#file upload feature

[smsgatewayindia]

Unleash the Power of Personalized Messaging with SMSGatewayCenter’s WhatsApp Business API File Upload Feature

Personalization is essential for attracting and keeping customers in the always changing world of digital communication. Companies are always looking for creative methods to modify their messaging to fit the specific requirements and preferences of their target audience. With its cutting-edge WhatsApp Business API capability, SMSGatewayCenter is leading the way in the personalization revolution by enabling users to easily upload files and send customized messages.

[waywardwarren]

Still Praying, Hopeless And In Vain.

Non-Gif High Quality Ver. Under Cut :

[girlesotericism]

i hate that tumblr is trying to make audio posts either spotify or soundcloud links when uploading mp3 files is so much fun and looks 1000x better with blog themes anyway but tumblr has made that harder to do which is so irritating

[candaru]

hi, love your content, n think you have a lot of really insightful things to say! just wanted to point out that your pop review in 10 secs short, which is rlly funny, the brief hanging imagery has some very unfortunate implications due to Lorelai being a black character.

wanted to send this ask privately because I’m sure it wasn’t intentional, just that more of the exaggerated cartoonish things would be a good replacement for it. feel free not to publicly answer, wanted to inform you and request that you change that element. hope you have a nice day.

Oop, I didn't think of that when coming up with ways for her to die. I unfortunately don't have the original files for that video anymore, and Patreon won't let me redownload it, but I'll keep it in mind and avoid any imagery like that in the future! Thank you for your ask :)

[thatrandombystander]

A month ago. I went to my boss and said "hey these images that were auto-migrated from the old website to the new one? None of them have been resized to match the required dimensions for the new site? I think were doing to have to manually resize them all?" And my boss went "UGH that sucks but we'll fix it AFTER the site goes live and we've done everything else"

Well. Guess what my boss noticed today and had a freakout about and decided I need to dedicate my time to fixing before the site goes live 😐

[gazingatmydoom]

ok apparently there's a tag limit so i will just continue here pls read tags first

anyway multiplayer exclusive games doesn't mean mostly multiplayer it means ONLY multiplayer. i would honestly consider titanfall 2 a multiplayer game cos thr campaign is five hours long and while it is excellent the vast majority of the game is in the multiplayer. but nope. u need ps plus for that. it's so ridiculous. also the frustration of everyone else being on pc too! I don't get why consoles even still exist like i had a console and literally ONE of my friends had the same one, but everyone else was on pc. even my console friend also had a pc and mainly played on pc. it's lonely on there! i kept seeing my friends talking about the same game i was playing and yet i would not be able to play with them. I can't even play with xbox players, practically the only other console for games outside of nintendo. also the noise it makes, the crashes, the inability to customise the ui, the inability to repair it myself, the difficulty of maintenance, again like op said the fact it has exactly ONE function...like i never hated using it I'll be honest i did thoroughly enjoy the ps4 it does have like an amount of quality that makes it nice but oh my god it is that's it. it's just nice. at the one thing it does. whereas pc is excellent at gaming, and also countless other things too cos it's an actual computer and not a fucken digital toy box. and u can't even mod on console. pathetic ass machines tbh

I know I'm a just PC gamer but it is insane to me that console exclusives are apparently seen as a normal, expected, and logical aspect of the gaming industry. They sound annoying as fuck actually. Why would I drop hundreds of dollars on a piece of hardware meant entirely for gaming that can't even run every game? Not even bc of technical limitations, it's because a bunch of corporate executives struck exclusivity deals with each other. You're not even basing your purchasing decision on the quality of the hardware. You're basing it on whichever corporation had better negotiations with the hottest game devs. I would simply put that money towards buying a device that can run every game, including countless indie titles that couldn't be put on consoles.

[tofupixel]

⭐ So you want to learn pixel art? ⭐

🔹 Part 1 of ??? - The Basics!

Edit: Now available in Google Doc format if you don't have a Tumblr account 🥰

Hello, my name is Tofu and I'm a professional pixel artist. I have been supporting myself with freelance pixel art since 2020, when I was let go from my job during the pandemic.

My progress, from 2017 to 2024. IMO the only thing that really matters is time and effort, not some kind of natural talent for art.

This guide will not be comprehensive, as nobody should be expected to read allat. Instead I will lean heavily on my own experience, and share what worked for me, so take everything with a grain of salt. This is a guide, not a tutorial. Cheers!

