Deku Sketches Novels & Stories

In just a few simple strokes, I captured the devotion and weathered expression on his face with striking depth. Jess kept flipping. One by one, she looked through my sketches. She saw an old man praying beside a prayer wheel, children playing beneath snow-capped mountains, an antelope with eyes as clear as the sky, wildflowers swaying in the wind… Each page overflowed with reverence for life drawn in vivid, lively strokes. There weren't any complex compositions or dazzling colors. They were just sketches. But the level of artistic foundation, the sincerity of the feelings behind them, and the raw energy flowing from them far surpassed that ornate, calculating work called "Duality."

"When I came back to the solar I saw the prince and I got scared. I'm so sorry I left you there alone." Dea nodded reassuringly, accepting her apology. She was still unable to form a single sentence. Ochen helped her with her cloak, then pulled her to her bed. After they sat, a while later Ochen brought out another book. Dea stared at it questioningly. "In this sketchbook I draw the people I don't know." Ochen explained. Dea nodded understandingly while Ochen turned to the first page. Dea gasped quietly, the drawing was of the ice king, he looked younger, beside him was a female version of the ice prince, the princess sat beside the prince; her face bore feature's similar to the king's

"Business: minded." "Since when?" "Since now. This second." We work. Or we pretend to. I open the sketchbook. The leather one. Nick's inscription on the first page. I start drawing and the lines come clean and fast and I don't tear a single page out. Derek glances over. "New designs?" "New collection." "Inspired by?" "Shut up, Derek." "Shutting. Fully shut."

When she came back to her senses, the piece of paper in her hand showed a sketch of Gu Lichen after taking off his bathrobe! Zhong Keke stared at the paper in her hand, embarrassed. 'I... I can't believe I drew this! Gu Lichen mustn't find out, or he’ll think I'm a pervert!' Zhong Keke hurriedly crumpled up the sketch in her hand and pinched it. "What's the matter? Is it a bad drawing?" Gu Lichen's voice rang out as his dark phoenix eyes looked toward her. She met his eyes and replied guiltily, "Yeah, it's... not that good." It was actually too good that she outperformed herself. Anyone who knew him would recognize it was him in the sketch!

"I know Kelli didn't tell you. I've barely spoken to her about it." "When your things were brought here, I noticed several notebooks full of sketches." Finally setting down the water bottle, he moves to the squat rack and settles the bar on the range of muscles that make up his shoulders. "You've been interested in designing them since you were pretty young. Some of those sketches were even in crayon."

Serena’s POV I'd barely sat down and exchanged pleasantries when she slid the sketches across the table. They were evening gown designs, each one more exquisite than the last. Kruse was famous for their formal wear, with each season's limited pieces becoming instant must-haves among society women. The sketches showed remarkable attention to detail—intricate beadwork patterns, clever structural elements, and flattering silhouettes. "Are these for Fashion Week?" I asked, examining the detailed pencil work.

Koa? The thought slips into my mind unbidden. I have not seen him again since Mama and Papa told me the truth. But a part of me feels him. Watching. Guarding. Waiting. I sit on the deck outside the studio with my sketchbook, trying to calm the rising thrum in my chest. I let my hand move freely, the pencil gliding over paper in soft, sure strokes. A cabin forms. Not this villa. No. A different place. Older. Made of cedar and ash, herbs hanging from rafters, a fire crackling in the hearth. I do not remember it. But my hand does.

"That’s a bold word for a board that prides itself on 'fostering the next generation of masters.'" "Lila," Higgins warned. "The nature of the sketches—" "The nature of the sketches," I interrupted, my voice steady and clear, "is the study of the human form and the complexity of modern brotherhood. You see two boys who look 'indecent.' I see the weight of a legacy that’s crushing them. Look at the tension in the jawline here." I pointed to the sketch of Jax. "That’s not 'obscene,' Mrs. Gable. That’s the portrait of a man who is terrified of becoming a statue."

he said, his eyes sparkling with creativity. Inspiration? “Are you an artist?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me. “I could say I am. I’m a lot of things, Deborah. Right now, I’m working on a piece and I’m almost done. I could show you if you’d like,” he said, pointing to a sketchbook I had just noticed on the desk. The sketchbook looked old and worn, with its pages yellowed over time. As Ace flipped through the pages, the soft crackling of the paper filled the space.

The desk is covered in papers, neatly but thoroughly, sketches and design notes scattered in careful chaos. Curious, I walk over and pull one of the drawings closer. It’s a pencil sketch of the front of the pack house, but reimagined, more welcoming, with clean lines and soft touches that feel… like her. I glance through the rest. There’s a greenhouse, a nursery, even a community hall. Her vision for this place is beautiful. Quietly brilliant. And she never said a word about it. I stack the sketches into a neat pile and slide them to the edge of the desk, careful not to bend or smudge any of them. Later, I think. We’ll talk about these later.