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Oh, to be a Victorian maiden fleeing my haunted manor house in the dead of night, running across the moorlands. This fine lady is Elena

💜🕯️💜

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A visual explanation of why stars fall on Earth. Details of The Augsburg Book of Miracles, an illuminated manuscript made in Augsburg in Germany in the 16th century, anonymous author-ess.

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flowers :]

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Flying South by Clara Scintilla, 2023

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Fall tree color images taken today, from northern Mn.

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hmm

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Via @archeohistories at Twitter: a "spirit kettle" for tea, guarded by a basilisk. (The fuel for the heating flame goes in the little pot underneath.)

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you in me

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Huevember days 13-15

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Papercraft Princess Tutu! 🦢

Tutu was the very first papercraft I ever made, years ago (so many years that I've lost my scan of that first papercraft, which breaks my heart a little ;o;), so all the Tutus I make have a special place in my heart. It always feels a little nostalgic to make her, as well as exciting to see the changes in how I approach the project. This time, I tried adding a lace border to resemble a stage curtain!

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[ID:

Writing you love letters in phlebotomy class

and watching the crease of my elbow bloom. I look in the vials and you’re in my water. Robbers of you. Coagulating. I’m learning new words: brachial, cephalic, basilic. Redefining butterfly. Dizzy as a centrifuge. Won’t you spin me, darling? Separate me into serum and plasma and lovesickness. Layers of liquid and you. Suspended in heparin.

I’m finding romance in what’s sterile. The preparation and the site of insertion. Kissing your hand and retrieving an alcohol swab, making a ritual of caring. Devoted. Is a blood panel a prayer? An appeal to a higher power? There’s an intervention between syringe and autoclave. That’s where I live. Cleric of blood, acolyte of leeches. Their honest thirst. Their small sharp mouths.

I marked you twice, once on the back of each hand. A bruise like a kiss, livid and real. Hematoma of love. Your stubborn veins. For a moment I couldn’t draw anything forth, and I quavered at your altar. The needle begs the salt to follow. Release and flash. Relief and sting. Then the hot wet pulse inside the vial— a tourniquet loosened around my heart as the proof of your life warmed my palm.

I line up my instruments and remember your lovely wrists. When it comes time to puncture another, may they feel the echo of your faith in my touch; how, when I asked for your love, you gave me your arm.

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Nathaniel Orion G. K. / 11.21.24

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Variable Image Patterns

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A lil something I did…..

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November 10, 2024

Let love hold you so close that nothing in the world can come between you.