🔹 Do I need money?

NO!!! Pixel art is one of the most accessible mediums out there.

I still use a mouse because I prefer it to a tablet! You won't be at any disadvantage here if you can't afford the best hardware or software.

Because our canvases are typically very small, you don't need a good PC to run a good brush engine or anything like that.

✨Did you know? One of the most skilled and beloved pixel artists uses MS PAINT! Wow!!

🔹 What software should I use?

Here are some of the most popular programs I see my friends and peers using. Stars show how much I recommend the software for beginners! ⭐

💰 Paid options:

⭐⭐⭐ Aseprite (for PC) - $19.99

This is what I and many other pixel artists use. You may find when applying to jobs that they require some knowledge of Aseprite. Since it has become so popular, companies like that you can swap raw files between artists.

Aseprite is amazingly customizable, with custom skins, scripts and extensions on Itch.io, both free and paid.

If you have ever used any art software before, it has most of the same features and should feel fairly familiar to use. It features a robust animation suite and a tilemap feature, which have saved me thousands of hours of labour in my work. The software is also being updated all the time, and the developers listen to the users. I really recommend Aseprite!

⭐ Photoshop (for PC) - Monthly $$

A decent option for those who already are used to the PS interface. Requires some setup to get it ready for pixel-perfect art, but there are plenty of tutorials for doing so.

Animation is also much more tedious on PS which you may want to consider before investing time!

⭐⭐ ProMotion NG (for PC) - $19.00

An advanced and powerful software which has many features Aseprite does not, including Colour Cycling and animated tiles.

⭐⭐⭐ Pixquare (for iOS) - $7.99 - $19.99 (30% off with code 'tofu'!!)

Probably the best app available for iPad users, in active development, with new features added all the time.

Look! My buddy Jon recommends it highly, and uses it often.

One cool thing about Pixquare is that it takes Aseprite raw files! Many of my friends use it to work on the same project, both in their office and on the go.

⭐ Procreate (for iOS) - $12.99

If you have access to Procreate already, it's a decent option to get used to doing pixel art. It does however require some setup. Artist Pixebo is famously using Procreate, and they have tutorials of their own if you want to learn.

⭐⭐ ReSprite iOS and Android. (free trial, but:) $19.99 premium or $$ monthly

ReSprite is VERY similar in terms of UI to Aseprite, so I can recommend it. They just launched their Android release!

🆓 Free options:

⭐⭐⭐ Libresprite (for PC)

Libresprite is an alternative to Aseprite. It is very, very similar, to the point where documentation for Aseprite will be helpful to Libresprite users.

⭐⭐ Pixilart (for PC and mobile)

A free in-browser app, and also a mobile app! It is tied to the website Pixilart, where artists upload and share their work. A good option for those also looking to get involved in a community.

⭐⭐ Dotpict (for mobile)

Dotpict is similar to Pixilart, with a mobile app tied to a website, but it's a Japanese service. Did you know that in Japanese, pixel art is called 'Dot Art'? Dotpict can be a great way to connect with a different community of pixel artists! They also have prompts and challenges often.

🔹 So I got my software, now what?

◽Nice! Now it's time for the basics of pixel art.

❗ WAIT ❗ Before this section, I want to add a little disclaimer. All of these rules/guidelines can be broken at will, and some 'no-nos' can look amazing when done intentionally.

The pixel-art fundamentals can be exceedingly helpful to new artists, who may feel lost or overwhelmed by choice. But if you feel they restrict you too harshly, don't force yourself! At the end of the day it's your art, and you shouldn't try to contort yourself into what people think a pixel artist 'should be'. What matters is your own artistic expression. 💕👍

◽Phew! With that out of the way...

🔸"The Rules"

There are few hard 'rules' of pixel art, mostly about scaling and exporting. Some of these things will frequently trip up newbies if they aren't aware, and are easy to overlook.

🔹Scaling method

There are a couple ways of scaling your art. The default in most art programs, and the entire internet, is Bi-linear scaling, which usually works out fine for most purposes. But as pixel artists, we need a different method.

Both are scaled up x10. See the difference?

On the left is scaled using Bilinear, and on the right is using Nearest-Neighbor. We love seeing those pixels stay crisp and clean, so we use nearest-neighbor. 

(Most pixel-art programs have nearest-neighbor enabled by default! So this may not apply to you, but it's important to know.)

