Hutao Drawing Novels & Stories

The treehouse was a magical place, a world of possibilities where adventure could happen at any moment. As he sat there, focused on the sketching, Hibiki caught sight of his new friend, Tatsu, who sat across from him. Tatsu had dark brown hair and bright, inquisitive eyes, always asking questions about anything and everything. Hibiki smiled shyly as Tatsu leaned over to take a look at his drawing. “That looks so cool!” Tatsu whispered. “You’re gonna win the award for sure. It’s like something from a movie!” Hibiki grinned, a little bashful but pleased with the compliment. “You think so?”

he says, "In math class. The teacher always has her back to us while she writes stuff on the board and I never understand any of it anyway. So I was just doodling and I wasn't even sure what I was drawing. It was only now that I thought about it. While you were talking about the Rogues and the packs." He points to the panel on the top left where three figures are talking. It's all drawn in black ink but even so I recognize Esme's fluffy hair, Fulvio looking tall and craggy, and me, small next to him. But my hands are on my hips, my expression is fierce and I look like a boss. I really like how Luka draws me. Also, me and Fulvio have wolf ears.

The safe one. But I wasn’t going to let her ruin this. Not when what I had with Ace felt real in a way nothing else ever had. I opened my notebook and started to doodle instead. It was safer. Less pressure. I drew Ace, messy hair, crooked grin, broad shoulders, and gave him armor. Actual armor. A little cartoon version of him holding a fire hose like a sword. Above his head, I scribbled, “Rookie gato in shining armor.” It made me laugh, which helped.

It was folded into a small square. "I drew a picture," he said. "Did you?" Aurora took it. She unfolded it carefully. It was a drawing of the penthouse. A tall black rectangle. At the top, in the windows, were four stick figures. A tall one (Papa). A medium one (Mommy, with a circle tummy). A small one (Ethan). And another tall one with a hard hat (Uncle Marcus). But around the building, Ethan had used his black crayon. He had pressed hard.

"You're back! Look what I made!" I dropped to my knees and caught him in my arms, lifting him into a tight hug. The scent of baby powder and clean clothes instantly made all the lingering stress leave my muscles. "Oh, sweetie! Let me see. What did you draw?" Leo held up the paper proudly. It was a drawing of a big blue boat on a wavy green sea, with a very tall man, a woman, and a little boy standing on the deck. The tall man had black hair, just like Julian.

I was waiting for them. One afternoon, Ethan came into the living room with a crumpled drawing in his hand and Daniel trailed behind him. “Aunty Lila, look!” Ethan’s grin stretched wide as he shoved the paper toward me. I unfolded it gently, smoothing the wrinkles. Stick figures filled the page; one tall, one shorter, and a tiny one in between holding both their hands. Above their heads, a crooked sun beamed down. “That’s me,” Ethan declared proudly, pointing at the small figure. “That is daddy and that is you.”

Small beds lined both walls, thin mattresses long since collapsed with age, faded blankets still folded at the foot of several of them, as though someone had once cared enough to make them each morning. Drawings covered one wall, taped there decades ago and somehow, impossibly, still clinging to the concrete children's crayon work, faded almost past recognition but unmistakably tender in subject. Suns with too many rays. Houses with crooked chimneys. Families, hand in hand. Aurora crouched slowly in front of one drawing near the corner, her flashlight beam trembling slightly as she studied it. A family, five stick figures holding hands beneath a bright yellow sun, and standing slightly apart

The rabbit had been mended multiple times, each stitch a testament to the years of comfort it had provided. "Mommy!" Dorothea's voice was soft and sweet, her eyes bright with excitement. She shoved a freshly drawn picture toward the camera, pressing it so close to the lens that it blurred for a moment before she pulled back. On the paper, drawn in thick, heavy black crayon, stood a figure—tall, impossibly straight. It had no face, just a blank oval where features should have been. But behind its broad shoulders, a pair of enormous black wings spread wide across the page like a dark shroud. The wings were drawn with intense pressure, the crayon laid down so thickly that it left a slight textu

"There's no way I look like that. You look like you're being castrated right now." "Here's a better representation," There's a short stick laying between us and I pick it up, drawing the shape of a human face on the beach sand. I start out by drawing out two 'o's as the eyes with curved brows at the top. A small triangle is drawn next to display his small but pointy nose, and then lastly, strike out a straight horizontal line as his mouth. Noah stares at the silly drawing on the sand that now looks like a hairless mutant and raises a curved brow. "It's missing both ears."