that Kel named the baby after him and that this gives him ‘favourite uncle status’, despite Ileth holding a pretty clear lead thanks to the fridge full of pre-made meals he gave Kel and Pride as soon as the baby was born.

This kid is getting more attention and devotion than the Archon’s son, Uthvir suspects, and he’s not even old enough to hold his own head up yet.

Though in fairness, the premature birth had just about everyone on edge. Themselves not least of all.

Finally, Thenvunin relents in earnest.

“Alright,” he concedes. “We’ll take your truck.”

“Our truck,” Uthvir insists. “It’s a family truck.”

“Your truck,” Thenvunin counters. “I had nothing to do with that purchase, and neither did anyone else, for that matter.”

They roll their eyes.

“I can see you rolling your eyes,” their husband informs them, even though there’s no possible way he could, from over on the other side of the sedan.

“I just think that considering this truck is the only way you’re going to get your massive indulgence toy over to your grandson, you could be a little more accepting of it,” they reason, as they begin the process of getting the halla back out of the sedan. They’re going to have to move everything else they’re bringing, too, and get the sedan out of the driveway, so that they can back the truck down it. The little house they’re renting in Ferelden, just ten minutes of driving away from Kel and Pride’s place, is the only building on their block that even has a garage, and it’s a tight fit for it on the narrow lot anyway.

But Uthvir just drives the sedan out onto the street, and then helps move everything into the truck. Then they drive the truck out a little further down the street, and move the sedan into the garage, while Thenvunin runs back into the house to triple-check that they’ve remembered everything. Kel texts, and Uthvir admits that they’re going to be somewhat later than usual, but she assures them that everything is fine, and sends them another picture of their grandson. Currently nestled in his papae’s arms, still perilously small and fragile.

They’re staring at the latest photo when Thenvunin comes and taps on the window of the re-parked sedan.

“Everything alright?” he checks.

Uthvir nods, and hands him their phone so he can see the picture too. Thenvunin coos over it, and then it’s all they can do to move fast enough for him as he makes for the truck, hesitance all gone because he wants to see his grandson in a hurry, now. Uthvir drives, and Thenvunin uses his own phone to call Kel and announce that they’re coming – even though the drive really does take just ten minutes – and also to wonder if there’s anything else they should bring. They can hear their daughter’s voice on the other end of the line, fond and amused. It’s hard to tell how tired she sounds, though. Uthvir was exhausted for the first month after Virevas was born, and that was without any major complications involved. When Serahlin had Tonlen, which is probably the most comparable experience they can think of, everyone had pitched in because both mother and baby had needed so much recovery time.

“Did he sleep through the night?” Thenvunin asks.

They hear Kel laugh.

“Not even a little,” she admits, voice tinny through the phone’s receiver.

The house she and Pride have acquired is on a nicer lot than the one which Uthvir and Thenvunin are renting, but it isn’t very large, and it doesn’t have a driveway. It’s a very Fereldan sort of residence, with a brick wall shielding most of the garden and home from the street view, and a slanted, aged tile roof that Uthvir had triple-checked when the couple first moved in. It’s solid, though. There’s a small mabari statue by the mailbox, just a little stone carving that most of the houses on the street have, and some of Pride’s latest art projects drying out on the covered front porch.

Pride is also responsible, Uthvir knows, for the rich green paint on the front door, and the variety of odd lawn ornaments peppered throughout the front garden. In among the embrium and andraste’s grace, there are experimental wood and metal sculptures, and decorative boards, and clay pots. All painted. Pride’s ‘workshop’ is the renovated shed in the backyard, and despite Thenvunin’s tutting, he makes a fair amount of bonus cash from his hobbies. Enough so that they don’t have to help the couple cover their house payments anymore, even with Kel on maternity leave.

They knock, but since they’re expected, Uthvir doesn’t really wait before opening the front door.

The inside of the house is a bit of a mess.

Not really in the sense of being ‘unclean’, so much as in the sense of being very cluttered. Thenvunin’s halla barely fits into the front entryway, past the new pram and the shoe rack and a small pile of accumulated cardboard boxes, destined for recycling. There is baby paraphernalia practically everywhere, making the humble little seem all but overrun with it. Kel and Pride got doubles on a lot of supplies from well-meaning family, and part of Uthvir’s day is sectioned off for the simple act of ferrying the extra toys and crib mattresses and change tables and car seats and whatnot to the alienage daycare in the lower city.

Not that this has stopped Thenvunin from bringing his own continual stream of offerings. Though, apart from the massive halla, most of what they’ve brought are things like disposable wipes and baby-safe detergent and things which Kel had requested.

