Fluffy Hair Drawing Novels & Stories

What the hell was I drawing? Mia peeked over my shoulder and whistled softly so the voice will be audible to me only. “That looks cool. It’s a little dark. But looks cool.” I looked at her and smiled. “Thanks.” She showed me her sketch. It was a cute sketch of a coat with flower designs on the sleeves and tiny butterflies flying around the fabric. “That’s really pretty,” I said honestly. “Thanks. I call it Spring in Paris,” she said proudly. I looked around. Some students were completely focused. Jordan was biting the end of his pencil while sketching something geometric design. Elisa had drawn a dress that I guess was made entirely of feathers.

I bet when his cheekbones and jaw sharpened into the hard, chiselled man he is today girls couldn't help taking notice. Two of them as well. If his brother looked the same then…and it was at that point I had to think of anything else before Livi rendered me depraved. I stared at the empty paper and charcoals. Usually I could while away an afternoon doodling but when I did sketch, I found myself outlining those distinctive eyebrows. A perfectly straight, handsome nose. It was when I started drawing long tousled hair and shaping his eyes that I muttered, “get a grip Freya,” and pushed the pad to the side.

Nothing pulls me out of a weird mood faster than doodling. As we go through the scene for the umpteenth time, I find myself doing rough sketches of the men in front of me. None of my drawings ever look particularly realistic - my doodles have more of a cartoony, comic book style - but I'm pretty proud of how they turn out. Once I've done Omar and Mr. Grand, I move on to the person I really want to doodle - Orlando. I don't get him right the first time. Or the second. Or the third. At first I can't seem to get his hair right, but by the end it's his eyes that are giving me the most trouble. Nothing I draw can capture how startling and direct they are.

he called out softly, his voice barely audible behind the thick, curly bangs falling into his eyes. “Yeah?” He held up the paper to show me jumbles of colored lines and his lower lip was poked out in a frustrated pout. “Want…want to draw the dinosa..ur… put the tail on the back. I can’t...” ‘Can’t see,’ I finished internally. “Give me a second.” I reached for my bag and rummage through the side pocket until my fingers found the small stash of hair ties I’d started carrying everywhere. I picked out a soft blue one and beckoned him closer. “Alright, we’re about to do something special. A little magic trick.”

As I run my hand to tuck her hair, she stops me, “Mommy, don’t make a pony. I love my hair open, you know that.” “But your hair keeps disturbing you while you paint, princess,” I explain while gently tying her hair into a ponytail. “After we finish painting, I’ll let you open your hair again. Okay?” “Okay, Mommy.” As she replies, moving her head, her ponytail bounces with her words, and I plant a loving kiss on her head. I tidy up the surrounding mess, and she calls out in excitement. “Mommy, look.” She shows me her drawing of two flowers—one in pink and the other in red.

He listened contentedly, one hand on my leg as he watched me move my lips. Fluffy nuzzled my leg; now that I had been with him several days, his face was less scary than when I first met him. His little mushroom type of nose was dark, damp, and warm. He laid his head right in my lap, and I petted the unruly hair between his eyes. “What is this animal?” I wondered aloud. There are so many animals here that I do not know what they are. Fluffy looks like a cross between a cat and a dog from where I am from. One animal is independent, and the other is bent on pleasing you, making you the center of its world. “So what is it? What kind of animal is this? Cat?” Creed shook his head, his hand messin

he exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement as he held up his paper, a series of bold colors messily spread across the page. I squinted, leaning closer. “And who can that be?” I asked, tilting my head to take in the colorful figure splashed across his drawing. “It’s mummy!” he yelled, his cheeks puffed with a proud smile, eyes gleaming up at me. He had drawn her with bright red curly hair and a blue dress. I couldn’t help but chuckle at his art. “Wow,” I said, genuinely impressed. “She’s beautiful. You did a good job, buddy.”

Not more than a year older than me. "How do old people look in your world?" [They get wrinkles and their hair turns gray] "How pathetic," He said, chuckling. He is so arrogant. "Now go draw" I took the vessa out of the drawer and started drawing on the paper. Drew a dress with short puff sleeves and the dress covered the whole body on the top until a little over my knee. A tea length.

I carefully opened the cover, and stared. A near-lifelike portrait of Rhiannon, frail but smiling. flip A woodland scene, wonderfully detailed down to the individual blades of grass. flip A kitten playing with a toy, hair and whiskers beautifully rendered with fine little lines. flip A little girl reading, the folds of her skirt nearly photographic. I hesitated, then quickly rifled through to the final drawing. And paused, suddenly fearful. My face peered up at me from the page, perfect in nearly every detail... just prettier than I felt was strictly fair.

Her hands were working fast, a smile played on his lips. She looked so funny; her brows were furrowed together...tightly. It was as though she was deep in thoughts as she drew. Her golden thick mane of a hair hanged carelessly across her shoulders. She yawned wide and loud, she needs to sleep, she picked her ruler making some measurement. She fixed her eyes closely so she wouldn't make a mistake.