Written as a combined fill for two prompts on the Kink meme:

1) Hipster!Jack

AU of movie events or human AU or AU of after movie events does not matter.

Just, Jack dresses like a hipster with the thick-rim glasses and the beanies and the skinny jeans and the scarves, etc. (He doesn't have to "act" like a hipster or "be" a hipster, though I don't really know what a hipster "acts" like so IDK, but the clothes, he has to wear the clothes)

And someone, someone likes it very much, very much indeed. Or maybe multiple someones. Just, Jack in hipster clothing, he's working them skinny jeans.

(If you can pull this off with JackRabbit or Jack/Bunny/Tooth or Jack/Everyone then you will win my eternal love)

2) Jack uses horrible pick up lines

Maybe a 5+1 (like maybe five times Jack used horrible pick up lines and got shot down and one time he didn't) or just a short (or long) fic.

But Jack uses horrible pick up lines and gets shot down a lot/laughed at or something and maybe one time (or more) it's more endearing than anything else.

Hope the OP-anons don't mind the combo fill, the ideas just meshed in my brain and, well, look what I've done now. THIS IS WHY I CAN'T BE LEFT UNNATTENDED ON THE KINK MEME, GUYS!

Joyce College of Art and Design, was perhaps one of the most prestigious arts schools in the country. When Aster had been writing his college applications, it had always been his first and foremost choice, despite being several states away from his family. The day the acceptance letter came was still possibly the best day of his life. Had packed his things, said goodbye to his friends and family, and made the cross country trip in his beat-up old Civic. He remembers now being so full of hope, high on his own aspirations. Someday soon, he'd be a world-renowned painter; who's oils would make people talk, and watercolours would make people cry.

Until he discovered that college was about 20 percent actual art, and about 80 percent academic bullshit. Like the mandatory English requirement he'd been dodging since first year, and now, with one semester left to go until graduation, forced to complete if he wanted a chance to walk that stage with his peers. Seriously, though, he'd been speaking the language since birth, and OK, the Aussie accent and uncommon vernacular were a little... exotic, but he got his point across. Mostly. Usually. Ok, Nick had to translate for his sometimes, but whatever.

Aster slumped into a chair in the back corner. He could already tell this class was going to be hell. Thank god Nick had been procrastinating too, and they were able to swing it so they were together in their misery. Aster didn't know how else he'd survive with his best friend at his side, and oh, look, speak of the devil, there was the tall Russian transfer student now, trailing along behind the pretty, delicate dark-skinned young lady he'd been practically salivating over since Spring Term two years back. He seemed to be doing well so far, speaking animatedly with the girl while she blushed and giggled, tiny hand with bubblegum pink nails over her magenta lips, her voluminous shirt a cacophony of different pinks and reds today, all offset by a wide white belt, a pair of white leggings and sunshine yellow pumps. Eye-catching Sheila, that one. Nick and the girl, Terri, no, Tara, or something, made their way to Aster's table and joined him, settling in and pulling out their books and binders while greeting him. Aster offers a friendly smile to both his friend and the new face, and then another to the young man with ruffled golden blonde hair and fantastic tan who pulls up the last chair in the rapidly-filling class. He gives his table mates a warm, sleepy smile, and Aster couldn't help but think he looked like should have a surfboard under his arm, and probably also a joint in his mouth, but Hell, Aster wasn't there to judge.

Until the twiggy kid in the skinny jeans with the plaid scarf and Hipster glasses came tearing into the class bare seconds before being tardy. The pair of beat-up converse on his feet smack the floor loudly with each surprisingly heavy footfall, and his spindly arms are weighed down with far too many books to fit into his ancient canvas messenger bag. The precarious stack nearly topples onto several other students as he makes his way to the back of the room toward the very last empty seat in the case at the table in front on Aster. As the boy closes in, he somehow manages to catch Aster's eyes, offering him a cheery grin that seemed somehow too wide for his thin face; chocolate brown hair and eyes stark against almost sickly-pale skin, and only accentuating the smudge of freckles across his nose. He somehow makes it into the chair without incident, depositing the books with a grunt and whipping out a notebook and pen with brisk efficiency just as the professor stands to begin. Try as he might, Aster can't quite keep his eyes off the back of the boy's remarkably boring head.

The class drags for the entire 90 minutes of the two hour class as the prof drones on about syllabuses and required reading and large group projects, and Aster feels his attention drifting off, reduced to doodling in the margins of his paper. He comes up with little cartoony caricatures of himself, Nick, Nick's girl, the blonde dude, and the hipster kid before a pile of books lands abruptly on the table in front of him, startling Aster so badly his pencil tears the page straight though skinny-kid's waifish figure. Aster looks up, heart racing in shock, straight into the very face he'd just been scribbling. Hipster kid has stunningly even, white teeth up close, even if an almost disturbing amount of them is currently being displayed by his smiling mouth.

"Wow, you really weren't paying attention, were you Fluffy?" The kid's voice is jovial as he deftly drags his chair, taking a backwards seat on the opposite side of the table from everyone. He learns forward, back curving so he can cross his arms on the low back of the chair and rest his chin on them, and the boy is so slender Aster can see the knobs of his spine through his god-awful sweater, with it's too-long sleeves and unfortunate hound's-tooth pattern clashing with the mustard yellow plaid of his scarf. Also, Fluffy? The boy can go fuck himself; seriously, it's not Aster's fault that even when shoved under his bandanna his unmanageable ash-blonde hair still curled so wildly it defied gravity. Aster scowls at the kid, hoping the power of his disapproval somehow manages to set the smug little face on fire, but the boy's still just grinning at him like the annoying little shit that he totally is. They stare each other off for what must be an uncomfortably long amount of time, but the grin never fades. OK, Aster's a little creeped out now, and he finds himself turning to look at Nick like the other could magically tell him why he was suddenly being harassed by a kid in dove grey skinny jeans. Nick just shrugs, used to Aster's mood swings and nonexistent attention span and proceeds to explain.

