I should not be starting this fic before I've finished my other one, but someone prompted me this and it Could Not Wait. I am very invested.

Two things. One, I didn't change the names, maybe I'll explain it, maybe I won't, not knowing is half the fun for you! Two, this fic will contain references to drug and alcohol usage, gendered slurs, and possibly (when I get to it) sexual content. So basically, it's going to be a lot of fun!

Between not getting a single course she'd wanted, her new coach insisting on an extra hour of daily weight training to get her back in shape, and the horrible student health presentation in which they'd been made to sing a song about sexually transmitted diseases while putting condoms on a banana, Astrid's first week of college had turned out to be something of a bust.

One of her roommates smelled like weed, which made their apartment smell like weed. The girl, Ruff, had a twin brother in their year living down the hall like some cruel Residence Life joke. He also smelled like weed, all the time. Her other roommate, a dark-haired girl named Heather, kept to herself—Astrid had seen her maybe three times in the ten days they'd been living together. And every time she came home there was a new poster on their door:
FRESHMAN ICE CREAM SOCIAL! SUGGESTED DONATION $10!

Sign Up for Yoga with Krissy and Twist the Fat Away!

WRITE RIGHT! The Writing Resource Center is here whenever you need us! Open Saturdays 10-11!

She was perpetually tearing down these flyers and binning them, an exhausting exclamation point at the end of each long, tough day.

So when she'd stepped out of the elevator one night after practice to find a round, fair-haired boy taping something over the little brass 8G that identified this door as her door, to her apartment, Astrid growled.

The boy turned clumsily to find her standing six inches behind him. Growling.

"Oh, hi?" he squeaked.

"What is that?"

He looked over his shoulder at the poster, and lit up. "Oh, my apartment is having a Dungeons and Dragons party, we're inviting the whole floor." This soft blonde blubber person smiled at her. "You should come!"

"Do I look," said Astrid quietly, "like I'm into Dungeons and Dragons?"

He gave her a quick once-over, and she knew what he was seeing: the duffel bag slung over her shoulder, the nails a shade of purple so dark as to be mistaken for black, Prehealth Handbook shoved under one arm, damp hair dripping on to the heather grey shirt with NYU SWIMMING & DIVING printed across it in beveled collegiate letters.

"Um," said the boy.

Astrid, looking him right in the eye, reached over and ripped down the poster. "Don't put shit on my door."

"Okay. Sorry." He had started to shake with terror, and now scuttled away, glancing back as if he feared she might chase him. She felt a small twinge of guilt—very small—and glanced at the crumpled poster in her hand. It had a picture of Moo Shu from Mulan and asked her to COME PLAY DUNGEONS & DRAGONS WITH THE GUYS OF 8B, followed by a second picture of four boys in a kitchen resembling her own. There was the blubber kid, Ruff's dreadlock-wearing brother, a beefy black-haired guy in a Jets jersey (hard to believe he'd have anything to do with Dungeons & Dragons), and a fourth, whose face was mostly obscured by a cardboard box in his arms, like he'd been trying to avoid having his photo taken. She guessed it had been Move-In Day, would explain the box. She could tell he was a skinny, bony type of kid. Probably with self-esteem issues. "Dorks," she muttered, and went into her apartment, tossing the poster in the recycling.

Not that it mattered: the next morning, she found a crisp new one pinned to the fridge.

"Oh my god," she said, deadpan, "they've made it inside. Great."

"That's my brother's party," chimed Ruff around a mouthful of Cheerios. She was straddling a chair at the kitchen table. "You coming?"

Frowning at the image of box-face boy, Astrid opened the fridge and started searching for the coffee creamer. "I don't really feel like Dungeons and Dragons is my thing."

"Tuff says that's just the theme or something, like no one is actually going to do the stupid roleplay stuff, except like his weirdo roommates."

Blubber boy seemed like he'd qualify as a weirdo roommate. Box-face boy, too. So Astrid understood that much. She shut the fridge. "I don't know."

Ruff grinned. "There will be booze. And other good stuff. You know." Her eyes glazed over slightly. Their apartment wasn't going to start smelling better any time soon.

Astrid hadn't yet been to a proper college party. At her last rager, over the summer at this rich jerk's mansion, she had dumped her high school boyfriend of a year after catching him doing lines off of some model's breasts—she didn't miss LA prep school culture. At some point having calculus with a movie star's kid turned into everyone she knew snorting fucking cocaine and getting arrested for drag racing in the Hills. She'd gotten into that school on a scholarship; she commuted in her ancient dinky car from the downtown apartment her parents had bought back in the 70s. The money and the drugs didn't make sense. It had turned her off of parties for a while.

