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theonottsbxtch · 7 months ago

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FOR YOU, ALWAYS | CL16

an: this was a request! i loved wiritng it and now i love the idea of historical romance prince!charles, thank you for requesting it 💞 also i listened to experience by ludovico einaudi the entire time i wrote this

summary: charles has always hated his life, he thinks, he doesn’t know really. but then he meets someone, she challenges him, she makes him try and all of a sudden he knows what he wants.

wc: 12k

The grand dining hall of the Château de Monte Carlo was bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun filtering through its ornate windows. Prince Charles of Monaco sat at the long mahogany table, his jaw tight as his parents, the Sovereign Prince and Princess, laid out their expectations with the weight of unshakable certainty.

"You must understand, Charles," his mother said, her voice poised yet firm, "a union with Princess Evelyn of England is not merely desirable—it is necessary. The alliance could strengthen our position in ways you cannot yet fully grasp."

His father leaned forward, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the table. "This is not a matter of choice. You are the crown prince. Your duty outweighs any personal hesitation."

Charles’s fingers tightened around the stem of his untouched glass. “And what of my life? Am I to simply be a pawn in your political games?” His voice was calm, but a sharp edge lay beneath the surface.

His mother’s gaze softened slightly, though not enough to dissuade her resolve. “You are the oldest, my son. The weight of the crown has always been yours to bear. This... is part of that burden.”

He didn’t argue further, though every fibre of his being resisted. Instead, he rose, offering a clipped bow. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Moments later, Charles pushed open the heavy doors to his private chambers, stepping into the quiet sanctuary of his room. His temples throbbed with the remnants of the conversation, and he felt the weight of his parents’ expectations settling heavier than the crown he would one day wear.

Inside, the faint rustle of fabric caught his attention. The servant girl—her name unknown to him, as it was meant to be—was smoothing the fresh sheets over his bed. She froze upon seeing him, her hands faltering mid-motion.

“Your Highness,” she said quickly, dipping into a small, practised curtsey. “I didn’t realise you were returning so soon. Shall I leave and return later?”

He waved a hand absently, stepping toward the settee by the window. “No. Stay. Finish your work.”

She hesitated, her eyes flickering to his face, then back to the task at hand. He sank into the settee, his head tilting back against the carved wood as he let out a heavy sigh.

“Do you ever wonder,” he began, his voice soft yet tinged with frustration, “why some of us are given so much freedom, yet chained in ways that others cannot see?”

She paused, her hands gripping the edges of the linen she had just tucked in, unsure if the question was meant for her.

When she did not answer, he looked at her—truly looked at her—for the first time in a long while. Her expression was guarded, her posture poised, as though expecting reproach. “You can speak freely,” he said, a rare hint of gentleness colouring his tone.

Her lips parted slightly, then closed again before she carefully responded, “I think, Your Highness, that even those with freedom often long for something else.”

He smiled faintly, though there was no humour in it. “Something else,” he echoed, the words hanging between them like a challenge to a fate he could not escape.

She quickly turned her attention back to the task at hand, smoothing the sheets in swift, precise movements, as if afraid that lingering would invite trouble. Charles, however, was not done with the conversation.

“And what would you long for?” he asked, his voice quieter now but laced with curiosity. “If you could have… anything?”

Her hands stilled, though she didn’t lift her gaze. “It doesn’t matter, Your Highness. People like me don’t waste time with such thoughts.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

The firmness in his tone made her look up briefly, her eyes meeting his for the first time. They were dark, unyielding, yet not unkind. She hesitated, as though weighing the consequences of speaking too openly.

Finally, she murmured, “I suppose… I’d long for choice. To decide my own path, no matter how humble.”

Charles leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he regarded her with an intensity that made her shift slightly under his gaze. “Choice,” he repeated, almost to himself. “The one thing I’ve never had.”

She blinked at his words, her brow furrowing in confusion. He noticed the look and gave a soft, bitter laugh.

“You think I have everything, don’t you?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at the opulence surrounding them. “All this, and yet I’m to marry a woman I’ve never met. Smile on command. Produce heirs like some stud horse for the dynasty.”

“Your Highness—”

“Spare me,” he interrupted, raising a hand. “I’m aware I sound insufferable. Poor me, the prince in his gilded cage.”

The corners of her mouth twitched, the faintest shadow of a smile threatening to appear, though she suppressed it quickly. “I wouldn’t dare say so, Your Highness.”

“And yet you’re thinking it,” he said, leaning back against the settee, a faint smirk tugging at his lips now. “Go on. You’ve already said more than most would dare. Speak freely.”

She hesitated, then, emboldened by his unusual mood, offered carefully, “I think… it’s easier to envy a cage when it’s lined with silk.”

Charles let out a bark of laughter, surprising them both. For a moment, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate, replaced by something lighter.

“Touché,” he said, shaking his head. “Perhaps I deserve that.”

She resumed her work in silence, and he watched her, his mind turning over her words. There was a simplicity in her presence, a quiet sense of purpose that felt like a reprieve from the endless demands of court life.

As she moved to leave, her task completed, she paused by the door. “Your Highness,” she said, her voice tentative.

He glanced up, his expression expectant.

“Sometimes… cages are only as strong as we believe them to be.”

Before he could respond, she slipped out, leaving him alone with his thoughts—and the echo of her words, which refused to leave him in peace.

The words haunted Charles for days. Cages are only as strong as we believe them to be. They played on a loop in his mind, following him from morning meetings with ministers to the hollow dinners with his parents, where talk of his engagement to Princess Evelyn consumed every conversation.

By the third day, he relented. Not to the sentiment behind her words, but to the reality of his life. Duty, it seemed, would always triumph over desire. He formally agreed to the arrangement in a cold meeting with his father, his voice devoid of emotion as he signed the papers that would announce his betrothal to the world.

That evening, restless and seeking solace, he ventured into the royal gardens. The roses were in full bloom, their scent heavy in the warm air, yet they brought him no comfort. The paths, so meticulously maintained, felt as constricting as the marble walls of the palace.

The crisp evening air offered a solace the grand halls could not. He strolled along the manicured paths, his mind still heavy with the decision he had made, when movement near the servant’s entrance caught his eye.

It was her.

She was dressed simply, carrying a basket as she slipped through the narrow door at the edge of the palace walls. For a moment, he simply watched her, a sudden curiosity flaring to life. Then, before reason could temper him, he followed.

She moved with purpose, her steps quick as she crossed the gravel path leading to the servants’ gate. Charles kept his distance, careful to stay within the shadows. The sound of the gate creaking open carried through the still night, and he quickened his pace.

“Wait,” he called softly as the gate began to swing shut behind her.

She spun, startled, her hand flying to her chest when she saw him. “Your Highness!” she whispered, her tone panicked. She glanced around quickly, as though expecting someone to appear from the darkness. “What are you doing out here?”

“I saw you,” he said simply, his voice low, “and I followed.”

Her expression shifted from shock to alarm. “You shouldn’t have. If anyone sees you out here with me—”

“They won’t,” he said firmly, stepping closer.

“But if they do…” Her voice dropped further, almost a plea. “I’ll be dismissed—worse. Do you know what they’d do to me for leaving the palace grounds with the prince?”

He stared at her, and for the first time in days, he felt a flicker of something other than despair. “Please,” he said, the word escaping him softly but with undeniable weight.

Her eyes widened at his uncharacteristic vulnerability. She shook her head, taking a step back. “No. I can’t. I won’t.”

“I’m not ordering you,” he said quickly. “I’m asking.”

For a moment, she stood frozen, her mind clearly racing. Then, with a frustrated sigh, she pulled the cloak from her shoulders and thrust it toward him.

“Fine,” she said, her tone sharp but her movements careful as she draped it around him. “If anyone asks, you’re my cousin visiting from the countryside. Keep your head down and your mouth shut.”

Charles nodded, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Understood.”

She turned and began walking quickly down the narrow dirt path beyond the gate. He followed, cloaked in her simple, worn garment, the scent of lavender lingering faintly in the fabric.

They walked in silence for what felt like an eternity before the lights of a small village came into view. She turned onto a side lane, leading him to a tiny house at the edge of town, its thatched roof weathered but charming.

“This is it,” she said, her voice clipped as she gestured to the modest dwelling.

He stared at the house, a stark contrast to the palace he called home. “You live here?”

“Yes,” she said, clearly defensive. “It’s small, but it’s mine. No one tells me what to do when I’m here.”

He didn’t respond, too busy taking in the details: the flower boxes beneath the windows, the faint glow of a single candle in the window.

“Now you’ve seen it,” she said, her tone impatient. “You should go back before someone notices you’re missing.”

But Charles shook his head. “No,” he said softly, his eyes still fixed on the little house. “Not yet.”

Her brow furrowed as she crossed her arms. “You shouldn’t have come in the first place.”

“Perhaps not,” he admitted, finally looking at her. “But now that I’m here… I can’t imagine wanting to leave.”

She stared at him, her expression unreadable. The quiet stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, she sighed again, softer this time.

“Fine,” she said, stepping toward the door. “But if anyone asks, I don’t know why you’re here, and I definitely didn’t bring you.”

She pushed the door open, stepping inside with a cautious glance behind her. Charles followed, ducking slightly to avoid the low wooden beam over the doorway. Before she could say a word, a voice called from inside.

“Back already? I thought you—”

The voice cut off as a man, younger than Charles but older than the servant girl, appeared from the far corner of the small room. He froze, his sharp blue eyes flicking between her and the prince. “What in God’s name…”

“Damn it!” she hissed, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I thought you were working the late shift at the docks tonight!”

“I was,” her brother said, stepping forward and squaring his shoulders. His rough shirt and patched trousers bore the telltale marks of dock work—salt stains and grime clung to the fabric. “But the shipment was cancelled. Now you tell me why the bloody prince of Monaco is in our house. Did you kidnap him?”

“Kidnap him?” she snapped, throwing her hands in the air. “Don’t be ridiculous. He followed me!”

Charles, for his part, seemed utterly unconcerned by the commotion. His gaze wandered over the small room with childlike fascination, taking in the chipped table, the cracked ceramic plates stacked neatly in the corner, and the patchwork curtain separating the single sleeping area. He paused to admire a string of dried herbs hanging near the hearth, as though he’d never seen anything so fascinating.

“Your Highness,” the brother said, stepping in front of him with an awkward, hesitant bow. “I mean no disrespect, but do you… do you need me to call someone? Or are you in danger?” He looked over his shoulder at his sister. “Are we in danger?”

“No one is in danger,” Charles replied, his voice calm. He turned to her brother with a polite nod. “Thank you for your concern. I’m here of my own accord.”

The girl pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering under her breath. Meanwhile, Charles’ eyes landed on a wooden crate near the wall, and before either sibling could stop him, he lowered himself onto it. The crate creaked but held, and he leaned back with a sigh, a serene smile spreading across his face.

The girl spun on him, her exasperation bubbling over. “What are you smiling about?”

He looked up at her, his expression earnest, almost boyish. “It’s beautiful.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Here,” he said, gesturing around the room. “It’s so cosy. Everything has its place. It’s warm, lived-in… peaceful.”

Her brother raised an eyebrow, clearly sceptical. “You call this beautiful? Your palace is five hundred times the size, and you think this is—”

“I know what my palace is,” Charles interrupted, though his tone held no irritation. “Cold. Grand. Silent. This… this feels alive.”

She crossed her arms, her brow furrowing as she stared at him. For a moment, she didn’t know whether to laugh or scold him. “It’s a shack,” she said finally, her voice softer but still tinged with disbelief.

“Maybe,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “But it’s your shack. And it’s more honest than anything I’ve ever known.”

Her brother exchanged a glance with her, his expression suggesting that he thought the prince might have lost his mind. She only shook her head, sighing heavily as she walked to the table and placed her basket down.

“This is a mistake,” she muttered to herself.

“Perhaps,” Charles said, still smiling, “but it’s the best mistake I’ve made in a long time.”

She busied herself unpacking the basket, placing a few withered carrots, a handful of potatoes, and some crusty bread onto the table. Her brother leaned against the wall, arms crossed, still watching Charles with wary eyes.

“If you’re staying, Your Highness,” she said, her tone clipped as she focused on the food, “I hope you don’t mind scraps.” She hesitated, then glanced at him. “And you can’t tell anyone at the palace that I take the extras. They’d—”

“Dismiss you,” Charles finished, his voice soft. “I won’t tell. You have my word.”

She gave a small nod, her shoulders relaxing slightly, and began peeling the potatoes. Her hands moved deftly, her brother stepping in to fetch water from the small barrel near the door. Charles sat quietly on his makeshift chair, watching the two of them work in a rhythm.

“Do you need help?” he asked after a moment.

Her brother let out a short laugh, but she only shook her head without looking up. “No, Your Highness, but thank you for the offer. I imagine peeling potatoes is beneath you.”

“Not everything is beneath me,” he replied, and while his voice was carrying a hint of dry humour, there was some seriousness to it.

She didn’t respond, but a faint smile tugged at her lips as she chopped the vegetables and tossed them into a battered pot over the small fire. Soon, the room filled with the simple, comforting aroma of soup.

When the meal was ready, she placed three mismatched bowls on the table and ladled out the steaming broth. She set one in front of Charles without ceremony, then handed one to her brother before sitting down herself.

Charles took a tentative sip, and his eyes widened slightly. “This is excellent.”

Her brother snorted. “It’s boiled scraps, mate. You must really have it rough if you think this is fine dining.”

“Max,” she warned, shooting her brother a glare.

Charles chuckled, dipping a chunk of the crusty bread into the soup. “Maybe it’s not fine dining,” he admitted, “but it tastes real. Honest.”

Her brother rolled his eyes but said nothing more, focusing on his meal. The three of them ate in relative silence, the tension in the room easing slightly as the warmth of the food spread through them.

When the bowls were empty, she cleared the table, stacking the dishes neatly on a small shelf. Charles leaned back, his contented smile returning as he watched her move about the room.

“You should go,” she said finally, her voice breaking the quiet. She didn’t turn to face him.

His smile faltered. “I don’t want to.”

Her hands paused for a moment before she resumed tidying the table. “You’ve seen what you wanted to see. This is my life. And you… you have your own life waiting for you back there.”

Charles stood slowly, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves. “I suppose you’re right,” he said softly.

She walked toward the door, not meeting his eyes as she grabbed her cloak and gestured for him to follow. Her brother gave Charles a long, unreadable look as he rose to leave, but he said nothing, only shaking his head as the prince ducked back out into the cool night air.

They walked in silence down the dirt path, the lights of the palace glowing faintly in the distance. When they reached the servants’ gate, she stopped and turned to him, keeping her eyes on the ground.

“This is where we part ways,” she said firmly.

He took a step closer, and when she looked up, she saw something in his expression—gratitude, yes, but something deeper, too. Without a word, he reached for her hand, his touch gentle. He held it for a moment, his thumb brushing lightly over her calloused fingers.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice low and filled with sincerity. “For the soup. For everything.”

Before she could respond, he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. The gesture was brief, but it sent a wave of warmth up her arm, leaving her stunned.

He stepped back, releasing her hand, and gave her one last look before slipping through the gate and disappearing into the shadows.

She stood there for a long time, staring at the empty path, her heart racing for reasons she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—name.

The next few days at the palace dragged on in a monotonous blur for Charles. His mornings were filled with tiresome meetings about the engagement, his afternoons with rigid etiquette lessons to prepare for public appearances with Princess Evelyn. Every second felt like a tightening noose around his neck.

Finally, the day came for him to meet her. Princess Evelyn of England arrived with her entourage in an ornate carriage, her entrance every bit as grand as expected. She was perfectly polite, perfectly poised—and, to Charles, perfectly insipid.

They sat across from each other in one of the palace’s many drawing rooms, chaperoned by a small battalion of attendants and his ever-watchful parents. She spoke at length about her family lineage, her charity work, and her plans to modernise court life, but her words washed over him like a stream of lukewarm water.

When it was his turn to speak, he managed only the barest pleasantries. He was certain she noticed his lack of enthusiasm, but if it bothered her, she gave no indication.

By the end of the meeting, he felt more drained than he had in years. As she curtsied and left the room, he caught his mother’s pointed glare, but he ignored it.

Before she could say anything to him, he glanced at the ornate clock on his wall. It was nearly the same time as the day she would be fluffing the pillows on his settee. A peculiar sense of anticipation stirred in his chest.

Without a second thought, he made his way to his bedroom. As he opened the door, his eyes immediately fell on her.

She was there, as if summoned by some unspoken wish. She was standing by the settee, her back to him as she carefully fluffed the pillows. Her movements were deliberate, methodical, and entirely unlike the flurry of maids bustling about elsewhere in the palace.

A slow smile spread across his face.

“Perfect timing,” he said loudly, causing her to jump slightly.

She turned, clutching the pillow to her chest. “Your Highness!” she said, startled. “I— I can come back later if—”

“Don’t bother,” he interrupted dramatically, throwing himself onto the bed with a theatrical sigh.

She froze, unsure whether to be amused or annoyed, as he sprawled across the silk covers, one arm flung over his face.

“Let me tell you about the most dreadful afternoon of my life,” he groaned.

Her brow furrowed as she set the pillow back in place. “The dreadful afternoon where you met the woman you’re going to marry?”

“Precisely,” he said, sitting up slightly to gesture at her. “You understand my plight already.”

“I understand you’re being ridiculous,” she replied, smoothing the cushions on the settee.

“Ridiculous?!” he exclaimed, placing a hand over his heart. “Do you know what she said when I asked her about her favourite pastime?”

“I don’t,” she said flatly, clearly trying to stay focused on her task.

“She said,” he continued, his voice dripping with mock enthusiasm, “Oh, I do adore embroidery. There’s something so meditative about it.”

She stared at him. “That… doesn’t sound terrible.”

He sat up fully now, gesturing emphatically. “Doesn’t sound terrible? It’s horrific! What am I to do with someone who finds stitching flowers onto fabric the height of excitement?”

“You could try embroidery yourself,” she suggested dryly, unable to resist a small smirk.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Very funny. No, what I need is someone who… who challenges me. Someone with fire.”

She arched an eyebrow but said nothing, turning back to the pillows.

“Instead,” he muttered, flopping back onto the bed, “I’m shackled to a walking lesson in decorum.”

The room fell silent for a moment, save for the soft rustle of fabric as she adjusted the settee. Finally, she turned to face him fully, her expression unreadable.

“Maybe,” she said carefully, “you should spend less time thinking about what you don’t like about her and more time figuring out what you’re looking for.”

Charles opened one eye to glance at her. “And if what I’m looking for isn’t an option?”

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, something unspoken passing between them. Then, she shook her head and turned back to her work.

“Then you make do,” she said simply.

He watched her for a long moment, his chest tightening inexplicably.

“Is that what you do?” he asked softly.

She paused but didn’t turn around. “Every day, Your Highness.”

Without another word, she grabbed her items and walked out, softly closing the door behind her.

Charles had barely settled back on the bed, still pondering her cryptic answer, when the door to his chambers burst open.

His younger brother, Arthur, strode in, his golden hair slightly dishevelled and a boyish grin plastered across his face. “Charles! I just saw her—the princess of England. She’s… stunning. Gorgeous. A masterpiece, really. You lucky bastard.”

Charles groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Arthur, must you always barge in uninvited?”

Arthur ignored him, plopping himself unceremoniously into one of the velvet chairs near the fireplace. “I mean it. If I were you, I’d have proposed on the spot. Did you see her eyes? Like polished emeralds.”

“She’s… fine,” Charles muttered, his tone flat.

“Fine?” Arthur’s voice rose in mock indignation. “Brother, I’d trade places with you in an instant.” He leaned forward, his grin widening. “What is it? Not enough excitement for you? Too… proper?”

Charles sat up, his expression exasperated. “If you find her so attractive, Arthur, marry her yourself.”

Arthur laughed, clearly amused by the suggestion. “Oh, if only it worked that way. But alas, you are the crown prince. The heir. The one who gets the girl and the throne, while I’m left to look charming at parties.”

Charles shook his head, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He couldn’t help but wonder how different his life might be if the roles were reversed. Could Arthur really be happy living a life of obligation, of gilded cages and loveless arrangements?

His thoughts drifted, unbidden, back to the servant girl. Her small house, her laughter with her brother over bowls of soup, the way she moved through life with an independence he’d never known.

“What would it be like,” he murmured, almost to himself, “to marry someone who isn’t royalty? Someone who isn’t bound by these ridiculous rules?”

Arthur blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. Then he laughed, loud and incredulous. “Are you out of your mind?”

Charles turned his head sharply, fixing his brother with a challenging look. “I’m serious. What would it be like to marry a commoner? To live a life free of all this… pomp and pretence?”

Arthur’s laughter faded, replaced by a look of disbelief. “You are mad. Do you have any idea what that would mean? The scandal? The uproar? Father would have a fit. Mother would faint on the spot. And the people? They’d riot.”

“Would they?” Charles asked, his tone calm but insistent. “Or would they understand? Would they respect a prince who chose love over duty?”

Arthur shook his head, a faint sneer creeping into his expression. “You don’t know what you’re saying. A prince doesn’t marry a milkmaid or a seamstress. It’s not a fairytale, Charles. We’re not… like them.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and sharp.

“Not like them,” Charles repeated softly, his voice carrying a hint of disdain. “And what exactly does that mean?”

Arthur hesitated, then shrugged, as if the answer were obvious. “It means we have a responsibility. A legacy to uphold. Marrying into royalty isn’t just tradition—it’s survival. You think Father and Mother arranged your engagement for fun?”

Charles didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back against the headboard, his mind churning. Arthur’s words grated against something deep within him, something that longed to push back against the boundaries of their carefully constructed world.

“Maybe,” he said finally, his voice low, “the legacy isn’t worth the cost.”

Arthur stared at him, his disbelief giving way to concern. “Charles… you’ve been spending too much time alone. Or worse—reading poetry again. Get your head out of the clouds, brother. This is your life. Learn to accept it.”

With that, Arthur rose, clapping Charles on the shoulder before striding toward the door. “And if you won’t,” he added with a grin, “I’ll gladly keep the princess company. You’re a fool not to appreciate her.”

The door closed behind him, leaving Charles alone in the echoing silence of his chambers.

But his mind wasn’t silent.

It churned, restless and defiant, filled with images of a life he might never know.

The chill of the autumn night bit at Charles’s skin as he hurried along the winding path toward the small house. A week had passed, and though he told himself repeatedly that it was improper—foolish, even—he couldn’t shake the gnawing thought of her.

He hadn’t seen her since their last conversation in his chambers. Every day without her had stretched longer than the last. No wry comments while she smoothed the wrinkles from his sheets, no gentle jabs at his dramatics.

The house appeared before him, small and humble against the starlit sky. Light peeked through the cracks in the shutters.

He hesitated, his heart pounding. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he knocked.

The door opened a crack, her face appearing in the dim light. The moment she recognised him, her eyes widened in alarm, and she yanked him inside, shutting the door firmly behind him.

“Your Highness!” she whispered fiercely, pressing her back against the door as though to block the outside world. “Are you out of your mind? I’ll be hung if they find you at my door!”

He tried to smile, though he knew she was right. “I haven’t seen you all week.”

Her expression turned exasperated. “That’s not a valid reason to sneak out of the palace, Prince Charles.”

“Isn’t it?” he countered lightly, though the heat rising in his cheeks betrayed the truth of how much he’d missed her.

Her sigh was heavy with frustration, but something softened in her gaze. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said again, though her voice lacked its earlier sharpness. She moved away from the door, adjusting the shawl around her shoulders.

It was then that he noticed the redness around her nose, the slight rasp in her voice.

“You’ve been ill,” he said, stepping closer.

“It’s nothing,” she replied, waving him off as she moved toward the small kitchen space. “A cold. Happens every year when the weather turns. I’ll survive.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” he said quietly, glancing around the room.

“Life doesn’t wait for the sniffles,” she said with a faint smirk, though her movements were slower than usual as she reached for a bowl.

“Then let me help,” he said, surprising both of them.

She turned, raising an eyebrow. “You? Help? What do you know about cooking?”

“Absolutely nothing,” he admitted, grinning. “But I’m an excellent student.”

She stared at him for a moment, as though deciding whether to humour him. Finally, she handed him a knife and motioned toward a small pile of vegetables. “Fine. Peel those. Try not to cut yourself.”

He took the knife gingerly, studying the carrot as if it were a puzzle. She chuckled softly, the sound warming the small space, and stepped beside him to show him the proper angle for peeling.

The next hour passed in a flurry of quiet laughter and careful instructions. He fumbled with the knife, his first attempts earning teasing remarks from her, but he improved quickly under her guidance. Together, they chopped, stirred, and seasoned until the small pot on the stove began to bubble with a fragrant stew.

As they worked, the conversation drifted.

“You’re better at this than I expected,” she said, handing him a spoon to stir.

He smiled. “Careful. If you keep complimenting me, I might come back for more lessons.”

She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Cooking isn’t glamorous work, Your Highness. It’s just… survival.”

“Maybe,” he said, his tone thoughtful, “but there’s something… grounding about it. It feels real.”

She looked at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “You really hate that palace life, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer right away, instead focusing on the steady motion of the spoon in the pot. “I don’t hate it,” he said eventually. “It’s just… hollow. Every decision is made for me. Every word is calculated. I don’t know who I’m supposed to be in all of it.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze distant. “You’re lucky, though,” she said softly. “Even if it’s hollow, you have a place. A name. People like me… we’re just the shadows keeping the fire alive.”

