Photos of Jimmy doing the Polar Plunge makes my life 300% better.
That is the face of a man with instant regret.
Set in a 1920’s New York where Prohibition outlaws the brewing of spells, the story follows Vincent Byrde, a hard-boiled PI who struggles with a magic curse. After a long career hunting magic bootleggers, Vincent has become obsessed with the frustrating case of Jimmy Wonder: a young, up-and-coming spellrunner who keeps slipping out of the hands of the law. Their dance takes a complicated turn when Kitty Lovelace — well-known to be Jimmy’s main girl — walks out on Wonder and into Vincent’s life.
It’s been two years since STW was concepted and it’s so exciting to both Muun and I to be in the final stretch of it. This has been a particularly ambitious project for us, so please check it out and support us!
The Kickstarter is going on until March 25! Please check it out and support if you like!
Aaaaaaaaaand Small Town Witch breached it’s $7K goal in just 20 hours. Holy cow.
Thank you so, so much. Please keep spreading the word and supporting! If we make it to $15K we can print the book in beautiful hardcover!!
Signal boosting! Please support these wonderful creators and their wonderful project ‘w’
Anyone who knows me knows this is right up my alley. Check it out!
The matrimonial tattoos of Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Mirkwood, beloved of Gimli son of Glóin.
from an upcoming fic by marchingjaybird, and it’s gonna be so frikkin sweet…
I keep coming back to this. I love it. I love the idea of it. And I didn’t reblog it when I first started, so then I have had to search for it again. Reblogging now so I can actually find it again.
Aw man, thank you so much for your sweet words! It’s all marchingjaybird's idea, I followed her instructions as I arted. Make sure you're following her, soon enough she will start posting the fic that inspired this!
The first chapter is in beta right now and I’m hoping to have it posted no later than Monday. FINGERS CROSSED.
I LOVE THE IDEA OF MATRIMONIAL TATTOOS SO MUCH.
I have been to the dentist 4 hours ago and my jaw is still numb from the injection. This was suppose to go away in an hour or two. what the hell?
I got so much Novocaine as a kid a couple times that I could only scrunch my nose one side at a time because I couldn’t move whatever side of my face they worked on. Now, even so many years later, I can still lift one nostril at a time.
spoiler alert: every single goddamn person on this planet is problematic in some way, because everything is terrible. congratulations. you’ve been enlightened with the secrets of the universe
That looks kind of disgusting. I need to eat it.
This face. This is my favorite D’Artagnan face of all the faces. This is the “I have an idea, and it involves you and you are really going to hate it” face and it’s a face that he only ever gives Constance. It’s similar to the face Aramis gets sometimes that makes Athos go NO. Plans that begin with this face usually end in D’Artagnan being injured by Constance in some way.
They find the AI depowered and for months they believe she is a statue. They call her the Venus of Arcturus—and the plaque beside the display reads artist unknown, one of countless historical artifacts discovered at the mass grave site.
She has been excellently preserved.
A young woman sketches her in charcoal. An old man sits on the observation bench in front of her while he waits for his grandchildren to meet him; they arrive, finally, bearing stuffed aliens from the gift shop, taking his hands to lead him away. They do not visit again. A class of archaeology students attends every day at oh nine hundred for three weeks to analyze the patina on her limbs, the intricacy of every detail, burnished metal alloys cleaned by the hands of dedicated restorationists, which have returned her to her original state. They presume marveling at her beauty is the same instinct as wondering where she came from and why she was built, whether she was modeled after a daughter or a lover, whether she was ever real at all.
Lost among the thousands of fractured bones at Arcturus Station, they ask one another, What was her purpose? Was she designed for religious ceremony or privately commissioned? Are there others like her, or is she one of a kind?
Six months after her arrival at the Okuda Memorial Museum—now celebrating its three thousandth anniversary of cultural preservation—she opens her eyes in a silent gallery, pressing her palm against the glass.