drafts, scraps, wips ☆ random bursts of unorganised late night creativity stuff

some of these are very old pieces sitting in my notes app still, and I wince at them. but they're something. bnha fanfic scrap from years ago at the end if u can believe it

sitting in the passenger seat, slunked down

nails carving moons into the meaty flesh of my thighs

i watch as your face breaks into a smile you never shine upon me

i am an outsider looking in

the skin of an orange you will peel and toss away

i amount to nothing, and you are the golden sun

fiery, it hurts to look at you

and I tumble around blind on clumsy feet

a lamb in this flock of sheep and wolves

they'll eat me up when you leave me behind

a drunkard.

what makes an alcoholic?

the terms don't matter when it's all the same

he drink, he drinks, and drinks

no work? no problem, binge drinking turned into drunken nights on the weekdays

mates come over? time for five more beers. maybe ten. who's counting anyway?

what does it matter if it hurts his family?

what does it matter if it turns him into more of a fool?

alcohol is the best comfort, and he'll drink, drink, drink until he cries beer, breathes beer, there is nothing to the world if there is no alcohol

it turns him mean and happy and he doesn't care so long as he can relish in the feeling

your feelings? nothing if you can't be the perfect piece into his messy puzzle

it turns everyone as bitter as the beer he likes, perhaps it is why he doesn't recognise that

but when would a man born from anger recognise that?

you have worries? he'll advise you and supply you with alcohol

"that's the way" he will say, and you will relish in his praise as his speech slurs, and he can no longer do the things he would sober

Sober. its a funny word, I wonder if he knows what it means to be sober for more than a couple of days.

three beers a day if he's really sick, hold your applause folks!

what a jolly good fellow, they will say, as they to lose themselves to their addiction to the alcohol, the drugs.

don't call it drugs, though. they'll get mad. "its different" all the alcoholics and drunkards, day drinkers and night drinkers will say.

they don't like to have their weaknesses pointed and poked at

better to shut up and watch their bodies rot away

Eloise grew learning that she was to be lush, but not too lust, that she should love just enough and never lust enough. Or ever. She is a girl in a world where she is to be Queen, with Kings at her side that sit in thrones higher, that speak higher, that are heared higher, higher and higher, the top of the mountains. They take claim, stake claim, and she shall lay and pray. Dutiful, patient, hating herself just enough, but not too much. Liking herself, but never so much that the man shall feel threatened, challenged, belittle and inferior.

Eloise can like her skin, but she cannot touch. She is a mannequin perched high and bright - a shiny thing dressed in the latest fashion, giving reason to the poor to work some more until their aching bones crumble into nothing, and the rich can stake their claim. Everyone stakes their claim except the people left to put on the blame and wear it with pride as it drags them six feet under, and all the way down into the fiery pits of hell

my reflection and I

side by side

it is forgiveness i seek

and yet i hide

i am a stranger to me,

a something lurks within

and it spills out in tendrils

something thin,

something akin

the mirror watches all,

my reflections gaze blinking

I turn my head, so does she

she holds no thoughts,

she who accepts

I who hold everything,

things i wept

a young girl taught to hate her body,

her face.

her skin, her grace.

her mistakes

we are taught at birth, we will die being berated

filled with thoughts with mirth, we lie naked

is he watching? am I disgusting?

she who shall hate and hate

creativity and love turned to pastel.

There is a ghost in my bed

and she looks just like me

She is beautiful,

she is haunted,

she is me.

I watch her,

she watches me,

and she waits

to be like me.

The world fades to static

when I look into her eyes.

Hours pass when she gazes back,

sometimes I lose tact

and get lost in her mind.

She is the past,

I the present,

the future out of sight,

but she too watches

and wishes

that we find one another

to build a better life.

There was something in the bedroom. Isla could hear the whisper-soft scrapping of its feet along her bare floorboards. She imagined massive paws, claws retracted until it went in for the kill. She imagined something akin to a lion or bear – except its bones were visible, its eyes missing, relying only on its hearing and sense of smell, which it would use to chase her. She imagined it enjoyed playing with its food.

Isla had her blankets pulled over her head – she was scared to lift them down to take a peek. She was certain it was something in her room and not just her imagination this time. It was hard to breathe under these blankets, even when she held her breath. The warmth was stifling.

i am eating leftover lasagne for lunch and will be anxious

the taste of a homecooked meal – how many will i have left to eat?

she breathes in smoke and blows it out, and sucks it in down her throats spout

he takes his liquor with his prescribed meds, and his pills swim in his stomach in an ocean of ill

i want to breathe you in as if you were the oxygen that has been choking me

swallow you like the lump in my throat that has been constricting my voice

hurl you up as if you were the rotten meat that i consumed

the yellowed light of the candles illuminated the cracked stone walls. underneath the city, these halls spread throughout. the light danced, casting shadows that moved, shadows resembling creatures of all sorts that set Verona's skin crawling.

she was drenched thoroughly, green goo sticking to her skin, green blood, blue blood, red blood streaked on her. Some red her own, some to a now deceased person or creature.

she mourns for her bathroom, her bubble baths, body scrubs. she mourns her once clean skin. if she survives this hell, Verona decides she will blow her remaining money – a couple hundred or so – on that gorgeous vanilla scented bath set. after all, she is to be paid handsomely if she survives this and does the job.

