crank shorts

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Strawberry- favorite summer drink

Tangerine- sunrise or sunset

Grapefruit- something positive you’ve done this week

Watermelon- typical summer outfit

Dragonfruit- any tattoos and piercings?

Banana- when making S'mores, do you put the chocolate beneath the marshmallow or above?

Cherry- modern or old fashion houses i.e Bricks, etc.

Huckleberry- swimming in a lake/creek/ocean/ or a pool?

Peach- favorite temperature and weather

Guava- favorite summer activity

Plum- makeup or nah??

Pear- upcoming vacations

Kiwi- sleep outside under the stars or inside with the AC cranked?

Mango- long or short hair

Plantain- pastel of neon

Blueberry- if you could travel anywhere for free, where would you go??

Apple- flowers or succulents

Nectarine- what book or movie would you live in if you could

Honeydew melon- sweet or sour

Acai- stripes or polkadots

Raspberry- favorite kind of desert

Coconut- cats or dogs

Starfruit- showers or baths? Hot or cold? Bubbles or no bubbles?

Lychee- favorite restaurant

Avocado- video games, which ones are you favorite and what console

Pineapple- are you a long kisses or a quick peck on the lips kind of person

Blackberry- coffee or tea, creamer or black, sweet or unsweetened

Pomegranate- one thing you want most right now

Lemon- one piece or bikini

Passion fruit- name of your first pet

anonymous asked:

Bokuroo... and a hospital visit????? >:3c

(fun fact: last christmas I gave my mom a hug and I accidentally bruised her rib. this is a warning to you all to not hug your loved ones too tight.)

“I can’t believe you bruised my fucking rib.” 

“I just missed you so much!” Bokuto defends. Kuroo’s laid out in the hospital bed, with an updraft going up his hospital gown that could rival the goddamn northern winds itself. 

They haven’t seen each other since the last term break in the summer and while Kuroo definitely missed his boyfriend (and his beautifuly strong biceps, he might add) he didn’t think that a simple reuniting hug would result in a his own fucking bruised rib. 

(Then again, Kuroo’s always harbored a fearful respect for Bokuto’s physique so maybe this is not really that surprising after all.) 

Still, as much as Kuroo thinks he should be mad he just…can’t be. Maybe its because Bokuto is exceptionally good at puppy eyes, maybe its the painkillers the doctors pumped him with, or even that he gets weirdly sappy during the winter months but Kuroo couldn’t be happier to see Bokuto, hospital visit and all. 

So he guesses, that all the sayings were true after all. Love really does hurt. 

More Than Words

Author: zepppie

Word Count: 706

Characters: Dean x Reader

Warnings: fluff

Inspiration: Stay close to people who feel like sunlight.

Originally posted by canonspngifs

Dean Winchester is a man of action rather than words.

Mess with the people he cares about, and he’ll shove his brown logger boots up your ass. Stop the tape while he’s belting out Zeppelin, and he’ll keep you in a headlock for the rest of the drive. Give Baby a bath—preferably in a white shirt that you get soaking wet—and he’ll turn you into a whimpering mess right there on her shiny, black hood.

You’ve come to expect these things from him.

But every now and then, Dean does something different. Something extra special. 

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Fraxus Week Day 1: Morning/Night Routine

“I’d really like to know how you keep your hair so nice. Doesn’t it get snarly during the day?”

Laxus and Freed were sitting on their bed, a brush in the dragon slayer’s hand. He’s always loved brushing Freed’s hair, and it’s become somewhat of a habit for him to do that every night before they go to bed. He even braids it back so that the strands don’t get trapped under their bodies or in the sheets; Evergreen had taught him a lot of fun hairstyles to try on Freed.

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entirely bonkers #7 | is this coming off in a cheesy way?

“love everything you do, when you call me fucking dumb for the stupid shit i do”

horror + angst, teamiplier/egos



The fans, his community, are what gets him through the hardest days. It just pained him that he was lying to them.