Still, this was a relatively small, nerdy get-together in a student apartment. And she'd come to New York determined not to take the past with her. She sighed. "I'll go for half an hour."

"We can get really fucked up in half an hour," said Ruff delightedly.

"It's dry season for diving." Astrid retreated to her room with her coffee.

Friday arrived and, as it turned out, drinking might've been about the only way to survive this mind-numbingly awful party. She considered breaking dry season—she considered quitting athletics altogether, honestly.

Immediately—immediately, like the moment she crossed the threshold of 8B, the beefy jock kid from the photo cornered her and started to flirt, aggressively. He was called Snot and he preceded to tell her the entire (long, boring, vulgar) story of how he had gotten this nickname, without ever telling her his real one, not that she wanted to know. He leered at her too, making Astrid regret the choice of tank top and short skirt. She'd thought the combat boots would offset the bare skin—it got warm at parties, she knew—but his eyes had stopped squarely at her thighs. Great. Ruff abandoned her, retreating with her brother and a couple of other kids into his room, and after a few minutes a familiar smell began to leak from beneath the door.

With nothing else to do, she spent the first twenty minutes of the party leaning against their kitchen counter with some awareness of Snot's droning on to her right. Slowly faces she recognized from the hall and the elevator and the lounge filtered in, clumps of exchange students speaking in their own languages, the "cool" RA who started doing shots with a cheerleader, the recognizable khaki-boat-shoes combo of her prep school comrades. They were all freshman, and a little awkward; everywhere she could see conversations stumbling, two people simultaneously asking each other inane questions after a long pause, one guy trying to chat up a girl for the first time. She found herself smiling. No one even mentioned Dungeons & Dragons.

That is, no one mentioned it until about minute forty-five, when suddenly Blubber appeared, and stood on a chair in the middle of the common area shouting, "THE DUNGEONS & DRAGONS GAME IS STARTING IN MY ROOM!"

"SHUT UP, INGERMAN," roared Snot, "No one cares about the dumb game!"

"HICCUP CARES," cried Blubber (Ingerman?), still standing on the chair.

"He's a dweeb too!"

"Heisn't, gameisinmyroom, byeeveryone." Ingerman scampered off and disappeared down the hallway.

Snot was fuming, which Astrid found rather funny.

"Is Hiccup the kid with the box?"

"What?" He eyed her distractedly.

"In the photo on your poster. There was one kid hiding behind a box."

"Oh. Yeah. He's weird," grunted Snot, and then he switched gears, leaning toward her. "So speaking of going to someone's room—"

"Nope." Astrid shoved her empty red cup (water only) at him and pushed past. "I think I'm gonna go check out this game, it sounds fun." She said this almost exclusively to rile him, which it did—she heard spluttering behind her as she headed down the hall.

The music was quieter here, and she saw that the farthest door down stood ajar, with quiet, intense voices issuing from within. Now that she had abandoned Snot, she had some regrets. Not even a little part of her wanted to participate in Dungeons & Dragons, though she realized now she didn't completely know what Dungeons & Dragons was, other than a game that popular culture had coded as geeky. Was there a board, did you move little dragons around on it? Or was it a video game? Astrid had a cousin who was crazy about video games. She played Halo with him at Christmas.

Okay. So she had, somehow, become a little curious. Maybe it was the frustration of a hard week and a harder summer, driving her to do something different. Maybe she just wanted to see what the kid behind the box looked like. It didn't seem worth speculating, so she trudged over and knocked gently on the open door as she entered.

Ruff and Tuff sat on the floor, both with slow, comfortable expressions that told her they were far from sober. Across from them was Ingerman—the name on the door had been crossed off, it now said Fishlegs. In front of him sat something resembling the display boards she'd used at the science fair in elementary school, but smaller and covered in medieval-ish art. There were papers and some weird dice scattered around him.

Away from them, standing with his back the room, was the tall, pencil-like boy from the photograph. He appeared to be propping the window open, saying, "—try to get the smell out of here."

"You're here," said Fishlegs in disbelief, gaping up at her.

The boy at the window turned around, alerted to developments. He had dark reddish hair and freckles, and a clean oval face with a wide mouth. He wore jeans and a brown t-shirt and a forest green hoodie, and the rattiest pair of Chuck Taylors she'd ever laid eyes on. She felt like he ought to be behind the counter up at Midtown Comics, arguing with a customer about their choice of Batman serial.