He stopped stirring, her words settling heavily in the space between them. “I don’t think that’s true,” he said after a moment.

She tilted her head, her expression sceptical. “No?”

“No,” he said firmly. “You’re more than that. You’re clever. Strong. Independent. You see things I never could.”

She blinked, taken aback by the conviction in his voice.

“That’s what I like about you,” he added softly, almost without thinking.

The words hung in the air, and he froze, realising too late what he’d said.

Her cheeks flushed a deep pink, and she turned away quickly, pretending to adjust the pot on the stove.

His own face burned as he fumbled for something to say, but nothing came. The silence stretched on, heavy and charged, until she finally spoke, her voice quieter than before.

“You should taste the stew,” she said, not looking at him.

He stepped forward, dipping the spoon into the pot and taking a tentative sip.

“It’s perfect,” he said, his voice softer now.

Her lips curved into the faintest smile, though she still didn’t meet his gaze.

The evening deepened, the chill of the autumn air seeping through the thin walls of the small house. Charles noticed her slight shiver as she ladled the stew into two mismatched bowls, the threadbare shawl around her shoulders doing little to shield her from the cold.

He stood abruptly, unfastening the clasp of his heavy cloak. She turned to look at him, startled, as he stepped behind her and draped it gently over her shoulders.

“What are you doing?” she asked, pulling the thick fabric around herself instinctively.

“You’re cold,” he said simply, sitting back down and picking up his bowl.

She hesitated, looking at him with a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. “But you’ll freeze without it.”

“I’ll be fine,” he replied with a small smile. “I’ve survived colder nights, army and all of that.”

The warmth of the cloak seemed to envelop her, and she relaxed slightly, sitting down across from him. For a moment, they ate in silence, the quiet clinking of their spoons the only sound.

When their bowls were empty, Charles glanced around the modest room, noticing for the first time the lack of a hearthfire.

“Do you light a fire at night?” he asked, though he already suspected the answer.

She shook her head. “Can’t afford firewood,” she said matter-of-factly, collecting their bowls. “It’s not so bad. We manage.”

“Oh,” was all he managed to say, though the thought of her and her brother enduring nights in such cold unsettled him deeply.

She didn’t seem to notice his reaction, busying herself with tidying up.

Later, as he prepared to leave, she hesitated by the door, holding his cloak out to him.

“Take this back,” she said softly.

He pushed her hand gently back toward her. “Keep it,” he insisted. “For tonight.”

She opened her mouth to argue but stopped, the words faltering. Finally, she nodded, her fingers tightening around the fabric.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

He smiled at her one last time before stepping out into the night, the chill biting at him instantly as he made his way back to the palace.

She played with the royal clasp of his cloak as he left and wondered what her life would be like if she wasn’t just a servant and he wasn’t the Crown Prince of Monaco.

No less than a few days later, her brother barged into the small house, his footsteps heavy against the creaking floorboards.

“Why,” he began, his voice loud and incredulous, “is there months’ worth of firewood outside the house?”

She looked up from where she was patching a worn-out scarf, distracted. “What are you talking about?”

“The firewood,” he repeated, gesturing wildly toward the door. “There’s a mountain of it, just sitting there! Did you rob a lumberyard?”

She frowned, setting down her work and walking to the door. When she stepped outside, her eyes widened at the sight of the neatly stacked pile of firewood by the side of the house.

“I… I don’t know,” she stammered, completely bewildered.

It was then that she noticed a small slip of paper tucked into the top of the stack. Pulling it free, she unfolded it to reveal a note written in a familiar, elegant hand.

Keep warm – C

Her cheeks flushed, and a small smile tugged at her lips despite herself.

Her brother leaned over her shoulder, reading the note. “C?” he asked suspiciously. “Who’s C?”

She folded the note quickly, tucking it into her apron pocket. “No one,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

Her brother narrowed his eyes but didn’t press further, shaking his head as he muttered something about princes and their peculiarities.

She was fluffing the pillows on the freshly made bed when the door to the prince’s chambers swung open. Charles strode in, his expression lighting up the moment he saw her. Without hesitation, he leapt onto the bed, landing with a dramatic bounce that sent a pillow tumbling to the floor.

“You’re back!” he exclaimed, grinning. “And you’re better!”

“And you just ruined the bed I made.” she chided but then moved on to adjusting a vase on the side table. “Well I must say, a lit fire at night changes a whole lot.”

He froze for a fraction of a second, then sat up, feigning ignorance with an exaggerated shrug. “Oh? A fire, you say? That’s… good to hear. Fires are quite helpful, I’m told.”

Her smirk widened. “I’m sure someone told you that.”

“Perhaps,” he said, swinging his legs off the bed and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “But we’re not here to discuss firewood logistics, are we?”

She rolled her eyes, walking around the room to dust the mantel. “Then what would you like to discuss, Your Highness?”

He sighed heavily, flopping back onto the bed and throwing an arm over his face. “The princess of England.”

She raised an eyebrow, glancing over at him. “Oh?”

“I have to meet her again,” he groaned. “Another tea, another tedious conversation about fabrics or her needlework or some other mind-numbing topic. I swear, I’d rather duel blindfolded than sit through it.”

She snorted, biting back a laugh. “Blindfolded? That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

“No,” he said, peeking at her from under his arm. “It’s perfectly reasonable.”

“Of course it is,” she said, her tone dripping with mock sincerity. “Because what’s more reasonable than a prince skewering himself just to avoid small talk?”

He sat up, clutching his chest theatrically. “You wound me, madam. Truly, your lack of sympathy is cruel.”

She gave him a sidelong glance, shaking her head as she set the duster aside. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he replied, grinning.

She turned back to the mantel, but when the silence stretched, she glanced over her shoulder. He was watching her, his expression soft, his eyes warm and intent.

Her brow furrowed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He blinked, snapping out of his reverie, and quickly looked away, running a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t looking at you.”

“You absolutely were,” she said, crossing her arms and giving him a suspicious look.

“No, I was… thinking,” he said, his voice a touch too casual.

She arched an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Thinking about what?”

“About…” He scrambled for an answer, then pointed toward the bed. “About how well you made this bed. Truly impressive. Best I’ve ever seen.”

She rolled her eyes again, but a faint blush crept into her cheeks. “Right,” she said, picking up her duster. “Well, I’ll leave you to your very important thinking, then.”

He watched her go, his chest tightening as the door clicked softly shut behind her.

Over the next few days, Charles found himself increasingly distracted. Whether strolling through the palace gardens or enduring another tiresome tea with the princess, his thoughts invariably drifted to her. The way her wit kept him on his toes. The quiet determination in her movements. The occasional flicker of softness beneath her sharp remarks.

It was maddening.

When he was near her, he found excuses to linger. When she wasn’t around, he searched for her without realising it. And as much as he tried to push the growing ache in his chest aside, he couldn’t deny what was happening.

He’d fallen for her.

It was late afternoon when he returned to his chambers after a gruelling diplomatic meeting. To his delight, she was there, dusting the intricate carvings on the wooden frame of his bed. She didn’t notice him enter, humming softly to herself as she worked.

He leaned casually against the doorframe, watching her for a moment before clearing his throat.

She jumped, spinning around to face him, clutching her duster like a weapon. “Do you have to sneak up on me?”

“It’s my room,” he said, smirking. “I can hardly sneak into my own space.”

She scowled, turning back to her work. “You’re insufferable.”

“So you’ve said,” he replied, stepping further into the room. “But you keep coming back. Perhaps I’m growing on you.”

“I come back because it’s my job,” she retorted, moving to dust a nearby shelf.

He followed her, leaning lazily against the furniture. “A job you seem to excel at. Though I wonder… do you enjoy tormenting me as much as I enjoy tormenting you?”

She shot him a sharp glance, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Someone has to keep your ego in check, Your Highness.”

He chuckled, reaching out to pluck the duster from her hand. “You do it so well,” he murmured, his voice low.

Her breath hitched slightly as he leaned closer, her eyes darting to his before flicking away. “You should stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” he asked, his voice soft and teasing as he leaned closer still, his face mere inches from hers.

“Whatever it is you’re doing,” she said, stepping back slightly, only to find herself against the edge of the shelf.

The tension in the air was palpable, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. His gaze was locked on hers, and for a moment, the world outside the room seemed to vanish.

A sharp knock on the door shattered the moment.

“Charles?” his brother’s voice called from the hallway.

Panic flared in her eyes, and Charles acted on instinct, grabbing her wrist and pulling her toward the large wardrobe at the side of the room.

“What are you—” she began, but he pressed a finger to her lips as he opened the wardrobe door and ushered her inside.

The space was small, barely enough for the two of them. She pressed herself against the back wall as he stepped in, closing the door behind them.

The darkness was absolute, and the only sound was the quiet shuffle of their breaths.

“Stay quiet,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear.

A beat passed, and she whispered back, her voice laced with frustration, “If we get caught, it’ll be my neck, not yours.”

“No one’s getting caught,” he murmured, his voice low and steady.

In the confined space, his hand brushed against hers, and he froze. Slowly, almost hesitantly, his fingers moved to her face. His touch was light, tentative, as though he feared she might vanish at any moment.

His thumb traced the curve of her cheek, brushing against her skin with agonising slowness. Her breath hitched, and in the silence, it felt deafening.

“Why are you…” she began, but her voice faltered as his fingers brushed the line of her jaw, lingering there for a moment before sliding to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“You’re too close,” she replied, though her tone lacked conviction.

The faintest smile curved his lips, though she couldn’t see it in the dark. “You’re not stopping me,” he said softly.

Before she could respond, his brother’s voice echoed from the other side of the room. “Charles, where are you?”

He leaned closer, his forehead nearly brushing hers. “Stay still,” he murmured, his hand still cradling her cheek.

She closed her eyes, the tension in the small space suffocating and electric all at once.

Footsteps receded as his brother left the room, grumbling something about missing him.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then, Charles let out a slow breath, his hand dropping from her face. He opened the wardrobe door slightly, letting in the dim light of the room.

“Safe,” he said quietly, stepping back to let her out.

She stepped past him, her cheeks flushed and her breaths uneven. “You’re reckless,” she muttered, avoiding his gaze as she hurried to gather her duster.

He smirked, leaning against the wardrobe door. “And you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

She shot him a glare over her shoulder, but the pink in her cheeks betrayed her.

“Get back to work, Your Highness,” she said, her tone sharp but her voice unsteady.

He chuckled softly, watching her go.

The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Charles’s chambers, painting golden streaks across the plush rug. She was there again, this time at his desk, meticulously polishing the brass handles of the drawers. She worked with the same quiet efficiency she always did, her movements steady, purposeful.

Charles, reclining lazily on the settee, had been pretending to read a book for the past ten minutes. In truth, he’d barely turned a page. His attention was drawn, as it so often was these days, to her.

He cleared his throat, drawing her attention. “Have you ever taken a moment to rest?”

She glanced at him briefly before returning to her task. “I rest when my work is done.”

“And when is it done?” he pressed, setting the book down and rising to his feet.

She didn’t answer immediately, her focus still on the brass handle in her hand. “When your chambers sparkle, Your Highness.”

He chuckled, stepping closer. “It already sparkles. You’ve polished this desk so many times I can see my reflection.”

She huffed softly, clearly unimpressed. “There’s still dust.”

He reached out, his hand gently brushing hers as she gripped the cloth. She stilled, her breath catching as his fingers lingered over hers.

“You’re relentless,” he murmured, his voice low.

Her eyes flicked to his, wide and uncertain. “And you’re in my way.”

He smiled, his expression teasing but his gaze intent. “I’m rarely in anyone’s way. It’s a novelty.”

She tried to step back, but he moved with her, closing the distance between them. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Observing,” he said, his voice soft, warm, as if he were sharing a secret. “You’re endlessly fascinating to watch, you know.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, but he reached out, gently tilting her chin so she’d meet his eyes again.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” she said, her voice shaky.

“Why not?”

“Because…” She faltered, her lips parting as she searched for words. “Because you shouldn’t.”

He leaned in slightly, his hand still holding her chin. The air between them was heavy, charged with something neither of them dared name.

“You’re trembling again,” he said softly, the corner of his mouth lifting in the faintest of smiles.

“I’m not,” she said quickly, but her voice betrayed her.

“You are,” he whispered, his thumb brushing her jaw in the lightest of touches.

Her breath hitched, and her hands tightened around the cloth she still held. “This is dangerous,” she managed, though her tone was weak.

“For you?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “Or for me?”

She couldn’t answer, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it.

His hand moved, the backs of his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek, then down to her neck, where his thumb rested lightly against her pulse. He felt it hammering beneath his touch and smiled softly, almost as if he were marvelling at it.

“You feel it too,” he said, his voice low and intimate, as if the world beyond this moment didn’t exist.

She swallowed hard, her hands trembling as she finally pushed lightly at his chest. “You… need to stop.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, his gaze locked on hers. Then, slowly, he stepped back, though the tension in the air lingered like a storm about to break.

She turned away quickly, grabbing her cloth and pretending to busy herself with the desk again, though her hands shook so much she nearly dropped it.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, the sincerity in his voice stopping her in her tracks.

She didn’t turn back to him, but she nodded slightly, her voice quiet. “Don’t do it again.”

But neither of them believed that.

That night the crackle of the fire in the grand drawing room filled the silence as Charles poured himself another glass of brandy. His younger brother lounged in the chair across from him, a glass already in hand.

“You’ve been distracted lately,” Arthur said, swirling his drink. “Even more so than usual.”

Charles leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him. “Have I?”

Arthur arched an eyebrow. “You spent half of tea with the English delegation yesterday staring at the window. I’m pretty sure they could have declared war, and you wouldn’t have noticed.”

Charles chuckled, though it lacked his usual mirth. He stared into his glass, the amber liquid catching the firelight.

“Arthur,” he began, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

His brother tilted his head, curious. “What?”

“What would you think of… being the next heir to the throne?”

Arthur blinked, then laughed, loud and incredulous. “What, you’re not planning on dying anytime soon, are you?”

“No,” Charles said, shaking his head, his lips twitching into a faint smile.

Arthur leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “Then why would you ask that?”

Charles swirled his drink, his gaze distant. “Just… wondering.”

Arthur snorted, leaning back again. “Abdicating is social suicide. If you’re even entertaining the thought, I’d advise you to stop immediately.”

Charles stayed silent, his thumb brushing idly along the rim of his glass.

The quiet stretched, and Arthur froze mid-drink, lowering his glass to the table with a sharp clink. His eyes widened, and his voice dropped. “You’re not thinking of abdicating… are you?”

Charles didn’t respond right away, his jaw tightening as he stared into the fire.

“Cha,” Arthur pressed, his voice rising slightly. “What the hell is going on with you? Who’s put this absurd idea in your head?”

Charles glanced at him, his expression inscrutable. “It’s not absurd.”

“It is when you’re the crown prince of Monaco,” Arthur snapped, sitting up straighter. “You’d give up everything—power, privilege, our family’s legacy—for what? A whim? A fleeting fancy?”

“It’s not a fancy,” Charles said sharply, his voice cutting through the room.

Arthur blinked, taken aback by his brother’s rare flash of anger. “Then what is it?”

Charles leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and staring hard at his brother. “What if I told you it’s something real? That I’ve found something—someone—who makes me feel more alive than anything this throne ever could?”

Arthur’s jaw dropped slightly, his expression caught between shock and disbelief. “You’re serious.”

“Deadly serious,” Charles said, his tone firm.

Arthur exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t just about a servant, is it?”

Charles’s head shot up, his eyes narrowing. “How—”

“Please,” Arthur said, waving a hand. “You think I haven’t noticed? The way you’ve been sneaking out, the looks you give when you think no one’s watching? The firewood? You’re an open book.”

Charles leaned back, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “I underestimated you.”

“And you’re underestimating the chaos you’d cause,” Arthur shot back. “Do you have any idea what this would mean for the family? For Monaco?”

Charles’s expression hardened. “For once, I’m thinking about what it would mean for me.”

Arthur stared at him, the firelight casting shadows across his face. “You’d walk away from all of this?”

“If it meant being with her?” Charles said, his voice soft but resolute. “Yes. I would.”

The weight of his words settled over them, and for once, Arthur didn’t have a quick retort.

The next few days were torturous for Charles. Each moment stretched longer than the last, his thoughts dominated by her. Every step he took through the palace halls felt meaningless without catching sight of her—her quick smile, her quiet resolve, the way she challenged him without fear.

He thought of her words, her laughter, the way her cheeks flushed when he teased her. More than that, he thought of the way she made him feel—seen, understood, even cherished in a way that no title or crown could replicate.

His heart ached with the weight of it, with the need to tell her, to unburden himself of the truth that had taken root so deeply he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

But how? How could he look her in the eye and admit what he was so sure would unravel the tenuous balance between them?

One morning, he found himself wandering aimlessly through the palace gardens. It was the time of day she often brought fresh linens from the storage to the castle, she usually crossed the gardens. He lingered, hoping for a glimpse of her, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Frustrated, he returned to his chambers, pacing the space restlessly, thinking. No, waiting to next see her. When she finally arrived, carrying a tray of fresh tea and biscuits, his breath hitched.

“You’re pacing,” she said, placing the tray on the table. “That’s never a good sign.”

“I’ve been restless,” he admitted, stopping mid-stride. “And you’re late.”

She raised an eyebrow as she set the tea. “Didn’t know I was on your schedule.”

He crossed the room to her, his steps deliberate. “I notice when you’re not here.”

Her hands stilled for a moment before she resumed arranging the tea things. “I’m just a servant, Your Highness. Surely you have better things to notice.”

“That’s not true,” he said, his voice dropping.

She looked up at him, her expression guarded. “It should be.”

He wanted to argue, to say it wasn’t her place to decide what mattered to him, but the vulnerability in her gaze stopped him. Instead, he changed the subject.

“Have you eaten today?”

She frowned, clearly caught off guard. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I’d wager you haven’t,” he said, stepping closer. “You work yourself to the bone.”

She shrugged, turning back to her task. “I’m used to it.”

“That’s not an answer,” he said, his tone softer now. “Come. Sit with me for a moment.”

She hesitated, glancing at the door. “If someone sees—”

“No one will,” he said, moving to pull a chair out for her. “Please.”

Her eyes darted between him and the chair before she sighed, giving in and sitting reluctantly.

He poured her a cup of tea, his movements unhurried. As he handed it to her, their fingers brushed, and he felt the now-familiar spark that always seemed to follow her touch.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said quietly, looking down at the tea.

“Do what?”

“Treat me like I’m someone,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Someone important.”

His chest tightened. “You are.”

She looked up at him then, her eyes wide, filled with a mix of disbelief and something else—something that made his breath catch.

For a moment, he thought about saying it, about laying it all out before her. But the words caught in his throat, weighed down by the fear of what her reaction might be.

The next day, Charles found himself waiting for her in his chambers again, anticipation thrumming through him. When she arrived, her arms full of fresh linens, he immediately noticed the faint circles under her eyes.

“You’re overworking yourself again,” he said, standing from his seat near the window.

“I’m fine,” she replied, her tone brisk as she moved to change the bedding.

“You’re not,” he countered, moving closer.

She straightened, turning to face him. “Why do you care?”

The question hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken truths.

“Because…” He hesitated, his hands flexing at his sides as he struggled to find the right words. “Because you matter to me.”

Her lips parted, her breath catching. “Charles, don’t—”

“I’m not trying to overstep,” he said quickly. “But you should know—I can’t ignore it anymore.”

“Ignore what?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Before he could answer, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hall. She stepped back instinctively, breaking the moment.

Over the next few days, he was quieter, more pensive. He found himself watching her more often, the words he wanted to say always on the tip of his tongue. But every time he opened his mouth, the weight of the risks stopped him.

What if she didn’t feel the same? What if she did, but couldn’t say so?

The questions tormented him, each one drawing him closer to the inevitable conclusion: he had to tell her.

But how could he make her understand the depth of his feelings without ruining everything?

Charles really tried to wait it out, he tried so hard.

But when the rain lashed outside his chambers where he sat in the dimly lit room, the fire crackling softly in the hearth.

He worried.

It was late, far later than when she usually came, but he had waited, a knot of tension in his chest.

When the door finally opened, and she stepped inside with her usual quiet grace, drenched from the rain with his laundry in a covered basket, his heart leapt.

“You’re soaked,” he said, standing quickly. “You shouldn’t be out in this weather.”

She shrugged, setting the basket down by the door. “Work doesn’t stop for a storm, Your Highness.”

He frowned, crossing the room to her. “Take off that cloak; you’ll catch your death.”

“I’m fine,” she said, brushing past him toward the hearth, but her shivering betrayed her words.

He moved closer, pulling her gently toward the warmth of the fire. “Why do you always insist on pretending you’re fine when you’re not?”

She stiffened under his touch. “Because I have no other choice.”

Her words hit him harder than he expected. He reached for her hands, his thumbs brushing over her cold fingers. “You shouldn’t have to live like this.”

She pulled her hands back, looking at him with a mixture of confusion and caution. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He hesitated, his heart pounding. “I can’t keep pretending. Not anymore.”

“Pretending what?” she asked, her voice quiet but steady.

“That I don’t feel this,” he said, stepping closer. “That I don’t feel everything for you.”

Her eyes widened, her breath catching. “Charles…”

“I love you,” he said, the words tumbling out, raw and unguarded. “I’ve tried to fight it, to ignore it, but I can’t. I don’t want to.”

Before she could even stop them, tears welled in her eyes, and she shook her head, stepping back. “You don’t mean that. You can’t.”

“I do,” he said firmly, closing the distance between them again. “I’d give up everything—this title, this life—if it meant being with you.”

Her tears spilled over then, and she covered her mouth with her hand. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think it.”

“Why not?” he asked, his voice breaking. “If I’m not happy here—if I can’t have the life I want—what good is any of this?”

“Because you don’t know what you’re saying,” she said, her voice rising. “You’ve lived in a palace your entire life, with servants, banquets, comfort. You don’t know what it’s like to live without it. To go to bed on an empty stomach. To wake up not knowing if you’ll have work the next day. I can’t do that to you.”

“You wouldn’t be doing it to me,” he said desperately. “It would be my choice.”

She shook her head again, her tears falling faster now. “And what happens when you realise you can’t live like that? When the reality of it sets in? You’ll resent me. And I’ll lose you.”

“You won’t lose me,” he said, his voice pleading as he reached for her hands again. “I swear to you, you won’t.”

“I don’t have a good life,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I can barely take care of myself. How could I take care of you?”

“I don’t need you to take care of me,” he said, his hands tightening around hers. “I just need you. I don’t care about the rest.”

She looked at him, her eyes searching his, her tears glistening in the firelight. “You’re asking me to believe in something that feels impossible.”

“Then let me prove it to you,” he said, his voice breaking as his own tears threatened to fall. “Please. Give me a chance to show you how much you mean to me. Let me love you the way you deserve.”

Her resolve wavered, her breath hitching as his words sank in. She wanted to believe him—desperately—but the fear of what they would face, of what they would lose, loomed over her.

“Cha…” she began, her voice cracking.

“Please,” he whispered, his forehead resting against hers. “Say yes. Just… say yes.”

For a long, agonising moment, the only sound was the rain pounding against the windows and the crackle of the fire.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she said finally, her voice barely audible.

“Then we’ll figure it out together,” he said, cupping her face gently, his thumbs brushing away her tears. “But don’t push me away. Not now. Not when I know you feel this too.”

Her lips quivered, and she closed her eyes, a fresh tear slipping down her cheek. “You’re impossible,” she whispered.

“And you’re everything,” he replied, his voice trembling with emotion.

After pacing around his room for a few days, thinking of how he was going to tell his father, Charles went to his study.

The atmosphere in the king’s study was heavy with tension, the air almost crackling as Charles stood before his father. The older man sat behind an imposing mahogany desk, his expression dark and unreadable. The storm that had raged days earlier seemed to have shifted inside these walls, centering on the room as if the universe sensed the coming conflict.

“I need to speak with you,” Charles began, his voice steady but tight.

The king set down the pen he had been holding, his gaze sharp. “This sounds serious.”

“It is,” Charles replied, straightening his shoulders. “I’ve made a decision.”

The king leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “I see. Go on, then.”

“I’m going to abdicate.”

For a moment, the words seemed to hang in the air, the weight of them pressing down on the room.

Then, the king’s expression darkened further, his voice sharp and incredulous. “You’re what?”

“I’ve decided I don’t want the throne,” Charles said firmly. “It’s not the life I want anymore.”

The king rose from his chair, his movements slow and deliberate as he loomed over the desk. “Do you even understand what you’re saying? What you’re throwing away?”

“Yes,” Charles said, meeting his father’s gaze without flinching. “I’ve thought about this—more than you know. I don’t want this life. I want…” He hesitated, his voice softening. “I want to live my own life.”

The king scoffed, shaking his head. “And what life would that be? One of obscurity? Of poverty? You’ve never gone a day without comfort, without privilege. You know nothing of what it’s like out there, and you think you can just… give all of this up?”

“I do,” Charles said, his tone resolute.

The king’s eyes narrowed. “This is about her, isn’t it? That servant girl. Your mother mentioned her but I did not believe her.”

