Attack On Titan Drawing Novels & Stories

I am thankful he let me listen to that song. “Thank you… I almost forgot about those important details.” I bluntly said. He moves closer messing my hair making me grunt and gesture my hand, sliding it vertically to my neck. It’s a warning not to mess with my hair. “Oh… the tiger is now back.” I never mind what he was saying. I just focus on my drawing; maybe it will help me to find them. I picture out the tattoo I see on that bastard's left chest. It’s the only thing I can hold to find that tattoo. I draw a wolf eating the full moon looking up…maybe to praise the Moon Goddess or the opposite meaning? Devouring?

Sil laughs as Becky walks away. ~~~ “Keep those hands up,” Titan warns Iris as he swings at her. She blocks him. “Good. Now you block the attack in one fluid moment.” Iris follows instructions and makes contact with Titan’s shoulder. They work for two hours, and Titan calls it. “You are really strong. I’m impressed,” Titan smiles. He pulls his hair back to reveal a scar. “Do you remember giving me this?” Iris looks at it, “No, sorry. How did I do that?”

Remembering shouldn't be hard but expressing it will be. I think about the various things I have seen in my lifespan. Blood, bullets, pills, dead bodies. I could go on. Most of them aren't really suitable for this environment and explaining it will be impossible. What can I use? There's really nothing I can use that isn't somehow related to my past. Looking over at what Abe's doing, I see that he's drawing I think a scene of trees. Abe draws with these really thin and long lines, which makes his sketch look a lot like an animal's pelt. But I think that's what it is. And there's an outline of mountains in the background. Is that...Lonewood?

Nat says "Shit Titan leave her alone." Rach says grinning at Titan as she notices the blush spread across my face getting everyone's attention. She must have noticed what he was doing when i tried to half assed shrug him off, he just looks at her and shakes his head with a look of warning in his deep chocolatey brown eyes and looks away. The others all start to giggle at them clearly now knowing where Titans hand is now, noone bothering to save me from the rediculously attractive, mysterious, brooding guys torture.

I blinked hard and ran my thumb along the carved wolf’s back. “It’s beautiful,” I said, and meant it. "Truly." Elias smiled — quick and bright, the careful hope in his face opening up into something unguarded. Then he pointed at the folded paper. I set the carving gently back in the box and opened the paper. It was a drawing — done in careful, earnest lines with what looked like charcoal. A group of figures standing together in a space I recognised as the garden. Lucian. Amira. A woman and a man, standing beside a small figure that was clearly Elias and the whole pack spread out around them in a loose, joyful sprawl. And at the centre, a taller figure that was unmistakably meant to be me, su

"He’s drawing his answer?" Tobi turned the book around. He hadn't drawn the sun or the market women. He had drawn Nike but not as she stood there. He had drawn her as a series of overlapping, frantic lines, her microphone elongated like a spear, and her heart depicted as a small, quiet bird trapped in a cage of bangles. Underneath, he wrote: "If I speak, you will only hear my voice. If I paint, you might see your own." Nike froze. She looked at the drawing, then at the quiet boy with the stained hands. The "Electric Indigo" of her persona seemed to soften into a muted "Lilac."

Her eyes are like And then it ends. My heart begins to pound. I rush towards the Beta’s corpse and pry the piece of paper from his hands, quickly opening it. My breath catches in my throat when I see what’s on the page–a crude drawing of a woman swathed in pencil-scratch gray, with a veil pulled over her head and broken antlers dangling crookedly. There’s something about the mania in the drawing, the panic, the desperation that makes me sick to my stomach.

And that was okay. Today I was helping Micah, a thirteen-year-old with a shaved head, hoodie sleeves always tugged down over their palms, and the eyes of someone who’d seen more than they should’ve. They weren’t chatty, but they liked drawing. Their sketchbook was filled with figures that resembled comic book heroes, quiet and fierce, with eyes always cast in shadow. They were hunched over a new page now, sketching a person standing in the center of swirling chaos. The figure held a long sword in both hands, the blade resting downward, tip touching the ground. Not raised. Not slashing. Just… there.

I always lock it before leaving the premises. “But I… Did I…” Brushing it off, I pull the mini door open, and yelp when a heap of papers rains on me as if waiting for me to open it all along. I stay still for a moment, just blinking at the drawings. They’re ugly exaggerated images of me; big head, messy hair, thin legs… I’m as tiny as a doll, while a big guy towers over me, his pants down, and I’m choking on his… What?! My heart drops.

"You can look now, Ate Graziel." Graziel accepted the drawing with a warm smile. Three stick figures were drawn on the paper. One was a tall man. One was a little girl. And the last one was a woman with long hair. All three of them were holding hands. A gentle smile appeared on Graziel's face. "It's beautiful." "This is Daddy." Junie pointed at the tallest figure. "And this is me." Graziel nodded. "And this..." The little girl smiled brightly. "...is you."