Angel Dust Artwork Novels & Stories

"What did you paint, mama bear?" Shayla held up her canvas. She had painted the ocean. Blue water stretching to the horizon. White foam on the waves. A sunset in the background. Simple but pretty. "That is beautiful," Angel said. "Really beautiful, Mommey." "Thank you, baby. What about you? What did you paint?" Angel turned her canvas around. She showed them what she had been working on so carefully. It was people. A family. Clearly recognizable figures despite Angel's young artistic skills.

Warm air immediately wrapped around them. The room smelled faintly of paint and coffee. People moved slowly around white walls covered with artwork. Jessica looked around quietly. Landscapes. Portraits. Abstract paintings. Photography. Sketches. Pieces of people's thoughts hanging on walls. People's memories. People's feelings. People's stories. Jessica moved slowly through the room. Looking. Really looking. One painting caught her attention immediately. It showed a woman standing beneath dark storm clouds. But above her, tiny breaks in the clouds allowed light through.

She looked ruined. And she couldn’t stop. The next morning she returned to the tattoo shop once again. The old artist didn’t even ask questions this time. She simply nodded and prepared her station. “The heart piece,” Aria said, voice husky. “I want something that ties them all together.” The artist chose a stunning, dark design — a blooming obsidian rose with thorny vines that would sit right above her heart, with tendrils reaching toward her breasts and down toward her pussy like living roots.

They set it down and left. "What is it?" Sophia asked, stepping back. Aurora walked toward it. She smelled it before she saw it. Not flowers. Not perfume. Oil paint. Turpentine. She reached out and pulled the cloth away. It was a painting. A portrait. It was five feet tall. It was oil on canvas. The style was modern, aggressive, almost violent. It was a painting of a woman in a white dress. But the dress was burning. The woman’s back was to the viewer. She was running into a dark, abstract forest. The flames from the dress were licking at her heels, turning into birds—phoenixes—that were rising into the sky.

Apollo is on cloud nine and is itching to mark her, but I restrain knowing she is not ready. The rest of our time together is spent getting to know the small things, our likes and dislikes. I already know she likes to paint with water colors and nature so I’ve been building her a studio surrounded by windows she she can paint and enjoy the outdoors at the same time. I can’t wait for her to see it. For now I have settled on this necklace I had made. It’s a pendant of angel wings with a wolf’s head howling in the center. I take it out of it’s box and present it to her.

Ashe yells, causing me to startle. I had completely forgotten the treasure and the fact that we still had a job to complete, I was so lost in John and our kiss to even think clearly. I walk over to Ashe while Lizzie and Corie fix up my grandfather. There’s a heavy lock on it, that I break with the head of the shovel. Flipping the lid open, everyone gasps at what is inside: jewels, gold doubloons, and a painting. A painting of a beautiful woman with raven hair and pale skin, sharp cheekbones and full lips, blue eyes piercing through you as you look at her portrait. A soft smile plays on her lips in the painting, her blue eyes a gleam with mischief. Pulling the portrait out, I turn over the fr

"Celeste, your debut gallery has taken the art world by storm. Especially this piece at the center. Some critics are already comparing your work to a genius contemporary artist, Ellaine Laurant. How does it feel to receive such high praise?" Celeste feigned humility, pressing a hand to her chest with a dazzling smile. "Oh, I’m truly honored. I never imagined my work would be received this well." My fingers dug into the sheets, my nails biting into the fabric as rage bubbled in my chest. Another reporter asked, "Your pieces have such depth, such emotion. Especially this piece at the center. Can you tell us what inspires you to paint this scorched landscape? It looks like it has debris from af

Now, I was imagining her on the edge of the bed- Goddess, I have to stop. I take a step closer, “Yes, Astrid. This isn’t the bathroom.” She ignores me, the portrait catching her interest. I watch her body sway to the portrait above the fireplace, her dark golden eyes never leaving the spot. Her eyes trained around the picture, my dragon tattoo evident on my shoulders. She turned towards me. “Who painted this?” “Well, someone paid me handsomely just to pose half naked for her flower shop, I got a copy as a bonus.”

I was caught in the act but I definitely would not let him believe that. "Mhm, I can practically see your over-inflated ego but just so you'd know, I wasn't staring at you. You kinda look like someone I know so just confirming." I lied. He smirked harder and shook his head, "Oh yeah?" "Mhm." I nodded. His eyes drifted to my doodle and he took my note to have a proper look. "What do you call this?" He raised a perfectly shaped brow. "A baby angel." I grinned. I know I draw weird things. I think weird is my middle name.

They never mistreated him, they just pretended as he never existed. Xasha wondered why he suddenly started thinking about old times. Xasha was on Stardust Island. He stood on an open field with his hands behind his back, wearing tight green armor that one would think was just a leather suit. It was actually made from a Special Alloy that used Storm dragon scales mixed with Sea king scales and Golden Peacock feathers.