"You're Hiccup," she said, not sure what she had been expecting instead of… this.

"Yes," he replied slowly, affronted, "And you're… someone who knows my name?" They stared at each other across the room, Astrid gaping disconcertedly (not quite knowing why), Hiccup growing agitated in the persistence of her gaze.

"That's Astrid," Ruff offered, "My roommate. Blonde. She does swimsuit contests."

"I'm on the diving team," Astrid corrected flatly. Tuff laughed.

Hiccup, breaking their eye contact, took a seat on the floor of the room with his friends. He moved a little awkwardly, she wondered if she'd made him uncomfortable somehow—she hadn't meant to sound… you know. "So, Astrid," he said in a clipped tone, pulling one of the loose stacks of paper toward him, "Are you going to join us? Fishlegs is DM." She narrowed her eyes—she didn't like this guy's attitude, or the bizarre lingo.

"He's what?"

"Dungeon Master. He runs the game." Fishlegs waved his science fair display at her. Apparently this had something to do with running the game.

Astrid eyed the twins. "You two are playing?"

"They told me I would get to ride a dragon," Tuff told her seriously. Ruff nodded beside him, solemn. She sort of envied how far gone they both were, they'd probably have enjoyed anything just about then. Whereas Astrid…

Fishlegs handed Ruff and Tuff each a sheet of paper lined with words. "I've never…" she began, gesturing weakly to the game.

"Yeah, I sensed that," Hiccup quipped, but there was a chilly sarcasm about it. Astrid felt herself blush, a strange somatic reaction, and unusual for her, but she hated to seem foolish, especially around—well, it was sort of like she'd entered another universe when she stepped into this room. It was sort of like she'd entered another universe when she'd stepped on to this campus, and here she was having her first purely social experience at college, totally removed from the high school world she'd navigated masterfully. A valedictorian prom queen and nationally ranked athlete blushing because some skinny idiot thought she was ignorant about a fucking roleplaying game. Oh how the mighty had plummeted.

Fishlegs peered at Hiccup, himself puzzled and embarrassed at his friend's behavior. "Hiccup has been playing for years," he explained, trying to rationalize the tension. "He's the best, his character is amazing." Hiccup did not respond to this flattery but sifted through the papers in his lap.

"His character," Astrid repeated.

"Yeah, you get a character, and the DM—that's me—will guide you through an adventure. It's fun. We have extra characters made up." He patted a folder at his side, regarding her hopefully.

But between Hiccup's damn rudeness and her own discomfort with the game, she could sense her retreat coming on. "Sorry," she managed, the denial clear in her voice, and Fishlegs's face fell. He glanced at Hiccup again, and the other boy looked up finally.

"That's fine. Game like this isn't really for you, anyway."

Astrid didn't even have time to register the indignation that rose in her throat, because there was a thump in the hall and Snot appeared in the doorway, gesturing at her. "Babe. Where have you been?"

"I'm not your babe, idiot."

"You're not allowed in my room, Snot," said Fishlegs, an octave higher than usual, like he was pleading with a furious older brother.

"Whatever." Snot reached for her arm but she grabbed his hand and pinned it backwards, causing him to yelp and everyone else in the room to gasp collectively. (Diver and black belt.)

"Don't touch me," she spit.

After a few seconds of delightful anguish, Astrid released her hold on Snot, but her peers remained silent, staring at her. She glanced at Hiccup—his expression had shifted from disdain to something that might've been admiration. He'd underestimated her. Prick, she thought. You're next.

With four sets of eyes still on her—Snot's were screwed up as he whimpered and held his likely sprained wrist—Astrid shook her head and pushed by him. "Thanks for the party."

As she marched down the hall back to the apartment, she heard over and over, game like this isn't really for you, anyway. A stereo throbbed in the apartment above hers, shaking the door as she tried to insert her key. Why did some nerdy stranger get to decide what game wasn't for her? It was just a stupid game, like Scrabble, or Yahtzee. There'd been a brief period of her life when she thought she was into geek boys, but dating one had proved impossible—he'd been arrogant, and took all of that science fiction shit way too seriously. Once he'd called her a bitch for saying she thought Nelson Mandela had contributed more to the world than George Lucas. (The relationship hadn't lasted long after that.) Game like this isn't really for you, anyway. Hiccup probably got weird boners thinking about George Lucas, or something. She made it into her apartment.

