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.

"In a shocking turn of events, Lumina Gallery, a prominent art institution, finds itself in the midst of a crisis as both its Director and Curator face arrests over allegations of embezzlement and art fraud. The gallery, known for its dedication to promoting contemporary art, is now grappling with a scandal that has forced its closure. The gallery's Director, Moises Russell, and Curator, Gia Brantley, were taken into custody following an investigation into financial irregularities and the sale of duplicate paintings within the gallery. Authorities allege that the duo embezzled a significant amount of money from the gallery's funds and engaged in the illegal sale of replicated artworks, decei

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.

Protecting *himself* from the taint of me. Tears mixed with the rain on my face, hot and shameful. Weak. Crying again. Always crying. Omega tears. Meaningless. I stumbled over a gnarled root, crashing hard onto my hands and knees in the slick mud. The impact jarred through me, a sharp, clarifying pain. I stayed there for a moment, gasping, mud soaking through my jeans, the cold seeping into my bones. The pack feeling was fainter here, muffled by the trees and the rain, but it was still there. A low, insidious thrum at the edge of my awareness. *Outcast. Runaway. Failure.*

Jaxon’s POV The sky outside the grimy window of my self-imposed exile was a bruised canvas of gray and heavy clouds, mirroring the turbulent storm raging within the confines of my own soul. It offered a stark, bleak contrast to the incandescent warmth that had briefly, dangerously, cocooned Amara and me just hours before.

Meanwhile, I lay sprawled on the cold floor, clutching my swollen cheek, too drained even to shed a tear. I braced myself against the wall and slowly stood up. Head lowered, I said numbly, "Since I'm so worthless, I'll leave. From now on, just pretend you've lost a maid. That way, I won't be an eyesore to you anymore." Papa let out a cold snort. "Getting bold enough to threaten me, are you? Walk out that door and don't expect to get another cent from this family!" He was about to hurl more insults when Francesca suddenly shrieked, "Oh no! My precious Pico seems to be coughing!"

But in this pack, I am simply the mistake. While Orest, my eldest brother, was groomed to lead the warriors, and Kaelith was brought in to be the true female Alpha the pack deserved, I was the Omega, a biological glitch who couldn’t even shift. I wasn’t treated like a daughter; I was treated like a slave who happened to share their DNA. “Look at her,” I heard a girl whisper from the sidelines. “Still scrubbing. It’s a miracle she’s even allowed to share the same air as Kaelith.”

I smiled watching as Arthur, who once stood so tall thinking he held all of the cards, began to pick himself off the floor with a little blood leaking from his lips. It was somewhat sad to see these people become so engrossed with the idea of having these pills so much so, they seemed to bypass anything else in this second to have them. Due to the life people in this part of the woods live, they don’t have much that sparks them joy. These pills, even though I had never taken them myself, it fills the person with such adrenaline, energy and joy that due to the lack of food and the constant sense of danger, they never get to experience, it offers them a break from their reality. Shaking that f

“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