Ethan never wanted to be the type to keep things from his community. However, being in a really negative workspace, and having graphic nightmares every night was something best kept to himself. His bouts of paranoia and feelings of impending doom was something best left for a psychiatrist to deal with. These were personal things, so was he really lying?

But the community. They saw how brutally Ethan had been treated when those challenge videos were made public. He was also laughed at, which hurt a little more. But the kind words and support from people online… It was a small shed of light in this dark hole he had been put in. If he had any reason to stay in the situation he was in, it was them.



The Story Of Corroded Crank [Long Post]

Art belongs to @shamefulbirb, who is very kind enough to draw my version of Corroded Crank.

Awhile back I presented my idea of a Dark Ethan. We were talking about Anti and Dark and I had an idea for Ethan. But alas, I have no drawing skills and writing it out wasn’t coming to me. So I shared the idea with the Birb, and she was very excited and latched to the idea and brought our clunky blue dude to life.

Now what I like about Birb is that she took the boy and adapted him as her own, gave him a story and lined him out as her own. But she was very sweet to constantly say that he was my idea. Corroded Crank – or CC as we affectionately call the blue bot – became our fun little project. Bouncing back and forth cute and fun ideas according to her head cannons and just breathing life into him.

But here’s the thing. While Birb was writing CC’s story, I already had my own full story for him. And my blue bot was… He was a far difference from her interpretation of the little blue bot… See while Birb gave him a more child-like feel – a sort of Pinocchio learning the world thing – my blue boy wasn’t so innocent.

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No One makes fun of my brother ~ A Markiplier Jacksepticeye and Crankgameplays Ego Fanfic

Mmk so I’m really excited to write this prompt of protective Anti lookin after the newest boi on the block who is the one and only CRANK and a certain bubblegum boi is gonna regret some of his actions😆 Dis is gonna be cute hopefully so HEERE WE GOOO!

His full name, for the most part, was Corroded Crank; Crank for short. And he was new. There had been ideas about him in the past, but it was only now that he fully existed; he liked existing, the world had so much. Places, experiences, and people. As soon as Crank had come into being he’d almost immediately been “taken in” so to speak, by this group of people who were like him. It was like a crazy family, but they made him feel safe. Some of them could be….trying though. One of those would be the vivacious Wilford Warfstache, who was currently grinning widely with his signature twinkle of mischief alight in his eyes.

‘Ya don’t have to get all mopey! It’s really quite adorable.’

Crank fiddled with the sleeves of his charcoal hoodie as he tried to muster up a relatively intimidating glare to throw at Wilford, the moustached man only grinned wider at his attempts. Crank realised that he was only teasing, but part of him did want to be taken somewhat seriously.

'No. It isn’t. There is not part of me that could be considered adorable, especially not my-!’

As he went to exclaim, his voice squeaked and crackled which cut him off. Wilford giggled as he repressed a small pout at the annoying defect, why the hell did he have to be stuck with something so annoying? Wilford stepped closer, his tongue poking out through his teeth due to his amusement.

'Your what? Your cute, crackly lil voice box?’

Crank folded his arms as light tinges of navy blue started to rise on his cheeks, making his clear embarrassment evident as Wilford continued to cackle and tease him. Meanwhile, not very far away, a certain green haired man was sauntering about in search of his new friend; aka Crank. As soon as Crank had manifested, Anti had taken it upon himself to take the newbie under his wing and they’d almost immediately formed a fast friendship.

'Awww are you embarrassed?’

Anti perked up at the sound of Wilford’s unmistakable voice, and started pacing towards where it had emanated from. He approached the entrance to the room slowly, half-hiding behind the doorframe as he peeked in, Anti smiled at the sight of Crank but frowned a little at his demeanour. Wilford had his back to him and Crank was so focused on looking at the floor that he didn’t see him, Anti narrowed his eyes at the scene.

'Sh-shut up!’

Crank was gritting his teeth as his flush darkened, and Anti gritted his teeth at the same time. He felt a bubble of annoyance rise up at the thought of Wilford teasing him, he knew it was just Wilford’s way, but it could sometimes be quite relentless. He narrowed his eyes as Wilford cackled loudly.

