Artistic Outcast Novels & Stories

A slim hand patted Tanner on the shoulder as Rina staggered by, face pinched with pain, “I’m on it.” Knight peered around Tanner to see Xander had managed to free Angel and Ysa and was in the process of getting Bones out of his cell. “We need to get out of here. What’s our status?” “FUBAR, sir,” Nova said succinctly around a feral grin that promised things would turn around quickly.

A feeling I thought I had left behind when I left the Downfall Pack, but really would never forget for the life of me. The feeling… of being an outcast.

Basso chimed in with a flurry of flattery. Not one of them corrected her. I stood off to the side like a maid, holding her heavy designer schoolbag for her. Another time, I used money I'd saved up for ages to buy a limited-edition vinyl record. When the package arrived, Francesca was right in the middle of filming a video with gifts from her fans scattered all over the floor. She stared at the box with my name on it for three seconds, then turned around and tossed it straight out the window. I rushed downstairs, only to find the crushed remains of the record on the road.

It was something innate that he wanted to exploit. Clint could practically hear her heart trying to escape out of her chest as he peeled his sweater off and laid it over a spanking horse. He crossed to the far end of the dungeon to stand in front of a large, leaner mirror, typically a tool used for humiliation, and it would be again—most likely in a few moments. But for now, he looked at the scars on his back. It was true he’d hired a dominatrix to come to his dungeon when he’d first created it. But the marks were about so much more than that.Since puberty, he’d had the fantasies: tying women up, hurting them,fucking them, sometimes kidnapping and forcing them. The latter fantasies disturbed

“You spent three weeks documenting a squatters’ camp in the industrial district. That’s noble work, it truly is, but what is the exit strategy? What is the plan to ensure you can sustain yourself without the safety net?” That’s always his core question: the exit strategy. The safety net. He can’t see the intrinsic value of creation, only the financial risk of passion. He thinks love is providing a flawless structure so I never have to feel uncomfortable. But my entire artistic vision is about finding beauty in discomfort, in the unplanned, in the human mess. He survived the chaos of his past, and now he is terrified of chaos touching his children. I understand that fear—it’s the scar from wh

That halo was gone. Jacob buried Cotton with me. Perhaps he could not bear watching me be so dejected, so he invited me to attend his personal art exhibition. Only a few people were present, but the pieces were interesting. They were all portraits of Cotton. “This is a way to keep her around, no? We have to keep looking forward.” Jacob pointed at one of the Cottons and comforted me. I kept staring at his artwork and felt as if Cotton was right beside me. But that night, someone stole Jacob’s art pieces and posted them online. They went viral, along with a video of me holding a bloody Cotton while I walked out of the police station.

I type, “ E x h i b i t a r t i d e a s ” I search for a place to match Jodie’s identity as an artist. Jodie Springer is a budding artist who got discovered earlier last year in a street in Italy. I personally saw her artwork before she even became famous. Actually, one of her pieces is in my apartment right now. So when I heard about her rising popularity, I immediately volunteered to hold her exhibition without checking my prior schedule. So here I am rushing things up.

Five years ago, Alpha Ethan rejected me for my curves and my pack ranking. I built a new life and a thriving business. Now, my brother is dying, and the only thing that can save him is a healer I can't afford. Ethan comes with a desperate deal: to carry his heir, and he pays for the cure. I signed the contract with just a deal in mind. To keep me safe during a brutal territory war, I’m hidden away at the Iron Vipers compound, under the personal protection of Jax Mercer. Jax is a half-breed outlaw president known to be brutal and uninterested. Now, as the stakes are raised I’m placed between two men who don’t take no for an answer.

From self-drawn drawings to flowers from the garden to ugly clay sculptures, they would only prepare cheap gifts. "Just keep your useless trash for your beloved daughter—it'll save me from throwing them away. Don't bother trying to come up with tricks to get me to come back. I'm already on a cruise abroad," I replied. "What? Who gave you permission to go abroad?" Mom suddenly shrieked, her voice piercing my ears. "What's this supposed to mean, Heidi? You're the one who arranged for this ski trip, and now that we've all made our way here, you're off to another country? How could you do this to us?"

"A reminder of what I am." The artist snorted, shaking his head. "Dramatic much? Let me guess, early twenties? Everyone your age thinks they're carrying the weight of the world." I didn't respond. Let him think what he wanted. The cramped tattoo parlor smelled of antiseptic and cigarettes. The buzzing needle provided the only consistent sound, occasionally interrupted by muffled voices from the street outside. Perfect anonymity in a place where nobody asked real questions. The artist—a middle-aged man with more ink than bare skin—studied my face as he worked. "You're that omega from the Northern Territory, aren't you? The one who ran from her faction."