Novel & Cerita The Outsiders Aesthetic

They believed that if I just gave in and said I was fine, all those crimes would disappear beneath a pile of money. However, I was no longer that little girl waiting at the far end of the long table for scraps of cold leftovers. Never again would I denigrate myself just to protect my family's reputation.

All I can do is stare at Darragh Ryan with bugged out eyes. Fate has to be playing a joke. My aesthetic is delicate, sweet, romantic, cottagecore. His aesthetic is—the pants I wore all last week are fine. No shirt, no shoes, no problem. Haircuts are for the weak. I kill things with my bare hands in human form. I’ve been through hell and seen the other side. Tingles race across my skin as my stomach drops. When does it end?

How does an incubus get to sound like that? Come to think of it, how does a man with such a terrible personality get to look like that? Your attitude should match your looks; that's the way it goes. I'm not all that of a good person, so I believe my looks aren't all that beautiful. I'm not ugly. I think, but not beautiful either. But Aiden—He's nasty. But he doesn't look nasty. Aiden is causal. Plain white shirt and black pants. No design whatsoever, but he looks— and I'm cringing at the thought of this, but Aiden... I won't say it.

The overcast sky shaded all the sunlight needed for living beings, producing nothing but strong gusts of wind that occasionally brought upon the sparse leaves violently, making some of them fall onto the ground. Clearly, the weather today was not in anyone's favor. And so was the mood of a handsome young man in raisin-color outer attire. The outer shirt shielded all but the plum undershirt's necklines that matched the hue of his sash. With a sharp turned-up nose, thin rosy lips, and an oblong face covered by the dark raven hair tied up into a high half ponytail, letting down the remaining half to reach down his lower waist, the man was of aesthetic beauty.

It was horribly impersonal, lacking any trace of memory or childhood. Even under the dim light that sat against the wall of his house, I could see his sharp jawline. The light did no favors for his platinum hair, turning it into a washed-out shade of yellow. Even in the horrible light, Atlas held a certain kind of beauty that was rare in this world. His porcelain skin was blemish free, his face smooth and unyielding. His body was chiseled from marble, hard and stoic as he stood before Alyssa. His full lips were bright with color, but pulled down in what looked to be the start of a snarl.

However, both of them avoided her gaze. I smiled scornfully as I patted her face and said, "If you want them as your parents, you can have them. But remember—I'm allergic to idiots. You'll get more than a slap from me if you dare to show yourself in front of me again."

“It’s f-king late.” They were precisely the same height, and their profiles were almost identical, Aislen thought in bemusement that one face could create in her such a strong feeling of love and affection, but the other revolted her. Rhett was dishevelled and the green cargo pants that he wore were untied, hanging loose on his hips and revealing the temptation of a triangle of skin where the hair had been recently stripped away. That bare patch also reminded Aislen of her own recent lack of personal grooming, and whilst she had been sporting, until recently, a thatch of hair of her own, in proud defiance, with the lack of regular showers, she was feeling a little richly scented – and that w

The only difference was that they had almost opposite aesthetics. Aubrey was the pretty, cute lady you had no idea could claw your eyes out. She represented yellow, pink and all things girly, and always had a smile on. Hazel, on the other hand, had a dark aesthetic. Wore dark colours, especially red. Always had red lipstick on. Seductive but sweet, to only the people she cared about. She was also girly, but the other kind. And she would absolutely claw your eyes out. But that was the only difference in them. Their aesthetic. They loved the same things.

she commanded wiping the blood that dripped out of her chapped lips. The boys ran in our direction. They have huge built to that of thugs with tattoos all over their arms and faces and piercings on the nose, lips, and brows. They also reeked in alcohol and they do constant sniffing and jerking like drug addicts. I could tell that they’re no students but outsiders. “Dare to touch my girl, sl*t?” The skinhead came running at me with a punch. I did a sidestep dodging his fist, so, he ended up rolling on the ground.

His chest was bare. And it was… Art. Muscle sculpted as if someone had taken a blade to marble and carved this from spite. A long line of his throat. The cut of his collarbones. The ridges of his abdomen. A faint trail of darker hair leading down from his navel, vanishing beneath the waistband. He looked like one of the old, forbidden carvings half-scrubbed from the chapel walls—one the Elders pretended had never been there. Adelaide swallowed hard, throat suddenly dry.