“Oh for... really…?” Pride’s voice reaches them, lost from the other side of the halla.

“Well, I hadn’t gotten him a toy yet,” Thenvunin declares, defensive now.

That’s a blatant lie, but Uthvir supposes that they are now solely responsible for all previous toy gifts.

“Papae,” they hear Kel say, with a note of fond amusement.

“Kel!” Thenvunin declares, shoving forward and forcefully depositing the halla into Pride’s arms. Which merits a solid ‘oomph’, as the thing is heavier than it looks, and somehow Uthvir thinks Thenvunin is not being as gentle with it as he could be. Pride staggers back, and they finally clear the entrance. Thenvunin is already hugging Kel by then, fussing over her in his usual way; Uthvir gives her a careful once-over. She’s in a soft shirt and shorts, and looks tired, but not exhausted, at least. She hasn’t bothered to put on her prosthetic. Pride has some bags under his eyes and baby powder on his elbow, and his hair is out of its usual ties.

They move past him, on a hunch, making for the little living room. Technically the living room is part of an addition that was put onto the house by its previous owners, who attempted some renovations – several of which were abandoned, and subsequently finished by Kel, mostly last year. The room is a pleasant space, with a skylight and high windows that do their best to make the most of Ferelden’s limited sunlight. There’s a small television set, often defeated by the subsequent glare that pours in from most corners of the room, and several large, comfortable couches; and Pride’s taste very evident in the decorations, and the bold splashes of colour on the walls.

Eda is sprawled on one of the couches, with her tiny nephew resting in her arms.

Uthvir feels a rush of warmth come over them. The kind that pushes Fear back, into little more than nervy whispers over how small and fragile their grandson is. He looks so much like Kel. But his eyes, when he blinks them open, are still pale, and they wonder if they will stay that way. Like his father’s.

For her part, Eda also looks like she didn’t get much rest the night before.

Uthvir brushes a hand over her head, and then over the baby’s. Fenasal. Trust Pride to name a child for wolves.

“Morning, Nanae,” Eda offers.

“Have you had breakfast?” they ask.

She wrinkles her nose.

“I just woke up,” she admits. “Puppy here had a crying jag last night.”

“Hm,” they reply, and reach, gently, for their grandson. “Go eat, then. Time for everyone to have a break while the grandparents take over.”

Eda grins, and Fenasal makes a tiny noise, as Uthvir settles him into their own arms.

“You just want a turn,” their daughter accuses.

They don’t deny it, only offering a shrug, before they press a kiss to their grandson’s head. He is too small. His lungs are still a cause for concern, just as they’d been with Tonlen. And they think he would have been a tiny baby anyway, just like his mother. Except he has more hair. Dark curls all around the top of his head.

Eda gets up, with a sigh, and Uthvir sinks into one of the living room chairs.

Fenasal blinks up at them.

“Good morning, Baby Blue,” they say, and brush his cheek with their finger. He wriggles a little, lost in the soft fabric of his onesie, and they pat him until he settles again. The small outfit has Olwyn’s tastes written all over it. They think they remember it from Kel’s baby shower, in fact. There are little paw prints on the feet, and tiny dog ears on the matching hat.

They fiddle with one, making soft, soothing sounds under their breath.

They’re not totally surprised when they look up, and are immediately greeted by the sight of Kel and Thenvunin both taking pictures of them with their phones.

“How many have you two taken by now?” they ask. Through the archway leading into the hall, they can see Pride struggling to try and get the giant halla up the stairs, and in the general vicinity of the nursery.

“Hardly enough,” Thenvunin insists.

“Fifty-two,” Kel admits. “I want more than one of him with everybody who loves him.”

Thenvunin nods in firm agreement with that plan, and Uthvir can only shake their head. Fondly. It’s not like they won’t get copies of them all, anyway. They can act like they’re somehow above the concept, although it’s difficult to hold onto any air of superiority, with Fenasal’s warm little body nestled in their arms.

“Does he need to eat?” they check, as Thenvunin moves alongside the chair. Hovering, and looking at the baby.

“No,” Kel assures them, shaking her head. “He just had his breakfast. I was going to take a shower, but I wanted to wait on you two first.”

They nod in understanding.

“Go shower,” they say. “Take a breather. Eat some breakfast, cuddle your husband. We can watch him for now.”

“Should we have stayed last night?” Thenvunin worries.

Kel shakes her head.

“There were three of us, Papae, it’s not like we were shorthanded. It just would have meant that nobody got any sleep because of fretting over him,” she reasons, and leans over to give her father’s cheek a kiss. And then she comes over, and Uthvir leans forward to press on to her, in turn. Freeing a hand up from Fenasal to curl it around her, so they can hold their daughter and their grandson at once.

