Teenage Dirtbag Style Novels & Stories

Not to mention her horrible brown stained teeth . The elder of the scumbag duo is Travis , he is in his mid twenties. He thinks man vests are totally acceptable even with food stains going back years . His mullet hair style in the same colour of his mommy dearest’s crown of fizz is ironically the same colour as the teeth that he has left . Travis has an unhealthy mummies boy complex , and an IQ of pond scum . His ass is always on show , hanging out his jeans that fit when he was at nursery school . Travis was more perverted in an openly learning kinda way .

This is as good a place as any to die. “You came to your senses and decided to just give up, then?” A lanky man struts forward, his skin dirty and his hair in dreads, knotted in a low ponytail with a piece of fabric. Rogues are known to be dirty, not as bad as the exiles, but exiles living long is rare so no one really has expectations for us. I shift into my human form, pulling out a pair of shorts from my bag.

I looked at the unzipped bag strangely. After putting the cameras on, I changed my clothes into ragged and dirty ones just like these kids' clothes. I also smeared my face with charcoal that I got from the bag and hid myself at the most back to make sure that I won't be noticed as I am the tallest among them. The road was bumpy, and the ride made one butt's ache. I gritted my teeth to endure the ride. If I can endure the beating, I might as well endure the beating on my ass.

He had dirty blonde hair that faded into brown and grey eyes. He was putting on a blue dress shirt, and just like mine, the first few buttons were undone, showcasing his toned chest. He must work out a lot. He probably wouldn't have been so bad if he didn't lust after minors. "We all had plans to come to this club after school," I continued explaining, hoping to catch his interest with my fake story. "But when it was time, they suddenly had one thing or the other to do. I didn't even get to change into the pretty dress I brought with me."

I have a test tomorrow in English lit. As I round the bend obscured by the bushes of our manicured garden, I catch sight of Dane coming this way, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, head down and kicking at debris the same way I am as he walks. He’s changed from his school clothes into that rumpled, badass casual he prefers. Light ripped jeans, a white Tee under an open check shirt with graffiti embroidery across a shoulder and one side. His hair is freshly ruffled, and he’s sporting all the metal he usually wears in his face and ear, so it shines in the light. I always hated how his eyebrow bar and lip ring suited his face and transformed him from a good-looking teen into something ol

Not at that moment when I felt I could actually do damage to Dominik. I sighed and rolled my eyes, folding my arms across my chest as I cleared my throat, finally landing my full attention on him. Okay so maybe I should not have done that. I was not presentable… well… like a mate should look. I had on a black cargo pant with black fighting boots to go and a sports bra. I was also covered in dirt and sweat. My hair was plaited into a single pigtail in the middle of my head and some had gotten out of the hold to frame my face.

I was trying to break him of the habit he was so fond of. Whether fortunate or not, we'd attracted the attention of nearly everyone in the alley. Ready or not, guess now was as great a time as any. I stepped forward, walking slowly to the group. The others around the Lost kid were dressed the same as he was. Ripped and torn tight jeans, leather jackets, and a few black knit beanies against the cold. Nearly all of them were smoking. One tossed their cigarette to the ground and stomped it out, his short mohawk might have been dark blue. Or maybe black, it was hard to tell.

“So it needs to go.” I thought I looked like I’d just stepped off an eighties workout video with the baggy cropped sweatshirt over a black tank top, but I had to admit it was nice to know he appreciated my style. I liked my quirky fashion sense too. Glad he appreciated what he saw, I gave a single nod. “Alright, then. Let’s go find something better suited for some illegal tagging activity.”

He ran barefoot towards the other pile of garbage. Ethan rose up from another end of the garbage pile and looked overhead. He had blue-green eyes and thick, black bangs covering his forehead and his ears. He wore a peach colored, dirty and tattered sweatshirt and dirty, white knickers. He had purple bruises on his malnourished hands, mosquito bite marks on his feet and a pale, translucent skin. "What is it, Tik?" He asked as the other boy, Tik, ran towards him "Look, a perfume bottle!" He said as he shoved a fancy, French perfume bottle in front of him which read 'Eau de Cologne'

A tall man strolled gaily through the motor park; oblivious of the stares he was provoking, his cloths was the object of their stares. It was as if he had bought a variety of clothings both native and western and had decided to try them all on. He had a denim hat perched on top a dog eared style native cap the Yoruba called abetí ajá, the pointy dog ears sticking out like bat wings, a monkey jacket on a babariga robe, a pair of Jordan sneakers on a native hunters knee sized dogo shorts, he looked absolutely ridiculous in his bastardized outfit that the passerby’s concluded he was either at the early stage of lunacy or he had recently escaped from a mental home.