'That is so adorable, and nothing you can say will change that!’

Crank looked down at his shoes again before flicking his eyes up, but they weren’t fixed on the moustached man who was teasing him. They were actually fixed on the certain someone who had started to ever so slowly creep up behind Wilford, wearing a determined and signature maniacal grin. Crank’s lips twitched but he looked back to Wilford so that he didn’t give Anti away, since Wilford was still blissfully unaware. Crank cleared his throat gently.

'So…there’s nothing I can do to persuade you?’

Wilford furrowed his brows gently but still maintained a taunting grin as he placed his fists on his hips in a projection of his sassy confidence, which only made Anti smirk as he crouched…ready to pounce.

'Nothing at all.’

Crank couldn’t help his lips spreading into a wide, excited grin as Anti sent him a wink; Wilford finally started to feel a hint of worry.

'Well I’ll just have to get some help then.’

Despite them being spoken softly and carefully, Wilford’s eyes still widened fearfully at Crank’s words. His reaction was too late though, and almost immediately…his fate was sealed.


Wilford let out a, totally manly, screech as Anti lunged towards him and knocked him so he was lying on his front on the floor whilst Anti straddled his back with smug satisfaction. Crank sported a wide grin as he observed the trapped man before turning to Anti.

'Thanks dude.’

Anti giggled and stuck his tongue out through his teeth as Crank shuffled over and sat on the carpeted floor, fiddling with his sleeves gently.

'No one taunts my cranky boy and gets away with it!’

Crank grinned and hugged his knees with a hint of bashfulness as Anti giggled again, before returning his attention to the moustached maniac below him. More specifically, Anti’s fingers and knuckles glitched with little crackling noises as they rested themselves delicately on Wilford’s sides; said man froze and gulped as Anti spoke.

'And now….for your consequences!’

Anti cackled as he let his fingers scribble against Wilford’s sides, and for a moment Crank was immensely confused; how would this be a consequence? However, he soon had an epiphany of enlightenment when bubbly laughter began to fly from Wilford’s lips and his own smile grew; he looked to Anti who was smirking heavily.

'For future reference, you should know that Wilford is impossibly and HILARIOUSLY ticklish…’

'Shuhuhuhut uhuhuhuhup!’

Crank giggled at Wilford's squeaky, indignant protest as Anti’s fingertips worked their tickly magic. Wilford’s cheeks were already matching the colour of his moustache as he squirmed and giggled helplessly.

'And you call me adorable…I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as cute as you right now Wilford.’

His words were so nonchalant, and so softly spoken. Crank’s voice may have had its 'faults’ but at this point Wilford shuddered and flushed harder at the sound of it. Anti’s eyes lit up as he sent a grin Crank’s way, and let me tell you that it was laced with immense pride.

'Y'know, I couldn’t agree more!’

Wilford let out a yelp before descending into wild cackles as Anti forced his hands beneath him so that he could scratch and claw at his sensitive belly.


Wilford bucked and laughed heartily as Anti gleefully squeezed his tummy, making sure to worm under his shirt so he could torture the bare flesh. Crank only watched with a joyful and satisfied grin as Wilford slowly unravelled at Anti’s touch, Crank especially observed his face which was reddening further by the second.

'Y'know Wilford, with how you’re blushing it’s almost as if this whole thing embarrasses you-’


Both Crank and Anti guffawed at the nickname, sharing a mutual look of surprise and sarcastic admiration. Wilford let out a wild squeal as Anti decided to wiggle a finger into his navel at lightning speed, the glitching man chuckled as he spoke.

'Wow, very imaginative…you must not have learnt your lesson yet.’

Ignoring Wilford’s stammering hysterics, Anti turned to the brown haired youth with a smirk and flicked his head to the man beneath him.

'Ya wanna help?’


Crank grinned wider at Wilford’s protest, and despite its verbal theme it gave him the motivation he needed.