🔹Mixels

Mixels are when there are different (mixed) pixel sizes in the same image.

Here I have scaled up my art- the left is 200%, and the right is 150%. Yuck!

As we can see, the "pixel" sizes end up different. We generally try to scale our work by multiples of 100 - 200%, 300% etc. rather than 150%. At larger scales however, the minute differences in pixel sizes are hardly noticeable!

Mixels are also sometimes seen when an artist scales up their work, then continues drawing on it with a 1 pixel brush.

Many would say that this is not great looking! This type of pixels can be indicative of a beginner artist. But there are plenty of creative pixel artists out there who mixels intentionally, making something modern and cool.

🔹Saving Your Files

We usually save our still images as .PNGs as they don’t create any JPEG artifacts or loss of quality. It's a little hard to see here, but there are some artifacts, and it looks a little blurry. It also makes the art very hard to work with if we are importing a JPEG.

For animations .GIF is good, but be careful of the 256 colour limit. Try to avoid using too many blending mode layers or gradients when working with animations. If you aren’t careful, your animation could flash afterwards, as the .GIF tries to reduce colours wherever it can. It doesn’t look great!

Here's an old piece from 2021 where I experienced .GIF lossiness, because I used gradients and transparency, resulting in way too many colours.

🔹Pixel Art Fundamentals - Techniques and Jargon

❗❗Confused about Jaggies? Anti-Aliasing? Banding? Dithering? THIS THREAD is for you❗❗ << it's a link, click it!!

As far as I'm concerned, this is THE tutorial of all time for understanding pixel art. These are techniques created and named by the community of people who actually put the list together, some of the best pixel artists alive currently. Please read it!!

🔸How To Learn

Okay, so you have your software, and you're all ready to start. But maybe you need some more guidance? Try these tutorials and resources! It can be helpful to work along with a tutorial until you build your confidence up.

⭐⭐ Pixel Logic (A Digital Book) - $10 A very comprehensive visual guide book by a very skilled and established artist in the industry. I own a copy myself.

⭐⭐⭐ StudioMiniBoss - free A collection of visual tutorials, by the artist that worked on Celeste! When starting out, if I got stuck, I would go and scour his tutorials and see how he did it.

⭐ Lospec Tutorials - free A very large collection of various tutorials from all over the internet. There is a lot to sift through here if you have the time.

⭐⭐⭐ Cyangmou's Tutorials - free (tipping optional) Cyangmou is one of the most respected and accomplished modern pixel artists, and he has amassed a HUGE collection of free and incredibly well-educated visual tutorials. He also hosts an educational stream every week on Twitch called 'pixelart for beginners'.

⭐⭐⭐ Youtube Tutorials - free There are hundreds, if not thousands of tutorials on YouTube, but it can be tricky to find the good ones. My personal recommendations are MortMort, Brandon, and AdamCYounis- these guys really know what they're talking about!

🔸 How to choose a canvas size

When looking at pixel art turorials, we may see people suggest things like 16x16, 32x32 and 64x64. These are standard sizes for pixel art games with tiles. However, if you're just making a drawing, you don't necessarily need to use a standard canvas size like that.

What I like to think about when choosing a canvas size for my illustrations is 'what features do I think it is important to represent?' And make my canvas as small as possible, while still leaving room for my most important elements.

Imagine I have characters in a scene like this:

I made my canvas as small as possible (232 x 314), but just big enough to represent the features and have them be recognizable (it's Good Omens fanart 😤)!! If I had made it any bigger, I would be working on it for ever, due to how much more foliage I would have to render.

If you want to do an illustration and you're not sure, just start at somewhere around 100x100 - 200x200 and go from there.

It's perfectly okay to crop your canvas, or scale it up, or crunch your art down at any point if you think you need a different size. I do it all the time! It only takes a bit of cleanup to get you back to where you were.

🔸Where To Post

Outside of just regular socials, Twitter, Tumblr, Deviantart, Instagram etc, there are a few places that lean more towards pixel art that you might not have heard of.

⭐ Lospec Lospec is a low-res focused art website. Some pieces get given a 'monthly masterpiece' award. Not incredibly active, but I believe there are more features being added often.

⭐⭐ Pixilart Pixilart is a very popular pixel art community, with an app tied to it. The community tends to lean on the young side, so this is a low-pressure place to post with an relaxed vibe.

