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I think everything should have a list of academic sources

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From the book 'Prince Pimpernel, Kitty's Adventures in Fairyland and the Regions Adjoining' by Herbert Rix, illustrated by Frank C. Pape, 1912.

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The amazing Emily contacted me earlier this summer with some questions on how Valor was run, and we had a lovely chat. Tonight, she sent me this gorgeous fanart of Ozma as a thank you and is letting me share with all of you. Please check out her Tumblr as well!

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Today’s Witch is a fluffy Yarn Witch!

Every knit and knot is a wish or a curse.

See more witches in my “Flock of Witches” tag.

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Today’s Witch is a sleepy Dream Reader Witch.

The nightmares obey her.

See more witches in my “Flock of Witches” tag.

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Today’s Witch is the Grand Witch of the North (with her Belt of Winds and Cane of Storms)

Maybe she’s in the mood for a mild winter.

See more witches in my “Flock of Witches” tag.

Or get the current ebook.

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Lantern Part 3

Read Lantern Part 1 🔥 Read Lantern Part 2

✧Read Namesake✧ ✧Read Crow Time✧ ✧Store✧ ✧Patreon✧

I am currently entirely reliant on Patreon & ad revenue, so I really appreciate likes, reblogs, or if folks blast thru my comic archives on the sites linked above! Thanks for helping out!

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Lantern Part 2

Read Lantern Part 1

✧Read Namesake✧ ✧Read Crow Time✧ ✧Store✧ ✧Patreon✧

✧Hiveworks✧ ✧Instagram✧ ✧Tiktok✧

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I drew a little comic for @hiveworks' Micro Comic Summer! It's a fun blend of my two webcomics, hehe! Check the #MicroComicSummer tag for stuff others have drawn too!

✧Read Namesake✧ ✧Read Crow Time✧ ✧Store✧ ✧Patreon✧

✧Hiveworks✧ ✧Instagram✧ ✧Tiktok✧

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Strange Bird

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three Estates

Hunger (previously, she was a fox, or a gull, or a new kind of flesh-eating bacterium, some creature ruled by its appetites; now, she is a woman, who appears always to be eating something delicious. looking upon her, breathing her scent, hearing her laugh, stirs the desires terribly - to fuck her, to rob her, to taste her flesh, to spend a lazy summer afternoon together - but you cannot have any of these things, no more than you can have the bowl of noodles vanishing line-by-line between red teeth.)

Cities (a harried office-lady, twisting lanyard and crumpled blouse, late back from lunch, every light she nears turning to WALK as if the metropole itself wants her kept out of trouble; you look again, and it is a different office-lady, wearing the same lanyard and expression; you look again, and it's an employee of the municipal sanitation department, no less harried; again, and it is fifty-eight pigeons. her previous line of work was as a subway station, and her name reflects this.)

Servitude (a most humble and unassuming Noble, this: adroit, easily overlooked, charming but not *too* charming, possessed of the heart-cleaving truth that the fundamental stuff of the world is not Truth or Goodness or Love but obligation. it knows who you serve and who serves you in turn, it sees the shape of the mad apparatus of debt and leverage that moves you through this life - and with this information, it does nothing. unless, of course, you ask it to; very, *very* nicely.)

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I spent many of my final days turning the names over in my head, trying to guess - who might I have offended, who might have wished me dead, amongst my friends along the road? In the end, I stopped wondering. I wished to die with love in my heart: not doubt, not enmity.

— Chapter 29: And Where My Final Footsteps Fall.

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“I thought this city didn’t have any gods.”

The pigeon grinned a beak full of dog’s teeth. “Ha. They say there aren’t. They even kept most of them out for a while.”

“How did you make it?”

“By being smart. By hiding.”

She gave the one-legged, feral feathered thing a sideways look. “As a pigeon?”

“Sometimes,” said the pigeon. “Sometimes I’m graffiti on a wall. Sometimes I’m a coin dropped in a beggar’s hand. I am neon at night, the rain in the light. I am the song the busker sings. I listen to the prayers of those who come to the city with big dreams.”

“And in return?”

It grinned again. Steam rolled off its feathers, smelling of cigarettes. “I eat their despair.”

“That’s cruel.”

It moved its wings in something like a shrug. “That’s the big city for you.”

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what if we were both boys and when we went to kiss our glasses bonked together and made us giggle

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how could something so fair be so cruel? --- (black sun, death cab for cutie)

mag 143: heart of darkness

(@a-mag-a-day)

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Once there was a maiden Who only knew how to shake it up. To use her body up as she went. Around her were different colors than she remembered. Broken ice melting in the sun, Just as broken ties can melt and be whole again. Her soul was alone in the world, And it really mattered to her. "I'm out of touch," she said. "I'm out of time." "I'm out of my head when you're not around."