It is a very nice moment.

Kel kisses Fenasal, and them, and then finally seems content enough to go and take her shower. Uthvir can feel the release of some nameless fear in her; she trusts them to look after her son, to the point where it steals their breath for a moment, and there is one consternated instant as Fear tries to process the sentiment.

Something in them, just ever-so-slightly, shifts.

But not in a way that Uthvir can really describe. And a moment later, Kel is going, and they can hear Eda in the kitchen, and Thenvunin settles down on the floor beside the chair they’ve claimed. Leaning in to brush his grandson’s head and kiss hi cheek, which prompts more wriggling from the baby in question.

“I think he’s a little sick of everyone’s affection,” Uthvir muses. “All these presumptuous people showering him in kisses. What a trial.”

“Nonsense,” Thenvunin counters. “He’s just bashful.”

They chuckle, and Fenasel looks at his grandfather, and flails a tiny arm in his direction. Between those curls and those eyes, Uthvir thinks he’s going to be a heartbreaker when he gets older.

Uthvir hangs onto him for as long as they can. Until Thenvunin starts making jealous noises, and then they finally relinquish him to his grandfather. By then Kel has finished her shower, and she and Eda are flopped over the master bed, eating what looks like Ileth’s pre-packed breakfast sandwiches and talking quietly among themselves. They tap on the doorframe to tell Kel that her father has her son, and then commandeer Pride to help them load up the truck with everything they need to take down to the alienage.

They’re in the midst of that when another car pulls up along the street. Small and silver, and they watch as Ashokara’s horns appear out of the passenger side, and then Melarue glides over to the front walk.

Pride stiffens like a student whose contraband-laden locker is about to be submitted to a surprise inspection.

“Melarue,” Uthvir greets, and finishing putting a spare bassinet into the back of the truck. “Ash.”

“Hey Nabae!” Ashokara greets.

“Is Kassaran not with you?” they check, and nudge Pride into handing them the box of disposable diapers. He and Kel have settled on using the cloth ones, but someone in the alienage will likely make good use of the extras.

“Mama’s tour doesn’t end for another week,” Ashokara admits. Melarue nods towards them, but carries past them, zeroing in on the door like an elf with a mission. It’s their first time actually visiting since Kel gave birth, by Uthvir’s count. They’re probably more eager to see their great-grandchild than they’d like to let on.

“Is she coming then?” they wonder.

“Should be,” Ash agrees. “What are you up to?”

They explain, and after a few minutes, Ashokara volunteers to help. That frees up Pride to go inside and make himself nervous over Melarue interacting with his son. Uthvir can feel his overall nervousness about it, even though his fears don’t seem concretely defined. He just seems to find Melarue vaguely ominous. Poor man’s probably got better instincts than he realizes; he was jumpy around Uthvir for several months, too.

Not that they, admittedly, didn’t give him some small reason to be.

“The way I figure it,” Ashokara says. “If I go in now, I’ll just be competing with Nanae to see the baby. But if I do it later, when everyone’s sleepy, then I’ll have better odds.”

“Good thinking,” Uthvir agrees. “And in the meantime, you can come with me to the daycare center. Should still be lots of little babies there.”

“You’re kind of brilliant, Nabae, have I ever told you that?” Ashokara asks, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet before heading for the passenger side of the truck.

“It’s come up before,” Uthvir allows.

Depending on how they time things, they can probably get to the alienage, drop off everything, and then stop by the university and pick Virevas up once her last class for the day is done. Then they think they’ll check in and just make certain that things aren’t getting too over-crowded for Kel or the baby. They let Ashokara fiddle with the radio stations as they make their way through the city.

“You know, you don’t really look old enough to be a grandparent,” Ash opines, halfway through the drive.

Uthvir pauses.

“But then I guess Nanae really doesn’t look old enough to be a great grandparent,” she adds. “On television everyone always looks, like, seventy when they’re a grandparent.”

“And they look thirty when they’re supposed to be in highschool,” they add, mostly on autopilot for a moment.

“True,” Ash agrees, and turns her head to watch some of the scenery go by.

Uthvir feels oddly rattled, though. They check their reflection in the rearview mirror. But it’s fine. They’ve been pacing their aging based on Thenvunin’s, after all, and the slight modifications to their shape are holding well enough. The few grey hairs, here and there. Some extra wrinkles and creases. A little more thinness to their lips.

It’s not really what they look like ‘naturally’, of course, but then, they’ve been changing that since they were a teenager.

