Pigtails In Paint Novels & Stories

Edible? “Why in the nine hells would you require edible paint?” He grimaced, pulling out a handful more. They were all edible pigments—at least twenty distinct hues. His eyes shifted to the brushes, and then the realization hit him like a physical blow to the chest. My surprise. I had requested he return on time because I had a plan for us. “Fuck,” he breathed, dropping the canisters back into the box. I had bought these to experiment with him, and his tardiness had ruined the moment. No wonder I was ice cold.

The only things I could apply on my face were my serum, face masks and face cream and that was only when Miles wasn’t around. I picked up a brush and mixed it with a little bit of paint. I had a few buckets scattered around the base of my easel to work with. The first color to kiss my canvas was red, followed closely by blue. I had no idea what next to add to it, so I mixed the two colors together to get purple. It was only after I had made a big blurb of purple did I realize I had ‘violet’ paint. Dip, brush, dip, brush. On and on I went until I started having fun throwing paint on my canvas and all over my body. By the time the three hours were up, the whole area I occupied was covered in a

She was amazed at the various shades that it offered; the wonder of ombre colors that it created, from the stunning shades of pale blue, regular blue, dark blue, light blue-green to dark green, and so on in other groups of pigments. "You can get one and draw your favorite cartoon character. Just make sure to take care of it." Erika continued to speak even if Via never minded her words. "Only make sure to take care of it. I secretly stole it from my sister," Angela whispered with a smile on her face.

“Ah! Bravo, Violet!” Fabian’s beaming voice with excitement and admiration aroused my interest in what was happening inside. I peered at the doorframe, finding my five children molding clay, but as I got closer, I realized they were using silicon molds, helping Violet as she designed the top of the cake, looking like a mini park. “What’s happening here?” I asked curiously as I gazed at my daughter’s edible art. “Daddy!” They exclaimed simultaneously, but instead of coming to me, I walked closer and gave them my sweetest kiss in their heads.

His snigger filled the air as we all started ambling. RINA I briefly pressed a wet brush on paper before spreading out the moisture over a specific sketch. I got my selected pigment —a mix of forest green and sunset yellow—and worked it in, curious to know the outcome. Unfortunately, it wasn't as bad as I'd hoped. They said a painting clearly depicted the mental state of its painter. Bullshit, I said. Utterly and totally wrong. No matter how much I gave myself away to my thoughts or listened to the depressing lyrics contained in my playlist, I couldn't send the message across. By my side was the proof of my inability: balled up sketches and three pencils decorated with bite marks.

Bert asked, standing next to the painting he’d been working on. Rain stepped around where she could see. It was her. Though he’d used non-traditional colors for most everything except her hair, which still looked different since it was painted in an array of oranges and reds, it was still obvious the figure, painted in yellows, greens, and blues, was her--looking up at the Gate, which was located in the background, painted in a deep blue with a twinkle of sunlight glinting off of it. “Wow!” Rain’s hands went to cover her mouth. She was at a loss for words. “That’s… incredible!”

The colors seemed to hum with potential, and I dipped my brush in water, swirling it gently before pressing it against the first pigment. As I mixed the colors, watching new shades emerge, I felt a calm excitement ripple through me. The act of blending, the way one color transformed into another, always reminded me of how change could be beautiful, even unpredictable. I swirled a soft pink with a hint of orange, lifting it carefully with the brush, and pressed it to the paper. The stroke was smooth, deliberate, and I let myself linger over the detail, adjusting the gradient with tiny, careful touches.

he drawled out slowly, "God must think you're a fucking mule. Just blindly grinding away." My smile died on my face. Cassius tapped a specific spot on the draft. "This shadow here. Did you use some cheap, synthetic pigment you mixed in a lab?" "No." I shook my head frantically, my voice trembling. "I used 19th-century mineral pigments, every stroke was done by hand..." "Aria." He cut me off. "I'll say it one more time. Show me this garbage again, and you won't get a dime." He stood up, walking slowly around the desk until he was right in front of me.

His blue eyes followed every contour, every shape, and once he was ready to apply color, he asked, “Are you comfortable in that position?” Caty smirked. “I’ve done worse with you.” He chuckled. “Yeah, I forgot. Sorry about that.” She giggled in return, trying to stay as still as possible. He continued painting, a smile tugging at his lips. Several times, he had to take deep breaths to calm himself and clear the rising heat building between his legs. He focused all his effort on the painting, he didn’t want to disappoint her. After nearly an hour, he finally finished. It wasn’t that hard, he only used three sets of colors: one for the skin tone, black for her eyes and outlines, and brown for

I locked everything inside a closet in my room, but I still continued to paint every single week without fail, sometimes just once and sometimes seven. Today I’m painting butterflies again two to be precise. One is brown and one is gold, one is pretty and one is not, one is shy and the other is bold. I no longer use cheap water color but the most expensive paint I can get my hands on. It’s improved my painting quite a bit. For the background I’ve decided to go with the sky. It signifies that the butterflies are free; they can travel wherever they’d like. I think. Can butterflies travel far? I don’t know but these ones can.