Charles’s chest tightened, but he didn’t deny it. “Yes. It’s about her. But it’s also about me. About what I want, who I want to be. And I know I don’t want this.”

“Don’t be a fool,” the king snapped, his voice rising. “You think love is enough to sustain you? That some fantasy of a simpler life will keep you warm when reality sets in? She can’t give you what you need, Charles.”

“She gives me what I want,” Charles shot back, his voice fierce. “And for once, isn’t that enough?”

“No, it isn’t!” the king roared, slamming his hand on the desk. “You’re a prince! You have a duty—to your family, to your people. You can’t just walk away because of some fleeting infatuation.”

“It’s not fleeting,” Charles said, his voice dropping but losing none of its intensity. “I love her. And I’d rather live a life with her—whatever that looks like—than spend one more moment pretending to be happy here.”

The king laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “You’re naïve. You don’t even know how to survive out there.”

“She’ll teach me,” Charles said, surprising even himself with the certainty in his voice. “I want to learn. I want that life—with her.”

The king stared at him, his face a mixture of disbelief and frustration. “You’re throwing away everything you’ve ever known for a life of struggle. For what?”

“For love,” Charles said simply.

The room fell silent, the only sound the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. The king finally sat back down, rubbing a hand over his face. When he looked up again, his expression was weary but no less stern.

“You’re making a mistake,” he said quietly.

“Maybe,” Charles replied. “But it’s my mistake to make.”

The king’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze searching his son’s face as if looking for a crack in his resolve. But Charles stood firm, his decision made.

“You’ll regret this,” the king said finally, his voice heavy with warning.

“Perhaps,” Charles said. “But I’ll never regret choosing her.”

Without another word, he turned and walked out of the study, leaving his father staring after him in silence.

The rumours spread like wildfire. Whispers followed Charles wherever he walked, his every step trailed by servants and courtiers exchanging furtive glances and hushed speculations. The air in the palace buzzed with the shock of his decision, but none of it mattered to him. Not the disapproval etched into his father’s face, nor the incredulous murmurs of the courtiers. His mind was focused solely on her.

He found her in the palace laundry room, folding linens with the quiet efficiency that always seemed to calm her. When he walked in, she froze, her fingers clutching the corner of a sheet.

“You,” she began, her voice a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. “You really went through with it?”

He stepped closer, his hands tucked behind his back, his face calm but his eyes alight with purpose. “I told you I would.”

She stared at him, shaking her head. “I thought—Charles, I thought it was just talk. Something you’d get over once you realised how insane it is.”

“Well, I’m officially insane,” he said with a faint smile, stepping closer.

She dropped the sheet onto the table and turned to face him fully, her arms crossed. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? The crown, the throne, your entire future—it’s gone. All of it. For what?”

“For you,” he said simply.

Her mouth opened, but no words came. Finally, she shook her head, her voice trembling. “You’re impossible. Do you know what this means? I can’t work here anymore, not if you abdicate. The palace won’t keep me.”

“I know,” he said gently. “And I wouldn’t ask you to stay here. We’ll leave—together.”

“Leave?” she echoed, blinking at him.

“Yes,” he said, stepping closer until he was just in front of her. “I’ve been thinking about it. We can go somewhere no one knows us, where we can start fresh.”

She stared at him like he’d grown another head. “Where would we even go?”

“Italy,” he said with a small smile.

“Italy?” she repeated, her brows furrowing.

“Yes, maybe Marenello,” he said, his voice filled with conviction. “It’s beautiful, the weather is perfect, and… I don’t know, it just feels right.”

She let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “Charles, I don’t even speak Italian.”

He tilted his head, his smile widening. “Then, for once, I’ll get to teach you something.”

His words hung in the air, so tender and unexpected that she couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. The corners of his eyes crinkled at her reaction, and before she could say anything else, he stepped even closer and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

She closed her eyes, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver through her. “You’re serious about this,” she whispered.

“Completely,” he murmured against her hair. “I’m not afraid of starting over, not if it’s with you.”

For a moment, she let herself believe it could be possible—this crazy, impossible dream of theirs.

“When?” she asked softly.

“Tomorrow,” he said, his voice full of quiet resolve. “After I sign the abdication papers.”

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with wide, searching eyes. “And then what?”

He smiled, his expression both calm and full of determination. “And then we start the life we’ve always wanted.”

She didn’t want to be vulgar, she really didn’t but she had to be honest.

She was shitting herself at the thought of being summoned into the King’s office with the entire family.

The office was uncharacteristically quiet, the usual hustle and bustle of the palace muffled by the thick doors. Charles sat at the massive oak desk, the official abdication papers spread out before him. Arthur stood off to the side, his arms crossed, watching the scene with a mix of bewilderment and unease while his parents stood by the desk with a clear look of disdain etched on their faces.

She stood near the doorway, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She looked smaller than usual, her nerves evident in the way her fingers twisted together. Her wide eyes darted between Charles and the papers, the weight of the moment pressing down on all of them.

Arthur broke the silence first. “Are you sure about what you’re doing, Cha?”

Charles’s pen hovered over the signature line, but he didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked up at her. She met his gaze, and in that instant, the rest of the room faded away. The worry in her eyes, the way her lips pressed together as if she was holding back words—it was as if he was falling in love all over again.

“You don’t have to do this for me, Cha,” she said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

He smiled at her, then, without hesitation, he bent his head and signed his name in bold strokes across the paper.

The moment was electric, the scratch of the pen on parchment the only sound in the room. When he finally set the pen down, it felt as if the world had shifted, as if something monumental had been set into motion.

Arthur exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Well, there it is,” he muttered, his voice carrying a mixture of disbelief and resignation. “You’re officially insane.”

Charles stood, his movements deliberate as he turned to face her. “Go back to your house,” he said, his voice steady but laced with an urgency that made her breath hitch. “Pack your things. Tell your brother. We’re leaving at six.”

Her eyes widened, her lips parting as if to protest, but before she could say a word, Arthur muttered something about needing air and slipped out of the room, leaving them alone, his parents following shortly behind.

The silence that followed was thick with tension, their gazes locked as the gravity of what had just happened sank in.

“You…” she began, her voice trembling. “You really did it.”

“I did,” he said, stepping closer to her.

She opened her mouth to speak again, but before she could, he cupped her face gently in his hands. The world seemed to pause, the space between them charged with an intensity that neither of them could deny any longer.

And then he kissed her.

It was soft at first, tentative, as if he was savouring the moment he had dreamed of for so long. But when she leaned into him, her hands clutching his jacket as if to anchor herself, the kiss deepened, becoming a silent promise of everything they were about to face together.

When they finally pulled apart, her cheeks were flushed, her breathing uneven. He rested his forehead against hers, his hands still cradling her face.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice low and full of emotion.

She blinked, her eyes shining as she searched his face. “I love you too,” she said softly, her voice breaking slightly. Because she did, she didn’t know when she exactly fell in love with him. Maybe it was when he first came to her house and looked at it with wonder rather than judgement or maybe it was when they shared that intimate moment in the wardrobe.

He smiled, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “Then go,” he said. “Pack your things. This time tomorrow, we’ll be miles away from here. Together.”

She nodded, her resolve strengthening as she stepped back, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer before she turned and slipped out of the office.

Charles stood there for a moment, the weight of what he’d just done settling in his chest. But for the first time in his life, he felt truly free.

the end.

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jpmarvel90 · 1 month ago

Text

Don't Belong Part 4

Masterlist Natasha Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Word Count: 6125

Relationship: Mother WandaNat x Daugher Reader

Summary: It's Y/n's birthday and everyone is making an effort to make it the best day possible. Including a suprise early visit which sees Y/n experience a happiness she's not had in a long time.

Nat: Mama Wanda: Mom

Y/n's POV:

When the morning comes around, I blink my eyes open. I don't know what woke me first, the muted knock at the door or the quiet creak as it opens. For a moment, I think it's one of my moms again, coming in to check if I've eaten or taken my meds. I'm already halfway to turning away when I hear a familiar voice. "Knock knock," Kate calls softly, her voice like a warm breeze slipping through the room.

I blink my eyes open, squinting at the brightness filtering through the window. She's standing just inside the doorway, a sheepish smile on her lips, and something tucked behind her back. She looks like she always does, messy ponytail, oversized hoodie hanging off one shoulder like it was made to, and for some reason, my chest tightens. Maybe it's the way she looks at me. Or maybe it's because, for the first time, someone came just for me.

"Kate?" I croak out, surprised. "What are you doing here?" She enters fully now, closing the door behind her. "Well, it's a special day," she sing-songs, stepping closer to my bed. "And I thought I'd drop by early to wish a very certain badass agent-in-the-making a happy birthday." She smiles.

My brows raise. "Wait... it's today?" Kate giggles. "You forgot your own birthday?" Well, I knew it was coming but it kind of snuck up on me. With everything going on, the healing, emotional trauma, being babysat by my guilt-ridden moms, it just hadn't occurred to me. "Guess I did," I mumble.

"Well, that won't do." She steps closer and pulls a small box from behind her back. "Here." I blink, looking at the wrapping. It's simple, but there's a purple ribbon, her signature colour as I've learnt. "You didn't have to..." I start before she interrupts me. "Shush. It's already here, and you're opening it."

There's something so easy about the way she talks, like we've always done this. Like this, whatever this is, has existed longer than I've allowed myself to notice. I peel back the wrapping, careful not to tear the paper, and reveal a small velvet box.

Inside is a silver bracelet, dainty and simple, with a single hawk feather charm that glints in the sunlight streaming through the window. It's understated, elegant, and... weirdly perfect. I look at it in awe. "This is..." I start but she cuts me off.

"I saw it when Yelena and I went shopping yesterday." Kate shrugs, suddenly looking nervous. "Reminded me of you. Strong, graceful, always aiming for something even if no one's paying attention." My breath catches in my throat, and I look up at her. "Kate..." She's biting her bottom lip now, her eyes darting between me and the bracelet.

Something twists in my stomach. Not unpleasant. Just... unfamiliar. "Kate..." I say again, but there's not really anything else I can think to add. She shrugs, pretending to play it cool. "Also, feathers are cool. And you're cool. So... logic." I laugh softly, and she looks up, eyes dancing with relief at the sound. "Too much?" She questions in a small panic. "No," I say softly, feeling my heart flutter in a way it hasn't in a long time. "It's perfect." Her grin returns, more relaxed now. "Well, good. Because I was ready to fake an excuse and run out if it was weird."

I laugh, genuinely this time, and motion for her to help put it on. Her fingers are warm as they brush against my skin. She doesn't pull her hands away immediately once it's clasped. "You look good in silver," she says casually, but her eyes say something else. There's a pause, and the air feels different, charged. "You really didn't have to do this," I murmur, though I'm glad she did. "Birthdays deserve presents," she says. "And you deserve to be celebrated."

Before I can respond, there's a knock and the door swings open again. Dr. Cho enters with a clipboard and a smile. "Well, well. Look who's already popular this morning." Kate stands up straighter, pretending to be innocently casual. "Just a quick visit." Cho grins at the both of us. "Actually, I've got a bit of a birthday gift too. Since your vitals have stabilised and your infection is nearly cleared, I'm approving a short supervised walk outside." She announces.

I'm in shock and a smile slowly creeps on my face. "Wait, seriously?" I ask wondering if I heard her correctly. "I don't joke about recovery milestones," she replies, then adds, "Fifteen minutes. Wheelchair assist. Someone responsible with you. I assume you two can manage that without scaling the roof or anything." I states, now turning to Kate with a raised eyebrow.

Kate salutes. "Scout's honour." Cho narrows her eyes. "You were never a scout." She calls her out, making me chuckle. "I could've been." Kate mumbles in return. "Don't make me regret this." Cho says pointing her pen between us. "I'll be on my best behaviour." I promise, moving to sit up in the bed. "That'll be a first." Cho mumbles to herself as she heads out the room.

A few minutes later, I'm being wheeled outside, wrapped in a cozy hoodie and thick blanket that Kate insisted I bring. The sunlight feels foreign on my skin, almost startling in its warmth. I close my eyes and breathe it in. The fresh air, the gentle breeze... it all feels surreal. Like I'm not in the compound, not in recovery, not hovering between everything I want and everything I've lost.

Kate's walking beside me, hands in her pockets, glancing at me now and then like she's worried I'll fall apart in the sunshine. We find a bench near the gardens, away from the main paths. There's the soft hum of bees somewhere in the bushes, the quiet rustle of trees overhead. I sit up slowly, wincing a little as I adjust. Kate sits beside me, just close enough that our knees touch.

"It's beautiful out here," I murmur, breathing in deeply. Kate glances at me. "You okay?" She asks softly. I hesitate for a second, then nod. "I am... I think. It just still feels unreal. Everything happened so fast. One minute I was on a mission and the next..." Her hand brushes against mine, fingers grazing. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," she says softly.

I stare down at the grass for a moment. "It's not just the mission," I admit. "It's everything. My moms... I thought they didn't care anymore. I still don't know if I believe this whole 'we're here now' act. Like, where were they when I needed them? I've been alone for years and now that I'm bleeding out, suddenly they remember I exist?" I huff in frustration.

Kate's quiet, but not in a way that feels dismissive. It feels like she's giving me room. "My biological parents gave me up," I continue. "Hydra turned me into something I never wanted to be. Nat found me and... for a while, she made me feel like I was worth something. But then Billy and Tommy came along, and I guess I was just... extra."

I glance down at the bracelet on my wrist, the charm glinting like it knows something I don't. "You ever feel like... no matter how hard you try, you'll never be enough?" I ask suddenly, barely above a whisper. Kate's head turns toward me. "Yeah. More than I'd like to admit."

I nod, staring straight ahead. "That's what it's been like with them. My moms. At first, I had everything. A home. A family. Then the twins came and... slowly, it was like I just faded out of frame. Babysitter, housemaid, invisible. I tried to earn it back. Be better. Be perfect. But they didn't notice. Or maybe they just didn't care." I share honestly.

"Now they're around all the time. Bringing soup and fluffing pillows. Acting like they didn't ignore me for the last few years. And I don't know how to trust that." I admit vulnerably. "You don't have to." She says gently. "Not right away. Maybe not ever. But you can still heal, with or without them." She advises.

"Hard to do that alone," I admit. "You're not alone," she says, brushing her fingers against mine. "You've got Steve. You've got friends. You've got me." I turn to her, heart in my throat. "Do I?" Kate meets my gaze without flinching. "You do. You've always had me."

I finally turn to look at her. "I don't tell people this stuff. Hell, I didn't even tell Steve half of it." I chuckle awkwardly. Kate's expression is unreadable at first, but her voice is steady when she says, "Y/n... you're not extra. Not to me anyway." I blink. She reaches up and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, her hand lingering near my jaw. "Not now, not ever."

My heart skips again. I try to scoff, to deflect with sarcasm like I always do. But it dies on my lips. The world feels still. The breeze moves lazily through the trees, birds chirp somewhere in the distance, but all I can hear is my heartbeat. Louder than it should be.

I don't think. For once, I don't overanalyse or build up walls or second-guess what I deserve. I just lean in, slowly, giving her space to pull back if she wants to. She doesn't. Her breath hitches softly, and then she leans in too. The distance between us disappears with a quiet inevitability. Our lips meet, warm, hesitant, searching.

It's not rushed. It's not perfect. But it's real.

Her hand finds mine again, fingers curling between mine with a gentle squeeze as her lips linger against mine, soft and sure. I feel the way she exhales shakily into the kiss, like maybe she's been waiting for this as long as I have.

The warmth of her palm grounds me, anchoring me in this moment. This tiny, quiet miracle I didn't know I needed. We part slowly, but not fully. Her forehead brushes lightly against mine, and I open my eyes to find hers already watching me. "Wow," I murmur, my voice barely audible. Kate grins. "Yeah," she whispers back, her nose nudging mine. "That was... definitely not just a birthday present."

I laugh softly, the sound surprising even me. It's light. Unburdened. Something I haven't felt in a long time. Then she adds, "But if it was, I really outdid myself." I roll my eyes with a smile, bumping her shoulder. "Yeah, yeah. Don't let it go to your head."

We sit there for another long moment, her hand still in mine, the kiss still tingling on my lips. For the first time in forever, I don't feel like I'm on the outside looking in. I feel seen. Wanted. Maybe even loved.

"I think I like you, Bishop," I murmur. She grins. "Well... I was hoping you'd say that." I laugh, breathless. "Smooth." Kate shrugs. "I have my moments." We sit there for a little longer, fingers brushing, letting the quiet speak for us. Today doesn't feel quite so lonely. And maybe, just maybe, I'm not as alone as I thought.

She stands, offering her hand. "Come on, birthday girl. Let's get you back before Cho realises I'm terrible at following instructions." She jokes. I take her hand, letting her help me up. And for the first time in a long while, I don't feel like a background character in my own life. Maybe this birthday is going to be better than I had expected.

By the time Kate wheels me back through the medical wing's hallway, my chest feels lighter. I can't tell if it's the kiss, the sunlight, or just the fact that, for the first time in a long time, I feel like someone really sees me.

We're laughing at one of Kate's terrible impressions of Steve ("Language!" she says in a fake-deep voice, holding up an imaginary shield) when we turn the corner into my hospital room, and everything stops.

The room is... glowing. Streamers in purple and red hang loosely from the ceiling. There are balloons everywhere. Some Avengers-themed, others with "Happy Birthday!" printed in glitter. My bed is surrounded by snacks, presents, and handmade decorations. Someone even stuck a banner over the window that reads: "Y/n—Top of Her Class and Queen of Badasses."

And then.... "SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

The room erupts in cheers. I blink, startled, as people begin stepping out from where they'd been hiding. Steve's standing at the foot of my bed, grinning. Pepper and Tony are by the snack table (which, of course, is colour-coordinated). Clint's got a party hat on backwards. Even Bruce is there, waving from the corner.

But it's the next voices that break me completely. "We got you! We actually got you!" Tommy cheers. Billy is right behind him, his face lit up. "You didn't even guess!" I'm almost too stunned to speak. "Wait, you guys planned this?" I ask in shock. "Well, Uncle Steve and moms helped a little." Billy admits with a grin, "But we made the decorations. Look!" He runs over to show me a clumsily drawn poster that reads "Best Sister Ever" with stick figures of the three of us drawn beneath it.

My throat tightens. "You guys..." Tommy launches himself forward, arms wrapping tightly around my waist before he seems to remember I'm injured and pulls back. "Oops! Sorry! I didn't mean to...did I hurt you?" I shake my head, tears stinging my eyes. "No. You're okay. Come here."

They both crowd me then, Billy on one side, Tommy on the other, snuggling up to me as best they can without bumping the healing wounds. I run my fingers through their hair, holding them close. "I missed you both." I whisper. "We missed you more." Billy says, looking up with wide, honest eyes. "Are you gonna come home soon?"

I look at them, at their innocence, their hope, and despite everything that's happened, I can't bring myself to say anything but, "Yeah. Soon." Tommy grins. "Good! 'Cause we need someone to settle who's better at Mario Kart." He declares. "Definitely not you," Billy shoots back, making Tommy gasp and begin a dramatic argument, and I just laugh. I haven't laughed like this in forever.

I don't notice her until I hear the soft cough behind me. "Room for one more?" I glance up and there's Yelena, standing awkwardly near the doorway with a bag slung over her shoulder and that familiar half-smile she always wears when she's trying not to look too emotional. "Lena." I smile. "Get over here." She strides forward, more confidently now, and kneels beside my bed. "You know, I had a speech planned. Something dramatic about Russian strength and glorious birthdays. But now I feel like an idiot." She sighs. I chuckle. "You're my idiot."

Her smile softens, and she reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "Happy birthday, malyshka." I smile widely. Since she has been back, she's been a breath of fresh air. I sometimes go months at a time without seeing her and I realise now how much she does in my life and how much I wish she was around more.

"Thanks. For coming. For... all of it." She nods. "I would burn the world down for you. But instead, I helped decorate and resisted the urge to strangle Tony. Which is almost harder." I snort and take her hand, squeezing it tightly. "I'm really glad you're here." I tell her honestly. She leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead, staying close. "Just don't scare me like this again, okay?" She practically orders. "No promises," I whisper.

Kate's still nearby, arms folded, watching the exchange with an amused little smile. She doesn't say anything, but when Yelena steps back, she gives Kate a subtle nod of approval. I don't miss it, and neither does Kate, judging by the soft pink tint to her cheeks.

Eventually, everyone gathers around. Steve insists on speeches. He actually wrote one, of course he did! Tony hands out cupcakes and calls it "nutrition for emotionally stunted heroes." Clint juggles party favours for the twins. Bruce accidentally knocks over a stack of gift bags and looks mortified.

And me? I just sit there, taking it all in. The laughter. The chaos. The family. It's messy and weird and loud, but it's ours. I can't remember the last time we all just existed together. Not during a mission. Not under stress. Just as people. As a family. I lean back against the pillows, the bracelet Kate gave me catching the light, and I smile.

I've never had this many people show up for me before. The medical bay isn't exactly the most glamorous venue, but no one seems to care. It's alive with laughter, the kind of laughter that vibrates through the walls and settles somewhere deep in your bones. For a while, I just sit there, watching everyone move and talk and tease each other, absorbing the atmosphere like it might disappear if I blink.

The tray table in front of me has become a mountain of tissue paper, ribbons, and gift bags. I've unwrapped more things in the past twenty minutes than I have in the last three birthdays combined. Kate is still right beside me, comfortably close, legs crossed at the ankle, her fingers brushing mine every so often as she hands me each present. It's subtle, but grounding.

From Clint, it's a custom arrow set with glittery purple fletching and tiny inscriptions carved into each shaft. "You'll have to work on your draw, obviously," he jokes. "But when you do, you'll be better than Bishop." Kate scoffs. "Untrue. But cute."

Tony's gift is as over-the-top as expected. A sleek tactical vest designed specifically for fieldwork, complete with integrated tech and a touch of ridiculous Stark flair. "Look, it glows when you're under UV light," he says proudly. "Very nightclub assassin." Pepper rolls her eyes, but her handwritten card makes my chest tighten in a way I don't expect. It says, simply: We see you. Always have. Always will.

Bruce hands me a leather-bound journal filled with his recovery notes, complete with diagrams and some shaky sketches of me in various combat poses. I laugh when I see one labelled: "High kick of doom, 3.5 ft trajectory." There's even a small pouch attached with a hand-carved wooden pen. "You'll need to track your healing. I thought it might help to write it down." I don't say it, but I will. I will write everything down. The good, the bad, and especially the parts where I've felt like I didn't exist. Because now? It feels like I do.

I'm still smiling when the crowd begins to shift, people making room as two familiar figures step forward, each holding something in their hands. The noise in my head returns, just a little. Mom and Mama.

They've been here this whole time, quietly moving through the celebration, helping out, cleaning up plates, never taking the spotlight. I noticed it earlier, and I've been thankful for it. I needed space. I still do. But now they're here, in front of me, and it's harder to keep the barrier around my chest intact.

Nat steps up first, her hands clasped around a long rectangular case. It's black, sleek, familiar. My stomach knots in anticipation. "I, uh..." She hesitates. Natasha Romanoff hesitates. That alone is enough to jolt something inside me. "I wasn't sure what to get you. I've never been great at birthdays. But these... these kept me alive for a long time. And I think it's time they had a new owner."

She opens the case and turns it toward me. Inside is a matched set of weapons. Intimate, in a way only warriors understand. Twin shock batons, sleek and polished with matte-silver handles engraved in Russian script. A Glock 43, lightweight and efficient, with a grip she's worn smooth over the years. And the Widow's Bite cuffs, the real ones, resting on black velvet.

My breath catches. "These are..." I blink down at them, my hands hesitant to reach forward. "Yours?" Nat nods. "They were. Now they're yours. I always knew that you would be a better Agent than me. I just wish I had shown that pride more." There's emotion in her voice, but she reins it in expertly. She doesn't reach for me. Doesn't try to hug or explain too much. She just offers them, like a passing of legacy. Of trust.

I nod slowly, something like awe and confusion twisting through my chest. "Thanks. They're... badass. When I was training, I always based my tactics off you using these." I share a glimpse into what she missed. She gives a quiet smile, a flash of hurt in her eyes, but steps back without comment. I don't miss the way her fingers twitch slightly at her sides, as if resisting the urge to do more.

Then Wanda steps forward, her gift flatter, wrapped in dark green and tied with a silky ribbon. She holds it carefully, like it's something ancient. "No weapons in this one," she says, smiling, "unless you count Frodo's sword." She jokes. I give her a curious look and begin unwrapping the gift, careful with the ribbon. When I peel back the paper and lift the lid, my heart skips.

First editions. Hardcovers. Faded gold lettering on rich leather bindings. The Lord of the Rings trilogy. The original artwork. My fingers hover over the covers, reverent. "Where did you find these?" I ask, my voice shaking.

"I didn't," Wanda says softly. "They were mine. I've kept them for years. You used to sneak into our room when you thought we were asleep, remember? You'd hide under our covers with a flashlight and whisper-read Gandalf's speeches like you were preparing for battle." I do remember. Vividly. That tiny space of time when everything felt safe and warm, when their room was my sanctuary.