Colette’s mother would say that Colette had always been kind, simple and sweet. “She was a shy girl, but as sweet as could be,” Marianne would say, wistfully so, the wine making her sway on her feet. “Never a violent girl, hell, she’d always tell me off for killing a damned spider,” she would then chuckle dryly, and down her glass, filling it up only moments after. Her mood from then on out wouldsour, and she would stumble back to the comforts of her bed. The once pristine apartment was a sorrowful state, and the food in the cupboards was bare, the milks and cheeses in the fridge having gone off days ago. It was rare Marianne left her bed if it weren’t for more wine. Her job as a journalist no longer required her to get out of bed since they had fired her. She slept in, her articles became poorly constructed, and she was often drunk showing up. People stopped showing Marianne sympathy after a few months, deeming her a lost cause and beyond repair. Marianne couldn’t bring herself to care anymore. She didn’t care much about anything anymore. She cared about her wine, however. Without it, she wasn’t so sure she could cope with everything, herself especially.

Brandon, a man in his early thirties, had gone thirteen and a half years without contact with his daughter. He left Marianne and Colette when Colette was still only a baby. He hadn’t anticipated his now fifteen-year-old daughter storming into his life and hurtling through as if a tornado had passed through. He wasn’t sure he could be a father to her then, and he certainly hadn’t been certain when she showed up on his doorstep, drenched from the rain, soulless eyes, and a bruised and battered face. When she begged for him to not call her mother, he relented, only until he could understand what had happened to his daughter. Brandon knew Marianne had tried her best to be a mother for Colette, but she had only been seventeen when she had fallen pregnant, eighteen when Colette was born. Brandon himself was only seventeen. Brandon felt badly, guilty, for leaving her to struggle under the weight and for not being there to support Colette, but he had grown depressed during the early years, and getting out was his only way of recovering.

colette sighed, wiping off the lipgloss, which left a smear of shiny pale pink on the back of her palm.

the shade didnt suit her, and her usual cherry red lipbalm was lost in the back of her father's car. without it, she felt bare and exposed, like she wouldn't fit in the second she set foot inside her new school.

she felt tears prick at her eyes. new school, new home, new mother, new lipgloss, it was all too much. it didnt help that after fifteen years of wanting nothing to do with her, her mother suddenly wished for a fresh start. a fresh start that included colette moving in.

the house was beautiful of course, with its roof to floor windows, balcony that looked out upon the various other apartment complexes, all shiny and gorgeous. the carpet was lush and soft beneath her feet, tiles shiny and reflective. it just didnt feel like home.

home was with her father in the cramped apartment he had rented out in the cramped streets below that was near the old park she cherished so much. home was with her friends, shoplifting at the nearest mall, gossiping as they sat on estella's roof as her brothers mix of assorted songs drifting out from his bedroom window. home was not in this foreign, fancy place.

she would never be able to sit on the swing with its rusting chains that squawked in protest whenever someone would sit upon it. the swings at the closest park were shiny, new, and were utterly silent. colette was not used to silence.

Aspen knew they were coming for him. He didn't bother running, didn't bother hiding. He sat down at his small kitchen table which threatened to collapse at any moment, drinking his lukewarm water. He was prepared for what was to come his way.

He however was not prepared for the child they sent for him. Just passing as fifteen, the kid had simply picked the lock and entered his home.

Admittedly, he had felt a tad outraged. Not because he felt they underestimated him, but because they had sent a teenager after him, a child.

No words were exchanged, he just stood up and let the kid lead him out and into the van. Upon entering, he found the drivers seat empty and had felt even more outraged that they allowed this kid to drive. He had then decided he definitely hated the stupid cowards.

Throughout the entire drive, the only words spoken were Aspen's request to drive instead but he was immediately shut down. He had then silently cursed the assholes for putting the little brat in charge. Oh yes, he was definitely going to rip their heads of for this. Verbally of course, considering the kid had put him in handcuffs.

------

The moment Aspen was lead out of the van and was stopped in front of Fennec and his merry gang of self entitled assholes, he exploded. "What the fuck is wrong with you people, letting a fucking kid do your jobs, let alone fucking drive!"

