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EMILY BROWNING as NATESSA in AMERICAN HORROR STORIES

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Leonard Cohen, from The Complete Poems

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*    𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜.     (   💌   )     ·     300  gifs  of  seo  kang  joon  in  grid  (s01)  can  be  found  in  the  source  link  below.  all  of  these  gifs  were  made  by  me  from  scratch,  so  i  ask  that  you  don’t  redistribute,  add  to  hunts  or  claim  as  your  own.  please  like  &  reblog  if  you  find  these  useful.

interested  in  your  own  commission?  checked  my  pinned  post.

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cut it out with till death do us part. i will find you in this life and reality and the next one and the next one and the next one

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Louise Glück, from “Unpainted Door”, Poems 1962-2012

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it's been a tumultuous past couple of months for calla. between spending every waking moment with daemon and struggling to keep her emotions at bay, she fears that her break into insanity may come sooner than she wishes. it doesn't help that at every turn her bodyguard has chosen to assume ignorance rather than to face their problem head on - much like he does with her adversaries.

she knows he's only doing what's right. that their slow descent into a life of love could also mean the end of everything they've ever known. he's keeping her safe, she knows, but she still can't help but wish that he would pull her into his arms despite it.

calla can't even keep count of the nights she's stayed awake in bed, staring at her door, wishing and hoping he would KNOCK.

he never does.

" you know exactly what i mean, " she says, head falling. she can't bring herself to look at him. there's a moment of panic as she backtracks - had she said the wrong thing ? is this crossing the line ? had every moment, every touch of their hand, every fleeting glance, had all of it been in her head ?

no. she won't let her doubts cloud her judgement. she knows what she feels. she'd even seen it before - just once - a single premonition where he'd kissed her. it never came true, but she dreamt of it every night afterward.

calla leans forward and rests her forehead against daemon's chest, her fingers finding his and wrapping gently around them, squeezing him, willing for him to know.

" don't you feel it, too ? "

Daemon couldn't help but be taken aback by Calla's sudden assertiveness. In the brief duration he had worked under her, he had never witnessed this side of her spirit. The revelation was a welcome surprise, reassuring him that she possessed the strength to stand up for herself. It was a stark departure from the fear he harbored that she might allow others to trample over her. In this moment, he was reminded that Calla, despite projecting fragility and gentleness, was a woman perfectly capable of holding her ground. Gritting his teeth, he restrained himself from uttering more than necessary in response to her command, silently submitting as was his customary obedience. He vowed not to broach the subject again.

Her subsequent words, however, took him by an even greater surprise. A singular question arose within him: why? Daemon never considered himself deserving of such affirmation. He had reconciled with the belief that post this life, he wouldn't be reborn but would instead succumb to the fiery depths of hell, a consequence of the lives he had claimed as a mercenary. That was an expectation he assumed many shared. Yet, the princess of his homeland held a contrary view. In her eyes, he was more than worthy; he was loved.

All I think about is you. The impact of those words on him was unforeseen. Standing so close to him, Calla's confession stirred a tumult of emotions—confusion, denial, and a heartbeat racing beneath her touch. What did this declaration signify for him, for them? Was it a genuine proclamation of love or a fleeting utterance in the heat of the moment? Stunned, all he could do was gaze at her, grappling with the implications. One certainty lingered in his mind: she was dangerous, and she had an undeniable hold on him, whether he liked it or not. Damn.

"Calla... I..." Daemon finally broke free from his stupor, his breathing measured despite the rapid thudding of his heart. He wondered if she could feel it too. Mere inches apart, the temptation to taste her lips nagged at him. Yet, he remained rooted in place, neither pulling away nor inching forward. "I am not sure what you mean."

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A Storm in the Rocky Mountains, Mt. Rosalie – Albert Bierstadt (detail) // Lofoten Island – Lev Lagorio // Rosenlaui – François Diday // Mount Elbrus in the Clouds – Nikolai Yaroshenko // Storm in the Mountains – Hermann Ottomar Herzog // Sierra Nevada – Albert Bierstadt // Rocky Mountain Landscape – Albert Bierstadt // Inkpot Gods – The Amazing Devil

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baek in ho in this look tho

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Wislawa Szymborska, from “Nothing’s a Gift”, View with a Grain of Sand: Selected Poems

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Louise Glück, “Snowdrops”

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— Hanif Abdurraqib, from “They Can't Kill Us Until They Kill Us.”

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" you ... " calla says, opening her mouth to speak, though the words don't come out. she's at a loss for words. a flurry of emotions swirl through her, and she can't seem to grasp the right one. she's relieved, more than anything, to see that he is okay. when he'd fallen calla had expected him to never get back up again.

but now that he was awake there's shock, disbelief, and ... anger ? is she really mad at him for reprimanding her ? no, of course not. she'd been ordered around and chastised all her life under her parents watchful eyes. then what is it that elicits this response ? perhaps it is his choice of words.

" don't ever say that again, " she whispers, her voice firm. calla searches his eyes, wishing, wanting, to delve deeper. if only she could understand the complicated mechanisms of his mind. it would leave her with much less sleepless nights left wondering ʷʰᵃᵗ ⁱᶠ, ʷʰᵃᵗ ⁱᶠ, ʷʰᵃᵗ ⁱᶠ ?

" i'm safe because of you, " she says, eyebrows pulling together in frustration. " i'm here because of you. i'm still alive because of you. so don't tell me what i can and can't do when it comes to your life, because i will choose yours everytime ! "

she's shaking now, hands moving from his face to his chest. she can barely make out the collar of his shirt under the dark glow of the forest, but she grips it hard anyway. calla teeters between shaking him and shoving him, but ends up doing neither. she can't bring herself to hurt him, no matter how little.

" all i think about is myself, " she whispers. can't he tell ? if she'd thought about anyone but herself he'd be dead. but she needs him in a way that she can't even understand. he's here because she's selfish. how can he not know ?

" all i think about is you. "

Your fault. All your fault. The inner voice in his mind grows louder with each passing moment. After calling for the Princess, there's a brief moment of silence until an answer comes, accompanied by the sound of leaves rustling and footsteps approaching. A whirlwind of emotions stirs within him as he locks eyes with her.

"You're okay." Even in her fragile state, her beauty remains as mesmerizing as ever. For some reason, he feels his heart skip a beat, unsure if it's due to adrenaline, relief, or perhaps something hidden, waiting to be uncovered. The forest's bioluminescence only enhances her ethereal appearance.

"You're… safe." His gaze examines her up and down, searching for any signs of injury, but finds none. All he can discern is her constant worry. This moment is far from his usual cold demeanor; it's perhaps the most out-of-character Calla has ever seen him. Finally, he takes a deep breath, and frustration begins to seep in.

"I was reckless," Daemon confesses, his fingers clenching into his palms as he speaks. "And you? You shouldn't be wasting your gift on me." Despite his reprimand, he should be grateful, yet he can't shake the feeling that he's undeserving of her gift.

"For once, think about yourself and not of others."

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"My son's all grown up now." MOVING (2023), dir. Park In Je

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Mahmoud Darwish, from The Butterfly's Burden; "Housework" (tr. from the Arabic by Fady Joudah)

[Text ID: how much of me is you, my love]