#but the simple truth is that the stress of junior year meant the bad kids barely got to interact with each other

[hootgrowlbears]

"Stop antagonizing the fucking Bad Kids."

It was Jace's words that really doomed all the Rat Grinders. Now they get to be like Dayne and Penelope, unimportant and unceremoniously murdered. Antagonists with little screen time. Easy for the Bad Kids to hate, impossible to pity.

If Jace hadn't said that, they might have been Like Aelwyn and Ragh. Constant thorns in the Bad Kids' sides, there for so long that it would stop hurting. For so long that the Bad Kids would actually want to understand why they were there, and get invested.

[svtskneecaps]

Walls Could Talk Part 1 ~ handsome student

(Seventeen Fic, Superpower! Non-Idol! High school! AU)

You’re just a high school kid trying to survive your senior year. Seems simple enough. Problem is, you landed a major crush on a good looking transfer student, and unfortunately, the both of you are hiding some abilities that are a bit less than normal, and there’s a ghost you thought you buried in your past that’s rearing his ugly head. So… maybe this won’t be as easy as you were hoping.

((Optional Main Cast Introduction))

You were not a tutor.

You were very afraid to take matters in your own hands and accidentally do things the wrong way. You were even more afraid to take matters in your own hands and accidentally teach someone to do something wrong. You were absolutely terrified to screw someone else over because you weren’t smart enough.

Working with the English Language Learners was different. English was a strong suit of yours. You’d grown up speaking the damn language, you knew what you were doing. It just came naturally; you didn’t even have to pay attention to get it. And besides, you were just a student assist there, not the freaking teacher! You just sat there and acted as a second opinion if asked and occasionally woke Jihoon when the over exhausted junior passed out on his desk again.

But this? This was different. This was new. You didn’t like it, not a bit, but also, you needed service hours and your teacher practically begged you to tutor this struggling student, so you’d signed up. Just because you adored that teacher and wanted to help her out because she was new and had a bunch of classes filled with those kinds of kids who were incapable of shutting their mouths.

Your math classes usually were. It was infuriating. You were almost shocked you were even able to pass the class yourself.

Oh shoot, you were complaining again. You hated it when you did that. Rambled off on the same shit over and over and no one shut you up. Purely out of habit you reached for your phone, maybe to text a friend, get some moral support-

You halted the motion. You forgot, you’d purged everyone from your phone and changed your number. You had three contacts now: your mom, your dad, and your grandparents, and you couldn’t text your online friend on school internet. No support was coming.

You’d been waiting in the math classroom for about fifteen minutes. Your teacher said you’d all meet there right after school. Either she’d been lying or you had gotten the room number wrong. You checked your email for the millionth time, rechecking the room number to make absolutely certain you were in the right spot. Really, none of this was helping with the backflips your internal organs were doing. You were going to be a professional gymnast by the time they showed up.

The math teacher entered the room twenty nine minutes and thirty two seconds after she said she would be there, according to the clock on the wall. “Sorry, one of my students stayed behind to take a quiz!”

“It’s fine,” you said almost automatically.

“Where’s Jun? I sent him down ahead of me.”

“Maybe he got lost?” you offered, sincerely hoping it wasn’t the Jun you were thinking of, because if it was, you were in need of a cliff. Nothing against him, just you were highly intimidated and weren’t sure how you could handle teaching him the weird math stuff like the unit circle or anti derivatives or something equally bananas.

Shoot, you got distracted. What was she saying?

“Oh, Jun!”

Shit.

So. . . you were right. It was Junhui Wen you were going to be tutoring. The really intimidating guy from sixth period ELL.

You were gonna implode.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said sheepishly (with that infuriatingly attractive accent of his, like could you get any more cliché but you absolutely loved accents and his was so cute). “I guess I didn’t understand the room number.”

“That’s okay, you’re here now,” your teacher said encouragingly. You did a mental sweep of your body, trying to make sure you weren’t visibly freaking out. Inside was enough. “Jun, this is Y/N. Y/N, Jun.”

You forced an uncertain smile and a quiet greeting. He beamed at you.

Jesus Christ, you were going to combust.

“I’ll leave you two to set up a schedule.” The teacher ducked out. No don’t go, I’ll straight up pass. . . . . Away.

You shifted awkwardly, even more afraid now that the adult was gone. Because of course you were. Time to fall back on your best excuse.

“My ride is actually here, and I don’t really want to keep them waiting,” you said. “Can we exchange numbers or something and maybe text tonight to set something up?”

“That’s fine!”

At least he was enthusiastic. You handed him your phone, trusting him to input his number as you input your own. You just titled the contact with your name. No need to be extravagant, even though you had all sorts of extravagant names. ‘Probably not captain america’ was your current personal favorite. Last week you’d had the sudden urge to change it to ‘extremely judgmental hat’. It wasn’t particularly funny, but it amused you.

You heard Jun laugh and your face caught fire. Did he see your contact names? Oh god, you forgot your dad’s contact was ‘overlarge lumberjack’. Did he know what that meant? Oh god. You had the sudden urge to hide yourself in a sweatshirt, but it was too hot for those still. Your short sleeved shirt didn’t exactly leave you much room to bury yourself.

He handed you your phone back, and you pocketed it, thinking that if he commented on how red your face definitely was you were going to blame it on a rare genetic condition and spew some sciency sounding words, like deoxyribonucleic acid and supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. “I’ll text you tonight then?” you said, as though your brain wasn’t essentially that Spongebob gif where everything’s on fire.

“Yeah.”

You beat a hasty retreat, slinging your things into the backseat of your car and not truly relaxing until you pulled out of the parking lot, resting your head on the steering wheel at a particularly long red light. Technically you hadn’t lied to him, you reasoned. Being your own ride, you hadn’t lied when you said your ride was there, and you didn’t want to keep yourself waiting because your mind would eat you alive if you did you had homework you needed to do, but it still wasn’t quite the truth. Not a lie, a misleading truth, you reasoned.

But maybe that was just as bad.

The memory of your anxious words resonated through your skull, every little falter, every slightly off pitch, every piece of intonation. You groaned, the only thing keeping you from slamming your head into the steering wheel of your car being the knowledge that she would complain about it until the end of time itself. That was unusual for a car, but not for Wendy, evidently.

“Bad day?” her metallic voice rang in your ears.

“You could call it that.”

You were long unfazed by objects talking to you. Actually, you’d never been fazed. It took you seven years to realize it wasn’t something everyone could do, which was about two years too long.

The car huffed, a puff of exhaust rising behind you like an exhale. “Was it Derek? Tell me it wasn’t Derek. No, tell me it was. I’ve got a couple things I’d like to do to him.” Her engine revved threateningly.

“Not Derek, don’t worry. Just the guy I’m going to tutor. It’s stressing me out a little.”

“Is he like Derek? Do you need me to run him over for you?”

“No no no, he’s nice,” you hastily reassured her. “I mean, I think so anyway.” You’d thought Derek was nice too.

“Green light,” the car warned. You looked up and refocused on driving as the car continued speaking. “You just say the word and I’ll get him, sweetheart. I ain’t about to let another Derek get within ten miles of hurting my baby girl.”

“Me either,” you mumbled. Never again.

< Prev | Masterlist | Next >

Sorry about the shoddy formatting on the pics n whatever. I fiddled with the html but it didn’t do jack so idk what to do.

Anyway, update schedule’s the same as Stop Loving (my previous text story; a Choi Seungcheol Hanahaki AU if that sounds interesting). Next update should come between Thursday, January 24 and Saturday, January 26.