Yandere Drawings Novels & Stories

Or maybe he is struggling with the loss of someone close to him, or maybe he has terrible nightmares each night and is looking for an outlet…I’m truly reaching at this point. Perhaps some of these explanations would make perfect sense, if it weren’t for the uneasy feeling in my stomach. The drawings are just so...unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Is Noah really like this? I can’t imagine he would be, from the times I’ve met him, but how could I gauge from those small moments what he is truly like? He’s drawn demon like creatures emerging from a smudge of darkness. Each have eyes void of all feeling, of all mortal like tendencies. Dark hooked claws reach out, almost completely off the page, lik

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.

They're open and trusting and it makes a paternal instinct flare up in Jesse’s chest. Iandor seems so genuinely interested in what Jesse’s studying at school and insists that he be shown some of his sketches. He complies, of course, pulling out his phone and giving free reign to Iandor to look through his art folder. He seems particularly fascinated with his mock design of superheros as female characters, drawn to his sketch of female Spider-Man, softer with feminine features. Jesse talks about how the project he's on right now is all about making your own villain for a specific game concept that's been set.

"The what?" Aiden proudly lifted the parchment, presenting it with a triumphant flourish. It was a masterpiece of terrible stick figures. There was a tall, blocky man with a jagged golden crown, a woman wearing an oversized silver tiara, a small blob representing a little boy, a giant black dog with six legs, a glowing stick figure surrounded by yellow loops, and a final girl drawn with aggressively angry V-shaped eyebrows. Kael let out a long, dry sigh. "Let me guess. The one with the furious eyebrows is your long-lost aunt?"

She inhaled her smoke. “More reason we should go get the stuff now. Remember, he shouldn’t have any clue of who was behind this all or what it is all about.” He paused. "Look at it this way, Nyx; the drawing belongs to someone who he knows, and he might find out who is behind all of this by merely looking at the drawing.” I echoed the two names in my head. Drane and Nyx. A perfect name for people of their likes. The Nyx girl was so pretty with her red hair, making her look more like a Korean goddess. I wonder who she was doing this for, though.

“she hates me.” “no, she loves you already. She ran inside because she’s scared that if you don’t like her drawing you won’t like her.” Andre flips the paper over in Dylan’s hand and watches the way his boyfriend’s face lights up at the ‘new and improved’ version of her stick figures. To which she added a million tiny hearts and stars and wrote ‘Andreie and Dylanie drawn by hyeri kim’ at the bottom in neon pink marker. “She drew this for me? Really?” That shy pout is back on his lips but Andre wasn’t expecting to see a tiny glaze of water over his eyes.

Nicole. “Heidi…” my heart softened as I dropped to my knees beside her. “I’m gonna put them back, I promise. I just wanted mum to stay here for a while.” One of her drawings rested ont he table too, almost covered by mum’s scarf. I pulled it from under there. It wasn’t the best picture but I could tell it was two older women with a child in between them. One of the women’s hair was done with a yellow pencil while the other was black, the child had tiny dots around her head to imitate hair, but what they all had in common was the yellow circles hovering over their heads and the triangle wings.

Maybe years. And then I see the drawings. Taped to the walls, scattered across tables, covering nearly every surface I can see. Sketches in charcoal and pencil, some detailed and finished, most of them half-done like he started and couldn’t bring himself to continue. All of them are the same person. A girl. Young, fourteen or fifteen maybe, with long dark hair and this smile that looks like it could light up an entire room. In some of the drawings she’s laughing at something off the page. In others she’s concentrating hard, her tongue stuck between her teeth the way kids do when they’re focused.