He shuffled over to the two of them, Anti decided to nonchalantly massage Wilford’s hips which made him shriek and buck as Crank sat gently on Wilford’s shins facing Anti. Said man turned to him and gave his a wide smirk and a wink before going back to his own task at hand, but not before yelling bombastically.


Wilford wailed as Anti tortured him relentlessly, Crank meanwhile experimentally spidered his fingers over the backs of Wilford’s thighs; giggling happily at the results.


Crank sniggered with a wide grin as he danced his fingertips over the muscles, scratching and pinching sporadically as Wilford screeched with the desperation and vigour of a true madman.

'Wow, this is a real bad spot for you huh? Tickle tickle Wilford….’

Anti had decided to let up on his torment of Wilford’s upper body so he could observe Crank’s actions with immense glee and pride.

'Wow Cranky you’re good at this!’

The brown haired man flushed gently at the compliment, for a moment disregarding Wilford’s intense hysteria due to his own bashfulness.


Both Anti and Crank jumped at Wilford’s sudden heightened hysteria, and they both looked down to where Crank’s fingertips had landed. Oh boy was Crank embarrassed. His navy lush had returned as he saw that his hands now rested….on Wilford’s backside. Anti however found it rather hilarious.

'Ohohoho my fuhuckihing gohohod!!! Yohohou have aha tihicklish ahass?!’

Wilford couldn’t even speak, he could only open and close his mouth as his own voice box seemed to just fail there an then. Anti’s wild cackling filled the room, his head was thrown back as tears built at the corners of his eyes; Crank’s reaction was nowhere near as intense due to his slight embarrassment, but he nevertheless found it amusing.

'Wehell this was unexpected….’

Anti cackled more at Crank’s words, Wilford flushed harder than the sun as he let out an embarrassed whine and tried to turn his head so he could look at him.

'P-plehease I’m sohorry for teasing you! I-i swear I won’t do it again!’

Crank hummed to himself a little, he was of course immensely happy at the fact that he’d gotten a genuine apology from Wilford Warfstache. The most self-centred, prideful man on this entire planet. And yet….

“W-wait what are y-NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!!’

Wilford shrieked so loud that even Anti winced, but he was soon grinning heavily at the sight of Crank poking and skittering his fingertips over Wilford’s butt as he giggled childishly to himself.

'Wow look at that booty move!’

Crank let out a small cackle at Anti’s words as the pair of them observed how Wilford’s entire body seemed to shake and spasm due to the pinches and scratches that Crank’s nimble fingers unloaded.


Wilford was screaming. Literally. He thought his lungs were about to burst as the tears of mad hysteria streamed down his cheeks, the sensations were too much; he didn’t know why his butt had to be so sensitive, he just knew that’d he’d probably die if he wasn’t granted mercy soon. Crank meanwhile was having the time of his life.

'Wow, imagine what would happen if everyone’s else found out about this? I don’t think you’d ever hear the end of it….’

He grinned at the protesting screech that mingled with Wilford’s regular, wild outbursts of mirth. Crank’s lips twisted a little after a few moments though, he had to admit that he did feel bad about doing this to Wilford; so he let up and shuffled off his shins. Anti, though quite reluctantly, also shuffled off Wilford’s back.

'Ohohohoho my gohohohohod…..’

Wilford gasped in intense relief, his entire body was still tense as shockwaves and tingles reverberated over his torso, legs….and butt. Slowly but surely though, he began to relax, and managed to muster the energy to push himself up into a half-sitting position.

'Uhm….y-you okay Wilford?’

The moustached man blinked a few times before he looked up at the source of the wavering, and crackly, voice. He smiled gently at Crank’s slightly concerned expression.

'Of course I’m okay, I’m Wilford Warfstache!’

Anti let out a loud groan, making Wilford snicker at him as Crank relaxed with the knowledge that he, at the very least, hadn’t injured or scarred Wilford for life. Said man sent a slight glare towards Anti, who merely stuck his tongue out childishly.


Wilford’s tone of voice suddenly deepened as he flitted his gaze between Anti and Crank, surveying them with a slightly threatening glint in his eyes.

