Weird Aesthetic Novels & Stories

That’s not a compliment. “That’s the aesthetic we discussed,” Weston reminds her, his tone patient in a way that suggests they’ve had this conversation before. “Farm chic. Rustic elegance. Remember?” “Of course.” Her smile is bright and brittle. “It’s exactly what we talked about.” It’s absolutely not what she wants and we all know it. I make a mental note that Eloise’s moods seem to shift like weather patterns—warm and engaged during the dress fitting, cool and dismissive now.

she exclaims and brings out a gray T-shirt and places it on me looking at it like some kind of fashion police. I take the shirt and I turn the front and find an image of a rock band called blood face with peculiar looking makeup. Jade and I definitely have different aesthetics. She has more of a grunge goth aesthetic and I more of a clean girl aesthetic. People tend to wonder how we're even friends at all but we somehow make it work. “What do you think?” She asks. I try to find the right words to say but nothing good seems to pop up in my mind as I look into the weird white faced men staring back at me.

"I don't like to repeat my words " . . So how's is it? Do you guys want me to use aesthetics? Do press the like button as it will help me a lot. ​​​​​

It thrived on exclusivity, where privacy was a given and silence was the real price of entry. Aiden sat across from me, pouring himself the fourth glass of wine like it was his first time tasting it. His ever-present smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and his hood was up, shadowing his face. I guess his aesthetic for December was mysterious and brooding. No matter how much I thought about it, probably once, it was childish. He looked every bit like a man who didn’t take anything seriously, except money. And that was exactly what he was.

Aesthetic's POV: “ I see… “ I murmured while looking at Spade's cold eyes then gulped many times to settle this uncomfortable feeling. “ I’m Aesthetic, but you can all call me Thea. “ I stated while wearing a fake smile on my face. How can I even smile if I know that I was sorrounded by these non-human creatures? They're all gorgeous but the fact that they have some hidden fangs inside their mouths make me wanna run away from here.

“I am a function of aesthetic efficiency. Your territory has become a noisy subplot. I am here to quiet it down. To make it… readable.” It gestured with its stylus. From its book, a beam of flat, white light shot out and touched our cottage wall. Where it touched, the texture of the wood—the grain, the knots, the subtle variations in color—smoothed out into a featureless, beige plane. It wasn't erased; it was genericized. This was the worst invasion yet. They weren't trying to destroy or control. They were trying to make us boring. “Over my dead, highly specific body,” I snarled, lightning crackling at my fingertips.

I kept opening the pages of the book but could not pinpoint a particular solution. As for now, I can't stop the attraction until I am past my bloom of youth or when my hormones stop fluctuating. My mind flashed back to those I have been attracted to. I was attracted to Kabir because he was cute and charming. My second attraction which was Daniel was a weird one because I like his angry face which looks attractive to me. Ife, my third attraction has this killer smile and that kept me in a craving state. Bazeet facial features made me have this sparkle that glows in my body, his pink lips drew me.

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?

The room’s all posh like, real classy, but got this weird moody vibe to it. It's minimalist, yeah, but you can tell whoever designed it knew exactly what they were doin'. Abstract paintings are hangin’ on them wine-red walls, dead quiet like secrets no one wants to tell. There's pottery pieces on smooth shelves; all of it lined up like someone with proper OCD lives here. Not even a speck of dust floatin’ about. The air smells dead lush, with those incense sticks burnin’ somewhere, makin' the whole place feel... warm, and odd. Like someone ancient's watching us. But like a modern shrine.

When Celine was studying fashion, she had to read the research on beauty and its philosophy. One article that she read and stuck with her was this Japanese philosophy called Wabi Sabi (侘寂), which describes beauty from the perspective of imperfection. She didn’t really understand it back then. Why do we have to find beauty in broken things? Could imperfection be beautiful? Why do we have to be satisfied with simple, uninteresting materials? Is that type of beauty truly beautiful or some meaningless philosophy?