⭐⭐ Pixeljoint Pixeljoint is one of the big, old-school pixel art websites. You can only upload your art unscaled (1x) because there is a built-in zoom viewer. It has a bit of a reputation for being elitist (back in the 00s it was), but in my experience it's not like that any more. This is a fine place for a pixel artist to post if they are really interested in learning, and the history. The Hall of Fame has some of the most famous / impressive pixel art pieces that paved the way for the work we are doing today.

⭐⭐⭐ Cafe Dot Cafe Dot is my art server so I'm a little biased here. 🍵 It was created during the recent social media turbulence. We wanted a place to post art with no algorithms, and no NFT or AI chuds. We have a heavy no-self-promotion rule, and are more interested in community than skill or exclusivity. The other thing is that we have some kind of verification system- you must apply to be a Creator before you can post in the Art feed, or use voice. This helps combat the people who just want to self-promo and dip, or cause trouble, as well as weed out AI/NFT people. Until then, you are still welcome to post in any of the threads or channels. There is a lot to do in Cafe Dot. I host events weekly, so check the threads!

⭐⭐/r/pixelart The pixel art subreddit is pretty active! I've also heard some of my friends found work through posting here, so it's worth a try if you're looking. However, it is still Reddit- so if you're sensitive to rude people, or criticism you didn't ask for, you may want to avoid this one. Lol

🔸 Where To Find Work

You need money? I got you! As someone who mostly gets scouted on social media, I can share a few tips with you:

Put your email / portfolio in your bio Recruiters don't have all that much time to find artists, make it as easy as possible for someone to find your important information!

Clean up your profile If your profile feed is all full of memes, most people will just tab out rather than sift through. Doesn't apply as much to Tumblr if you have an art tag people can look at.

Post regularly, and repost Activity beats everything in the social media game. It's like rolling the dice, and the more you post the more chances you have. You have to have no shame, it's all business baby

Outside of just posting regularly and hoping people reach out to you, it can be hard to know where to look. Here are a few places you can sign up to and post around on.

/r/INAT INAT (I Need A Team) is a subreddit for finding a team to work with. You can post your portfolio here, or browse for people who need artists.

/r/GameDevClassifieds Same as above, but specifically for game-related projects.

Remote Game Jobs / Work With Indies Like Indeed but for game jobs. Browse them often, or get email notifications.

VGen VGen is a website specifically for commissions. You need a code from another verified artist before you can upgrade your account and sell, so ask around on social media or ask your friends. Once your account is upgraded, you can make a 'menu' of services people can purchase, and they send you an offer which you are able to accept, decline, or counter.

The evil websites of doom: Fiverr and Upwork I don't recommend them!! They take a big cut of your profit, and the sites are teeming with NFT and AI people hoping to make a quick buck. The site is also extremely oversaturated and competitive, resulting in a race to the bottom (the cheapest, the fastest, doing the most for the least). Imagine the kind of clients who go to these websites, looking for the cheapest option. But if you're really desperate...

🔸 Community

I do really recommend getting involved in a community. Finding like-minded friends can help you stay motivated to keep drawing. One day, those friends you met when you were just starting out may become your peers in the industry. Making friends is a game changer!

Discord servers Nowadays, the forums of old are mostly abandoned, and people split off into many different servers. Cafe Dot, Pixel Art Discord (PAD), and if you can stomach scrolling past all the AI slop, you can browse Discord servers here.

Twitch Streams Twitch has kind of a bad reputation for being home to some of the more edgy gamers online, but the pixel art community is extremely welcoming and inclusive. Some of the people I met on Twitch are my friends to this day, and we've even worked together on different projects! Browse pixel art streams here, or follow some I recommend: NickWoz, JDZombi, CupOhJoe, GrayLure, LumpyTouch, FrankiePixelShow, MortMort, Sodor, NateyCakes, NyuraKim, ShinySeabass, I could go on for ever really... There are a lot of good eggs on Pixel Art Twitch.

🔸 Other Helpful Websites

Palettes Lospec has a huge collection of user-made palettes, for any artist who has trouble choosing their colours, or just wants to try something fun. Rejected Palettes is full of palettes that didn't quite make it onto Lospec, ran by people who believe there are no bad colours.

The Spriters Resource TSR is an incredible website where users can upload spritesheets and tilesets from games. You can browse for your favourite childhood game, and see how they made it! This website has helped me so much in understanding how game assets come together in a scene.

VGMaps Similar to the above, except there are entire maps laid out how they would be played. This is incredible if you have to do level design, or for mocking up a scene for fun.

