Artistic Outcast Novels & Stories

“Every one. New works from small collectives in the city. Minority groups that don’t always get seen. We’re lucky to have a thriving art scene, and the Hale Mansion has enough rooms to support half of it.” Vivian looks at one long vertical canvas in particular. A sweeping, expressionist blend of warm neutrals with a single gold line down the center. It’s called Divide, painted by a trans artist who donates profits from his piece to support youth outreach programs. He’s not rich and he sells very little but he shares what he gets with those in need. Her eyes rest there a moment. “This one is bold,” she says. “Subtle… but not quiet. Much like what you’re doing here tonight.”

It was the sexiest sight I had ever seen in my life. My brothers voiced their agreement through our private bond. We all agreed, we struck gold when Alex found Isobelle. Mason lounged upon the wooden steps, guitar in hand, strumming out some insane chord progression like he was Ed fucking Sheeran. It was hard to compete with a guy like Mason. He was a woman's walking fantasy. The embodiment of perfection. Alex could easily be mistaken for a hotshot CEO by the way he dressed, the confidence he oozed, and how leadership came naturally to him. People listened to him. They valued his opinion. He was the kind of guy who kept a cool head in the time of a crisis. Grayson has husband material writte

I felt like a trapped animal, ready to bolt. "Please… just a moment!" I begged, a single tear clinging to my cheek, too fragile to even fall. I raced down the hallway, returning as quickly as I dared with a fresh bottle of red wine. "Here it is, Delta Stan…" "Just get out of my sight. You're an eyesore!" another Delta grumbled beside him. I didn't need to be told twice. I fled the room.

I heard laughter from below, the clatter of decorations being set, and all I could think was how desperately I wanted to escape this fate, and yet how tightly it bound me to her. I tried to tell myself I was ready. I rehearsed the words in my mind, steeled myself for the confrontation I knew was coming. Rejection. It was the only way to break free, the only way to regain control over a life that felt increasingly foreign. Fenrir’s protests were a low, steady growl in my mind, a primal ache I refused to indulge. Amara’s POV

I say with a slight smile plastered on my face “Yeah...maybe” Dame says returning his attention back to the view Infront of him. PACK HOUSE BUSHWIND TOWN 22:00PM After an unsuccessful day of feeling further from the truth, Gabriel stands at the bar drowning his sorrows in alcohol, after spending 23 years trying to erase the memoires of his late wife, all his efforts, hard work went down the drain. Ashina was haunting him in ways in never imagined it was as if she was trying to send him a message but what the message could be is something Gabriel didn’t have hope in discovering.

I saved myself by pretending to be who I was not, while trying not to lose myself in the act. The only thing that went wrong in my company is the fact that I trusted Martins to be everything. I thought he could handle it. He tried his best, I think and the decline, loss of contracts are not his fault, but maybe mine. Why would anyone want to do anything with me, a cold blooded murderer?

My fingertips trembled, not because I didn't know these things had happened. But because she had written them down herself, and they were presented before me so bloodily. The tide in the underground social circle turned in an instant. "Oh my god, to all the girls who were trashing the Moretti Principessa a few days ago, maybe you should come out and apologize?" "This girl is way too manipulative. Her acting is definitely Broadway-level." "I feel so bad for Aurora. Pushed out of her own home by her own parents, and she still managed to survive until today."

She thought that after the experience she had with Reginald, she would never be falling in love again but she was madly in love with Abel after only a few weeks? "He's an artist and he doesn't like to talk to people? Why does this sound like the King's son Zhao?" Stephanie asked. Savanna shook her head when she told her this. "It's not him. He would have told me he was the King's son if he was. Besides, what was the King's son doing there so late at night? He is just a relative of the King's. We have gotten really close and he showed me some of his paintings. I realized that he didn't have any paintings of any humans. I asked him about it and he told me that he didn't paint humans. It was pa

I realized that my art was not only a way for me to escape, but it was also a way for me to connect with others and share my story. I continued to paint in my free time, and it became a source of peace and calm in my life. Despite the danger and violence of my other life as a gang lord, I always had my art to escape to. It was a way for me to reconnect with myself and my emotions, and to forget about the chaos and darkness that surrounded me. But now, I found myself in a strange place, caught between two worlds. On one hand, I was a respected businessman who delved into art known only as Demitri Ortega, but on the other hand, I was Dallas of the Scorpioni family.

Rick Stetson rode very faraway from Redwood City, he couldn't bear being called a murderer, he felt so guilty for what he had done, so he moved to a very distant land where no one knew him, so he could start anew. He knew Iris loved him so much, and he loved her too, he wasn't always like that. But things changed when he was going through a lot. The real reason was that he lost a lot of money and this got him to do things he wasn't used to.