Still. The new additions aren’t quite as effortless as the rest. If they really let go, really relaxed it all, the nails and the teeth would probably stay – but the rest wouldn’t. And then they would look too young to be a grandparent. They’d look like they were Virevas’ age. Because they don’t age.

Thenvunin gets older. Their friends get older. The children get older. Even little Fenasal is going to get older.

Time steals them away, year by year. Only, not all of them. Eda looks very youthful, still. Won the elven genetics lottery, people joke. And Selene is not quite so good at subtly adding the signs of time as they are, or as Melarue is. Melarue, who keeps their hair jet black, because dyes exist. Who skirts the line, because people expect famous movie stars to have access to the kinds of miraculous spa treatments and plastic surgeons who will keep them looking young until the day they die.

They remember when the woman sitting next to them was just a tiny girl, peering into Virevas’ crib with curious eyes.

A heavy, sunken feeling settles into them, and no matter how they try, they cannot quite chase it away for the rest of the drive. The elves in charge of the alienage daycare are very happy to receive their surplus gifts, and Ashokara gets to sit with some of them while they marvel over her horns and try to climb her like a jungle gym. But Uthvir hangs back, and cannot quite escape Fear’s whispers. That they are going to outlive these children. Outlive their own children. And their loved ones.

Unless they do something.

Unless they…

It’s a harder notion to fight than usual. They know they’re a little too quiet on the drive back, but Ashokara seems content to leave them be, at least. And Virevas is happy enough to chat on her phone after they pick her up. When they get back to Kel’s house, their daughter has commandeered her son away from his admirers. Pride is napping in the master bedroom, while Eda and Thenvunin show Melarue all of their accumulated photographs.

Melarue meets their stare from across the room, as Ashokara goes to join them.

Uthvir excuses themselves into the back garden, under the guise of seeing how badly some of the plants have suffered the midst of everyone’s distraction.

As it happens, though, most of them are fine. There’s a little pruning to be done, some odd weeds here or there, so they take care of that. But it’s not much of a distraction, and Fear keeps whispering. It doesn’t matter how safe they make things. Death is still coming. No matter how they try, if they don’t cross that line, then it will still win. It will still take Thenvunin, and Kel, and Virevas, and Fenasal, and right now that knowledge feels like a clawing beast, tearing at them from the inside-out.

Their nails are a little too long, as they accidentally uproot one of Kel’s mint plants instead of a weed, and have to carefully re-plant it. Patting down the soil around it, until they hear footsteps coming up behind them.

“Are you alright?”

Thenvunin.

They let out a breath. Wiping their hands off on their pants, and turning to look up towards him.

His brows are slightly furrowed, and his braid has gotten a little messy somewhere along the way. His World’s Best Grandpa shirt has a tiny amount of spit-up on one of the shoulders, now. He looks achingly beautiful, though, in his comfortable jeans and footwraps, with his crow’s feet at his eyes, and the slight softening that’s start to come into his figure.

He looks like home, and Uthvir knows with a sudden, fervent certainty that they’ll always be gone on him. No matter what.

And that they can’t ask him to endure this fate with them. Thenvunin should never have to watch his loved ones die.

They open their mouth, and then close it again. And then they give up, and take a step towards him, and pull him close. His arms come around them as they press their face against his chest, shifting until they can feel his heartbeat through the thin fabric of his shirt. He’s still here, he’s still here, he’s still here…

We haven’t lost them yet.

…But we will.

Thenvunin folds his arms around them. They can almost feel the confused worry in his expression, as he carefully rubs the backs of their shoulders.

“What’s happened? What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I…” Uthvir starts. But they can’t quite manage to get anything else out. They close their eyes, as their throat seems to seal itself shut.

“Uthvir?” Thenvunin checks, gently.

When they don’t really manage to answer, he rubs at their shoulders again.

“He’s alright,” he reminds them. “Did it all finally catch up with you? It’s alright, you know. I understand. I suppose I’ve melted down enough over it, I should have realized… do you want to go home? Or do you want me to go and get Fenasal? Or Kel?”

Uthvir sucks in another breath, and then lets it out again. Shakily. Taking a moment to let Thenvunin’s voice and touch draw them back to the ‘now’. They’re alright, yes, that’s true. They’re in Kel’s garden, and their daughters are fine, their nieces and nephews are fine, their friends are fine, and their grandson is fine. Thenvunin is in their arms.

Another breath, and the awful, clawing thing inside of them eases its assault enough for them to loosen their grip on him.

“Sorry,” they manage.

Thenvunin tuts.

“None of that,” he insists, pulling back enough to look at them properly. “What do you need?”

They consider.

Some distance, maybe. Space to breathe. To feel normal.