Game UI Database Not pixel-art specific, but UI is a very challenging part of graphics, so this site can be a game-changer for finding good references!

Retronator A digital newspaper for pixel-art lovers! New game releases, tutorials, and artworks!

Itch.io A website where people can upload, games, assets, tools... An amazing hub for game devs and game fans alike. A few of my favourite tools: Tiled, PICO-8, Pixel Composer, Juice FX, Magic Pencil for Aseprite

🔸 The End?

This is just part 1 for now, so please drop me a follow to see any more guides I release in the future. I plan on doing some writeups on how I choose colours, how to practise, and more!

I'm not an expert by any means, but everything I did to get to where I am is outlined in this guide. Pixel art is my passion, my job and my hobby! I want pixel art to be recognized everywhere as an art-form, a medium of its own outside of game-art or computer graphics!

This guide took me a long time, and took a lot of research and experience. Consider following me or supporting me if you are feeling generous.

And good luck to all the fledgling pixel artists, I hope you'll continue and have fun. I hope my guide helped you, and don't hesitate to send me an ask if you have any questions! 💕

My other tutorials (so far): How to draw Simple Grass for a game Hue Shifting

[krishsharma001]

basic computer course

A basic computer course is designed to provide individuals with fundamental knowledge and skills to use a computer effectively for various tasks. These courses are suitable for beginners or those with limited experience with computers. Here's a typical course description:

Course Title: Basic Computer Skills

Course Overview:

This course is designed to introduce students to the essential concepts and skills required to use a computer confidently. Through a combination of lectures, hands-on exercises, and practical projects, students will learn how to navigate the Windows operating system, use common software applications, browse the internet safely, and manage digital files effectively.

Course Objectives:

Computer Fundamentals: Understand the basic components of a computer system, including hardware (CPU, memory, storage) and software (operating system, applications).

Operating System Navigation: Learn how to navigate the Windows operating system, including using the desktop, taskbar, Start menu, and file explorer to manage files and folders.

Word Processing: Develop skills in using word processing software (e.g., Microsoft Word) to create, format, edit, and save documents such as letters, resumes, and reports.

Spreadsheets: Gain proficiency in using spreadsheet software (e.g., Microsoft Excel) to organize data, perform calculations, create charts, and analyze information.

Internet Basics: Learn how to use a web browser (e.g., Google Chrome, Mozilla Firefox) to browse the internet safely, search for information, and navigate websites.

Email Communication: Understand the basics of email communication, including creating, sending, receiving, and managing emails using an email client (e.g., Gmail, Outlook).

Digital Citizenship and Safety: Develop awareness of online safety and security best practices, including protecting personal information, avoiding online scams, and recognizing phishing attempts.

Troubleshooting and Maintenance: Learn basic troubleshooting techniques to resolve common computer problems and perform routine maintenance tasks such as software updates and system backups.

Course Format:

Instructor-led lectures and demonstrations

Hands-on exercises and practical assignments

Group discussions and peer collaboration

Quizzes and assessments to gauge learning progress

Prerequisites:

No prior experience with computers is required. This course is open to individuals of all skill levels who wish to gain basic computer literacy.

Assessment:

Assessment will be based on attendance, participation in class activities, completion of assignments and projects, and performance on quizzes and exams.

Course Duration:

The course typically spans a duration of [insert duration], with classes held [insert frequency].

Upon Completion:

Upon successful completion of the course, students will receive a certificate of completion, demonstrating their proficiency in basic computer skills. Graduates will be equipped with the knowledge and confidence to use computers effectively in personal, academic, and professional settings.

[chytilovian-daisy]

there will be nothing more painful than wanting to do fanart and knowing you'll have to scour for hours to find a picture of what leggings someone is wearing in 1 specific photoshoot

[crazy-hazy-sims]

Hey everyone it seems there a malicious individual trying to hack the sims cc community again and fill it with malware you need to stay vigilant as a creator and a downloader so

i have some tips for both to stay safe while downloading:

1- sims cc file extension is always .Package never download anything that is .exe

2- do not auto unpack zip files and rar files into your mods folder directly, open each zip or rar individually check the file extensions and drag them to your mods folder one by one

3- the only mods that have a .ts4script extension are ones that affect gameplay or how the game works, understand that if you are downloading cas or bb items you shouldn't have a .ts4script file