'It would be a good idea, for both of you, to not breathe a word of this….is that clear?’

Crank gulped, not hesitating to nod; he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Wilford’s….retribution.

'Y-yeah of course….’

Crank winced as his voice cracked and whined again, he averted his gaze as he prepared himself for the onslaught of taunting. What he didn’t expect though, was the broad arm that suddenly wrapped itself round his shoulders; the arm belonging to a gently smiling Wilford.

'Your voice’ll get stronger if you want it to, I promise. Although, I think it’s kinda cool as it is now….' 

Crank’s eyes widened as he looked up at Wilford.


Wilford chuckled gently at him a little, feeling a little sad that the young man seemed so surprised. Anti meanwhile was grinning and took the opportunity to burst back into the conversation.


Wilford and Crank both snickered as Anti spread his arms wide and bombastically, Wilford donned a slight smirk as he tilted his head at the glitchy man.

'Anti I’m not sure that counts as a compliment..’


Wilford giggled at him as Anti sent him a playful glower, and Crank just watched with a light smile. He was fidgeting again, I don’t think it was due to nerves though. I think it was just his thing. Like Wilford and his gestures, Anti and his glitches…they’re all just like, their THING y'know? Just because your body isn’t exactly how you want it to be, or your voice isn’t how you’d like it….that doesn’t mean you can’t MAKE it what you want it to be.


Six Things Freelance Writing Taught Me

For cash-strapped writers – which, let’s be honest, is most of us – freelancing is a means of making ends meet while doing what we love most: writing. But more than that, working as a gun for hire also serves as an awesome tactic to learn the ropes and pick up things like:

1. How to sell a pitch. Landing a freelance writing gig is like submitting a novel. You have to stand out from the rabble – which means crafting a clever cover letter. Something tight and professional (but not boring, boredom is the Black Plague of queries) which showcases your writing savvy. After hundreds of hours trawling through online classifieds and shooting off queries, I’ve got the CV thing down to a freaking science. That said, the tweaking and tuning never ends.

2. How to research. Since freelancers write across fields and professions, research skills are a stamped, signed and sealed must. It can also be kind of fun. For instance, a while back, I landed a gig writing targeted Tweets for a floating real estate honcho. I ended up submerged in a crap ton of did-you-knows about aquatic living, and to this day, I know more about float homes than most people are ever exposed to.

3. How to keep it sharp. Most writing projects have a word limit. For instance, I shoot for 1000 words when it comes to newsletters, and about 500 for articles. For Tweets, it’s even less: 140 characters. That means making each sentence count. The flip side of this is that I’ve been kind of stunted. I can crank out short stories and novellas fine, but I struggle with length. So just be careful about that. Believe me. Nothing more frustrating than plotting out a 50k novel just to top out at 20k.

4. How to self-edit. Kind of obvious, but freelancers have to polish their own stuff. Sometimes, clients will make little changes, but the writer must know their way about the grammar-go-round. No one’s going to hire a freelancer if their writing sample is chock-full of more holes than a slice of Swiss cheese.

5. How to stick to a deadline. Deadlines are super important. Ever finished an assignment the night before it’s due? When there’s an immediate cut-off, there’s no time to wait for inspiration to beam down from the heavens. We don’t have a choice but to take matters into our own hands – and that’s when the magic happens.

6. How to treat writing like the serious profession it is. Like accountants, freelancers exist in the frame of mind where writing is our livelihood. Once that mental shift occurs, writing becomes a hell of a lot easier. It’s not just a catharsis. It’s a career. And that’s what it’s all about.

Special Mornings

A/N: Today, I woke up to something incredible.

They say miracles don’t just happen overnight, but the moment I checked my phone this morning, I found that five or six new, beautiful people followed me- just pushing me over the 100 follower mark. I cannot begin to thank you all for the support- I truly, truly am grateful to each and every single one of you.

It may seem like a small number to some, but to me… it’s unfathomable, almost. To know that a hundred people enjoy reading what I write. That being said, please enjoy some early morning Hiccstrid, sharing the first light of day in bed.