I don't realize how hard I'm gripping the box until Kate gently places her hand over mine. "These are..." I swallow. "Wow." It's all I can manage to get out. Both of these gifts have been so thoughtful, and they've caught me completely off guard. Wanda's voice lowers. "I wanted you to have something that reminded you of how strong you already are. Even when you felt small."

A lump forms in my throat, but I force it down. I nod. Not because I'm ready to forgive. But because I'm not ready to push them away either. "Thanks." I say quietly. "Really." And just like that, they back away. No expectations. No more pressure. I appreciate that. It's like they're finally listening to me.

It would've been so easy for them to hijack the day and to make it about apologies or guilt. But instead, they've given me room. Let me have this one day to feel like I'm the centre of it all. And I needed that more than I ever realized.

The party picks up again, as Clint accidentally knocks over a cupcake tower and Billy yells "five-second rule!" before diving for the last chocolate one. Laughter ripples through the room like it belongs there, like we all do.

Kate squeezes my hand again and I smile at her, letting myself melt into the comfort of her presence. That's when I notice it. A movement, subtle and precise. Mama is watching. She's near the far wall now, leaning against it with her arms folded. But her eyes are locked on Kate. Not hostile. Not even judgmental. Just... focused. It's that hyper-vigilant mother-spy thing I haven't seen in years.

Kate follows my gaze and catches Nat's eyes, lifting her chin in subtle challenge. Natasha doesn't blink. Just tips her head slightly, evaluating. I huff a quiet laugh and shake my head. "She's profiling you." Kate smirks. "I should be flattered."

"You should be cautious," I whisper, nudging her with my elbow. "She has very creative ways of intimidating people." Kate leans closer, her voice low and teasing. "Good thing I'm hard to scare." I believe her. And I believe, for the first time in a long time, that someone might actually stick around. Not because they pity me. But because they want to.

The laughter has begun to soften now. People are settling into quieter conversations, cups half-finished, frosting smudges drying on napkins. The decorations still flutter gently in the airflow of the room, streamers casting coloured shadows across the walls like echoes of the joy they helped shape.

I'm still riding the high of it. The weightless kind of happiness that you don't quite trust to last, but you cling to anyway. That's when the door opens, and the atmosphere shifts. Even before I see him, I feel him.

Nick Fury doesn't enter a room. He commands it. Even here, surrounded by friends, cupcakes, and glittery party hats, he's unmistakable. The kind of presence you don't forget once it's in your life. "Don't mind me," he says, his voice a familiar gravel tone, softer than usual but still laced with authority. "Just came to see the guest of honour." He smiles.

A quiet hush falls over the room as he approaches. The tension isn't fear, it's more like reverence. Respect. The kind that makes people straighten their spines without realizing they're doing it. He walks to my bedside, pausing just beside the tray table, arms behind his back. His eye meets mine with a steadiness I've always found both comforting and intimidating.

"You gave us a scare, kid." I smile faintly, keeping his gaze. "Didn't mean to." He doesn't laugh, but something in his expression softens. "I read the full mission report," he says. "I know what went down. And I know it was my call that put you there in the first place." My chest tightens. I shake my head immediately, the instinct to defend him rushing forward. "It wasn't your fault," I say. "You didn't know someone on the inside had turned. You couldn't have." I defend.

Fury's jaw flexes. "It doesn't matter." He replies after a beat. "I should've. Should've read deeper. Dug harder. Hell, I should've seen it coming. That's my job. To know before anyone else does. To protect you." His voice cracks, just barely. But it's enough. It unsettles me. Because I've never seen him like this. Vulnerable, human in a way that doesn't wear a patch or a trench coat. And it's not guilt for guilt's sake. It's care. "You've done more for me than most people ever have," I say quietly. "You gave me a chance. You trained me like I mattered. You saw me." I admit.

He lets out a breath, slow and rough. Then he nods. It's not to brush it off, but to acknowledge it. "You're one hell of an agent, Y/n. I've seen plenty come and go, but you've got something different. Grit. Instinct. Fire." She observes. He leans in slightly, lowering his voice to a gravel-soft whisper. "Don't let what happened change what you know about yourself." I swallow hard, nodding slowly. "I won't."

And then, in a rare moment of unspoken affection, he rests a calloused hand gently on my shoulder, just for a second, before straightening and stepping back. As he turns to leave, he casts a long look toward Nat and Wanda near the back of the room. His gaze lingers, and something in it, maybe warning, maybe reassurance, passes unspoken between them before he disappears through the door.

I exhale only once he's gone. Then, just as I start to gather my thoughts, Dr. Cho re-enters the room with a clipboard and her no-nonsense smile. "Okay, everyone," she announces, clapping her hands together once. "Quick update before you all crash from sugar and emotional whiplash." The room chuckles in response. I sit up straighter, something in my gut already stirring.

"Y/n, your scans look great. The infection's resolved, and your vitals have been strong for the past forty-eight hours. Based on today's assessment..." She pauses, flipping a page like she doesn't already have it memorized. "You're officially being discharged tomorrow morning."

The room erupts louder than it did the first time. This time it's more than celebration. It's relief. Release. Tommy jumps up like someone plugged him into an outlet. "You're coming home?! Like really home?!" He questions excitedly. Billy's already halfway into planning mode. "We have to do a welcome-back breakfast. Wait, no, brunch. Brunch is fancier. And we can use the good mugs!"

I laugh, the real kind, as they both launch themselves into my arms, hugging me with as much force as they dare. "I missed you guys," I murmur into their hair. "We missed you more," Tommy says without hesitation, grinning up at me.

Across the room, I catch sight of Nat and Wanda. They're not saying anything. Not pushing their way into the moment. But I can see it on their faces, the way Wanda's lips tremble just slightly, the way Nat's arms remain crossed tightly over her chest like she's holding herself together by sheer force of will. They're relieved. Genuinely relieved. And they're holding back. For me. It means more than I know how to say.

Still... as the twins start rattling off pancake toppings and "who gets to sit next to Y/n at the table," a familiar flutter of anxiety flickers to life in my chest. I'm going home. To the apartment I once called mine. The home that now feels half-foreign and half-frozen in time. To Nat's watchful eyes and Wanda's worry-laced hovering. I know they love me. I believe that now, at least a little. But I don't know if I'm ready to live under that roof again. To be seen that closely. To be reminded of everything that fractured before I ended up in this hospital bed.

Kate must sense the shift in my energy. Her hand closes around mine, steady and warm. "You're not doing this alone." She murmurs. Before I can answer, Yelena slides in from the other side, arms folded but her eyes fierce. "I will be checking on you. Every day." She promises. Kate smirks. "We've got it covered."

"I'm serious," Yelena adds. "If they hover, I will stare them down until they leave the room. If they make too much soup, I'll eat it out of spite." She says with a straight face. Kate leans in toward me, her voice barely a whisper. "She will. I've seen her do it." She chuckles.

"I don't need babysitters." I murmur, but there's no real heat in my voice. Yelena raises a brow. "Good. Then we're just company." She corrects. "Support." Kate adds. I glance between them, and something loosens in my chest. Maybe I can go home. Because this time, I'm not going back alone.

The room is quieter now, but it still glows with the remnants of laughter and light. Nat and Wanda remain in the background, not imposing, not forcing. They're waiting. Not for forgiveness but for me. And I think that matters most of all.

The soft hum of conversation has tapered into scattered goodbyes, quiet laughter, and the rustle of gift bags being gathered. The scent of vanilla frosting still lingers in the air, mingling with the sterile but oddly comforting smell of hospital-grade fabric softener.

I sit at the edge of the bed now, legs dangling over the side, blanket wrapped loosely around my shoulders as Kate helps me tuck away a few of the smaller gifts into a bag. Most of the guests have left. The noise has died down to a gentle murmur. It's just us now, me, Kate, Yelena, my moms, and the twins, who have passed out on a beanbag in the corner under a pile of discarded wrapping paper.

Kate shifts beside me, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder. "Alright, Bishop Security detail clocking out," she says, offering a playful two-finger salute. I chuckle at her goofiness, and I can't hide the flutter to my heart. "But I'll be back tomorrow. Bright and early. Probably with coffee and really bad jokes."

"Looking forward to it," I reply, trying to keep my voice light, though a quiet kind of sadness starts settling in my chest. I don't want the day to end. Not yet. Not when it finally felt like everything was okay. Kate seems to sense it. She steps closer, her smile softening as her eyes search mine.

"Hey." she says, gently brushing a stray hair from my face, her fingers lingering near my cheek. "You did good today." I huff a small laugh. "I didn't do much." I sigh. "Still," she says, her voice quieter now. "You let yourself have today. That matters." She points out.

She leans in slowly, giving me time, and I meet her halfway. The kiss is brief, gentle, warm, a promise wrapped in quiet goodbye, but it anchors something deep in me. It's the kind of kiss that doesn't demand anything. It just reminds me I'm not alone.

When she pulls back, we're both smiling. But of course, nothing in my life happens without some form of chaos. "I swear to god, Bishop," Yelena calls from the doorway, arms crossed and smirking, "if you break her heart, I will personally staple your arrows together and feed them to you." Kate blinks a flash of fear in her eyes, then she grins. "Creative." She shrugs, trying to play it cool. "I'm Russian. We invent new ways to threaten people daily."

I burst into laughter, chest-shaking laughter that makes me wince slightly, but I don't care. It's worth it. Kate just shrugs like it's part of the deal, then throws me a wink before heading for the door. "Sleep, okay?" she calls back. "I will." I say, holding her gaze a second longer. "See you tomorrow."

Once she and Yelena slip out, the room falls into a softer stillness. The kind that lingers when the lights have dimmed and the buzz of the day begins to fade. Mama, Nat, steps forward first, arms crossed but eyes gentle. "She seems nice," she says, voice casual, but the comment lingers in the air.

I turn to look at her, studying her face for any sign of disapproval. But it's not there. Her expression is sincere, measured, and, if I'm reading it right, curiously fond. "She is." I reply, testing the waters.

Mom then joins us, walking up beside Nat with a little nod of agreement. "She's kind. Confident. I like her. I'm excited to see more of her around the house." I blink at her, surprised. Mom has always been the more intuitive of the two, more emotionally open, but still. The ease in her voice, the warmth, it catches me off guard.

"You're not going to interrogate her?" I ask, only half-teasing. "Only a little," Nat says dryly, but there's no edge to it. Just a trace of the protectiveness I used to crave from her, back when I didn't think I deserved it.

For a beat, none of us speak. They stay near, not hovering, not pressing in. Just... present. And for the first time in a long time, it doesn't feel suffocating. I ease myself back onto the bed, wincing slightly at the pull in my side. The hospital room is quieter now, dimmer. The balloons have started to droop, and the party glow is beginning to flicker out.

My eyes flick to the stack of gifts beside me. Clint's arrows, Mom's books, Mama's weapons. Kate's bracelet still rests gently against my wrist, glinting faintly under the soft lamplight. Today was a good day.

But now that it's over, a gnawing restlessness settles in my chest. Tomorrow, I go home. The word tastes foreign in my mouth. Home. That apartment. That space full of memories, some good, some aching like bruises not fully healed. I can already see the way they'll watch me. The soft questions. The hovering. The awkward silences when no one knows what to say. And I'm not sure I'm ready for it. But I'll go. Because something inside me, faint and fragile, wants to try. And I also know it have no other choice.

The quiet stretches long now, the day finally unwinding. Wanda kisses my forehead gently before retreating to gather the twins. Nat lingers just a moment longer, eyes sweeping over me like she's committing this version of me to memory. "Sleep well dekta. I love you." She says quietly, not making a fuss or waiting for a response. She simply leans in and presses a soft kiss to my head and joins Mom with carrying a sleeping Tommy out of the room.

I'm left alone with the hum of machines, the echo of laughter still clinging to the walls, and the distant warmth of Kate's goodbye on my lips. And for the first time in a long time, I let the silence hold me. Tomorrow begins something new. Maybe hard. But maybe good, too. And maybe that's enough.

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bubblyi3 · 1 month ago

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Between Us, Before Us PART 8 | KTH

"the past never asks permission to return. it simply knocks once… and walks in."

pairing: taehung x female reader

genre: slice of life, angst, fluff

word count: 9.4k

content warning: angst, mild smut, trauma, cheating themes, pregnancy, heartbreak, toxic relationship, time jump here and there

summary: between the past and future lies the aching space of now. with taehyung, you've journeyed through love, heartbreak, and growth. once strangers, then lovers, now something more complicated, your connection is shaped by time, mistakes, and second chances. this is the story of who you were when you first fell for him, who you became through the pain, and who you might still become if you dare to hope again. in the space between healing and longing, one thing remains: him.

author's note: hey guys! took me a while to post this part because I wanted it to be just right. sorry if it's a bit rough. anyway, I know ~ taehyung’s toxic, y/n’s conflicted, and it hurts to read. but trust me, the storm won’t last forever 🪽

also thank you so much for all the thoughts, feedback, and even the tough opinions. i truly appreciate every single one 🤍 can’t wait to wrap up this series and finally write something happy and full of fluff lol

*fiction rooted in real emotions and experiences.

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7

Three Days After:

The new place smelled faintly of lavender laundry softener and the unmistakable sweetness of baby lotion. Light filtered through the sheer curtains which Taehyung had insisted on hanging himself. Soft and cream-coloured, pooling slightly on the floor. He said it was for Nora, but now, you understood it had always been for you. A quiet gesture of comfort, and of care.

You hadn't seen this side of him before. The way he moved around the space like he was tending to something sacred. The way he folded blankets with intention, wiped down counters without being asked to. A nesting instinct you didn’t expect, paired with a protectiveness that never announced itself. Only existed in the way he watched you carry the baby across the room, or how his fingers stilled on your waist whenever he passed.

But what you truly hadn’t expected was what his parents had done. Kind and quietly generous of them. They had upgraded the space for you, while you were still swollen with hope and uncertainty. No grand gestures. No uncomfortable conversations. Just his mother’s soft smile and a set of keys, pressed gently into your palm as if to say, “We want you comfortable.”

So here you were now, standing in the sun-drenched stillness of a three-bedroom home. Warm hardwood floors creaked softly underfoot. The lull of distant lullabies echoed from someone's phone speaker, that was usually his. The coffee table was scattered with tiny socks, half-folded muslins slouched on the couch, and baby bottles waited patiently by the sink to be washed.

It looked like the kind of life you used to dream about. But the house wasn’t the only thing that had changed.

Taehyung had, too.

He moved more gently now, as if the world had become something delicate. He held Nora like she was made of silk and starlight. His hands cautious. When she slept against his chest, you’d catch him still, like he didn’t dare breathe too loudly in case she stirred.

He had taken time off work after she was born. Said he wanted to be there for the small things, the ones most people missed. The firsts, the in-betweens, the quiet hours no one ever documented but somehow defined you the most.

Still, whenever Jungkook texted about a track or needed a second pair of ears at the studio, Taehyung would go. Just for a while. An hour. An afternoon. You never minded. It was his way of holding onto that other version of himself. The one before the bottle warmers and diaper blowouts.

But even at home, the music never left him.

He tapped gentle rhythms on the edge of the crib when he thought you weren’t looking. Hummed unfinished melodies while washing bottles, notes slipping between burps and soft coos. It was like the lullabies belonged to all three of you.

And watching him like this made something ache deep in your chest. Because for all the broken pieces still scattered in your shared history, there was a kind of beauty in the way he was trying. Even if you weren’t sure trying would ever be enough.

Three Months Later:

The doctor’s office smelled like antiseptic and talcum powder, clean in that oddly reassuring way only paediatrics clinics can be. Soft white light spilled from the overhead panels, and pastel cartoons of animals frolicked on the walls. Somewhere nearby, a baby giggled, high-pitched and free.

You sat on a cushioned bench, your daughter warm against your chest, her fingers curled tightly around the string of your hoodie. And her breath was steady.

Taehyung stood beside you, a hand resting between your shoulder blades. You felt him more than you heard him. His gaze didn’t leave Nora, like he was still trying to memorise every detail. Still convincing himself this was real.

“She’s perfect,” the doctor said, smiling as she clicked her pen. “She’s growing well. Reflexes are strong. Keep doing what you’re doing.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. Taehyung looked down at you, that familiar smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. There was no need for words. The pride was mutual, and so was the relief.

Later, as you tugged Nora’s tiny sweater over her arms and clicked her into the car seat, Taehyung was quiet. Thoughtful. Like he was trying to capture this version of life, one where things finally made sense.

Six Months of Nora:

The place was buzzing. It was the kind of noise that filled the walls with warmth, old friends, mismatched laughter, the smell of something home-cooked wafting in from the kitchen.

Jungkook was the first to barrel through the door, arms overflowing with plushies. “She needs stimulation!” he declared, dropping them dramatically onto the couch.

“You bought a drum set,” Namjoon said dryly, eyeing the small box under Jungkook’s arm.

“Early talent development,” Jungkook replied, smug.

Moments later, Hoseok arrived in a song, Nora’s name stretched into a melody he clearly made up on the spot. Jin followed, balancing a tray that radiated the promise of a meal you didn’t have to make. Yoongi entered last, quiet and unassuming, lifting a small bag with one hand and a sheepish smile.

“Teething rings,” he said, “and this.” He held up a tiny onesie: I’m not crying, I’m composing.

You grinned. “She’s wearing that tonight.”

Then came Jimin, arms full of pastel balloons and a gift bag that read For the coolest little lady in town. He swept you into a hug, warm and unfiltered.

“You look radiant,” he whispered into your ear. “Like someone who hasn’t slept in six months.”

“Exactly six,” you whispered back.

“I missed you,” he said, pulling back just enough to see your face. “We all did.”

One by one, they folded you into their arms. Jungkook lifting you off the floor, Namjoon grounding you with calm praise, Hoseok with his usual sunshine, Jin with food and affection, Yoongi with his quiet approval. Each hug was a reminder that you hadn’t done this alone.

Then, from down the hallway, the nursery door creaked open.

Taehyung stepped out, barefoot, sleeves pushed up, hair slightly tousled. You could still smell the faint trace of baby lotion on his shirt. His eyes found yours instantly. Tired but lit from within.

“Guys,” he called out over the noise, “Can you not yell? She just went down—”

Too late.

“Daddy’s home!” Hoseok whooped, launching toward him.

“Daddy of the year!” Jungkook yelled, pulling him into a dramatic hug that quickly spiraled into a wrestling match.

“You survived, man,” Namjoon added, ruffling his hair as Taehyung attempted to duck away.

“Hyung—ow! Stop!” he yelped as Jin caught him in a gentle headlock.

Even Yoongi joined in, tapping him lightly on the chest with a smirk. “Not bad, rookie.”

“You’re all the worst,” Taehyung muttered, cheeks pink, but his grin betrayed him.

“You’re glowing,” Jin said, teasing.

“You look like someone who’s seen things,” Hoseok chimed in.

“I have seen things,” Taehyung replied solemnly. “Like 4am. diapers. And spit-up. In. My. Mouth.”

The room erupted into laughter.

Jin exhaled. “Six months. That’s wild.”

“She’s growing so fast,” you said quietly.

“Yeah,” Taehyung murmured, stepping closer. His hand brushed yours, fingers finding home between your own. “We’re lucky.”

From the living room, Jungkook began drumming out a playful rhythm on the toy set, laughter breaking out all over again.

Days blurred. Weeks passed like flickers. But in this moment, surrounded by your people, your baby, your home. It felt like the world had cracked open just wide enough to let joy in.

And maybe that was enough.

An Hour Later:

It wasn’t loud at first, just a soft wail, threading its way through the hush of the evening like a ripple across still water. But it was enough. You and Taehyung both turned your heads instinctively, eyes meeting in a shared, wordless understanding.

“I’ve got her,” he murmured, already on his feet, movements quiet and careful, as if even the floorboards might shush him.

Moments passed. Then he returned, the silhouette of fatherhood etched softly against the hallway light. Nora was draped over his shoulder, impossibly small and achingly real, her tiny hands curled like question marks against the fabric of his shirt. A single bubble of drool gleamed at the corner of her mouth as she nestled into the safety of his chest with a sigh so sweet it could stop time.

The room melted around her.

Jimin clutched his chest dramatically, whispering, “She’s grown so much,” like it was a secret he wasn’t ready to share with the world.

“Those cheeks,” Hobi breathed. “And her arms! she’s got little rolls now.”

Jin smiled with his arms crossed, pride glowing in his eyes. “She looking like Taehyung now.”

Jungkook was already reaching for his phone, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. “Let me take one. I swear I’ll be normal about it.”

“Fine,” Taehyung said, adjusting his hold so Nora’s face remained pressed gently into his shoulder. “But no flash.”

Click. Click. Click.

“Seriously?” Taehyung hissed, feigning irritation.

Namjoon laughed, beer can in hand as he leaned over the couch. “Let the man document the era. She’ll outgrow this size in what—five minutes?”

You sank onto the rug, your heart tugged in every direction at once. The coffee table was a battlefield of shared joy, snack wrappers, tea mugs, and Yoongi’s newly claimed brewing station beside Jin’s perfectly arranged side dishes. Jungkook, having assembled a miniature drum set, was tapping a soft rhythm, trying to coax Nora’s attention.

She blinked sleepily, her gaze drifting toward the sound, legs kicking in slow-motion wonder. Her fingers waved in the air, reaching for the spinning sticks just beyond her grasp.

And you just watched. The flutter of lashes. The way her whole world seemed to be the space between your arms and Taehyung’s.

A feeling settled in your chest, that was not quite sadness, not quite joy. Something heavier. Something more permanent. The knowledge that she was already changing, already growing. And you were lucky enough to catch it as it happened.

The night had settled and there were stories, card games, soft laughter tangled with the scent of garlic bread and the sound of clinking glasses. Eventually, Taehyung brushed a hand over Nora’s hair, the picture of reluctant responsibility.

“I should probably get her bathed,” he said softly.

You waved him off with a smile. “I’ve got her. Stay. Relax.”

Later, when Nora was full and clean and sound asleep, you lingered by the door longer than necessary. She lay curled like a comma in her crib, swaddled tight, lips parting just slightly with each soft breath. You couldn’t look away.

Back in the hallway, the house was alive again with muted joy. The low buzz of a show playing, the scratch of cards on wood, the familiar voices that had become family.

Taehyung’s voice rose over the rest.

“First week home, I was scared to even blink near her. Thought she’d snap in half if I wasn’t careful.”

The guys howled with laughter.

You stopped just short of the lounge, peeking in unseen.

The coffee table was a mess. A perfect, joyful mess. Pizza crusts, open soda cans, dipping sauces that hadn’t been touched. Namjoon was slouched back with a beer, Yoongi muttering under his breath while Hobi dealt another round, eyes narrowed in concentration.

And Taehyung was just right in the middle of it all. Laughing freely, head thrown back, hoodie sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms dusted with a faint milk stain. From earlier, you remembered. He’d insisted on helping feed Nora, even when she kept turning her head toward you instead. He hadn’t minded. He just wanted to be part of it.

“You look different, V-Hyung,” Jungkook said, setting down his hand of cards.

Taehyung looked up. “Different how?”

“Happier. Lighter.” Jungkook leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. “I wasn’t sure you’d come back to us like this. But I’m glad you did.”

The air shifted to something sacred, unspoken sliding into the silence. Memories, heavy and sharp. The sleepless nights, the shouting, the almosts and what-ifs. The long road back.

Taehyung’s smile dimmed, not with sadness, but reflection.

“I didn’t think I’d get here either,” he said quietly. “For a long time, I was just… stuck. Couldn’t move forward. Couldn’t see anything but my mistakes.”

He turned his gaze toward the hallway. Not quite at you, but close.

“But she stayed. Even when I didn’t deserve it. And now we have Nora.”

“She’s everything. Tiny, loud, already stubborn. She looks at me like I hung the stars, and that terrifies me. But it also makes me want to be better. Every single day.”

There were no jokes this time. Just quiet nods. Eyes softened by understanding.

Namjoon raised his beer. “To better.”

The others followed. “To better.”

You pressed a hand over your heart, feeling it beat against your palm.

And when Taehyung’s eyes found yours at last, he didn’t say a word.

He just smiled.

And mouthed, Come here.

And for the second time that night, the world felt impossibly soft.

Eight months of Nora:

You sat cross-legged on the living room floor, the play mat soft beneath you. Nora's chubby fingers fumbled for the pastel blocks scattered around her, occasionally clacking them together with the kind of laughter that only babies knew how to produce.

She reached for the edge of the couch and pulled herself up, her tiny legs trembling under her weight. Her eyes, round with wonder, locked onto yours as she wobbled and finally settled into a squat, victorious.

A breathless squeal burst from her lips. The words barely formed, but bright with effort. Every time you clapped, she lit up, her palms smacking together in triumph, cheeks flushed and glowing.

Across from you, Taehyung lay on his stomach, elbow propped under his chin, curls haloed in golden morning light. His gaze didn’t waver. Not from you. Not from her.

“She’s becoming a mummy's girl” you said, voice low with amused affection.

He looked up, that lazy, familiar grin blooming like sunlight breaking through fog. “Can you blame her? You’re the most amazing woman alive.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you, blooming unbidden as your cheeks warmed.

He leaned forward and kissed Nora’s forehead, then yours. “But,” he added, settling back on his heels, “she’s a daddy’s girl too. She told me this morning.”

You arched a brow. “Oh yeah? In what language?”