4- if you are downloading gameplay mods that do have .ts4script make sure that A) the creator hasn't announced on their pages that its infected B) you are downloading from a link provided by the creator of the mods themselves not something off of google or a link you got sent and make sure dates of upload match dated of announcements

5- if the mod or cc creator has retired and hasn't posted for a while LOOK AT THE DATES OF THE UPLOAD if it has been "updated recently" after the creator has left the community its most likely re-uploaded by a hacker and infected

6- download mod gaurd by Twisted mexi and keep it updated and keep your windows defender or malware detector Program up to date and always running do not disable it

7- make sure everything you download comes from a direct link from the cc creator, in this day and age do not trust link shortners, adfly, linkverse, etc get the universal bypass extension and ublock extension to stay safe but genuinely NEVER CLICK ON THOSE no matter how much the creator reassures you its safe it. is. NOT.

8- this is more of a general saftey precaution but, create a system restore point weekly before you run the game with new mods that way if anything happens you could have a chance to restore your windows to an earlier date before you downloaded anything.

9- BACK UP YOUR SHIT im serious right now either weekly or monthly put your files somewhere safe like a usb a storage card a hard drive even an online cloud if you dont have any of the previous.

10- files you should back up are your media from games and media everything else, any mods, games saves, work files, passwords, saved bookmarks, any documents txt files word files pdfs, links you saved, brushes or actions for Photoshop if you have any, any digital bills or certificates if you have any, and keep a physical list of all programs you have installed and where you installed them from

11- turn on any 2 factor authentication and security measures for any account you have

12- google and firefox have the option to check your paswords and emails against any data leaks USE THIS FEATURE and change any leaked passwords

13- regularly check your logged in sessions to make sure all the logged in devices or computers are yours and log out any that aren't and any old devices or unused sessions do this for every website and app you have an account on if available

14- change your passwords often. I know this is a hassle i know its hard to come up with new passwords but changing your passwords every few months will help you against anything mention previously that wasn't detected.

15- and as a cc creator check your cc and the accounts you host cc on and its uplaod and update dates make sure nothing has been changed without your permission :(

16- generally try not to get swept up in the "i must get it" fever you do not need to "shop" for mods weekly or monthly you do not need to download everything by that one creator you do not need to download new cc everytime you want to make a sim, im guilty of this so i know how hard it is to resist but take a breath and think "do i want this or do i need it" before downloading.

These are prevention methods i cant claim they are 100% will prevent any hacking but its better to be safe than sorry and these do keep you safe so

Brought to you by someone who has had their laptop ruined and data leaked from downloading cc once upon a time

[farfallasims]

LC x Farfalla | Refresh Collection (Room Download)

I am so excited to announce my beautiful collaboration with @lilaccreative, a talented custom content creator I've been such a fan of since the day they started uploading.

When Lilac approached me with working on a custom content collaboration, my mind immediately went to doing a bathroom inspired collection based off my love for showing how much you can fun styling bathroom interiors! This curated bathroom set features the styles of elegance, sophistication and spa-like serenity to your sims' homes.

For my part of the collaboration I bring you the tray files of a bathroom styled by me featuring the items from the collection.

This includes build/buy items such as:

Statement marble walk-in showers

Sculptural shell sink

Plush decorative towels

Luxury skin & hair care products

All items are BGC.

Download Information & Links Below Cut

Download Lilac Creative's Part | "Refresh Collection" Custom Content (Early Access Until July 15, 2025)

Download Farfalla's Part | "Refresh Collection" Tray Files (Available Now)

[what-even-is-thiss]

Free or Cheap Mandarin Chinese Learning Resources Because You Can't Let John Cena One Up You Again

I will update this list as I learn of any more useful ones. If you want general language learning resources check out this other post. This list is Mandarin specific. Find lists for other specific languages here.

For the purposes of this list "free" means something that is either totally free or has a useful free tier. "Cheap" is a subscription under $10USD a month, a software license or lifetime membership purchase under $100USD, or a book under $30USD. If you want to suggest a resource for this list please suggest ones in that price range that are of decent quality and not AI generated.

WEBSITES

Dong Chinese - A website with lessons, a pinyin guide, a dictionary, and various videos and practice tests. With a free account you're only allowed to do one lesson every 12 hours. To do as many lessons as quickly as you want it costs $10 a month or $80 a year.