He woke up to find comforting warmth latching onto his left side. His left arm tingled from the lack of circulation it was receiving, but it was a subtle sensation he didn’t mind- especially when the person that rested upon it was a certain someone

Hiccup felt the tickle of silky blonde hair, uncombed and slightly tangled, against his collarbone. He felt the weight of a casual arm draped over his stomach, and another almost awkwardly looped around his neck. Her digits just barely grazed his skin with each of her steady inhales and exhales.

There was something beautiful about being able to see Astrid first thing in the morning. It felt ridiculously intimate- sure, they shared a bed, but seeing her in an unkempt, natural state where her walls were all down… It was an incredibly rare sight, seeing as she was simply always awake before first light. It was habitual to her, Hiccup assumed, to rise early and immediately head to Stormfly’s stable. Hiccup understood that; he shared the same morning ritual, only a little later and with Toothless.

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Can you do a story where Matthew and the reader are dating. She isn’t artistic and wants Matthew to help her with a painting. They get really frustrated with each other and she gives up, but Matthew lovingly convinces her to keep trying. Thanks :)

Originally posted by toyboxboy

“Here, lets try this.”

Feeling Matthew scoot his stool behind yours, he threads his left arm by your side, resting his large hand on your thigh as he takes his right hand and settles it on top of yours.  You allow him control of your strokes, watching as the canvas in front of you begins to emerge with life, the fluid strokes from his lightly shaking hand painting a picture in your mind that you couldn’t get to translate through your own fingers.

And it made you frustrated.

You had watched Matthew doodle and paint ever since you had known him, and while the two of you eventually gave into the budding romance between the two of you, you couldn’t help but feel slightly jealous.  You considered yourself an artistic soul: you ad-libbed quite a few original songs on your electric keyboard, you cranked out short stories like a blender cranks out milkshakes, and you had been ballroom dancing since you were 10.

But drawing wasn’t something you were ever able to get a handle on.

So, in an effort to try and round out your artistic mind, you had asked Matthew to help you figure it out.

But all you found was frustration within your incompetence.

“I got it,” you bite, shrugging his body off of yours as you roll your shoulders back, bringing the brush back to the canvas as Matthew straightens his back and furrows his brow.

He wasn’t sure why you were getting so upset.

“Just take it slow at first,” he coaches soothingly.

“Got it, Matt,” you bite.

You only called him Matt whenever you were truly angry with him.

And he wasn’t sure what he had done.

“Hey, you were the one who asked for my help,” he says, his voice getting sharper as your arm twitches, throwing your beautiful blue color right into the thick of the yellow, creating this disgusting green color that began tricking down the canvas, destroying the little bit of outlining with a pencil that Matthew had painstakingly walked you through earlier.

You felt the rest of your frustration bubble over.

“Well, don’t need your help anymore,” you say through your clenched teeth as you toss your paintbrush at the canvas, the paint splattering all over you and the floor as you hop down from your stool, “so you can go do something productive with your day.”

As Matthew watched you walk away, his jaw lightly unhinged as he takes in your strained shoulders and your taut walking posture, he clamors off of his stool and rushes after you, grasping your arm as he whirls you around.

He found colorful tears running down your cheeks, your salty, frustrated rivers flowing amongst the colors on your face, painting a picture all its own upon your skin as he sighs lightly, wrapping his arms tightly around you.

“Come here,” he coos as you sniffle, walking into his body as his long, strong arms draw you nearer.

“No one is ever an expert on their first try,” he whispers, running his fingers through your hair as he lightly brushes it back from your watery face.

“You were,” you pout.

“I got lucky in a lot of my endeavors, yes,” he breathes.

“Yeah, why don’t you keep bragging about it,” you bite, throwing your arms out as you push him away.

“Hey.  You were the one who asked me to help you,” Matthew says, reaching out and grabbing your arm again.

“Everything comes so naturally to you, doesn’t it?  The modeling and the beautiful body and the artistic expression and the acting on the show. You don’t even know what it means to truly work, do you!?”