“Home?” they suggest, before they remind themselves that Thenvunin probably wants to stay as long as he can.

But he just nods, easily enough.

“I suppose the house is getting a little crowded,” he agrees. “We can come back another time. Melarue is hogging the baby anyway.”

He sniffs a little, obviously just a bit irritated over that. But also, not really.

Uthvir manages a smile, and reaches up to brush his cheek.

“I love you,” they need to say.

Thenvunin’s expression softens. He leans down, and presses a sweet kiss to them.

“And I love you, very much,” he replies.

They know.

Oh, they know.

[selenelavellan]

“I always read the rules before I break them,”

Darevas // Felasel

[vargonautic]

You make my heart feel like it’s summer When the rain is pouring down

I’ve had this idea forever and finally got to drawing it! Do listen to the song, it’s super cute and gave me loads of inspiration for this~

Vara belongs to @lycheemilkart <3  ^-^

[jewellsfrommaruss]

happy STS!!! say your WIP had a college AU. what would it be like? how would it change things?

@crystallized-ink! Thank you and don’t worry I got your follow up!

Morrigan - The reason half of the otp needs to somewhere else to stay during break since they can’t go home, still terrible but probably less murder

Jadette - Valedictorian, absolutely has a vicious rivalry with other high performing students, becomes an alumni after graduating

Porcia - Still a romantic, spends a lot of time in the library and probably has a booktube, she has several insufferable book opinions, absolutely has a thing for Mr. Darcy

Alwin - If one more person says ‘fashion’ isn’t a real major he WILL snap, his alcoholism is somehow both better and worse while he’s in college, the drinking culture is bad for him but he’s distanced from the reasons he’s self medicating

Abudemio - He has a quiet college life and tutors to make extra money which is how he meets Gareth, its of course only coincidence that he developed an interest in kick boxing after he learned Gareth was on the team

Mishca - Got a full ride on an athletic scholarship, track and field team! Does a lot of studying outside and study dates with cute girls, honestly with all the ‘studying’ she’s doing you’d think she’d have better grades smh

Cecilia - Has amazing grades but also a Reputation, she argues with teachers and students alike. Goes a little ham since this is her first time living on her own, hitting up concerts and cafes on a regular basis. Gets a seeing eye dog to help her get around

Timothy - Went because it seemed like something he was ‘supposed’ to do but didn’t do well, had a ton of fun though! Joined a frat and got big into school spirit then dropped out when he learned about Amok’s pregnancy to get married and support Amok finishing school

Nevan - Does most of his classes online because the crowds make him anxious, doesn’t do as well as Morrigan expected and knows it. For the most part his experience was very stressful but uneventful

Cheshire - No one knows how he got in least of all him, probably bribery or blackmail on Urshay’s part, but mostly went because loved ones wanted him to have something better then a life of crime. Juggles Theater and Cheer Squad and definitely prioritizes them over grades. Surprisingly not as much of a problem as he could be

There’s a 13 year age gap between Jadette and Cheshire/Nevan so they aren’t in college at the same time but it’s safe to say that the local college staff’s are relieved when the twins graduate which only lasts until the next gen shows up but still. I think some of the more intense parts of their stories might need to change to fit a contemporary setting Morrigan and Bridget would have spent some time in foster care, Chess as well and Morrigan probably wouldn’t get away as many murders in a modern setting but personality wise I think the characters would transition quite nicely!

[vveissesfleisch]

Chapter 1/2. 

Summary:

The next several classes continue like this: Nicky finds his seat before the lecture, like any normal person who gives the barest minimum of fucks, and the Frat Boys show up between five and ten minutes late. Nicky turns to look, only in disapproval, of course, and Frat Boy 1 inevitably catches his lingering scowl and makes it known with a little wave or a wink or a salute, causing Nicky to avert his eyes and spend the remainder of class trying to slow his heart rate.

Today, however, instead of the usual acknowledgment, he lifts up his neon purple tank top to reveal an absolutely flawless, mouthwatering six pack.

Nicky blanches. He didn’t realize guys could look like that in real life, nevertheless guys he knows (rather, guys who are within irritating proximity to him due to gen ed requirements).

He drops his shirt with a smirk, then proceeds to have the audacity to blow Nicky a kiss. Nicky inhales sharply, but by the time he remembers to school the arousal on his face into a pissy glare, Frat Boy’s already facing forward, jotting down notes, looking for all the world like an innocent, diligent biology student.

What an absolute prick.

A/N: never have i ever even considered writing a college au before joenicky, but this ship is really bringing out the best/worst in me. written for this double duty prompt over on the kinkmeme.