“Baby Morse code,” he replied smoothly. “She blinked twice, then hiccuped.”

Your laughter filled the room, warm and quiet and content. The kind of laugh that didn’t chase the silence away but curled into it, like a blanket.

A few moments later, once Nora was calm and nestled in your arms, Taehyung cleared his throat—gentle, not demanding, just enough to shift the atmosphere between you.

“I got a message from the boys,” he said, gaze flickering. “They’re having a little get-together tonight. Nothing wild. Just music and friends. They want me to come.”

You didn’t answer right away. Not because you didn’t want him to go. But because the mention of it. The noise, the neon, the world outside, cracked the tender bubble you’d been living in since waking.

You knew that side of him. The version that came alive in music-filled rooms and thrived amid laughter and lively chaos.

You loved that side, too. In fact, it was one of the very reasons you fell for him even more.

But the thought of the bed feeling too wide tonight, the house too quiet… it twisted something small in your chest.

“Okay,” you murmured. “You should go.”

His eyes searched yours. “You sure? I don’t have to—”

You shook your head, offering a smile even as the corners of it tugged slightly. “You haven’t had a night out in weeks. Go. Really. Have fun.”

He leaned in again, thumb brushing along your jaw, the way he always did when he needed a reminder that you were real, and that you were his.

“You always say the right things.”

“Because I want what’s best for you,” you whispered. “Just… be safe, okay?”

He nodded, then glanced at Nora. Now dozing in your arms, lips parted in a milk-drunk dream. His voice was soft, certain.

“I’ll be home before her 3am snack.”

“You better be,” you said, but your eyes lingered on him. Not out of doubt. Just something quieter. Like a silent snapshot, tucked away in the folds of memory.

And when he wrapped you both into his arms one last time. The warmth of his skin, the breath against your neck, you held onto it just a little longer.

Because love, like crawling, was always a little shaky at first.

Taehyung's POV:

Taehyung hadn’t wanted to come.

He said it out loud in his head, more than once. Tying his boots with one hand while Nora clung to the hem of his shirt, her soft whimper of protest like a tether he didn’t want to cut.

You hadn’t said much. Just kissed his cheek and told him to text when he arrived. But your silence had weight. He felt it like gravity.

He walked into the party with a heart that already felt too far from home.

The music thumped, bass rattling the windows, laughter echoing from every corner. Bodies leaned into couches, cradled red cups, spilled stories. Jungkook waved from the drinks table. Hobi danced to his own playlist critique. Namjoon and Jin were already arguing politics near the kitchen.

But Taehyung felt apart from it all. An observer trapped behind glass.

He hadn’t even opened the beer in his hand when his phone buzzed.

Your name lit up the screen.

[Y/N]: She finally stood for more than 5 seconds without falling! We’re practicing again tomorrow <3

He played it with the volume just high enough to catch the sound, though he didn’t need it. He could already hear your voice. Feel it, even. The warmth. The joy.

He missed it.

He missed her.

He missed you.

He should’ve been home.

Then, cutting through the haze of his thoughts, Jungkook called out, something about Hobi’s new “death drink.” But the noise around him faded into nothing.

And that’s when he saw her.

Jisoo.

Leaning against the island, hair curled the way she used to wear it when she wanted to catch his eye. Laughing too loud. Like she’d never vanished. Like she still had a right to be here.

His stomach turned.

Why the fuck was she here?

He moved fast, searching the room for Namjoon. “You didn’t tell me she’d be here,” he said, sharp. Namjoon flinched. “Shit. Jin was supposed to—”

“I didn’t know either,” Jin cut in, hands raised. “She wasn’t even on the invite list, bro. I swear.”

Jungkook’s voice was quieter. “I should’ve said something, Hyung. I saw her name in the group chat but… I figured you wouldn’t want her here. We all kinda did.”

“But you knew,” Taehyung said. His voice was low, but it vibrated with something unsteady. Hurt. Betrayal.

“She always shows up,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Exactly when she knows she shouldn’t.”

He hated the way his hands shook.

He hated the memory she brought with her. The time he let it all fall apart. When things between him and you had already been cracked, and Jisoo had slipped into the spaces he didn’t know how to fill.

He hated himself for it.

“I shouldn’t have come,” he said finally, voice thick.

Namjoon reached out, squeezing his shoulder. “We get it. You can go. We’ll cover for you.”

But it wasn’t that easy. Leaving now would feel like a confession. Like he was still the guy who ran from consequences. And he wasn’t. Not anymore.

He glanced toward the kitchen again. Jisoo had seen him now. Her eyes lingering too long, mouth curved slightly like she didn’t know whether to smile or pretend she hadn’t noticed. There was something familiar there. Something dangerous.

“I’ll stay for a bit,” he said tightly, gaze narrowing. “Just long enough not to make it a thing. Then I’m heading home. To my girls.”

The boys nodded. No protests. No teasing.

Just silence. And understanding. Maybe even guilt.

Because they all knew that you had never liked Jisoo. You’d seen what they hadn’t. Felt it before anyone had the courage to admit it. And Taehyung?

He knew now too.

He just hadn’t listened when it would’ve mattered most.

Two hours in:

That’s how long he’d lasted.

Two hours of nodding along to conversations he couldn’t remember. Two hours of pretending he didn’t feel her gaze from across the room. Two hours of clenching his jaw so tightly it ached.

Taehyung stood near the sliding doors that opened to the backyard, gripping a beer he hadn’t touched. The noise of the party buzzed around him. Laughter, music, someone dropping a glass. But it all sounded distant, muffled by the pressure building behind his ribs.

He should’ve been home. With you. With Nora.

He checked his phone for the third time in ten minutes. No texts. No updates. Just your last message from earlier: “She finally went down for a nap. Miss you.”

God. That wrecked him more than he wanted to admit.

“Hey.”

The voice. Sounding similar and cautious, cuts through the noise. He didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

Still, he did.

Jisoo stood a few feet away, her drink half-finished, eyes searching his like she was waiting for something. Something he couldn’t give.

He didn’t say anything. Just turned away again, hoping the silence would be enough.

However, she didn’t take the hint.

“I figured you’d leave early,” Jisoo said, stepping closer. “You looked like you didn’t want to be here.”

He exhaled through his nose. “I didn’t.”

“Then why stay?”

Taehyung finally turned to face her, his expression dull with exhaustion. “Because if I left, it would’ve looked like I ran.”

“And you’re not?”

He didn’t answer. What was the point? He was standing there, sure but everything in him was already somewhere else. With you. With Nora. And yet, somehow, this still felt like running.

Jisoo let out a sigh. “How have you been, Tae?”

His jaw clenched. “I’ve been fine. Fatherhood’s been… good. Y/N’s been incredible.”

“That’s good.”

She said it again, quieter now. Like she didn’t know how to hold the silence that followed or maybe she just knew too much and was trying to hold back.

Taehyung gave a slow nod, then looked away like the conversation was a window into a version of himself he wasn’t ready to face.

Jisoo shifted. Her voice dropped. “I tried reaching out… but it felt like you were either ignoring me or I’d been blocked.”

His eyes flicked back to hers, sharper now. “I’ve been busy. You know that.”

She didn’t flinch. “How do you sleep at night, Tae?”

He blinked.

She stepped in. “How do you look her in the eye and tell her you love her. Knowing you’re keeping something from her?”

He said nothing. The words caught in his throat, heavy and bitter.

Jisoo’s voice softened, cracked with feeling. “You let me in, Taehyung. When things were hard between you guys, you chose me. You came to me.”

“I made a mistake,” he said, sharper now. “A selfish, ugly mistake.”

She didn’t back off. “You didn’t treat it like one back then. You didn’t stop. You kept coming back. Let me hold the pieces of you when she couldn’t.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I let you distract me from what I was breaking. That’s not love, Jisoo. That’s escape.”

“Maybe to you.”

“To her?” His voice cracked. “It would destroy her.”

The words hit the air like a confession. He dropped his gaze, swallowing against the lump building in his throat.

“She deserves better than me,” he said quietly. “But I’m still showing up. Every day. I’m trying. And I don’t get to pretend what we did was okay just because it made you feel less alone.”

Jisoo was silent. When he looked up, her eyes had softened. Not angry now, just sad. “You’re lying to her, Tae. Every day. You can’t build a future on half-truths.”

“She’s my future,” he said, steady now. “You were… a detour I never should’ve taken.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” He paused, jaw set. “And I have to. Because if I don’t, I lose everything that still makes me worth something.”

He didn’t wait for her to respond.

He turned and walked toward the hallway, past the noise of the party and into the kitchen, where he knew the boys were lingering. Maybe Namjoon would give him a ride. Maybe he’d call an Uber again. It didn’t matter.

All that mattered was getting home. Back to you and back to Nora.

And as he walked away, the tension uncoiled from his shoulders in slow, tight waves. The guilt still clung to him because facing Jisoo didn’t make anything right.

But choosing to walk away?

That was something.

That was the beginning.

The moment Taehyung shut the front door behind him, quiet settled like a balm. No music thumping through floorboards. No laughter bouncing off unfamiliar walls. No perfume lingering in the air like ghosts. Just lavender from the diffuser and the softest trace of baby powder. His shoulders dropped for the first time all night.

He hung his jacket by the door, fingers brushing the worn fabric absently before moving toward the living room. The light was dimmed low, casting the space in a warm hush. You were curled up on the couch, wrapped in one of his sweatshirts, legs tucked beneath you. A faint blue glow from the baby monitor flickered at your side.

Your head turned the second he stepped into view.

“You’re back,” you said quietly. Your voice was steady, tinged with sleep but free of accusation.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. Didn’t feel like staying long.”

He crossed the room and sank into the cushions beside you. Not tense, not exactly, but something in the way his jaw worked suggested his mind hadn’t followed him home yet.

“How was it?” you asked gently. “The party?”

He hesitated, then let out a tired laugh. “Wild. The guys were unhinged tonight.”

“Oh?” You tilted your head.

“Jungkook tried to make flaming shots and nearly set Jin’s jacket on fire. Hoseok dragged out the speaker and started karaoke. Namjoon got so into dancing he slipped and took three drinks down with him.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Sounds like a beautiful mess.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Classic.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. But it held a quiet expectancy. Like something unsaid had entered the room with him and settled between you.

You tucked your knees closer, eyes still on his. “Anyone else show up?”

His throat closed.

“Some of the usuals,” he said after a beat. “Jin invited more people last minute. Got a little overwhelming.”

You didn’t push. But he felt it anyway—the subtle shift in the air. The way you filed away his answer for later. Maybe you already knew. Maybe you were waiting for him to choose honesty over silence.

“I’m glad you’re home,” you said at last. Softer. Quieter.

He turned toward you. The weight of the night hung heavy behind his eyes, but your presence anchored him.

“Me too. Missed you.”

“You still hungry?” you offered. “I kept some dinner warm.”

He shook his head. “Just want to lie down. Hold you.”

You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Alright.”

You both stood, moving toward the bedroom. As you did, he reached for your hand. Held it tighter than usual. Like maybe that could make up for all the things he hadn’t said.

But silence, he knew, wasn’t the same as peace. And the truth didn’t stay buried forever.

Celebrating Nora:

You were crouched on the living room floor, stacking plush toys into a basket, when a familiar voice called out over a burst of footsteps.

“Where’s my baby niece?!”

The door hadn’t even closed behind Nari before she dropped her bag and swooped in. Nora, unsteady on her tiny legs by the coffee table, squealed with delight as she was lifted into the air.

“She walked, like, four whole steps this morning,” you said, still half in disbelief. “I cried. Obviously.”

Nari gasped, already hugging her tight. “She’s practically in college.”

“She’s one tomorrow,” you whispered, like saying it too loud might make it more real.

From the kitchen, Taehyung called, “Nari, I hope you’re starving.”

She shot a look over her shoulder. “Is he… wearing an apron?”

“He’s been in the kitchen since noon,” you said with a sigh. “He’s calling it a ‘pre-birthday feast.’”

Right on cue, Jungkook appeared behind him, struggling under the weight of two paper bags brimming with snacks and pastel decorations.

“We brought reinforcements,” he grinned.

The place began to swell with noise, with the scent of sesame oil and garlic. Nora babbled from Nari’s arms, and laughter spilled from the kitchen as Taehyung bickered with Jungkook over table settings.

You were taping tiny flags across the window when you paused, taking it all in.

Taehyung stood over the stove, plating japchae. This wasn’t just cooking. This was distraction, and part of you knew that. You didn’t have to ask.

“She didn’t even ask for all this,” you murmured, handing Nari a juice box to give to Nora.

“No,” Nari agreed, watching Taehyung with a knowing expression. “But you deserve it too.”

Your smile faltered.

Dinner had been sweet in the way only chaos could be. The kind of joyful mess that didn’t ask to be perfect. Nora squealed with every clap, her chubby hands flying toward the colourful spread in front of her. Jungkook sat beside her, utterly determined.

“Say Kookie. KOOK. EE!” he repeated, wide-eyed and hopeful, as though her first word might be his nickname by sheer force of will.

Nari laughed so hard at the scene she nearly knocked her drink over, her cheeks flushed pink from giggles.

Through it all, Taehyung moved with a quieter rhythm. His hands reached instinctively for what you needed before you asked. More rice. Another napkin. A refill of your drink. He noticed when Nora started rubbing her eyes. He noticed the slight crease in your brow when you thought no one was watching.

When Nora finally drifted off, cheeks warm and full from frosting and fruit, her breathing soft in the crib, the house slowed down. The buzz of voices dimmed. Jungkook was already half-asleep on the couch, one arm flung over his face in defeat. Nari was in the kitchen beside you, sleeves rolled up as you rinsed dishes, humming softly.

Taehyung appeared behind you with a light touch on your arm. “You okay?”

You turned to him and for a moment, the weight of the year pressed in.

The hospital room, the 3am, the cries, the tiny socks. And now, this warm little bubble of noise and cupcakes and pretend normalcy.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice just above a whisper. “Just remembering. It went by so fast.”

Taehyung nodded, his gaze steady but shadowed. “I should’ve been better,” he said. “This year.”

The words sat between you like something unfinished. Like a promise made too late.

“You're been so great and she loves you,” you said quietly, rinsing the last plate.

“I love her too,” he replied, almost to himself. Then, after a breath. “And I love you. Even if I spent way too long not showing it right.”

Your hands stilled in the water. But before you could answer, before either of you could tip the moment too far in any direction, Nora stirred softly in the other room, her tiny sigh slicing through the silence.

Tomorrow, she would turn one. And somehow, you would turn the page.

Even if you didn’t know what the next chapter looked like.

The morning arrived draped in gold. Sunlight poured in through the windows, warm and gentle, like a soft blessing.

Nora’s laugh echoed off the walls. High, delighted, and sticky with sugar as she smacked her hands against her high chair tray, her cheeks smeared with cupcake frosting.

Pastel balloons hovered in the corners. Tiny cloud cutouts floated along the walls, spelling out ONE in soft felt letters. The scent of vanilla, bulgogi, and jasmine tea twirled together in the air.

Your chest ached with fullness.

Your parents were the first to arrive, lugging a massive gift bag that Nora ignored completely in favor of hugging your dad’s leg and then trying to eat the ribbon from the wrapping paper.

A little later, Taehyung’s parents came through the door, all smiles and tears. His mum didn’t even make it two steps before scooping Nora up and kissing her cheeks over and over again. Relatives from both sides soon followed, offering gifts, money, and warm embraces.

“She looks just like you did,” she whispered to Taehyung, smoothing down his hair with that timeless kind of motherly affection. He just nodded, eyes locked on you and Nora like they were too precious to look away from for long.

Then the room slowly filled up. Jungkook, Hoseok, Jimin bringing chaos and glittery gift wrap and too-loud laughter. Your uni friends Seoyun and Bora handed you a scrapbook they made by hand, bursting with pictures and memories from the last twelve months, and a bottle of sparkling wine neither of you had the heart to open yet.

Taehyung moved like a man with something to prove. Checking the music, adjusting the decorations, refilling everyone’s cups, making sure the party had enough joy to cover over the cracks.

You let him. Because part of you knew he was trying, and maybe part of you was, too.

Everything felt warm and right.

Until the doorbell rang.

You weren’t expecting anyone else. So when you opened the door and saw her standing beside Namjoon. Her hair perfect, clothes soft and curated, like she wanted to look effortless — your breath caught.

Jisoo.

The smile on her face didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Hey,” she said. “Didn’t mean to intrude. Namjoon said he was stopping by and I... just thought I’d say hi.”

Namjoon looked somewhere between apologetic and oblivious. “I told her it was casual.”

Your voice was cool, even, far too calm. “It’s my daughter’s first birthday. That’s not casual.”

Jisoo flinched. Just slightly. “I brought something for her,” she added, holding up a pink bag with a ribbon tied too neatly.

You didn’t reach for it.

Taehyung rounded the corner just then, Nora bouncing in his arms, her giggles aimed at Namjoon, until his body went still. He saw her. Saw her. And you saw his jaw tighten.

“You didn’t have to come,” he said to Jisoo, low but firm.

There was a flicker in her expression. Surprise, maybe. Something else, too.

But she smiled through it. “I’ll just say hi to the others. Then I’ll go.”

You stepped back, expression unreadable, and walked away before your restraint cracked.

Back inside, the mood had slightly hanged. Nari saw it right away. She drifted over with a drink, eyebrow raised.

“Want me to push her off the balcony?”

You snorted. “Please behave. Nora’s watching.”

“She’s one. She can’t even spell B-I-T-C-H yet,” Nari replied, earning a quiet laugh from you.

Still, you were grateful for her and for everyone who showed up for you.

Taehyung found you not long after. Nora was back in her bouncer, gently bouncing to a soft melody, babbling at her stuffed bear, surrounded by her grandparents.

“I didn’t know she was coming,” he said, eyes searching yours. “I swear.”

You tilted your head, quiet. “And if you did?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I wouldn’t have let her.”

You nodded. But the ache didn’t leave your chest.

“She’s still here,” you said simply.

And he didn’t have an answer for that.

Later, with everyone gathered around the cake and Nora giggling in your arms as the frosting met her nose. You made sure you smiled for the photos, and for Nora.

You smiled like everything was fine.

But across the room, Jisoo stood near the door, silent. Her eyes flickered between you, Taehyung, and Nora. For a brief moment you wondered to yourself.

Had you ever really stopped competing with her? Or had Taehyung just stopped keeping score?

Taehyung's POV:

The party was beautiful.

Pastel streamers fluttered like lazy feathers in the breeze drifting through open windows. The soft hum of a children’s playlist pulsed beneath bursts of laughter, a gentle rhythm to an otherwise perfect day. Fairy lights twisted up the pillars like golden vines, casting a warm, almost magical glow on everything they touched.

Nora clapped her cake-covered hands together with glee, frosting smeared like war paint across her cheeks. Her high-pitched giggles rose over the music and tangled themselves around Taehyung’s heart.

She was one.

His daughter was one.

He should’ve been completely present, soaking in every second. The way you tossed your head back laughing, eyes crinkling as you reached for a napkin to dab Nora’s cheek. You were glowing. Lit from within. There was joy in your every movement, peace in the way you held your daughter. Held his daughter.

Everything he could have ever wanted stood in front of him.

And still, he looked away.

To her.

Jisoo.

She lingered near the gift table, chatting idly with Namjoon and the boys. Her drink was half-full, her smirk fuller. The breeze toyed with the hem of her dress, her hair falling effortlessly around her face. And Taehyung’s stomach twisted.

It wasn’t longing anymore. Not exactly.

It was the discomfort of memory. Of familiarity where there should no longer be any. Of watching a ghost try to step back into a skin it had long since shed.

She looked too at ease. Like she belonged. Like she hadn’t nearly wrecked the fragile framework of the life he was still trying to rebuild, brick by trembling brick.

Maybe it was a good thing Jisoo came. It would give him the opportunity to prove something to himself. Or to you that he could be mature. That there were no loose ends. Nothing hiding in the corners of his heart.

But there were.

There always had been.

His jaw tightened. He flicked a glance back toward you. You were laughing with your parents and Nari. Your shoulders relaxed, completely unaware of the storm that had cracked open inside him.

Taehyung slipped away from the wall, moving outside, as if space could untangle the knot building in his chest. But the sound of heels followed, clicking across the tile like punctuation.

She found him, of course.

She always did.

He turned, keeping his tone even. “You knew what today was.”

Jisoo shrugged, stepping closer. Her eyes scanned his face, never lingering too long, like she already knew the lines too well to be surprised by them. “Namjoon said it was fine. I thought it was just a birthday party. Didn’t realise it was a boundary-testing event.”

“You know what I mean, Jisoo.”

She tilted her head. “Do I?” Her voice dropped, teasing. “Because from here, it just looks like an old friend bringing a gift.”

He didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched.

“I brought a book. For Nora,” she added softly. “And some stuff for you that you can share with Y/N.”

His mouth felt dry. “Thanks.”

“She’s beautiful,” Jisoo said, her gaze softening as she glanced through the window. “She looks like you.”

Taehyung swallowed. “She’s… everything.”

A beat passed.

“I wasn’t trying to stir things up by showing up,” Jisoo said, her voice dipped in something quieter. “I just wanted to see where you ended up.”

He looked at her. Really looked. And all he saw was a memory dressed in present-day clothing. A girl he once trusted with everything, the girl once he called his best friend.

“Some lines, once crossed…”

“I know,” she whispered. “I’ve replayed it too.”

For a brief moment, there was honesty between them. A flicker of the friendship they used to have.

“I’m happy for you, Tae,” she said.

She tucked her hands into her coat, glanced toward the house, to you.

“Thanks for the gift.”

“Anytime,” she said. But her voice trembled around the word like it didn’t quite fit anymore.

She watched you through the window. Her smile faded just a touch. Just enough for Taehyung to notice.

“You guys look happy,” she said. “I mean that.”

“We are,” he said.

She nodded, then her voice dropped into something darker, slower. “It’s funny though… how truth always finds its way out. Even when we try to bury it with good intentions.”

His heart stalled.

“What are you trying to say?”

Jisoo’s eyes met his. Calm. Certain. Too calm.

“Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”

Before he could speak again, Namjoon appeared at the gate, like he’d been waiting for his cue.

“Jisoo,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind.

She glanced back once, giving Taehyung a final look that held no malice, but held something.

“Don’t worry,” she said softly. “I won’t say anything you didn’t already say yourself… eventually.”

“Jisoo,” he warned.

She stared at him, something raw glinting beneath her cool tone. “You don’t get to tell me how to carry what you left behind.”

Namjoon’s hand found her arm. “Let’s go.”

And she let him lead her away, her steps quieter now.

“Enjoy your perfect little life, Tae,” she said, just before disappearing. “Hope it stays that way.”

And just like that, she was off, but the storm she left behind wasn’t.

Taehyung stood there, letting the air settle around him, the laughter from inside feeling a world away. He hated the version of himself that she remembered. The boy who ran from responsibility. Who treated your quiet, constant love like it would always be there.

He wasn’t that boy anymore.

With a deep breath, Taehyung stepped back inside. Past the streamers. Past the cake. Past the old ghosts.

Making his way to you and to Nora.

To the life he almost lost, and the one he would never stop choosing.

Three weeks had slipped quietly past since Nora’s first birthday. At last, the place had settled back into its familiar rhythm. The pastel streamers and colourful balloons had vanished, but the warmth of that day still lingered, tucked gently in the corners of your hearts.

You glanced up as the front door clicked open. Taehyung stepped inside, his shoulders heavy with the weight of the day, hair tousled just enough to seem effortlessly worn. Still, the moment his eyes found you, his face brightened. A small, tired smile breaking through the fatigue.

“Hey,” he greeted softly, dropping his bag by the door.

You held up the pan you’d been carrying with a modest smile. “I thought I’d make dinner tonight.”

He shrugged off his jacket and moved closer, the gratitude in his eyes tugging at your heart. “You didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did.”

The kitchen soon filled with the soft clinks of dishes and the gentle simmer of food on the stove. The scent of garlic and herbs curled through the air like a warm embrace. Nora’s soft laughter as she played, a gentle soundtrack before her bedtime.

Later, after dinner you tucked Nora into bed, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, whispering a sweet goodnight. Back in the living room, you nestled side by side on the couch. Taehyung pulled his knees up, wrapping an arm around you, grounding you in the quiet calm. The city’s distant hum filtered through the window. A soothing lullaby beneath the stillness inside.

You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. His hand found yours, fingers intertwining with a familiarity that felt like coming home.

For a while, words felt unnecessary. Just the warmth of two souls quietly mending after the day’s weariness.

But beneath the calm, something shifted. The faint brush of his thumb over your skin sparked a flicker of electricity that raced quietly through you. The air thickened, charged with a delicate tension neither dared to break.

Taehyung turned his head slowly, eyes meeting yours with a softness that made your heart skip.

“Are you tired?” you whispered.

He shook his head, lips curving into a small, vulnerable smile. “No. I just… like this. Like being here with you.”

Your fingers tightened gently around his, warmth blooming deep inside. The space between you seemed to shrink, the world narrowing to the small couch.

His thumb traced slow circles on the back of your hand, sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

You shifted, turning to face him, breath catching as your eyes locked. In his gaze, you saw the quiet vulnerability you felt mirrored back. Without a word, he reached up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering on your cheek with a gentleness that spoke louder than words.