Domino Chinese - A paid website with video based lessons from absolute beginner to college level. They claim they can get you ready to get a job in China. They offer a free trial and after that it's $5 a month or pay what you can if you want to support their company.

Chinese Education Center - This is an organization that gives information to students interested in studying abroad in China. They have free text based lessons for beginners on vocab, grammar, and handwriting.

Pleco Dictionary App - This is a very popular dictionary app on both iOS and Android. It has a basic dictionary available for free but other features can be purchased individually or in bundles. A full bundle that has what most people would want is about $30 but there are more expensive options with more features.

MIT OpenCourseWare Chinese 1 2 3 4 5 6 - These are actual archived online courses from MIT available for free. You will likely need to download them onto your computer.

Learn Chinese Web Application From Cambridge University - This is a free downloadable file with Mandarin lessons in a PC application. There's a different program for beginner and intermediate.

Learn Chinese Everyday - A free word a day website. Every day the website posts a different word with pronunciation, stroke order, and example sentences. There's also an archive of free downloadable worksheets related to previous words featured on the website.

Chinese Boost - A free website and blog with beginner lessons and articles about tips and various resources to try.

Chinese Forums - An old fashioned forum website for people learning Chinese to share resources and ask questions. It's still active as of when I'm making this list.

Du Chinese - A free website and an app with lessons and reading and listening practice with dual transcripts in both Chinese characters and pinyin. They also have an English language blog with tips, lessons, and information on Chinese culture.

YOUTUBE CHANNELS

Chinese For Us - A channel that provides free video lessons for beginners. The channel is mostly in English.

Herbin Mandarin - A channel with a variety of lessons for beginners. The channel hasn't uploaded in a while but there's a fairly large archive of lessons to watch. The channel is mainly in English.

Mandarin Blueprint - This channel is by a couple of guys who also run a paid website. However on their YouTube channel there's a lot of free videos with tips about how to go about learning Chinese, pronunciation and writing tips, and things of that nature. The channel is mainly in English.

Blabla Chinese - A comprehensible input channel with content about a variety of topics for beginner to intermediate. The video descriptions are in English but the videos themselves are all in Mandarin.

Lazy Chinese - A channel aimed at intermediate learners with videos on general topics, grammar, and culture. They also have a podcast. The channel has English descriptions but the videos are all in Mandarin.

Easy Mandarin - A channel associated with the easy languages network that interviews people on the street in Taiwan about everyday topics. The channel has on screen subtitles in traditional characters, pinyin, and English.

StickynoteChinese - A relatively new channel but it already has a decent amount of videos. Jun makes videos about culture and personal vlogs in Mandarin. The channel is aimed at learners from beginner to upper intermediate.

Story Learning Chinese With Annie - A comprehensible input channel almost entirely in Mandarin. The host teaches through stories and also makes videos about useful vocabulary words and cultural topics. It appears to be aimed at beginner to intermediate learners.

LinguaFlow Chinese - Another relatively new channel but they seem to be making new videos regularly. The channel is aimed at beginner to intermediate learners and teaches and provides listening practice with video games. The channel is mostly in Mandarin.

Lala Chinese - A channel with tips on grammar and pronunciation with the occasional vlog for listening practice, aimed at upper beginner to upper intermediate learners. Some videos are all in Mandarin while others use a mix of English and Mandarin. Most videos have dual language subtitles onscreen.

Grace Mandarin Chinese - A channel with general information on the nitty gritty of grammar, pronunciation, common mistakes, slang, and useful phrases for different levels of learners. Most videos are in English but some videos are fully in Mandarin.

READING PRACTICE

HSK Reading - A free website with articles sorted into beginner, intermediate, and advanced. Every article has comprehension questions. You can also mouse over individual characters and see the pinyin and possible translations. The website is in a mix of English and Mandarin.

chinesegradedreader.com - A free website with free short readings up to HSK level 3 or upper intermediate. Each article has an explaination at the beginning of key vocabulary words in English and you can mouse over individual characters to get translations.

Mandarin Companion - This company sells books that are translated and simplified versions of classic novels as well as a few originals for absolute beginners. They are available in both traditional and simplified Chinese. Their levels don't appear to be aligned with any HSK curriculum but even their most advanced books don't have more than 500 individual characters according to them so they're likely mostly for beginners to advanced beginners. New paperbacks seem to usually be $14 but cheaper used copies, digital copies, and audiobooks are also available. The website is in English.

