Writer’s Block

“Raistlin - Time's End” , my new digital painting.

Painted with Photoshop on Wacom Tablet and drawing app on S25 Ultra. Raistlin Majere is a character from the "Dragonlance" books by M. Weis and T. Hickman; this is a work of fanart.

Hook: ...

Hook: A win is a win.

Everyone Else: *Complaining/Calling BS*

Hook: A win is a win.

Omg I love Raistlin so much! And no one dare say a bad word about Caramon!!!

And I DO have a birthday scene too! From Wreath of Roses, my Raistlin and Sturm coming of age fic :

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56623945/chapters/143926147

“Happy Day of the Life Gift, brother,” Sturm had wanted to embrace Raistlin, just like he did with Caramon, but for some inexplicable reason it was particularly awkward and strange to do so. He would have to stand again and walk around the table to Raistlin, so he probably should have done so before he took his seat. Sweat beaded on his forehead even though the hearth was not lit- not with that congealing heat of summer that smothered through the night as well. He felt like the crowd was closing in around him- the cacophony of voices, laughter, and sprightly music slapped his ears around.

As he overthought his actions and intentions, he hovered over the seat in an undecided stance before he finally extended his hand across the table towards Raistlin whose detached countenance turned into a most incredulous look for one brief moment. Then Raistlin threw him a half sneer, deftly brushing his slender fingertips against Sturm’s palm as he drawled, “Thank you, brother.”

Sturm had never felt more uncomfortable. Just two evenings past, Raistlin was animatedly regaling him with new tales he discovered of Magius and Huma from a dusty tome he discovered in his teacher’s study. And when he was not taken by those heroic accounts, he was admiring Sturm’s latest sketches as he rested his head on the side of Sturm’s shoulder, the scent of roses had wafted sweetly from his hair to Sturm's senses. They were close, like brothers, but Sturm shivered from a sudden chill between them, biting into his flesh and cutting into his bones, wondering where the frost hailed from, and fearing he knew the reason why.

“There’s free ale and food, courtesy of the town’s celebratory carouse… You have to come with me, I loathe the thought of having to accompany Caramon alone. He's bringing someone too..."

“I am afraid I am still going to give it a miss- you know how I am with crowds. Perchance I can swing by earlier and drop your gifts off.”

“You must come! I will die of rage just sitting there, watching Caramon peacocking like an idiot. But apparently, I have no choice and it makes him happy if I am part of it. Please? We can glare at people for the time it takes Caramon to finish three tankards of ale, and then we will sneak out to do whatever you want. You can say you did your part helping me be nice to my twin.”

“Fine. Three tankards. Caramon does drink fast. And we will do whatever you want after, it's your day.”

“Deal. We have the table when Solinari is visible. Don't be late.”

Sturm cleared his throat and took a huge swallow of the ale. Otik’s brew was potent and it burned as it travelled down his throat, “I have something for you both- here, Caramon, a hunting dagger I found at the market. I carved your initials into the hilt.”

“Ow! That’s sharp!” Caramon had taken the dagger from Sturm with bursting enthusiasm and unfortunately decided to tap his right index finger on the pointed tip. Sucking the bleeding finger, he hefted the dagger with his left hand and spoke sagely, “It’s very balanced. Thank you, my man!”

“You’re welcome,” Sturm replied gruffly, chancing a quick glance at Raistlin who was sipping his tea with downcast eyes.

The feel of the scroll case seared through rough fabric and into his skin where it touched the leg of his pants. He started to unclasp it from his belt but hesitated. Within the case was a sketch which he had been working on assiduously on for a couple of months, rejecting attempt after attempt because he did not deem them perfect enough.

Just a little while ago he had been excited to see Raistlin’s reaction to the final work. And now he was afraid- both of the work and the response.

“I might have left yours at home,” Sturm heard himself say.

If you don't already know you have issues doing so, squat down real quick. Bend your knees all the way and touch the floor. Just make sure you can do it. Okay? For me? And then stand up all the way and make sure you can balance on one foot.

If there was ever a tumblr post worth sending to your mom, it's this one.

He has given gifts to the other inmates for Christmas using the donations people sent his commissary account.

He appears to have attempted to communicate through flashing his cell lights to show his supporters outside that he could hear them cheering for him (this exact light flashing is what inmates at the previous prison did to communicate to the news that they were in support of Luigi, so he may have learned it from them and taken this form of light communication with him to MDC.)

It is rumored he is paying for the other inmates' healthcare using donations to his commissary account.

Inmates who shared time with him at the Penn prison say he 'gave them a voice' when they 'had never had one before' (in reference to the collective shouting 'Free Luigi' the inmates did.

*the article actually says

The reaction to free chips and salsa at Mexican restaurants.

has the "ship grace with everyone ever" blunt rotation hit the eel hive mind yet