Heather was on the sofa, and some guy was on Heather. Okay, not like on her, they were fully clothed, but it was enough to make Astrid shriek and dart back into the kitchen. "Sorry, sorry," came her roommate's voice, "We're going to my room." She heard scuffing and fading footsteps, and a door shut on the other side of the apartment. Moving gradually, as if she'd just woken from a long sleep, Astrid went into the lounge and sat on the sofa, trying not to think about its last occupants. Her computer was out on the coffee table, and she pulled it on to her lap and opened it. All the tabs were course listings and advice on Premed and a couple online shopping things she'd been checking out. When was the last time she'd checked Facebook, even? She rubbed her eyes—maybe leaving the party had been a bad idea. She could've stayed, tried to make friends. It was only ten o'clock, how sad.

Then again, did she even want any of those people for her friends? She was stuck with Ruff and the brother. Fishlegs seemed okay, if a little bland for her tastes. Snot was awful. Hiccup was… Hard question.

She had an idea. Stupid, maybe, but in the moment it filled her belly with fire; a grin spread across her face. She opened a new tab.

In high school Astrid had been popular and successful to the point where she defied labels; she was studious and ambitious, but had never been called a nerd; she went to swim meets every weekend and worked relentlessly on her times, but had never been called a jock; she dated a slew of boys (and, quietly, a couple of girls) until her last boyfriend, but had never been called a slut. The problem was, she couldn't remember how she'd done it. Something told her it wouldn't be quite as easy the second time around. College wasn't high school. The rules were different here.

But Astrid was smart. She could adapt. She could work at it again, one step at a time. All she had needed was an idea.

"Why did you act like that to her?"

Hiccup frowned at his toast. Fishlegs's question burst out of him two minutes into their breakfast, a half-whispered bullet across the dining hall table. Next to them, Tuff was devouring two massive cinnamon rolls.

"I don't know," Hiccup lied.

"She was so pretty. She just wanted to be our friend," Fishlegs moaned, shoveling bran flakes into his mouth.

"You can't just want to be friends with girls because they're pretty, Fishlegs."

"That's not the only reason I want to be friends with her. I was just stating an objective fact, that she is the most beautiful woman in the world."

"Beautiful and scary," agreed Tuff.

"Okay," grumbled Hiccup. A beautiful and scary girl who'd looked at him with such obsessive revulsion, like she was surprised to find him just so unattractive. Like, wow, I thought this kid named Hiccup was going to be gross, but man, I was not prepared for this level of nasty. It had ruined his whole night. They hadn't even had a good campaign after, he'd been too distracted to get anything done. So he'd been a little rude. It's not like they'd ever see her again—she'd probably get a boyfriend who played football and then she'd become president of the class, and it would be high school all over again. She wouldn't even remember the nobody who'd kept her from ruining his game of D&D with her long, milky legs—

"I need another cup of coffee," he announced to his friends, and started to get up from the table.

Tuff pointed past Hiccup, to where he and Fishlegs were now staring. "Might wanna hold off on that."

"We're going to die," breathed Fishlegs.

Hiccup turned. There, stomping toward him in a flurry of radiant yellow-haired beauty and glaring, was Astrid. She was clutching a sheet of paper in her hand.

"YOU," she called across the hall, so that most of the people between them were forced to stop in the middle of their meals and watch a princess come straight at a talking fishbone, murder in her eyes.

"Good morning, Astrid," he choked out.

"I've got my character sheet." She thrust the paper in his face. "I spent all night figuring it out."

It took Hiccup a moment. Actually, it took Hiccup several moments. This girl… had a character sheet. She spent all night making her character sheet.

"For… Dungeons & Dragons?"

"Yes, for DND." She practically spit the acronym at him, showing off her knowledge.

"You want to play Dungeons & Dragons," he said, trying to see if the sentence would sound more plausible outside of his head. It did not. She was supposed to forget he existed—president of the class—this was just like high school! It was just like high school.

Astrid drew herself up to her full height, which was still about a hand shorter than Hiccup. "I want to play Dungeons & Dragons. Your place, tonight. I know you don't have other plans."

"I do not have other plans," he confirmed. His own voice sounded watery in his ears. This was some kind of sexual nightmare, it had to be.

"Great. See you at nine." She flipped her bangs out of her face and marched off. Hiccup collapsed back into his seat, in numb silence. Fishlegs and Tuff gaped at him like he'd just emerged unscathed from the pit of hell. Last night they had all witnessed Astrid assault Snot, who was definitely the least assaultable of the three of them. But Hiccup had come through unharmed. He had come through with—

"A date," Tuff roared with laughter, "A weird, scary, beautiful date!"