You're So Talented!!! Mind If I Request A Fanart Of Newt Looking After Tommy In A Ghost Form? :)

Pre-maze!Teresa :D

everything he wanted, everything he needed

a scene from the death cure that never actually happens

strange day

Jst mam tko miljon vprasanj zate ker je res kul da sm najdu nekoga k je iz slovenije k je interested in art in res nocem bit annoying ampak a si se sama naucila risat? In kok dolg ze rises? Pa a mas kdej tezave z art block?

!!! ej, mejt, verjemi da nisi annoying. sama v smislu da me nihce ni ucil ampak je moja mami dobra umetnica in mam njeno podporo, kar pomeni da mi subtilno nastavlja akvarelke na mizo. ze od vedno prakticno? s tem da sm mela intenzivnejsa obdobja, do nedavno nism risala 3 mesce. v izpitnm obdobju decembra sm si pa kupila sketchbook hehehehe. tok redko rism da tezko govorim o art blockih, ampak mam tok zdrav odnos do risanja da mi ni problem zajebat in nism nekej stuck? kr zmer ko ti nekej ne gre al pa ne ves kaj bi narisal lahko narises enga merboya, a ves. kaj pa ti? dej me kje dodej pls! danajakurnik na insagramu :))))) kr mam vec za povedat in je tole ze dolgo

you think: this is stupid. you're caught in a levitation trap between the elevator and the third floor. this is stupid, because you saw him by the staircase and you took the elevator. it's stupid to take the elevator in a four-storey building when you're you. it's stupid that the action-reaction of you and him has had something in between. a few-meter distance. it's not even ignoring when it's so overtly an investment. when you adjust yourself like this. it's stupid.

you think, right, and press the fourth-floor button.

you step out, all wire, when he's two steps from the top. he stops, looks around slowly, then shuffles to the top.

you don't live on this floor, he says.

not new: you reducing the distance. stepping in the way. adjusting yourself back to pre-adjustment. you can call it adjustment, because otherwise you don't call it at all. he probably doesn't. this is the form of investment.

you look around, in imitation, in need a mirror, motherfucker? then look at him. yeah, you say.

he raises his eyebrows. yeah?

okay, you say. okay. let’s play a game. we exchange information. i say something, you guess whether it's true, you say something, then i guess.

he just looks at you for a moment. in stasis.

nope, he then says. no, nope, nope.

what? you feel your face scrunch. come on. why not?

nope, he repeats.

and you think: why not fall all the way in, huh? you've heard a song say distracted on the edge of falling in, and the falling seemed like something to want. and you have wanted, and here you are. disappointed but not surprised. stepping in the way. here you are.

i know your schedule, you say. it's not because – you shake your head aggressively, do a cut, over, redo motion with your hands. restart: it's because my friends study the same—whatever. doesn't matter. whatever. i know you're ditching now.

you inhale, gust-large, and watch him inhale, barely there in his in-stasis-if-you-blink-right.

creepy? he says, a corner of his mouth smiling, and you think, you absolute idiot. you fool. where is your literacy? do you need it spelled out? pulled into the lines that you could read? think confessions wear lipstick like in american films?

so what lecture do i have now, he asks. he glances at his watch with his suburban business gesture, which also says i dress differently on weekends from school days, and it also explains you having told him your shoes would be bad in an apocalypse. and now you look at his shoes and can hear the clicking of him walking up the stairs, and know your steps would be silent like an oath.

why would i make up something like that, you say, with good disgust. literally.

is this blackmail, he squints his eyes.

yes! it's blackmail, you say.

he's still holding his bag, like this is a part of going home. you think at him: it's not! i would put five hundred bags down. i would untie my shoes. this is a thing in itself. you absolute idiot.

okay, he says. what do you want?

what? you ask, on reflex. it floods over you, wetting all your clothes: the fuck it, guess that's it you felt when you restarted the elevator. how your sneakers turned into combat boots, and you stepped out soundly.

i'll think about it, you say, voice coming out strange.

you'll think about it, he repeats. he is again hinting a smile, like he does, like directness is something lesser. and you think, it might be, huh. here i am. he says: then why say that now?

then why say that now, you mock, but it comes out bad, and you cough a little, and shake your head a little. wouldn't you like to know, you say. i have my reasons. the time will come.

he just stands there, calmly. doesn't say anything. frame-freezes, calmly, like he does. and you can't tell whether he's doing deliberate masking or this is what his insides look like. you do like the contrast, though. admittedly. this is not what your insides look like. the appeal of the unknown, huh? certainly when it almost smiles like that. finally, he says: okay.

okay, you repeat. your shoes are sneakers again, so you say: bye.

bye, he says. you blink, inhale, run down the stairs.

okay, then.

Tvoj art je freaking goals in si zelim da bi bil enkrat vsaj pol tok dobr kokr ti v risanju.

kolega!! hvala! z veseljem te tut naucim kar znam, zelo resno mislim, napisi mi :)))