Bloody Crayons Novels & Stories

She tested the quality of the red-colored pencil on her hand on the first page of the intermediate pad; it created a brightly colored line which gave her the exhilaration to continue her practice. She began to inspect the other art material like the oil pastel crayons; she opened the rectangular-shaped package and read the brand name: Crayola. Oil Pastels Neon. There were 12 pieces inside the box with the named colors written as hot magenta, shocking pink, radical red, outrageous orange, neon carrot, laser lemon, electric lime, screamin' green, graphic green, aqua brite, blue bolt, and vivid violet. She found the names funny. In her deep curiosity, she tested the quality again and found it t

Her tears fell onto the marble, leaving small, temporary dark marks. It was then that Valentim moved again. He went to a nearby workbench where jars of powdered pigments—burnt earths, oxides, ultramarine blues—were lined up like an alchemist’s paints. He opened a small wooden jar containing a deep, vibrant red pigment, the color of rust, of blood, of life.

Most notably, he was surrounded by discarded papers, all depicting the same thing in black and red crayon. Dimly lit rooms, with creeping shadows around the corners. Large, angry stick figures with what almost looked like baseball bats or police batons in their hands. Smaller stick figures cowering on the floor. Shuddering, I leaned over and picked up the nearest one. It looked like a closeup of a man’s face, black stubble around his mouth and his eyebrows turned down as if in fury. He had pointy teeth, the ends of which were dotted with… Red. Like blood.

"No, it's mine. I want it." A small cry escapes the raven hair girl as she struggles with the boy next to her over the crayon. I quickly spot them from my spot at the other crafts table, taking quick steps to reach them. "Hey, hey, calm down." I squat down to their level, placing myself in their direct eye sight. "What's wrong?" "Gracie won't give me the crayon I want!" The little boy cries, clearly frustrated at not getting what he wants. "It's mine. I got it first." Gracie is on the verge of tears, pressing the blue crayon close to her chest to avoid it being taken from her. "It's not fair." She huffs.

Rai also threw a glass filled with donor human blood which he found hard to drink because the taste is so horrible. Making the maids and guard soldiers instantly gulp when the smell of this splattered blood wafted into their noses. Rai doesn't like human blood that comes from blood donors, it doesn't feel like the blood that is obtained directly by biting a human's neck. The taste seems bitter-sweet and the smell is not as sweet as usual.

“Mr. Blackwood, do you think blue and purple can be best friends?” Adrian looked down at Aria, who sat cross-legged on the art room floor, her tiny fingers gripping two crayons like she was solving the world’s biggest question. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, spilling over jars of paint and scattered brushes. “I think they already are,” he said with a soft smile, crouching beside her. “They just need someone brave enough to tell them.”

Her cunt lips parted on their own, revealing the slick pink inside. I walked to the supply table. Picked up a fresh palette. A set of thick sable brushes. A jar of linseed oil. Tubes of oil paint in deep crimson, ultramarine, and raw umber. I mixed them slowly, deliberately, letting the colours swirl together into a rich, dark burgundy that reminded me of dried blood and old wine. The smell of pigment filled the air. Familiar. Comforting. Dangerous. The other women watched in silence. Sophia still sat on the couch, cum drying on her tits. Tara leaned forward, elbows on her knees. Mei knelt on the floor, thighs pressed tight together. Elena stood against the wall, arms crossed under her breas

"I am not an artist." "You painted in the studio. The diagram. The web." "That was a schematic. A threat assessment." "It was expressionism, Cale. Mira said so." "Mira is a producer. She spins narrative from noise." "Just... look at them. The colors." Elion handed Cale a tube of paint. Cobalt Blue. Cale held it. He looked at the label. He squeezed the tube slightly. "It is heavy," Cale said. "Open it." Cale unscrewed the cap. The smell of oil and pigment wafted up. Sharp. Chemical.

She picked up the usual colors a werewolf has, brown, white, grey, silver, and black. She held out the crayons for her daughter in an outstretched hand. After pondering over them a little she chose both brown and grey. Her mother ruffled her hair one more time before getting up. In a minute, Sarah had colored the werewolf and now she wanted to color the eyes. Her mother came to her aid once more and held a few colors in her hands such as blue, brown, and black. “Try these sweetie” “Olivia…” Gerald called for her from the dining area.

Her face flushed and I was sharp to detect the anxiety rolling down to her face as a furrow. My cock felt the strong pulsation and blood circulation was high too. Once again she made me hard with my scenario of her being fuck by me. " You belong to colors, Cupcake. " I caressed her pale skin and she brutally flinched but relaxed against my touch. " Your whole life belongs to colors. Black is for me but the world's all bright colors are yours. Give me that color that doesn't belong to you. Give it to me. " I whispered before opening the caps of the colors.