Stories Drawing Novels & Stories

“I'd like that. I don't like the way my mus is staring at me. it's creepy.” I giggled softly. “Mum, Ade and I would like to be excused. We have a school project, so we would be going to my room. Can you please ask the maids to bring some snacks up to my room?” “Alright love. My eyes are on you guys.” Ade laughed. ✍︎✍︎✍︎✍︎ “Your mum is really funny.” “Yeah. I know right?” “I forgot to ask you something. What happened between Christabel and Jeff? It seemed as though they had some sort of bad blood between them.”

Chapter 1: The Fatal Send Julian’s tiny studio apartment felt even smaller under the heat of the ring light. At twenty-two, he was a cocky little shit on the surface, a talented artist with a sharp tongue and an even sharper body, but deep down he was needy as fuck. He needed this portfolio to pop. And he wasn’t going to be doing any more safe shit. He wanted raw and filthy now. The kind of images that would make galleries take notice. He stripped completely naked and poured expensive body oil all over himself, rubbing it in until his skin glistened. His cock was already thickening just from the anticipation.

At the center was a small wooden box he had been secretly working on for weeks. “Look!” he said proudly, lifting the lid to reveal a collection of carefully folded drawings. Emily gasped softly. “Luca, these are beautiful.” He beamed. “I made them for you and Dad. Each one is a story about us.” I knelt down beside him, my throat tightening as I looked through the drawings. There we were, stick figures holding hands, standing under a bright yellow sun, surrounded by hearts and stars. Another drawing showed our home with flowers blooming around it, and in the center, the three of us smiling.

Tabitha’s POV We take turns sketching across the stone wall, passing the marker back and forth. We layer over each other’s drawings like we’re trying to outdo the last. Reed snickers while drawing an alien with three eyes and a meteor shaped like a dick. And then, there’s also something he claims is a “space wolf,” which I honestly think is quite cute. It’s the only decent thing he drew. We keep laughing until my stomach hurts and I’m wiping tears from my eyes. I lean over the narrow window to catch my breath.

"I know I can face whatever comes next. I have you two and Saben, and that gives me strength. She turned to her drawings with renewed vigor. Each line seemed to hold in itself a message of dreams and love that surrounded her. She was going to leave a mark. Working, she was not even able to keep from thinking about the future. "I want to make bags that tell stories," she said with glowing eyes, "bags representing love, strength, and new beginnings." Leila smiled softly. "That's the spirit! You have a beautiful story. It needs to be shared, though."

About the studio, about Jenny’s chaos, about the silly doodles Ryan made during meetings, the lopsided cats, the stick figures wearing diamond tiaras. “He pretends they’re concept sketches,” I whispered conspiratorially. “But don’t tell him I told you, he’s actually terrible at drawing.” A faint twitch at the corner of her mouth. I leaned closer. “See? You agree.” Ryan exhaled sharply behind me, a quiet sound that wasn’t quite a laugh, wasn’t quite a sob. I didn’t turn around. I just kept talking, spinning stories out of thin air, about gemstones that could whisper, about Paraiba tourmalines that glowed brighter when people loved each other.

He smiled, “Go for it, babe. I know you’ll make them awesome.” I started on the basement nursery. I drew a dragon surrounding a howling wolf, with a harvest moon in the background. Then I walked to the first-floor nursery and drew a gold dragon flying with a blue sky and the gold sun in the background. In the second-floor nurseries, I drew the Moon Goddess standing over three wolf cubs in one, I drew the Moon Goddess standing over three baby dragons in another, then I drew the Moon Goddess standing over two sleeping baby dragons and one sleeping wolf cub. Aidinth looked at each of the sketches and gasped, “Babe, these are amazing! I almost can’t wait to see what they’re going to look like af

I draw what I feel every day even what my thoughts bring me. "Thank you, Layla. Yeah, all my masterpieces are stories happening in my daily life." She was surprised with bulging eyes and mouth agape. She covered her mouth when she realizes it was open for minutes. She was speechless unable to speak still staring at me but I give her my appreciation and a genuine smile.

she says, very serious for someone whose ponytail is halfway to falling off. “Really?” I lean forward and catch the watercolor box before it drops. “Tell me all about it.” She sits up, shifting again: legs tucked under, one knee up, sketchbook on her lap. She flips to the middle. The page is full of doodles. There’s a drawing of a round table, four little stick figures with names floating over their heads: ME, CLARA, LEO, ANAÏS. In the middle of the table, a small box labeled in big letters: “CRAYON (NO EAT!)”

There was one solitary, big book on a low table between them. "The title of the tale is The Binding of Autumn," he began, his voice an entrancing whisper just in harmony with the shriek of the fire. “It's the tale of a harvest god who offers a mortal woman a choice: one night of absolute freedom for one year of unimaginable riches for her people." He didn't move as his eyes met hers. "The consent is the matter at hand. It must be freely bestowed, not coerced, and whispered three times into the skin of his throat." “Do you have any idea what sort of story you're going to be reading me tonight?”