Markiplier Imagines

Sketches - 42

I sat at my desk with my sketchbook in front of me and a fine liner in my hand. The pen glided around the page, flowing as I moved my hand in different ways to get the effect I needed. I felt so calm when I drew. It was what I wanted to do my entire life but things didn't go exactly to plan meaning I had stopped drawing for a long time. I had got back into it not to long ago so I was still a bit rusty but it felt so good to hand a pen in my hand again.

I never showed Mark any of my work. We had been married for 2 years but I still never showed him. It's not that I didn't want to, I did, it's just I had no reason to. It was fine though. It's not like it was anything magical.

As I finished the dark black outline of the piece and reached for my pens. It felt so good to use them again. The colour bled onto the page and need between one another to create the perfect shades. I flicked the deep brown pen across the paper. It almost looked black which was perfect.

The door opened and I hear footsteps plodding into the room. I turned around as Mark came up behind me, placing his hands on the back of the chair. "What you doing?" He asked, looking over my shoulder at the book resting on the desk. "Wait, did you draw that?" He asked, bewildered.
I looked up to him but he didn't take his eyes off the page. "Um, yer. It's not very good. I need to practise some more." I said honestly.
Mark shook his head. "What are you talking about? This is incredible. Why have I never seen this before?" He wrapped his arms around the tops of mine and rested his chin on my shoulder.
I shrugged lightly so as not to hurt him. "I never thought it was any good. There was no reason to show you work that wasn't good." I spoke.
Mark scoffed. "Your amazing. What else have you drawn?" He enquired.
I turned my head to look at him and looked into his eyes. He was being deadly serious. I began standing up and he let go of me so I could go and get my stuff. Walking over to the cupboard I reached to the highest shelf and took down a box. The contents held 15 years worth of drawings and art work. The box was heavy but I bought it over to our bed and placed it on the middle. Mark just watched. I walked picking up my current sketch book and taking Marks hand, dragging him over to the bed.
I climbed in and he sat next to me leaning on the headboard and dragging the box closer. "All the work I have ever done. In that box. I just couldn't ever throw it away." I pointed at the box and smiled at the memories inside.

Mark opened it and took out what seemed like hundreds of books. He looked intently through every single page. At times I covered my face at the terrible work but at other ones I smiled because I was proud of what I created. Some of the pieces I didn't even remember doing. I rested my head on Marks shoulder the whole time. At one point I looked up to him and saw what looked like wonder in his eyes. He didn't want to stop looking at them. When we got to the end of all of the books Mark turned to me. "You did all this work." I wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement, and I don't think he knew either. I just nodded. "Your so talented. These are fantastic." He told me.
I smiled at his kind words. "I always wanted to be an artist but stuff got in the way of that like needing money to survive." I laughed.
He kissed my cheek and looked deep into my eyes. "Why don't you start now." I laughed. "No I'm dead serious (Y/N). Why not?" He grinned.
I thought for a moment.
Yer, why not.

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This is a thing and yer. Have a nice day you wonderful people! -A