You leaned in, lips barely brushing his, tasting the space between you. His eyes fluttered closed, and when his lips finally met yours, it was slow and tender. A silent conversation only the two of you understood.

His hands settled at your waist, pulling you close, grounding you in this moment of quiet reunion. Your fingers curled into the nape of his neck, savouring the softness beneath your touch.

When you pulled back, foreheads rested together, breaths mingling, hearts pounding in quiet sync.

“Thanks for trusting me again,” Taehyung whispered.

You smiled softly, your fingers tracing lazy circles against his skin. “Don’t make me regret it.”

At your words, something flickered across Taehyung’s face. An unreadable shadow but you pushed it aside, choosing instead to hold on to the fragile hope between you.

The afternoon sun hung warm and golden. The kind of day that felt like it was made for memories. Nora was already at your parents’ house, wrapped in the comfort of familiar arms. You’d gotten a text from your parents not long ago.

[Mum]: Nora’s down for her nap. Enjoy your time together. Love you both.

The message settled in your chest like a gentle reassurance, easing the familiar flutter of anxiety. It was the first time in a long while you’d been apart from Nora. Though the ache of missing her lingered, a quiet hope began to bloom beneath it.

Taehyung waited by the car, his eyes lighting up when he saw you. You’d changed out of your usual leggings and hoodie, choosing a simple dress that felt like reclaiming a small piece of yourself. Light mascara framed your eyes, and your hair fell softly in loose waves around your face. Nothing extravagant. Just you.

He smiled, reaching for your hand. “Ready?”

The engine purred to life, and he guided the car onto a scenic route that traced the river’s edge, the city sprawling in lazy elegance around you. Trees brushed past the windows, their leaves shimmering in the afternoon light as the sky began its slow shift toward dusk.

“I planned this all week,” Taehyung said, his voice soft with that familiar mix of nervous pride and tenderness. “A picnic by the Han River. Nothing fancy, but… everything.”

The city’s hum faded behind you, replaced by the gentle ripple of water and the occasional bird song. When you arrived, Taehyung carefully laid out the soft blanket on the lush grass by the riverbank, smoothing out every wrinkle with deliberate care. The gentle breeze teased the edges, but he held it steady, making sure it wouldn’t slip away. He unpacked the wicker basket, revealing an assortment of neatly packed treats.

Kimbap wrapped in colourful paper, sweet rice cakes, and fresh fruit glistening in the afternoon sun. With practiced hands, he arranged everything just so, placing a small thermos of warm tea nearby. And your favorite mocktail from your pregnancy days. You watched him, heart swelling at the care in his every movement.

“How did you remember all this?” you asked softly.

His grin was mischievous, almost boyish. “I told you, babe. I planned it all.”

As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky with strokes of pink and orange, you shared stories and laughter. Little moments about Nora’s morning adventures, the funny way she tried to feed her stuffed bunny, the sweetness of your life together. The ease between you grew with every smile.

Taehyung reached out to brush a stray hair behind your ear, his touch light and familiar. You rested your head on his shoulder, breathing in the calm of the moment.

“Sorry it’s not a fancy date,” he murmured.

“This is perfect,” you whispered.

He squeezed your hand gently. “I’m glad.”

The city lights began to twinkle in the distance as the sky darkened, and Taehyung draped his jacket over your shoulders. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple and whispered, “Promise me we keep doing this. No matter how hard things get.”

You nodded, eyes shining in the fading light. “I promise.”

And though a quiet doubt still lingered deep inside. That stubborn gut feeling you couldn’t quite shake. You chose to lean into this fragile hope, learning slowly to trust him again, one moment at a time.

Was this enough? Could the cracks ever truly be sealed?

The mornings were quieter now, but Nora’s tiny footsteps and soft babbles filled the house. She was only one, but already so full of life. Pulling herself up on the couch, reaching for your hand, her wide eyes sparkling with curiosity. The weight of her in your arms, warm and real, was both your anchor and your ache.

After the dates, the stolen moments of laughter, the quiet family breakfasts, the late-night talks where vulnerabilities slipped through, and the shared smiles over Nora’s little triumphs. It all felt like healing. Like after everything had shattered, some pieces could be gently pieced back together. Taehyung had changed. He was here. Fully. Present in ways he hadn’t been before. For a moment, everything felt possible.

You both had started to rebuild, carefully, like walking on glass shards that glittered with the promise of healing but still threatened to cut. Job hunting, doctor’s appointments, Nora’s milestones, whispered promises, and cautious plans. Everything was an exercise in learning to trust again.

But then your phone buzzed, shattering the fragile peace.

Unknown number.

You answered with a hesitant voice, trying to steady your breath.

“Hello?”

A pause. Then, her voice. Calm, cold, sweet, and familiar.

“It’s Jisoo.”

Your heart stopped.

The woman who had been the shadow in the corners of your relationship. The one you had pushed to the edges of your mind.

“I know. I shouldn’t be calling,” she added quickly, her voice too calm for what she was about to say. “But I need to talk to you. Just once.”

You leaned against the kitchen island, already feeling your heart pick up speed. “Why would I ever want to talk to you?”

“Because I think you deserve to know the truth,” she said.

You didn’t respond, but your silence gave her the space she needed.

She took a slow breath. “I’m not here to ruin your life. I’m not. But I can’t keep pretending that what happened between me and Taehyung didn’t matter. Or didn’t exist.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

There was a long pause.

“We slept together,” she said.

Time stopped.

You blinked, certain you’d misheard her. “You… what?”

"It wasn’t just once. Taehyung and I… it happened more than that." She continued.

You felt like air punched out of your lungs. Tears were fighting to be release.

"When things got heavy between you two, when he felt like he was drowning… he’d come to me. And I let him."

“No.” You shook your head, gripping the counter. “No, that’s not true. He would’ve told me. He would’ve told me.”

“He didn’t,” Jisoo said, her voice almost apologetic now.

“Because he didn’t think it mattered. He didn’t think it would last with you again. So when it did… he buried it."

You staggered back a step. It felt like the floor had cracked under your feet.

“I know this hurts,” she added. “And I’m sorry. But you’re building a future on a lie.”

You couldn’t breathe.

You remembered the way he held you after fights. The way he promised to do better, to grow up, to be a father and a partner and everything in between. The way he looked at Nora like she was magic.

He said that Jisoo was just a close friend. He swore, and still you let him crawl back into your arms without telling you the truth.

“I forgave him.” you said, barely above a whisper. “I forgave everything. And he still—”

“He made his choice,” Jisoo said. “And now you get to make yours.”

You hung up.

The silence after was crushing. The room blurred at the edges. You gripped the counter like it could hold your world together. But you were already falling apart.

The baby monitor crackled softly in the background, the only sound in a house suddenly full of ghosts.

Because now, you had to face the one thing you never thought you’d feel again.

Betrayed.

An hour had passed since the phone call ended.

The place had settled into stillness.

The living room was dim now, the sunlight that once filtered through the curtains now replaced with that heavy, colourless light that falls just before dusk.

You hadn’t moved much. You’d done the dishes. Folded a few clothes. Tidied up the toys by Nora’s play-mat. You even wiped the table twice though it didn’t need it. You told yourself you were fine. That you just needed to breathe. To stay busy.

Nora was still asleep, her baby monitor resting by the window. The soft static hum a reminder that at least something in your world was steady.

You picked up your phone from the armrest and tapped the screen, the last message you sent to Taehyung still glowed on the screen. Like a cruel reminder of the normalcy that existed just hours ago.

[You]: Hope work’s going okay. Nora went down for a nap. Love you.

And now, you started typing.

[You]: Did you ever sleep with Jisoo?

You stared at the screen.

Delivered.

No reply.

Your chest tightened. You typed again.

[You]: Don’t lie to me. Just answer me. Did you sleep with her?

Read.

Still nothing.

You couldn’t stop your thumbs and you continued to type.

[You]: She called me and told me everything. Is it true?

Typing…

Then it stopped.

No reply.

[You]: I trusted you to be honest with me. You looked me in the eyes. Slept next to me. Were you ever going to tell me? Or were you just hoping I'd never find out?

Read. Still no response.

Tears burned at the back of your eyes. You slammed the phone down on the couch and covered your mouth before the sob could escape.

Because his silence was the loudest confession of all.

You don’t even know what to feel anymore. Is it grief? Rage? Shame?

You’ve spun through every emotion so many times, it feels like your soul has been strained dry. Now, you’re left with something quieter and emptier.

You should’ve known.

No — you did know.

Or maybe you felt it. That subtle, sickening shift in your gut, the way your eyes darted to his face, searching for reassurance that never quite came.

But you pushed it away. Told yourself he was trying.

That people grow. That love, when it’s real, can overcome even the worst of things.

And he was trying.

That’s what makes this so much harder. That’s what makes it feel less like a betrayal and more like a cruel contradiction. The version of him you held out for during every quiet heartbreak and second chance. The version you clung to during the months when his eyes seemed to look past you, not at you.

But now… you don’t know what any of it means.

Because it wasn’t him who told you. It was her.

And now the life you built. Your home, your daughter, your love. It feels like it’s hanging by a thread. Because how do you reconcile the man who makes your child laugh… with the man who lied so easily while holding your hand?

You can’t. Not today. And the worst part is that he became the man you always needed, but only after he broke you.

And maybe now… you love him a little less. Or maybe so much less that your heart doesn’t even recognise that love anymore.

And that’s what truly breaks you.

#bts angst #bangtan #bts fluff #bts scan #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung x y/n #taehyung x you #taehyung angst #taehyung fanfic

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dalishious · 3 months ago

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Gaming GIF Tutorial (2025)

Here is my current GIF making process from video game captures!

PART 1: Capturing Video

The best tip I can give you when it comes to capturing video from your games, is to invest in an injectable photomode tools - I personally use Otis_Inf's cameras because they are easy to use and run smoothly. With these tools, you can not only toggle the UI, but also pause cutscenes and manually change the camera. They are great for both screenshots and video recording!

As for the recording part, I personally prefer NVIDIA's built-in recording tools, but OBS also works well in my experience when NVIDIA is being fussy.

PART 2: Image Conversion

Do yourself a huge favour and download PotPlayer. It is superior to VLC in more ways than one in my opinion, but is especially helpful for its Consecutive Image Capturer tool.

Open the video recording in PotPlayer, and use CTRL + G to open the tool. If this is your first time, be sure to set up a folder for your image captures before anything else! Here are the settings I use, albeit the "Every # frame" I change from time to time:

When you're ready, hit the "Start" button, then play the part of the video you want to turn into a GIF. When you're done, pause the video, and hit the "Stop" button. You can then check the images captured in your specified storage folder.

(TIP: Start the video a few seconds a head and stop a few seconds after the part you want to make into a GIF, then manually delete the extra images if necessary. This will reduce the chance of any unwanted cut-offs if there is any lagging.)

PART 3: Image Setup

Now, this part I personally always do in GIMP, because I find its "Open as Layers" and image resizing options 100% better and easier to use than Photoshop. But you don't have to use GIMP, you can do this part in Photoshop as well if you prefer.

Open the images each as an individual layer. Then, crop and/or scale to no more than 540px wide if you're uploading to Tumblr.

(TIP: This might just be a picky thing on my end, but I like to also make sure the height is a multiple of 10. I get clean results this way, so I stick to it.)

If you use GIMP for this part, export the file as .psd when done.

PART 4: Sharpening

If you use GIMP first, now it's time to open the file in Photoshop.

The very first thing I always do is sharpen the image using the "Smart Sharpen" filter. Because we downsized the image, the Smart Sharpen will help it look more crisp and naturally sized. These are the settings I mostly use, though sometimes I change the Amount to 200 if it's a little too crunchy:

Here's a comparison between before and after sharpening:

Repeat the Smart Sharpen filter for ALL the layers!

PART 5: Timeline

First, if your timeline isn't visible, turn it on by click on Windows > Timeline. Then, change the mode from video to frame:

Click "Create Frame Animation" with the very bottom layer selected. Then, click on the menu icon on the far-right of the Timeline, and click "Make Frames from Layers" to add the rest of the frames.

Make sure the delay should be 0 seconds between frames for the smoothest animation, and make sure that the looping is set to forever so that the GIF doesn't stop.

Part 5: Editing

Now that the GIF is set up, this is the part where you can add make edits to the colours, brightness/contrast, add text, etc. as overlays that will affect all the layers below it.

Click on the very top layer so that it is the one highlighted. (Not in the timeline, in the layers box; keep Frame 1 highlighted in the timeline!)

For this example, I'm just going to adjust the levels a bit, but you can experiment with all kinds of fun effects with time and patience. Try a gradient mask, for example!

To test your GIF with the applied effects, hit the Play button in the Timeline. Just remember to always stop at Frame 1 again before you make changes, because otherwise you may run into trouble where the changes are only applied to certain frames. This is also why it's important to always place your adjustment layers at the very top!

Part 6: Exporting

When exporting your GIF with plans to post to Tumblr, I strongly recommend doing all you can to keep the image size below 5mb. Otherwise, it will be compressed to hell and back. If it's over 5mb, try deleting some frames, increasing the black parts, or you can reduce to number of colours in the settings we're about to cover below. Or, you can use EZGIF's optimization tools afterwards to reduce it while keeping better quality than what Tumblr will do to it.

Click on File > Export > Save for Web (Legacy). Here are the settings I always use:

This GIF example is under 5mb, yay! So we don't need to fiddle with anything, we can just save it as is.

I hope this tutorial has offered you some insight and encouragement into making your own GIFs! If you found it helpful, please reblog!

#gif tutorial #tutorial

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evilmenshoe80 · 9 months ago

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ADAM & MIKA

The meeting

(WARNING: this is a guitarhero endgame fic with past adamsapple, don't like don't read, pretend I don't exist and that's it, thanks! ❤️)

It was a beautiful morning in the garden of eden. The birds were happily singing announcing a new morning, the breeze of the wind gently rocked the trees, generating a pleasant melody that filled the entire place, the warm rays of the sun filtered through the trees creating a beautiful yellow and orange collage in the skin of the first man, Adam.

He slowly opened his eyes, taking a moment to fully awaken, before rising with a yawn. It had been a decent night, no nightmares after what he had feel like an eternity of waking up crying in the middle of the night, maybe his father took pity of him an removed his capacity to dream, that would be the best, something he would gladly accept, why dream? When the two beings that he loved the most abandoned him without a doubt.

Lucifer, his best friend, his guardian angel, the one that guided him on his first years of existence, the only one that didn’t kneel when god presented him because in his own words “they were equals”, the angel that had made beautiful promises of a bright future for both of them.......the angel he hated and loved.

And Lilith, his wife, the first woman, the other half that he didn’t knew he needed, the other fundamental piece of God's plan so that both could give birth to humanity, his equal as a human....his first love and the person he though it would be by his side forever.

He remembered the day he saw the two for the first time.

~~~~~~*~~~~~~

The earliest memory he has of his existence was waking up in a room full of light, with creatures similar to him, but not exactly like him, their shape was similar to his, but most of this beings were taller, easily covering him with their body, they had wings, their body was covered by a strange material, some had two eyes, others only one eye and some had many more than two and as a weird extra, they all had a weird looking golden shape above their heads, gently floating and following them everywhere they moved.

But despite the strange look of these beings he didn’t feel scared or threatened in any way, he actually feel at peace, at ease, like he belonged there despite so many eyes looking at him, As he moved his gaze around, inspecting his surroundings, it landed on the figure next to him. A figure that left him speechless, this one has more similarities with him, but like with the other creatures it had some differences, the middle of her body was smaller, her hair was longer and with a lighter colour, similar to the light that shined in the place, her skin a different tone just like her eyes, which also were sharper than his, but with a similar light, she was beautiful, the woman looked at him with the same curiosity.

Before he could try to form a word, an imponent yet gentle voice filled the room, silencing the whispers of the other creatures and making both humans turn around to face the origin of it. Their father, the creator of everything, god. Their voice was strong, with clear autorithy but at the same time, it was the most calming and beautiful sound adam remembers to ever hear, no singing of any other being or instrument could compare to the beauty that it was the melodic voice of the supreme being.

“Adam, Lilith, my perfect creations” said the being of light “I welcome you to the world”

“w-who are you?” said the first man, in a trembling voice that was more for lack of experience that for being afraid

“i’m your creator, you can call me father”

After some time of pure silence and of the first humans looking at each other, both with the same confused expression, lilith asked in a curious tone.

“why...did you create us?”

“I created you so you can start a new world togueter, new life, a new race, the human race, that’s your purpose”

“purpose? What's that?” asked the first men

“It’s what gives a reason to exist to every being that I create, and yours, it’s to create new life”

“why?” asked both humans at the same time

To this question, god stayed silent for a whole minute, which make the angels feel nervous and start whispering again, not because god didn’t knew the answer, they knew, but their father not wanting to answer right away had a meaning none of the humans could handle, at least not yet, so, god only answered:

“because the universe cannot exist without it” said the creator, making the angels shut their bickering again.

Both humans stayed silent and before either of them could ask another “why?” the father of everything pointed their stare at one of the angels in the room. A short figure with white skin, his cheeks adorned with blue dots that matched with his crystal blue eyes, golden hair that was decorated with a big blue hat with a golden ribbon, and a blue tunic that moved gently with the fluttering of his golden wings.

“Lucifer”

At the mention of his name, the angel spread his wings and approached the center of the room where God and the humans were standing.

“Yes, father” the angel made a reverence

God pointed their gaze at lilith and adam again “the name of this angel is Lucifer”

Lucifer made a reverence to both humans

“what’s an angel?” asked lilith

“another of my creations, his purpose is to teach and protect you, guide you through the paths of life” he pointed his stare at every angel in the room “that’s the purpose of all of them”

At this, all the angels started to kneel, understanding the weight of their creator words. Yes, all of them, except one. The angel that was at their side, lucifer. All the room was in a dense silence, the angels looking at each other and some at lucifer without daring to say anything. The humans stared at each other, like trying to get some answers, though both of them where in the same situation, neither knew why suddendly the atmosphere had become more than tense, suffocating.

God seemed to be staring at lucifer, with an expression no one in the room could really read, everyone were expecting, waiting for god’s next words, their next reaction.

“Lucifer” said the lord with a calm but firm tone

“yes, father?” answered lucifer with a smile

“Guide adam and lilith to eden” he looked at the humans “your duty is to name all the animals and plants in the garden, let your curiosity lead you to create new things” then he looked at the other archangels, lucifer’s siblings “accompany them, any question that adam and lilith have, you shall answer them”

“yes, father” answered the archangels at the same time

“I will visit you once you have properly settled”

And like that, in the blink of an eye god dissapeared. After some seconds the other angels began to get up and stretch. Their whispering started again.

“I hope everything goes well”

“they look so fragile”

“do you think they can make it?”

“I can’t believe Lucifer didn’t kneel”

“I know, his new position is getting over his head”

Both adam and lilith looked at each other again, restless, hesitating to approach each other wanting to search some comfort at being the only “humans” in the whole place, life? Race? Purpose? What did all that really mean?. These creatures seemed to be have a higher understanding of things, why did they needed them?

“adam, lilith”

Both humans turned towards the soft but playful voice

“I’m so happy you are finally here, we all have been waiting to finally meet you!” said lucifer with a smile “I’m sure that both of you have a lot of questions, but don’t worry” he pointed his hands towards his siblings “we’ll help you understand”

One of the angels behind lucifer reached his hand towards him, patting his shoulder.

“yes, michael?” said lucifer with a bright smile towards his brother

“can we talk for a moment?” asked his twin with a conflicted expression

“right now? But we have work to do! Lilith and Adam need-”

“I can’t believe you didn’t show respect towards father’s creations” said gabriel “you know how much father loves them, how much effort he put in making them!”

“geez, calm down gabe, I made a reverence and that was enough for father, he didn’t got angry or complained about my behaviour”

“wow, a reverence, how respectful” said uriel with his arms crossed and an unamused expression

Lucifer’s smile twitched at his brother sarcasm but before he could answer, michael interfered

“Luci, I know you don’t mean bad or try to be disrespectful, but, try to follow the protocole next time, As high of your position is now and as much patiente father has, we have to remember our place and duties, ok?” said michael, with a sincere smile, full of brotherly love towards his twin

At this lucifer stayed silent for a moment, like analizing his brother’s words “ok mike” then, his crystal blue eyes landed on the humans, who were standing very close to each other, and looking at the tense scene in front of them “I promise to behave” said the angel with a smile that made adam’s spine shiver.

~~~~~~*~~~~~~

Adam blinked rapidly and shaked his head, finally standing and making his way towards the lake to wash up, breaking free from that memory that hunted his mind constantly, he tried and tried to not think about it, it hurted, everytime that he remembered lilith’s curious stare, how she smiled at him, the way she holded his hand when they were walking towards the garden for the first time, how the feel of her soft skin made him shiver and feel heat on his cheeks, it hurted, remembering lucifer’s soft touch on his shoulder, his friendly chatting and mischievous smile that filled his heart with something he couldn’t understand at the moment, it hurted, it hurted, it hurted, IT HURTS, STOP!

His mind was begging, PLEADING for rest, so many things happened before the angel and the woman decided to leave him behind, but it didn’t matter if they were good or bad memories, they all made him feel bad, feel things he couldn’t name or understand at all, and that only served to increase his anger.

Adam arrived at his favorite spot in the lake, he let out a little sigh of relief at the feeling of the cool water on his feet, he looked at his reflection for a moment

“Eve” adam said in a sad tone, as if someone just asked him about who he was thinking about

The second woman, his second wife, his third love but not less special, his other half, the person that was created from his rib to fill the void in his heart, while the extraction didn’t hurt, her creation left a scar on his body that burned once he woke up from his sleep, a burn that he could still feel once in a while, he noticed that it was stronger when he missed her, which was constantly.

Her eyes were the first thing he saw, they were the same as his, golden, with long reddish brown hair, her skin a little lighter than his but with the same golden freckels and shine, she was a little shorter but not too much, and her smile, that sweet and kind smile that he loved so much, that made him forget about the mess in his head, the feeling of solitude

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you Eve” adam practically whimpered, feeling the hot tears running down his cheeks at the memory of eve being kicked out of eden, of her squirming and crying, trying to reach him, begging mercy from the angels, he had never see the angelic beings like that, it was the first time he felt an odd feeling towards them

He had tried to reach her, but he was stopped, they couldn’t risk to lose him too, he tried to beg to sera, to the archangels, to every angel that was present at the moment but the decision was made, eve would be kicked out of eden for disobeying the only rule in the garden and try to tempt him to sin too, “luckily” for him the angels arrived before he could take a bite of the forbidden fruit, saving him from an unfortunate destiny.

But the worst about all of it, as if the whole situation wasn’t terrible enough, is that she wasn’t alone in this, someone had tempted her, tricked her into disobeying god and ignoring her husband advice, the two beings that he had loved the most....

Adam couldn’t contain himself anymore and started crying, letting out whines of pain, letting out all the tears he didn’t though he had anymore, he already cried so much before, until his eyes hurted, until he felt like he didn’t had more tears to shed, but it seems like he was wrong.

Why no one wanted to stay with him? Why no one choose him? Why it seemed like they didn’t cared as much about him like they said? would it be better if he took the apple from lucifer when he offered it? Would things have been different if he had the guts to bite the apple when eve offered it too? should he have fought harder to be with his wife? Was she doing ok? Where lucifer and lilith doing ok? Did they though about hi-

The bombardment of questions in his mind suddenly stopped when he felt the soft touch of a large but delicate hand on his shoulder, soft and warm, he turned his head slowly until he found himself face to face with the owner of that hand.

Seraphiel, or “sera” to shorten, the seraphim that was in charge of the order and correct progress in eden, it was needless to say that was not the situation right now, they had loss two humans and a powerful angel to sin, the plans for the progress of humanity had been put on hold until they could fix the current situation, the veteran angels were becoming more impatient and worried every day, and sera didn’t visit him as often as before, he was sure that she was angry with him, dissapointed, Adam was sure that they all would give up on him, that they would look for another way to give birth to the human race without him, since he was unable to keep his partners by his side.

Adam was ready for bad news, for her to guide him to god and for his father to turn him to dust, to what he originally was, that would be merciful he though, that would stop his pain, his worries, every bad though in his mind, but no, for his surprise nothing like that happened, sera had that gentle and motherly smile she always gave to him, there was hope in her eyes, she didn’t say anything but something in her stare told him she has found the solution for all their problems.

Without breaking her silence, she slowly moved, revealing a bright figure behind her.

Adam was blinded for a second, before he laid his eyes on the person in front of him, it was a human, another man.....a very beautiful one.

He was tall, taller than him, with a strong build and beauty marks in different parts of his body, his skin tone lighter than his with pink undertones, hair on his chest, arms and legs, he was wearing a short yellow chiton around his waist like him, his hair was long and blonde, some locks standing out from his shoulders, and his eyes, oh father, his eyes were sapphire blue, sharp and intense, locked on his golden ones, his pinkish plump lips curled in a charming smile that had adam practically hipnotized, he couldn’t stop looking, who...who was him?