"Is group project, due last week of class. Presentation, essay, accompanying bibliography, to be completed in groups of five. Counts for half of final grade. Jack here would like to work with us." Nick's broad hand gesture makes it obvious that 'us' is everyone else seated at the table.

"No." Aster grumps, flopping back in his seat and crossing his arms in what he knows is a juvenile move, but whatever, he never claimed to be a paragon of maturity. "Not putting up with a snot-nosed little Twink in his Grandad's clothes."

"But Kangaroo, it'll be loads of fun! I'm the coolest kid in the class, promise. Besides, Twink's are kinda like chocolate sauce, we go well spread over anything." The last sentence was accompanied by a saucy wink in Aster's general direction. The boy had a surprisingly rich, deep voice for such a scrawny little bastard, which was totally hitting on Aster's long-standing voice kink. But honestly, he could ignore that. It didn't mean anything, really, because obviously his words were far more pathetic and infuriating then the voice was sexy.

Right?

"Kangaroo? You on something mate? Cause I'd love to see the Dean chuck you out on yer ear, ya drongo." The boy, Jack or something, whatever, just laughed.

"Aussie in a hoodie, what else would I call you, you haven't told me your name yet." Aster just glares again, holding his tongue to avoid losing his temper and causing a scene, but Nick, the disloyal bastard that he is, easily cuts in, knowing it'll be an eternal Mexican standoff if he doesn't.

"This is Aster, he is studio art major, painting is his, what you call, specialty?" Jack's attention snaps from Aster to Nick as the other man speaks, but it takes Aster a second to shake himself out of his focus and do the same. "I am Nick, transfer from great mother Russia, wonderful country! I am also studio art major; in Sculpture. This," here Nick indicated the pretty thing sitting next to him, "is Tiana, called Tooth. She is fashion major. To her right is, uh..." and Nick trails off, obviously not entirely sure who their final member is. The blonde in question is caught mid-yawn. He finishes and then smiles lazily, tapping his throat with two fingers and making a negative hand gesture. He tears a page of loose-leaf from his binder and writes a quick note in large, sweeping strokes of his pen. When he holds up the page, the whole group is able to read the three lines of block script:

SANDY

COMPUTER-GENERATED GRAPHICS AND DESIGN

S'UP, GUYS AND DOLL?

Aster feels himself smile; he thinks he likes this new guy. Of course that leaves-

"Jack Frost. Like I said, you probably haven't heard of me. I'm majoring in glassblowing, no fellatio jokes please. I'll be crashing your group this semester cause this guy" one thumb jerks in Sandy's direction "is the only person I know in here. And Tooth, was it?" Jack's mega-grin swivels in the sole females directions, the target looking a little surprised at being addressed directly. "May I say, that blouse is most certainly becoming on you." The comment flusters Tooth, the girl almost stammering her response, fingers rubbing at the opposite sleeve in bashfulness and Aster can see Nick's shoulders tightening.

"Ah, thank you Jack, it's an original design actually." Jack's grin goes from friendly to flirty in about half a second flat.

"Of course," the boy continues, "if I was on you, I'd most certainly be coming too."

There is a flat awkward silence, in with Tooth's eyes go very, very wide, and Nick's mouth gets very, very tight, and Aster's stomach get very, very tight, and Sandy tries very, very hard not to laugh. Then, Jack beats Sandy to it, howling like the monkey he is.

"Oh my god, you guys, it's a joke!" Jack rolls his eyes playfully as he speaks. "Jeeze, you didn't say nothing when I was scandalizing our friend from down under with my innuendo a second ago."

"That is different!" Nick's tone is stern, non-sense. "Tooth is lady, ladies are treated with respect, at least in Russia, we do. Are things so different here?" Jack seems to sense Nick's true hurt, and his smile dims a bit, holding his hands up palms forward in a conciliatory gesture.

"Easy big guy, no harm meant, seriously. Sorry Tooth. Nick, sorry for taking a pass at your girl, even in jest." Both Nick and Tooth seem taken aback by Jack's casual assumption about their relationship, eying each other furtively while they hastily stutter denials, and OK, Aster is totally locking them in the art supply closet in studio B that the earliest available opportunity. After he kick's Jack's bony little ass for upsetting them, of course.

"But honestly," Jack continues, graciously ignoring the couple who clearly aren't fooling anyone but themselves, "I won't do it again. Tooth's not even my type, lovely though you are, miss." Jack's smile is ingratiating enough that Aster can almost see the moment Tooth forgives him, tentatively smiling back. "Naw, my type are a little more male, if you know what I mean." Nick relaxes the rest of the way once he realizes that gay little stick men aren't a threat to his almost-girlfriend, smiling at both new additions as they all settle into brainstorming for their project. Aster attempts to join in, or at least listen, but there is something in Jack's profile as he leans forward, on his knees on the backwards chair, that keeps catching his attention in was both artistic, and very much not. He can already tell that this class is going to suck, and working with Jack will probably suck harder. Worse, he means, worse, cause 'harder' totally isn't giving him ideas right now, yeah.

And really; mandatory English class.

Just, fuck his life.