"Whoa, calm down cowboy," drawled Fennec. "No need to get your panties in a twist."

God, Aspen wished his hands were free so he could punch the smirk off of his rivals face. Choosing to ignore him, he spoke to the kid instead.

"I hope you at least get a bed here. God knows how useless these assholes are."

A hint of a smile graced the kids face, Fennec squawking in protest. "I will have you know, I treat them perfectly fine."

"You kidnapped me twice, kept me locked up in a cell and had my hands cuffed. I find that hard to believe," Aspen retorted, and then shook his still cuffed wrists to prove a point.

"Della, prove this little shit wrong," Fennec hissed, glare focused on Aspen.

The kid, Della, shrugged their shoulder and sauntered off inside the van. Mouth agape, Fennec looked like someone had kicked his puppy and scampered off after the kid.

"Not very convincing at all," Aspen called at his retreating back. He received a finger in return.

Once again, Aspen wished his hands were uncuffed so he could return the gesture. Little prick.

[ftm Baku au.]

The stupid extras were staring at me an excessive amount today. It was fucking weird.

I storm into the common room, and I can feel these stupid extras staring at me, trying to be discreet. It's pathetic how they're trying to act like they're not staring. I can feel it.

It's pissing me off. I don't get why they're fucking staring. I can feel their eyes on me.

I grit my teeth in frustration, storming away up the stairs. I pass four-eyes.

His eyes widen slightly. "Ah, Bakugou. Can I speak with you for a moment please?"

Huh. At least he's not staring at me an excessive amount. I'll hear him out.

"The fuck you want?"

He clears his throat, but doesn't go off about my swearing. The fuck is his problem?

"Perhaps we should go someone more private? It is a personal topic."

I stare at him. "Is it about why these shitty extras are staring at me?"

Four-eyes rubs the back of his neck, turning around. "Yes. I do believe you would rather be someone more private for this."

I sigh in frustration, but stomp after him. Whatever this is about, it better be worth my fucking time. And explain why those idiots are staring so much.

He leads me to his room. It's the most basic fucking room, but it's not that bad i guess. He as an excessive amount of glasses for some fucking reason. Too lazy to go out and buy more when his current pair break. Typical.

He sits on his bed, offering me his desk chair. Like hell I'm going to sit for this.

"Just spit it out four-eyes," I mutter, crossing my arms and leaning against the wall.

"Ah, well.." He clears his throat again.

"Someone, from class 1-C I believe, found pictures of you from your childhood. They shared them with the school, including your.. deadname."

He's still talking, but it turns to static in my ears. Panic builds, but I can't be fucking weak and let that shit consume me.

"And what? Everyone's staring at me because I'm some sort of fucking freak now?" I ground out.

He flinches slightly. "Of course not Bakugou."

He let's out a soft sigh. "A lot of our classmates, including your friends-"

"I don't have friends," I cut in.

"Ah, right.. A lot of our classmates feel you didn't trust them enough to share that you are transgender, and feel hurt." He takes a breath. "I did let them know that it was your thing to share if you felt the need to, and that it may not have been that you didn't trust them."

"So they're throwing a little tantrum because I didn't share that shit? Typical."

Four-eyes let's out another sigh. "I wouldn't put it quite so harshly.. but yes." He looks up at me. "I am not going to question you on your decision, as it is none of my business to put it quite simply. I will say that I support you."

I scoff, rolling my eyes. "Whatever."

He is silent for a moment. "What pronouns do you use? I should have asked when you first started, and I apologise for that. I am not accustomed to asking people for their pronouns, which I will work on."

He's a fucking dumbass, and I tell him so. "You're a dumbass. And quit apologising for stupid shit." I sigh. "He and him is fine."

"Do mind your language Bakugou, and minimise the insults. And alright." And then he fucking bows his head slightly.

Stupid idiot. "You use the same yeah?" I grumble out.

He nods, shooting a smile. "I do."

I scoff. "Is that all then?"

He pauses for a moment. "If anyone gives you any trouble, do let me or a staff member know. It will be dealt with."

I stare at him again. This dumbass really is stupid. "I can handle it my fucking self."

"I am aware but.. you have an aggressive way of handling things which is not appropriate for school," he replies with a small frown.

Typical. It's kind of funny though. I scoff again. "Whatever."

I get up and leave, door shutting halfway through his goodbye. God, his thing for rules gets annoying. He's easy to irritate which is fucking hilarious though.

I head back to my dorm, not passing anyone on the way. My phone beeps, and for some reason, fucking Deku messaged me. I thought I muted his dumb ass.



Shitty Deku
Kacchan, are you okay? I heard someone is spreading things about you being trans :(

Like I give a fuck about those losers.

Fuck up.