“adam, dear” said sera breaking her silence “this is your new husband, his name is Mika”

“H-h-h-husband?”Adam stuttered

Sera nooded and looked at mika “Mika, this is your husband, adam the firstman”

Mika’s smile got wider before approaching adam and kneeling in front of him “hello adam, I’ve been told a lot about you, I hope we can get along, I’m really excited to spend time with you”

Adam felt his body heat rise “I-I-I've been hope really excited to time with you”

Mika gave adam an amused stare before letting out a giggle

“sucessful introduction, excellent” the higher seraphim though to herself, now it was up to Michael. The warrior angel could do it, she was sure, after all, Michael never failed.

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

(HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY!!! I FINALLY FINISHED THE FIRST EPISODE OF MY ADAM & MIKA (human!Michael) FIC!!! AAAAAGH I'M REALLY EXCITED! And omg, to the great writers of this fandom and any other, my respect for you is 100000 higher now, I erased so many parts of the history so many times, how do you do it?! 😭

And I'll be honest with you guys, this au at first was just an excuse to draw and write michael x adam smut hehe but know I really want to write something more meaningful for them, and I hope to do a good job, I'll do my best for my guitarhero fellows 🤝💕

also, I know what you may be thinking, "it's ridiculous how adam is so sad at the start of the story for his past lovers but sees Mika and suddendly he's happy and in love!" adam is shocked by his new mates beauty, that's all, Michael's new body was made specifically for adam to like it and feel attracted to, BUT believe me, I plan to develop their relationship more before we start talking about real love

thanks and good night!!! 😘)

@bluefrostyy I remember you wanted me to tell you when the story was out so, here it is 👍

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel michael #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel art #hazbin hotel fanart #guitarhero #michael x adam #hazbin hotel lilith #hazbin hotel fic

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kuroshitsuji-wiki · 4 months ago

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Kuroshitsuji Wiki now on wiki.gg!

As of today (February 24, 2025), the Kuroshitsuji Wiki has left Fandom Wiki and moved officially to wiki.gg! The new wiki can be found here!

From now on, only this wiki will be updated, not the Fandom one.

Why did this happen?

Please read these posts to learn all the reasons why the wiki was ultimately moved.

TL;DR: Fandom's latest policy auto-blocked the word "fag," making a good portion of the wiki uneditable. Fandom, as a site and wiki farm, has become increasingly bad and hostile over the years for many, many other reasons too.

What is new?

Amongst others:

More information: I revised/expanded some pages during the onboarding phase. Not as many as I wanted to, but some nonetheless! I also revamped the layout of the arc pages, though the summaries are still works in progress. I've started adding voice actors to the episode pages (Season 1 is finished, the rest will follow). Ch108 was mistakenly sorted into the Blue Cult Arc though it still belongs to the Emerald Witch Arc; this was fixed. Etc.

(Screenshot from Harcourt's Fandom article. That was a pitiable section orz (Clayton and Cheslock were not better off, embarrassingly.))

More themes/skins: On Fandom, you could only switch between light and dark mode. I put together four different themes for the new wiki, two of which commemorate S4 and S5 :) I hope they are to your liking!

Link hover previews: If you hover over a link now, you get a little preview of the page!

A better, prettier mobile experience: Colours and customisations are now retained on mobile. The references section now looks normal and does not send you on an endless scrolling spree. References actually pop up when you click on them. Etc.

Less ads!!!: THE #1 grievance people have with Fandom Wiki. wiki.gg has very few ads (and they are unintrusive ads too) on both desktop and mobile. If you are logged in, there are no ads whatsoever.

The move of one particular spoiler page (information under the cut)

(And some more things that might be too boring to list here, heh.)

And, of course, the freedom from Fandom and its horrible whims. Pages containing the word "fag" can now be edited again :)

(The little trivia that started it all: I wanted to add it to Diedrich's page and move on to a gazillion other things when I got the notice that my edit was blocked by Fandom's spam filter. It's finally on his page! It only took four months and one site migration...)

What can I do?

You can help out the new wiki by...

... never going on the Fandom Wiki again. Every visit there only strengthens its SEO. Please do not edit the old wiki anymore too, and do not vandalise it now even if it's tempting. Edits only push it more. (Because of Fandom's shitty forking policy, the old wiki cannot be deleted, unfortunately.)

... adding the wiki.gg redirect and Indie Wiki Buddy browser extensions. They send/redirect you to the independent alternative of a Fandom Wiki if such an option exists. (This, of course, helps other wikis that moved too, not just KuroWiki.)

... by sharing the news. "How's the weather?" "Pretty nice, but have you heard that the Kuroshitsuji Wiki moved?"

... by editing. If you want, please feel free to come and edit the wiki! If you used to have a Fandom Wiki account, you can reclaim it here (help for how to do that), or create a new wiki.gg account.

... or by simply visiting and using the new wiki.

I'm so happy the migration is finally done. I hope you like the new wiki, and thank you so much for all the lovely words you had regarding this migration and for all your help!^^ I'll go and continue editing the wiki with new joy and getting to the gazillion things I planned but haven't been able to do during the onboarding.*

*wikis are just never done...

And hello...

----

Regarding that one spoiler page (Ch129 onwards, if you know you know):

The article for Smile's older twin brother, the original and actual Ciel Phantomhive is called "Ciel Phantomhive" (with the quotation marks) on the Fandom Wiki. He's called "Ciel" in articles too.

This was done because when he showed up in Ch129, it was not 100% confirmed yet whether that was Smile's twin, not just a clone or whatnot. A month later, it was confirmed that this was indeed Ciel's twin the actual Ciel. However, the article's name stayed. This had the advantage that the real Ciel's page would not appear when you typed in Ciel in the search bar.

wiki.gg's search function is better than Fandom's though and, here, if you type in Ciel, the search bar suggests pages that contain that word, not just start with it.

(I, unfortunately, forgot to take a screenshot before renaming the page...)

This is better illustrated with the search results for butler:

Innocently typing in Ciel into the search bar would have sent people to the spoiler, and that would be very shitty, wouldn't it? Especially with the influx of anime-onlys.

(I've also seen people complain about the quotation marks too. And, for whatever reason, that way of referring to him made it to Wikipedia???)

The quotation marks messed up the image migration too. Files with quotation marks in their names were the only ones that weren't transferred "properly" (the quotation marks were removed during the migration. Ch130 Ciel and Ciel.png is a horrid file name).

Anyway, I ended up renaming real Ciel's page to Lord Phantomhive. Real Ciel Phantomhive or Ciel Phantomhive (real) would have had the same search results as "Ciel Phantomhive" after all. There could not be a given name in the title.

"Lord Phantomhive" is the title he held as an earl's first son. Also, the fact that Tanaka, apparently, used to refer to Smile as "Lord Ciel"/"Ciel-sama" (Ch19) before the fire and now only calls him "Young Master" was one piece of evidence often brought forward for the Two Ciels Theory when it was still a theory. And, despite Undertaker's words that "Earl Phantomhive is still alive":

"Earl Phantomhive" fell through as an option too. (And because people might have searched for it looking for Smile, and because "Earl Phantomhive" is also Vincent.)

In articles, the real Ciel is either called "the real Ciel" or "Lord Ciel" or "the older brother/twin" or such. I hope I made the distinction between the twins clear enough in the texts.

#kuroshitsuji #black butler #ciel phantomhive #sebastian michaelis #kuroshitsuji spoilers #kuro wiki migration #fandom wiki migration #tired but happy <3 #this ordeal is ooooooover orz #oh and if you type in blackbutler.wiki.gg you get to the wiki too!

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antoniosvivaldi · 1 year ago

Text

Neural Filters Tutorial for Gifmakers by @antoniosvivaldi

Hi everyone! In light of my blog’s 10th birthday, I’m delighted to reveal my highly anticipated gifmaking tutorial using Neural Filters - a very powerful collection of filters that really broadened my scope in gifmaking over the past 12 months.

Before I get into this tutorial, I want to thank @laurabenanti, @maines , @cobbbvanth, and @cal-kestis for their unconditional support over the course of my journey of investigating the Neural Filters & their valuable inputs on the rendering performance!

In this tutorial, I will outline what the Photoshop Neural Filters do and how I use them in my workflow - multiple examples will be provided for better clarity. Finally, I will talk about some known performance issues with the filters & some feasible workarounds.

Tutorial Structure:

Meet the Neural Filters: What they are and what they do

Why I use Neural Filters? How I use Neural Filters in my giffing workflow

Getting started: The giffing workflow in a nutshell and installing the Neural Filters

Applying Neural Filters onto your gif: Making use of the Neural Filters settings; with multiple examples

Testing your system: recommended if you’re using Neural Filters for the first time

Rendering performance: Common Neural Filters performance issues & workarounds

For quick reference, here are the examples that I will show in this tutorial:

Example 1: Image Enhancement | improving the image quality of gifs prepared from highly compressed video files

Example 2: Facial Enhancement | enhancing an individual's facial features

Example 3: Colour Manipulation | colourising B&W gifs for a colourful gifset

Example 4: Artistic effects | transforming landscapes & adding artistic effects onto your gifs

Example 5: Putting it all together | my usual giffing workflow using Neural Filters

What you need & need to know:

Software: Photoshop 2021 or later (recommended: 2023 or later)*

Hardware: 8GB of RAM; having a supported GPU is highly recommended*

Difficulty: Advanced (requires a lot of patience); knowledge in gifmaking and using video timeline assumed

Key concepts: Smart Layer / Smart Filters

Benchmarking your system: Neural Filters test files**

Supplementary materials: Tutorial Resources / Detailed findings on rendering gifs with Neural Filters + known issues***

*I primarily gif on an M2 Max MacBook Pro that's running Photoshop 2024, but I also have experiences gifmaking on few other Mac models from 2012 ~ 2023.

**Using Neural Filters can be resource intensive, so it’s helpful to run the test files yourself. I’ll outline some known performance issues with Neural Filters and workarounds later in the tutorial.

***This supplementary page contains additional Neural Filters benchmark tests and instructions, as well as more information on the rendering performance (for Apple Silicon-based devices) when subject to heavy Neural Filters gifmaking workflows

Tutorial under the cut. Like / Reblog this post if you find this tutorial helpful. Linking this post as an inspo link will also be greatly appreciated!

1. Meet the Neural Filters!

Neural Filters are powered by Adobe's machine learning engine known as Adobe Sensei. It is a non-destructive method to help streamline workflows that would've been difficult and/or tedious to do manually.

Here are the Neural Filters available in Photoshop 2024:

Skin Smoothing: Removes blemishes on the skin

Smart Portrait: This a cloud-based filter that allows you to change the mood, facial age, hair, etc using the sliders+

Makeup Transfer: Applies the makeup (from a reference image) to the eyes & mouth area of your image

Landscape Mixer: Transforms the landscape of your image (e.g. seasons & time of the day, etc), based on the landscape features of a reference image

Style Transfer: Applies artistic styles e.g. texturings (from a reference image) onto your image

Harmonisation: Applies the colour balance of your image based on the lighting of the background image+

Colour Transfer: Applies the colour scheme (of a reference image) onto your image

Colourise: Adds colours onto a B&W image

Super Zoom: Zoom / crop an image without losing resolution+

Depth Blur: Blurs the background of the image

JPEG Artefacts Removal: Removes artefacts caused by JPEG compression

Photo Restoration: Enhances image quality & facial details

+These three filters aren't used in my giffing workflow. The cloud-based nature of Smart Portrait leads to disjointed looking frames. For Harmonisation, applying this on a gif causes Neural Filter timeout error. Finally, Super Zoom does not currently support output as a Smart Filter

If you're running Photoshop 2021 or earlier version of Photoshop 2022, you will see a smaller selection of Neural Filters:

Things to be aware of:

You can apply up to six Neural Filters at the same time

Filters where you can use your own reference images: Makeup Transfer (portraits only), Landscape Mixer, Style Transfer (not available in Photoshop 2021), and Colour Transfer

Later iterations of Photoshop 2023 & newer: The first three default presets for Landscape Mixer and Colour Transfer are currently broken.

2. Why I use Neural Filters?

Here are my four main Neural Filters use cases in my gifmaking process. In each use case I'll list out the filters that I use:

Enhancing Image Quality:

Common wisdom is to find the highest quality video to gif from for a media release & avoid YouTube whenever possible. However for smaller / niche media (e.g. new & upcoming musical artists), prepping gifs from highly compressed YouTube videos is inevitable.

So how do I get around with this? I have found Neural Filters pretty handy when it comes to both correcting issues from video compression & enhancing details in gifs prepared from these highly compressed video files.

Filters used: JPEG Artefacts Removal / Photo Restoration

Facial Enhancement:

When I prepare gifs from highly compressed videos, something I like to do is to enhance the facial features. This is again useful when I make gifsets from compressed videos & want to fill up my final panel with a close-up shot.

Filters used: Skin Smoothing / Makeup Transfer / Photo Restoration (Facial Enhancement slider)

Colour Manipulation:

Neural Filters is a powerful way to do advanced colour manipulation - whether I want to quickly transform the colour scheme of a gif or transform a B&W clip into something colourful.

Filters used: Colourise / Colour Transfer

Artistic Effects:

This is one of my favourite things to do with Neural Filters! I enjoy using the filters to create artistic effects by feeding textures that I've downloaded as reference images. I also enjoy using these filters to transform the overall the atmosphere of my composite gifs. The gifsets where I've leveraged Neural Filters for artistic effects could be found under this tag on usergif.

Filters used: Landscape Mixer / Style Transfer / Depth Blur

How I use Neural Filters over different stages of my gifmaking workflow:

I want to outline how I use different Neural Filters throughout my gifmaking process. This can be roughly divided into two stages:

Stage I: Enhancement and/or Colourising | Takes place early in my gifmaking process. I process a large amount of component gifs by applying Neural Filters for enhancement purposes and adding some base colourings.++

Stage II: Artistic Effects & more Colour Manipulation | Takes place when I'm assembling my component gifs in the big PSD / PSB composition file that will be my final gif panel.

I will walk through this in more detail later in the tutorial.

++I personally like to keep the size of the component gifs in their original resolution (a mixture of 1080p & 4K), to get best possible results from the Neural Filters and have more flexibility later on in my workflow. I resize & sharpen these gifs after they're placed into my final PSD composition files in Tumblr dimensions.

3. Getting started

The essence is to output Neural Filters as a Smart Filter on the smart object when working with the Video Timeline interface. Your workflow will contain the following steps:

Prepare your gif

In the frame animation interface, set the frame delay to 0.03s and convert your gif to the Video Timeline

In the Video Timeline interface, go to Filter > Neural Filters and output to a Smart Filter

Flatten or render your gif (either approach is fine). To flatten your gif, play the "flatten" action from the gif prep action pack. To render your gif as a .mov file, go to File > Export > Render Video & use the following settings.

Setting up:

o.) To get started, prepare your gifs the usual way - whether you screencap or clip videos. You should see your prepared gif in the frame animation interface as follows:

Note: As mentioned earlier, I keep the gifs in their original resolution right now because working with a larger dimension document allows more flexibility later on in my workflow. I have also found that I get higher quality results working with more pixels. I eventually do my final sharpening & resizing when I fit all of my component gifs to a main PSD composition file (that's of Tumblr dimension).

i.) To use Smart Filters, convert your gif to a Smart Video Layer.

As an aside, I like to work with everything in 0.03s until I finish everything (then correct the frame delay to 0.05s when I upload my panels onto Tumblr).

For convenience, I use my own action pack to first set the frame delay to 0.03s (highlighted in yellow) and then convert to timeline (highlighted in red) to access the Video Timeline interface. To play an action, press the play button highlighted in green.

Once you've converted this gif to a Smart Video Layer, you'll see the Video Timeline interface as follows:

ii.) Select your gif (now as a Smart Layer) and go to Filter > Neural Filters

Installing Neural Filters:

Install the individual Neural Filters that you want to use. If the filter isn't installed, it will show a cloud symbol (highlighted in yellow). If the filter is already installed, it will show a toggle button (highlighted in green)

When you toggle this button, the Neural Filters preview window will look like this (where the toggle button next to the filter that you use turns blue)

4. Using Neural Filters

Once you have installed the Neural Filters that you want to use in your gif, you can toggle on a filter and play around with the sliders until you're satisfied. Here I'll walkthrough multiple concrete examples of how I use Neural Filters in my giffing process.

Example 1: Image enhancement | sample gifset

This is my typical Stage I Neural Filters gifmaking workflow. When giffing older or more niche media releases, my main concern is the video compression that leads to a lot of artefacts in the screencapped / video clipped gifs.

To fix the artefacts from compression, I go to Filter > Neural Filters, and toggle JPEG Artefacts Removal filter. Then I choose the strength of the filter (boxed in green), output this as a Smart Filter (boxed in yellow), and press OK (boxed in red).

Note: The filter has to be fully processed before you could press the OK button!

After applying the Neural Filters, you'll see "Neural Filters" under the Smart Filters property of the smart layer

Flatten / render your gif

Example 2: Facial enhancement | sample gifset

This is my routine use case during my Stage I Neural Filters gifmaking workflow. For musical artists (e.g. Maisie Peters), YouTube is often the only place where I'm able to find some videos to prepare gifs from. However even the highest resolution video available on YouTube is highly compressed.

Go to Filter > Neural Filters and toggle on Photo Restoration. If Photoshop recognises faces in the image, there will be a "Facial Enhancement" slider under the filter settings.

Play around with the Photo Enhancement & Facial Enhancement sliders. You can also expand the "Adjustment" menu make additional adjustments e.g. remove noises and reducing different types of artefacts.

Once you're happy with the results, press OK and then flatten / render your gif.

Example 3: Colour Manipulation | sample gifset

Want to make a colourful gifset but the source video is in B&W? This is where Colourise from Neural Filters comes in handy! This same colourising approach is also very helpful for colouring poor-lit scenes as detailed in this tutorial.

Here's a B&W gif that we want to colourise:

Highly recommended: add some adjustment layers onto the B&W gif to improve the contrast & depth. This will give you higher quality results when you colourise your gif.

Go to Filter > Neural Filters and toggle on Colourise.

Make sure "Auto colour image" is enabled.

Play around with further adjustments e.g. colour balance, until you're satisfied then press OK.

Important: When you colourise a gif, you need to double check that the resulting skin tone is accurate to real life. I personally go to Google Images and search up photoshoots of the individual / character that I'm giffing for quick reference.

Add additional adjustment layers until you're happy with the colouring of the skin tone.

Once you're happy with the additional adjustments, flatten / render your gif. And voila!

Note: For Colour Manipulation, I use Colourise in my Stage I workflow and Colour Transfer in my Stage II workflow to do other types of colour manipulations (e.g. transforming the colour scheme of the component gifs)

Example 4: Artistic Effects | sample gifset

This is where I use Neural Filters for the bulk of my Stage II workflow: the most enjoyable stage in my editing process!

Normally I would be working with my big composition files with multiple component gifs inside it. To begin the fun, drag a component gif (in PSD file) to the main PSD composition file.

Resize this gif in the composition file until you're happy with the placement

Duplicate this gif. Sharpen the bottom layer (highlighted in yellow), and then select the top layer (highlighted in green) & go to Filter > Neural Filters

I like to use Style Transfer and Landscape Mixer to create artistic effects from Neural Filters. In this particular example, I've chosen Landscape Mixer

Select a preset or feed a custom image to the filter (here I chose a texture that I've on my computer)

Play around with the different sliders e.g. time of the day / seasons

Important: uncheck "Harmonise Subject" & "Preserve Subject" - these two settings are known to cause performance issues when you render a multiframe smart object (e.g. for a gif)

Once you're happy with the artistic effect, press OK

To ensure you preserve the actual subject you want to gif (bc Preserve Subject is unchecked), add a layer mask onto the top layer (with Neural Filters) and mask out the facial region. You might need to play around with the Layer Mask Position keyframes or Rotoscope your subject in the process.

After you're happy with the masking, flatten / render this composition file and voila!

Example 5: Putting it all together | sample gifset

Let's recap on the Neural Filters gifmaking workflow and where Stage I and Stage II fit in my gifmaking process:

i. Preparing & enhancing the component gifs

Prepare all component gifs and convert them to smart layers

Stage I: Add base colourings & apply Photo Restoration / JPEG Artefacts Removal to enhance the gif's image quality

Flatten all of these component gifs and convert them back to Smart Video Layers (this process can take a lot of time)

Some of these enhanced gifs will be Rotoscoped so this is done before adding the gifs to the big PSD composition file

ii. Setting up the big PSD composition file

Make a separate PSD composition file (Ctrl / Cmmd + N) that's of Tumblr dimension (e.g. 540px in width)

Drag all of the component gifs used into this PSD composition file

Enable Video Timeline and trim the work area

In the composition file, resize / move the component gifs until you're happy with the placement & sharpen these gifs if you haven't already done so

Duplicate the layers that you want to use Neural Filters on

iii. Working with Neural Filters in the PSD composition file

Stage II: Neural Filters to create artistic effects / more colour manipulations!

Mask the smart layers with Neural Filters to both preserve the subject and avoid colouring issues from the filters

Flatten / render the PSD composition file: the more component gifs in your composition file, the longer the exporting will take. (I prefer to render the composition file into a .mov clip to prevent overriding a file that I've spent effort putting together.)

Note: In some of my layout gifsets (where I've heavily used Neural Filters in Stage II), the rendering time for the panel took more than 20 minutes. This is one of the rare instances where I was maxing out my computer's memory.

Useful things to take note of:

Important: If you're using Neural Filters for Colour Manipulation or Artistic Effects, you need to take a lot of care ensuring that the skin tone of nonwhite characters / individuals is accurately coloured

Use the Facial Enhancement slider from Photo Restoration in moderation, if you max out the slider value you risk oversharpening your gif later on in your gifmaking workflow

You will get higher quality results from Neural Filters by working with larger image dimensions: This gives Neural Filters more pixels to work with. You also get better quality results by feeding higher resolution reference images to the Neural Filters.

Makeup Transfer is more stable when the person / character has minimal motion in your gif

You might get unexpected results from Landscape Mixer if you feed a reference image that don't feature a distinctive landscape. This is not always a bad thing: for instance, I have used this texture as a reference image for Landscape Mixer, to create the shimmery effects as seen in this gifset

5. Testing your system

If this is the first time you're applying Neural Filters directly onto a gif, it will be helpful to test out your system yourself. This will help:

Gauge the expected rendering time that you'll need to wait for your gif to export, given specific Neural Filters that you've used

Identify potential performance issues when you render the gif: this is important and will determine whether you will need to fully playback your gif before flattening / rendering the file.

Understand how your system's resources are being utilised: Inputs from Windows PC users & Mac users alike are welcome!

About the Neural Filters test files:

Contains six distinct files, each using different Neural Filters

Two sizes of test files: one copy in full HD (1080p) and another copy downsized to 540px

One folder containing the flattened / rendered test files

How to use the Neural Filters test files:

What you need:

Photoshop 2022 or newer (recommended: 2023 or later)

Install the following Neural Filters: Landscape Mixer / Style Transfer / Colour Transfer / Colourise / Photo Restoration / Depth Blur

Recommended for some Apple Silicon-based MacBook Pro models: Enable High Power Mode

How to use the test files:

For optimal performance, close all background apps

Open a test file

Flatten the test file into frames (load this action pack & play the “flatten” action)

Take note of the time it takes until you’re directed to the frame animation interface

Compare the rendered frames to the expected results in this folder: check that all of the frames look the same. If they don't, you will need to fully playback the test file in full before flattening the file.†

Re-run the test file without the Neural Filters and take note of how long it takes before you're directed to the frame animation interface

Recommended: Take note of how your system is utilised during the rendering process (more info here for MacOS users)

†This is a performance issue known as flickering that I will discuss in the next section. If you come across this, you'll have to playback a gif where you've used Neural Filters (on the video timeline) in full, prior to flattening / rendering it.

Factors that could affect the rendering performance / time (more info):

The number of frames, dimension, and colour bit depth of your gif

If you use Neural Filters with facial recognition features, the rendering time will be affected by the number of characters / individuals in your gif

Most resource intensive filters (powered by largest machine learning models): Landscape Mixer / Photo Restoration (with Facial Enhancement) / and JPEG Artefacts Removal

Least resource intensive filters (smallest machine learning models): Colour Transfer / Colourise

The number of Neural Filters that you apply at once / The number of component gifs with Neural Filters in your PSD file

Your system: system memory, the GPU, and the architecture of the system's CPU+++

+++ Rendering a gif with Neural Filters demands a lot of system memory & GPU horsepower. Rendering will be faster & more reliable on newer computers, as these systems have CPU & GPU with more modern instruction sets that are geared towards machine learning-based tasks.

Additionally, the unified memory architecture of Apple Silicon M-series chips are found to be quite efficient at processing Neural Filters.

6. Performance issues & workarounds

Common Performance issues:

I will discuss several common issues related to rendering or exporting a multi-frame smart object (e.g. your composite gif) that uses Neural Filters below. This is commonly caused by insufficient system memory and/or the GPU.