You knew that your anger was bubbling up for reasons that had nothing to do with not being able to paint, but at this point you couldn’t stop the word vomit rising in your throat.

“You don’t know what it means to send a CD to manager after manager, wondering why no one will take your music.  You don’t know what it means to send a manuscript of short stories to publisher after publisher and have them constantly send it back rejected, do you?  You don’t know what it means to have your ballroom dancing competition partner bail on you because you’ve gained too much weight, do you!?!”

Throwing daggers with your stare as you watch Matthew’s eyes line with tears of their own, you throw your hands up in the air as you breathlessly continue.

“I bet no one has ever said no to you in your entire life, you over-privileged spoiled little brat!!”

Feeling your chest heave with emotion as your vision clouds with tears once again, you feel your legs grow weak underneath you from the wasted emotion and the depression draining from your body as you hit the carpeted floor.

And all Matthew did was rush to your side.

“Y/N, I had no idea that any of this had happened.  Why didn’t you-”

As you curled into yourself, your hands covering your face in embarrassment, Matthew sits down and scoops you up into his arms as he holds you close to his body.

“I didn’t know you were doing any of that,” he whispers into your hair before kissing your forehead.

“You have been so-…kind to me,” you hiccup.

“Ssshhh sh sh sh,” he coos, rocking you lightly side-to-side as he tightens his grip around you.

“And you’re the only financial provider for us,” you add.

“I don’t mind that,” he whispers soothingly.

“But I do…” you whisper.

Sniffling as you raise your head up, your eyes connect with Matthew’s chest as he lowers his gaze to meet your downcast eyes.

“No one wants my music, o-o-or my writings.  My partner, he-”

You looked down at the light bulge of stomach as your hand slowly migrates to it, squeezing it before Matthew quickly covers your hand in his.

“Stop that,” he coos.

“He told me that I had gained to much weight to compete with.  He couldn’t…lift me.  And I can’t…get into my competition dresses anymore.”

Matthew’s heart dropped to his stomach.  He knew that you had sacrificed a lot to be with him, to run his schedule so you two could see the most of each other as possible.

He didn’t realize that you were sacrificing your hobbies and your health to do that as well.

“So I thought that…maybe I had some untapped potential in painting or drawing.  You know, like you always talk about.”

Matthew sat there and recalled all of the conversations he had had with you.  You were there when he had first started drawing, and he remembers you cheering him on only months into his hobby when the art gallery in LA wanted to host some of his paintings.

His accomplishments, seemingly looking as if they drop in his lap, were making you feel inadequate.

And he didn’t know how to help.

“…but I don’t,” you whisper before sniffling hard again.

“Oh, Y/N…” he sighs, his chest heaving as you lay your temple into his strong body.

“Nobody thinks I’m good enough,” you choke out, feeling the tears rise to your eyes again as your hands begin to tremble.

“I do,” Matthew murmurs, pulling back and craning his neck down as he raises his finger, crooking it under your chin as he slowly pulls your gaze up to his.

“Wanna try the painting again?” he asks.

His heart sank as your saddened face shook no.

“Will you try again for me?” he whispers, his face dipping closer to yours as your eyes flutter across his features.

Your eyes were always his favorite part of you.

You never did figure out, like most people, how to lie with your eyes.

“Ok,” you croak out as a light smile graces Matthew’s cheeks.

“Alright,” he says as he helps you up, taking your hand within his as he starts back down the hallway.

“This time,” he says as he pats your stool as you climb back up on it,” we’re gonna try something different.”

“What are we gonna try?” you ask as Matthew hands you the paintbrush while holding your paints out to your left side.

“We’re gonna paint designs.  Not objects,” he says as he smiles.

And as you dip your paintbrush into the beautiful deep purple color and hold it just above a fresh canvas, you feel Matthew dip his head down into your neck as he places a long, slow, warm kiss into the crook of your neck.

“I know you want to do this without me,” he murmurs as your skin begins to tingle, “but if you want my help, I’m more than willing to.”

And he smiled as he felt you nod your head.