Flickering frames: in the flattened / rendered file, Neural Filters aren't applied to some of the frames+-+

Scrambled frames: the frames in the flattened / rendered file isn't in order

Neural Filters exceeded the timeout limit error: this is normally a software related issue

Long export / rendering time: long rendering time is expected in heavy workflows

Laggy Photoshop / system interface: having to wait quite a long time to preview the next frame on the timeline

Issues with Landscape Mixer: Using the filter gives ill-defined defined results (Common in older systems)--

Workarounds:

Workarounds that could reduce unreliable rendering performance & long rendering time:

Close other apps running in the background

Work with smaller colour bit depth (i.e. 8-bit rather than 16-bit)

Downsize your gif before converting to the video timeline-+-

Try to keep the number of frames as low as possible

Avoid stacking multiple Neural Filters at once. Try applying & rendering the filters that you want one by one

Specific workarounds for specific issues:

How to resolve flickering frames: If you come across flickering, you will need to playback your gif on the video timeline in full to find the frames where the filter isn't applied. You will need to select all of the frames to allow Photoshop to reprocess these, before you render your gif.+-+

What to do if you come across Neural Filters timeout error? This is caused by several incompatible Neural Filters e.g. Harmonisation (both the filter itself and as a setting in Landscape Mixer), Scratch Reduction in Photo Restoration, and trying to stack multiple Neural Filters with facial recognition features.

If the timeout error is caused by stacking multiple filters, a feasible workaround is to apply the Neural Filters that you want to use one by one over multiple rendering sessions, rather all of them in one go.

+-+This is a very common issue for Apple Silicon-based Macs. Flickering happens when a gif with Neural Filters is rendered without being previously played back in the timeline.

This issue is likely related to the memory bandwidth & the GPU cores of the chips, because not all Apple Silicon-based Macs exhibit this behaviour (i.e. devices equipped with Max / Ultra M-series chips are mostly unaffected).

-- As mentioned in the supplementary page, Landscape Mixer requires a lot of GPU horsepower to be fully rendered. For older systems (pre-2017 builds), there are no workarounds other than to avoid using this filter.

-+- For smaller dimensions, the size of the machine learning models powering the filters play an outsized role in the rendering time (i.e. marginal reduction in rendering time when downsizing 1080p file to Tumblr dimensions). If you use filters powered by larger models e.g. Landscape Mixer and Photo Restoration, you will need to be very patient when exporting your gif.

7. More useful resources on using Neural Filters

Creating animations with Neural Filters effects | Max Novak

Using Neural Filters to colour correct by @edteachs

I hope this is helpful! If you have any questions or need any help related to the tutorial, feel free to send me an ask 💖

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lil-lemon-snails · 8 months ago

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Sharing a new intro card since the last one was,, severely out of date,, :'3

Hiya, and welcome to my Snircus!! (Snail Circus) ⭐️ You can call me Snailem, or just Snails for short :o) ⭐️

✦ This is where i share my art! Main-account interactions come from @trenchcoat-full-of-snails ✦ This is a multifandom blog! - Currently mostly FNAF, with a heavy focus on the DCA ☀️🌙 ✦ I also post personal non-fandom art! (tags for filtering to come soon) ✦ And occasional IRL craft projects! (I haven't shared much of this yet, but i'd like to some day :'3) ‼️ PLEASE NOTE ‼️ I am an adult artist! Please keep this in mind when curating your online experience. If you're uncomfortable with the following, please consider blocking these tags: ❗Blood - #cw blood ❗(Mild) Gore - #cw gore ❗Nudity (non-sexual, but worth noting) - #cw nudity ❗Suggestive Themes - #cw suggestive I also use a lot of bright colours, I have a hard time recognizing when this treads into eyestrain territory but will do my best to tag for it with - #cw eyestrain - but if you are sensitive to this I would recommend against following me! If there are additional tags you feel I should be using please reach out and let me know! :)

🌟 YCH COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN ON MY KOFI :3 🌟

That's it for now! This post is under construction and likely to change, with time, I'll be adding some proper sorting tags too when i get everything in order, but thanks for reading and enjoy your stay! <3

#snailem speaks #meet the artist #pinned post #blog intro #i know there's a lot going on in this one I got a little excited aksjdhsg it's nice to meet everyone!! o/

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thearchercore · 1 year ago

Note

As a Lando fan, but first and foremost a Max and Charles fan, I’m quite disappointed in Lando. It’s true what they say, not everyone is happy when you are on top and your real friends show their true colours.

You are right, Max says what he thinks and never filters it. While Charles is a PR King (let’s be honest he’s more of a princess but that’s besides the point) but never once has he thrown shade at Max since they became friends (at least not that I know of)

Now, Daniel is not, has never been and will never be someone about him. Nothing against him, just vibes. But the fact that Max has held him so dear and close to his heart and he goes ahead and throws major shade at Max when Max was being nothing but honest at Vegas then makes sure to hang out with Lando during Winter break the other driver who is Max’s publicly known bestie on the grid (I mean the man even attends P’s birthday parties) anyway I digress. It’s just outright shady and childish.

Max is on another level and not everyone will understand that. True friendship should withstand such challenges. Of course anyone would be jealous and intimidated by such dominance and success but to deny the man like Peter denying Jesus infront of the crowd is just sad. I mean c’mon, did he mean it as a joke? Also was Daniel attempting humour? It’s possible but I can’t see someone like Charles making such weird comments. Even when they were beefing, Charles made it known that him and Max are okay and even though they are not best friends their relationship or hang out outside the paddock (back then things are different now) he still loved racing against Max because they understood each other and how they raced.

It’s actually petty for grown men to belittle their friend because of his success. But what do I know, the sport destroyed a childhood friendship (Nico + Lewis) Maybe only the realest and toughest friendships survive. Viva Charles and Max (whether you ship them or as friends) it’s real and they are always rooting for each other.

Sorry this got long.

yeah, i feel like the difference between daniel's current place in f1 and max's is playing a significant factor. again, max joined RBR when he was essentially still a teenager that was battling with puberty. daniel was there as the mature driver that max looked up to.

now, fast forward to 2024, daniel is fighting for his last chance at f1 after many unsuccessful team moves, and max is much more mature and has 3 WDC titles under his belt. that certainly changes things.

so i'm sure that if for whatever reason rbr kicks out checo and daniel jumps in, their dynamic would be different.

lando, on the other hand, is a different story. @tsarinablogs had a great post where someone suggested "I think Lando couldnt handle his car actually being competitive. Thats what weakened their friendship. It’s easy to be friends when you are driving a slow car, but then the car actually got competitive and he still couldnt beat Max."

again, the truth is -- f1 is a highly competitive environment and everyone will fight for themselves first without a doubt. that's what's happening with daniel and lando. daniel wants that red bull seat, lando wants to beat max. and that is going to be their priority over whatever friendly relationship they may have with max.

on the other hand, there are only 20 drivers in f1 so you have 20 other co-workers who share the same experiences as you. so you will always be closer to them than anyone else because no one would get you that well.

i think what works well currently between max and charles is that no matter how much media tried to put them against each other, they alway showed mutual respect to each other. charles never talked shit about max in press, and the overall vibe they have going on recently is that charles is happy for max's success, and is working hard to gain his own. also their actions speak a lot -- like charles' putting aside ferrari's questionable qatar strategy and rushing to congratulate max on his WDC. or max running to charles to apologise for his mistake in vegas.

their relationship doesn't seem to be definined by their racing results, and their joint racing history also makes them more equal in their own eyes than other drivers.

#charles leclerc #lestappen gate 2023 #lestappen #formula 1 #f1 #lestappen gate 2024

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canmom · 4 months ago

Text

analogistically

or, the adventure of canmom on lysergic acid diethylamide

Epistemic status: jam session

Two months ago I dropped acid for the first time, which surely explains a lot about recent posting trends on canmom dot tumblr dot edu. It was exactly as extraordinary as you would hope your first time on psychedelics would be. Among other things, LSD kind of acts like an intense reverb filter on your thoughts, boosting the intensity of sensory perceptions in various ways (for e.g. touch, music, colour, edges) and putting your capacity to form associations into overdrive. I did a lot of classic 'on drugs things' like staring very intensely at my hands or a piece of flatbread trying to map my perception into some kind of visual effects filters I might be able to recreate later... my best description is something akin to motion extraction as the primary effect, causing all sorts of little surface details to pop out very vividly as I moved an object.

This, however, is not a trip report; just an attempt to explain some ideas and connections that were formulated while on acid, in a state where my eyes were full of interesting fractals and I couldn't remember the world 'analogously'.

Here's some music to start us off - one of the first things that I listened to during the trip and something which probably informed the very geometric path I went down...

youtube

This is a music track that can be interpreted simultaneously as music and, when used to control an oscilloscope trace, as imagery. The whole function that generates it fits on a floppy. The beat of this music basically stayed with me throughout the whole trip, and for a while afterwards.

One of the curious experiences I had during the trip was what the (sadly no longer actively updated) psychonaut wiki calls perceived exposure to the inner mechanics of consciousness. Although it's not listed as a common effect of LSD, and said to be associated with a higher degree of visual effects than I reached, the description does resonate:

Perceived exposure to inner mechanics of consciousness can be described the experience of being exposed to an array of complex, autonomously-generated, cognitive sensations and conceptual thoughts which contain detailed sets of innately readable information. The information within these sensations is felt to convey the organization, structure, architecture, framework and inner mechanics of the underlying programming behind all conscious and subconscious psychological processes. Those who undergo this effect commonly interpret the experience as suddenly having perceivable access to the inner workings of either the universe, reality, or consciousness itself. (...) These specific pieces of information are often felt and understood to be a profound unveiling of an undeniable truth at the time. Afterward, they are usually realized to be ineffable due to the limitations of human language and cognition, or simply nonsensical, and delusional due to the impairment caused by of other accompanying cognitive effects.

Here, it felt like a kind of separating out of processes within my brain: a separation of sensory processing, conceptual thinking, and the word stream operating with a slight delay between them.

I imagined these different elements of me kind of floating in some kind of space, that each one possessed its own space of meaning, and that thoughts were being mapped between the different parts. I imagined that they were all working in concert to make 'Bryn' happen, so much so that I didn't perceive the different parts most of the time, and that they seemed happy with this arrangement. I also hit on a very striking metaphor of thoughts as oscillations and the resonant modes of the brain.

Afterwards, I wondered how much of this was driven simply by inputs - elaboration on stuff I'd been learning about recently, which we'll get into in a bit. I find it hard to be confident that what I perceived was actual 'direct' introspection, rather than a narrative conjured on the fly by my brain when prompted to generate a 'look inside'.

However, even if it was not the direct observation of some kind of 'brain telescope', it certainly gave me a lot of rich connections to think about. So the purpose of this post is to flesh out and record what came to me very intuitively at the time. Although my direct memory has faded a bit, my brain is still oscillating intently (upcoming metaphor) with thoughts inspired by what I explored there.

We're mostly talking about human brains here, but I will be talking about AI stuff as well, largely as a provocative counterexample.

Prior to the trip I had recently watched 3Blue1Brown's video on how LLMs encode meaning with high-dimensional vector embeddings and the 'attention' mechanism:

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To try and summarise briefly, the meaning of a token inside an LLM (and various other types of machine learning system) is an incredibly high-dimensional vector of associations. By combining information from elsewhere in its inputs, the LLM is able to alter its encoding to take into account which specific nuances of a word are relevant here, its grammatical role in a sentence, etc.

How exactly a concept is encoded is essentially entirely relative: a vector can be said to encode a concept because it activates other nodes in the network that correspond to that concept (insofar as, by the time that it percolates through the LLM into its final output, it generates tokens that a human will associate with that concept). It can also come in degrees, rather than being purely binary. The correspondence of individual nodes with concepts can be identified using techniques like sparse autoencoder dictionary learning, which let you find neurons strongly connected to a certain concept which can be 'pinned' to force the LLM to behave in a certain way. And they can also be in a 'superposition' of corresponding to multiple concepts that would be relevant to humans.

Crucially, the 'space' of concepts that a given LLM understands is entirely specific to that model. You can't tale a vector inside Claude and directly convert it into a vector that works for DeepSeek. You have to figure out a mapping between the two spaces.

So let's talk about spaces, and then we'll talk about language.

Spaces & thought-oscillations

Perhaps not surprising as creatures who spend our lives navigating 3D environments, one of the most versatile recurring metaphors in maths and physics is an abstract space.

In physics: you have regular physical space where particles might live; you have phase space, the high-dimensional space of all parameter values and velocities accessible to a system; you have Hilbert space, which is the infinite-dimensional space of all states of the quantum wavefunction; you have Minkowski spacetime of special relativity and various curved spacetime manifolds of general relativity which can be parameterised in multiple ways; you have frequency space accessed by a Fourier transform... Other fields have their own spaces; biology has its own phase space describing populations for example.

In my current field of computer graphics, spaces abound just as much. In rasterisation, you define your verticex positions in object space, then map them to world space, and project them into clip space before the projective-geometry perspective divide finally maps them into screen space (where various further algorithms can take place). But we are far from done! We must also keep track of the UV space over the surface of an object, and the tangent space defining directions along the surface for certain kinds of anisotropic effect. A lot of graphics calculations involve mapping points in one space into another space. It's linear algebra all the way down, baby. Even more abstract spaces like all the different colour spaces are there.

One interesting area where spaces come up is the study of oscillations. For many oscillating structures, from something simple like a string on a violin to something complicated like a building, you can decompose the motion into a combination of pure, sinusoidal vibrations known as normal modes. You do this by turning the system's equations of motion into a matrix and finding its eigenvalues and eigenvectors. Remarkably, these form a basis, meaning that you can break down the system into a sum of eigenvectors, evolve them independently, and then add it back up.

Now, let's return to machine learning, and its feature spaces. In an LLM, the feature-encoding vectors evolve in discrete steps passing through layers of the LLM. High-dimensional vector spaces also show up in neuroscience, for example when using electrode arrays to monitor the activity of neurons.

However, inside a brain, the whole system is temporal in nature, and you have all kinds of feedback effects, which means you could imagine these 'feature vectors' not as static things but as oscillations.

I imagined a thought as something like a spiky little blob oscillating with various overlapping modes. Well, I'm a 3D artist, let me make a picture of that for you. Let's make it a demo even. Let's go to Switzerland and spend a weekend trying to make a visual representation of something I saw on LSD. That's a cool thing to do.

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This is a superposition of spherical harmonics, all given different frequencies. The (infinite) set of spherical harmonics forms an orthnormal basis for functions on a sphere, so if you took each component of one of those ultra high dimensional vectors as the coefficient of a spherical harmonic, you would get a unique bumpy shape.

Funnily enough, I was inspired by code that was written for displaying data from MRI imaging, although that is pretty much entirely a coincidence because there it represents something quite different, the diffusion of water molecules.

With this metaphor in hand, we can imagine recurring patterns of thought (ranging from comfortable turns of phrase to traumatic flashbacks) as something like the resonant modes of a system. They are easily excited by random impulses, and slow to die out. Conversely, other types of thought might be heavily damped. Much like a violin bow provides a whole bunch of noisy excitations which ultimately end up exciting a string's resonant modes, the noisy sensory input would get distilled down into oscillations.

The idea of considering the movement of neurons through some kind of phase space is not so outlandish. In fact, recent research has been investigating the topology of 'subspaces' explored by neurons in the brains of mice, as discussed in this video (yes I've been watching a lot of Arsem's videos lately...)

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However, the exact meaning of any of these hypothetical 'modes' is entirely contextual. We might be able to say 'this mode is stimulated when you receive sensory input with the colour red' for any given brain, or even section of one brain.

But to map the oscillations in one space into another space, we need to have some kind of common interface. Perhaps for adjacent regions of the brain, we could go 'directly', with one functional unit of neurons wired up to excite corresponding oscillations in another.

But what about brains that are only connected by whatever you can pass through the physical world inbetween them? Sound, images, etc.? How can you create a correspondence there?

Language

Writing has been described as a kind of telepathy: we encode our internal world into a series of symbols (either as images or sound), which are then decoded to generate a thought in someone else's brain - one that is notionally equivalent.

But what is the nature of that equivalence? It isn't that it will make the exact same pattern of neuron firing in your brain that it did in mine. After all, you have a completely different neural network that has learned different inputs. So there is some kind of mapping from one space to another: the pattern of activity in my brain and the pattern of activity in your brain are related in some way.

We all know that the meaning of sounds in language is pretty much arbitrary. It's built by associations: you have learned that the symbol-sequence 'red' corresponds to this colour's internal representation [assuming your monitor is not calibrated in a really weird way].

And insofar as we have broadly similar sensory and bodily experiences, it is possible to build up this mapping of associations between words, sensations, and whatever other internal representation exists in our brains. It's also a feedback process, spawning all sorts of social constructs by giving them names and acting as if they exist.

However, language does more for us than this.

A moment of introspection: I personally experience an ongoing verbal 'stream of consciousness' most of the time. How this manifests more concretely is that words come to me rapidly from 'somewhere inside'; if I am speaking, I might consider briefly whether they are the 'right' words before saying them.

Internally, I might consider a thought that occurs to me and decide that I do not agree with it, or just think about a sentence I have thought as a kind of 'object', as if I am perceiving it from a different vantage point. It seems to be impossible to consider a thought 'as I am thinking it'; only after it has entered into memory can I 'observe' it.

When I was on LSD, I perceived a kind of 'separating out' of the 'inner', nonverbal process of thought and the linguistic stream. There would be a delay in which the linguistic stream would be waiting for input, and would have to kind of 'spin its wheels' and fill space as it waited for something concrete to encode. This separation was quite delightful, since I am not used to perceiving it in such a way. Other times when I was on LSD I had a vague sense of multiple thought streams occurring in parallel, of switching tracks to bring one or another into salience (something covered here on the psychonaut wiki). I'm not entirely sure if these 'seemed verbal'.

This suggests to me some kind of feedback cycle, of thoughts bouncing between the 'language space' and the broader 'conceptual space' of the rest of the brain. Speculatively: my brain might encode something into language in order to store it while it thinks about something else, for certain more 'sequential' forms of thought, or to activate resonances with linguistically-encoded things. By bouncing thoughts in and out of 'language-space' it might be able to perform different kinds of thinking/computation.

Expanding the space

One of the more intense images that occurred to me while I was jamming with all these ideas of spaces and oscillations was the thought of how new ideas get encoded into the space as I encounter new things and learn. I had recently made two friends, and I had the idea of new dimensions appearing: first a direction that was associated with my friends as a pair, and a secondary dimension that encoded the differences between them.

Each of these 'dimensions' would be associated with other concepts by the dynamics of the neural network.

Visually, I imagined a line extending out from (something that represented the space), and then dividing into another line. I think this is kind of what is meant when the psychonaut wiki speaks of 'intrinsically understandable' geometric representations: I knew exactly what this line was supposed to mean, but it would hardly be clear if I drew you a picture.

Exactly what that 'adding of dimensions' would mean on a physical level I can't tell you. I don't think it's like my brain was literally growing an extra neuron that would specifically be stimulated by thoughts of my friends, like the now-famous 'golden gate bridge' neuron in Claude. Internally, it all presumably exists in some nebulous state of superposition with all sorts of other ideas. Maybe you could extract a vector associated with that concept by some kind of statistical bullshit if you had somehow access to the states of all the neurons, but we don't. Do we?

...well, I thought we don't. Actually we pretty much do have access to individual neurons in mice. We can do all sorts of crazy shit like make their brains transparent and attach glowing proteins to specific neurons that are activated when a specific memory is stimulated. That is fucking insane. We are literally living in an age. Here's Arsem again:

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The idea of 'engrams' as the physical correspondents to memory is nearly a century old, but now we can actually physically observe them.

So, you develop a new concept-association, and a certain subset of neurons get tagged to that concept and excited when it comes up. We mentioned these 'subspaces' up above: presumably that is what could be said to grow an extra dimension. If I have a conceptual dimension that is 'associated with my friend M.', presumably there is a set of neurons that correspond to her, and another set of neurons linking them to various concepts that I associate with her, my memories of what she looks like, etc. etc.

I get a strong sense that the more things that I encounter, the larger my internal 'space' of concepts becomes. But these feature dimensions don't seem to be 'independent'. I suppose what I'm approaching obliquely and fuzzily here is the idea of covariance, and the covariance matrix seen in techniques like principal component analysis. Or something to do with the subspaces mentioned above.

The role of prediction and roleplaying

The thing language models optimise for is to generate something that is contextually appropriate and consistent. This results in a curious behaviour akin to 'roleplaying', where the model will respond as if it's 'in character', according to a premise set up in a prompt.

I previously talked about the 'free energy' model in neuroscience, in which the brain is constantly attempting to predict the next sensory input. There, the main point was in the creation of art: that a lot of the interest we have in artworks comes from its delicate balance of predictability/unpredictability.

However, I think the brain is also predicting something even more significant: itself!

Viewed in another light, an LLM generates a variety of contextually plausible tokens that it might continue along, and then it selects one. The form of its selection is to pick one at random. However, what if it was not random? What if there is some process that views the prediction output and goes 'yes, that one?'

When I am talking, ideas of things to say will come into my head. I will have just a moment to decide whether to let them come out my mouth or not. Or, I will think a thought in my internal 'stream of consciousness', and then conclude that 'yes, that is good' or 'no, this appals me, I won't say this'. We could say that the process that is generating the stream of language is attempting to predict whether I will find it agreeable, or interesting, or relevant or some such thing.

In other words, I am continually engaged in an elaborate performance of 'Bryn'.

On LSD, I had the curious sense of how all these functional elements I was dimly sensing within my brain were acting in concert to produce 'Bryn'. I had the strange and honestly very comforting sense that they were all happy to play a role in generating this persona. I don't know how much credence to lend to this idea.

When I enter a new social context where the rules are unfamiliar (such as a kink scene, c.f. everything is roleplaying except roleplaying which is improv), I become temporarily compromised in my ability to perform the contextually appropriate character. I need to get a sense of the dynamics of this new space - in other words, my brain must develop its prediction-model. It is, in other words, very much like learning to play a new game. (I'll read you eventually, Wittgenstein.)

Depending on context, depending on which set of dynamics you are attempting to predict, different memories will become more or less able to be drawn up through the associative links. Feedbacks are possible; hence 'flashbacks', emotional and literal, where the memory becomes so furiously excited that it shuts out everything else for a while. But this also shapes what sort of person the brain predicts you will be (and thus gives you the option to be) in a given moment.

Compression

Prediction, game-playing, and performance are all facets of this constant process of updating my internal representations - in other words, adjusting the resonances and dynamics of those neuron-interaction spaces. The brain 'wants' - generally tends - to simplify and abstract. In other words, it wants to compress - to discern underlying patterns so it can store its information and generate predictions more efficiently.

So it will try to relate unfamiliar new things to familiar types, and then, where necessary (e.g. because of an extended interaction with a person or a thing), flesh them out with additional details - which is to say building out a subspace for that thing to vary within.

When I was first transitioning my gender, I had a pathetic tendency to view all these interesting new women I was meeting as instances of the same type. It made me embarassing; I was viewing people as a category, not as individuals. Now many many years later, probably the subspace for thinking about all the different trans women I know is one of the larger ones in here. Perhaps other information has been forgotten (dissolved into noise) to make room for it.

The more time I spend with someone, the more specific associations I can build with them.

The more I can get a sense of the dynamics of their inner meaning-spaces.

Initiate feedback loop

So we encode high-dimensional oscillating thoughts into a stream of language-associations in order to excite analogous thoughts in the brain of another person. But of course, that person will have their own associations. Different memories and ideas will be excited by that word. I can only dimly predict how my words will be perceived.

But communication is not hopeless. Because we can ask for clarification. We can pass messages back and forth. Clarify the shapes of each of our thoughts.

The specific ideas I use for introspection, whether or not I'm under the influence of a powerful substance like LSD, are all influenced by the history and the models my brain has built. I like physical science metaphors, obviously. I am a creature who can't help but think in the language of dynamical systems, feedback loops, networks of interacting elements, fluids (hehehe), component parts, parallel processes, games, and of course abstract spaces...

Perhaps it is a worldview that is proper to this moment in the story of the superorganism!

This post represents the most complete effort I've made so far to encode the 'working model' I have of the shape of thinking into language. But the things I am talking about are very abstract, and the direct experiences I refer to are only really available to me - I can only hope that my words excite something analogous in your mysterious meaning-space.

Listen to me banging on about oscillations though. Might as well go full hippie and call it vibes. You can take the girl out of Glastonbury, but...

Postscript

The other image I had while I was on that LSD trip was of each brain existing somewhere in a void: each a constellation of connected parts, which only occasionally get so lucky as to brush up against another such structure and glimpse another mind. Each one trying desperately to roleplay itself in the face of chaotic input and its own inscrutable behaviour. As many people do when they take this stuff, I felt a sort of empathy for everyone, even - especially - the people who had annoyed or troubled me. A glow that lingered long after.

I do not think I am anywhere near done with this quest to understand what the hell I am, or what any of us are for that matter. It's impossible, isn't it? To somehow find a model of the universe and all within it so elegant that it can fit inside here and so rich it captures all that complexity. Authors to read, conversations to have (hii), sensory and emotional experiences to flesh out the spaces.

But before all that... or running through all that... is of course, well, other people. You lot. Endlessly mysterious creatures who continue to fill this hungry, vibrating brain with strange oscillations. Have you considered yourself as the nucleus of the fractal patterns evolving within the ~800,000,000,000,000,000,000 human neurons, and all that we accumulate around us? I don't know, is that a silly metaphor? Do you like it?

"The net is vast and infinite".

That's all we've got for tonight, folks. We've been canmom - love you all, thanks for listening!

#Youtube #introspective nightposting #neuroscience #philosophy #ai #soon to migrate to canmom.art

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