Graded Chinese Readers - Not to be confused with chinese graded reader, this is a website with information on different graded readers by different authors and different companies. The website tells you what the book is about, what level it's for, whether or not it uses traditional or simplified characters, and gives you a link to where you can buy it on amazon. They seem to have links to books all the way from HSK 1 or beginner to HSK 6 or college level. A lot of the books seem to be under $10 but as they're all from different companies your mileage and availability may vary. The website is in English.

Mandarin Bean - A website with free articles about Chinese culture and different short stories. Articles are sorted by HSK level from 1 to 6. The website also lets you switch between traditional or simplified characters and turn the pinyin on or off. It also lets you mouse over characters to get a translation. They have a relatively expensive paid tier that gives you access to video lessons and HSK practice tests and lesson notes but all articles and basic features on the site are available on the free tier without an account. The website is in a mix of Mandarin and English.

Mandarin Daily News - This is a daily newspaper from Taiwan made for children so the articles are simpler, have illustrations and pictures, and use easier characters. As it's for native speaker kids in Taiwan, the site is completely in traditional Chinese.

New Tong Wen Tang for Chrome or Firefox - This is a free browser extension that can convert traditional characters to simplified characters or vice versa without a need to copy and paste things into a separate website.

PODCASTS

Melnyks Chinese - A podcast for more traditional audio Mandarin Chinese lessons for English speakers. The link I gave is to their website but they're also available on most podcatcher apps.

Chinese Track - Another podcast aimed at learning Mandarin but this one goes a bit higher into lower intermediate levels.

Dimsum Mandarin - An older podcast archive of 30 episodes of dialogues aimed at beginner to upper beginner learners.

Dashu Mandarin - A podcast run by three Chinese teachers aimed at intermediate learners that discusses culture topics and gives tips for Mandarin learners. There are also male teachers on the podcast which I'm told is relatively rare for Mandarin material aimed at learners and could help if you're struggling to understand more masculine speaking patterns.

Learning Chinese Through Stories - A storytelling podcast mostly aimed at intermediate learners but they do have some episodes aimed at beginner or advanced learners. They have various paid tiers for extra episodes and learning material on their patreon but there's still a large amount of episodes available for free.

Haike Mandarin - A conversational podcast in Taiwanese Mandarin for intermediate learners. Every episode discusses a different everyday topic. The episode descriptions and titles are entirely in traditional Chinese characters. The hosts provide free transcripts and other materials related to the episodes on their blog.

Learn Chinese With Ju - A vocabulary building podcast aimed at intermediate learners. The podcast episodes are short at around 4-6 minutes and the host speaks about a variety of topics in a mix of English and Mandarin.

xiaoyuzhou fm - An iOS app for native speakers to listen to podcasts. I’m told it has a number of interactive features. If you have an android device you’ll likely have to do some finagling with third party apps to get this one working. As this app is for native speakers, the app is entirely in simplified Chinese.

Apple Podcast directories for Taiwan and China - Podcast pages directed towards users in those countries/regions.

SELF STUDY TEXTBOOKS AND DICTIONARIES

Learning Chinese Characters - This series is sorted by HSK levels and each volume in the series is around $11. Used and digital copies can also be found for cheaper.

HSK Standard Course Textbooks - These are textbooks designed around official Chinese government affiliated HSK tests including all of the simplified characters, grammar, vocab, and cultural knowledge necessary to pass each test. There are six books in total and the books prices range wildly depending on the level and the seller, going for as cheap as $14 to as expensive as $60 though as these are pretty common textbooks, used copies and cheaper online shops can be found with a little digging. The one I have linked to here is the HSK 1 textbook. Some textbook sellers will also bundle them with a workbook, some will not.

Chinese Made Easy for Kids - Although this series is aimed at children, I'm told that it's also very useful for adult beginners. There's a large number of textbooks and workbooks at various levels. The site I linked to is aimed at people placing orders in Hong Kong but the individual pages also have links to various other websites you can buy them from in other countries. The books range from $20-$35 but I include them because some of them are cheaper and they seem really easy to find used copies of.

Reading and Writing Chinese - This book contains guides on all 2300 characters in the HSK texts as of 2013. Although it is slightly outdated, it's still useful for self study and is usually less than $20 new. Used copies are also easy to find.

Basic Chinese by Mcgraw Hill - This book also fuctions as a workbook so good quality used copies can be difficult to find. The book is usually $20 but it also often goes on sale on Amazon and they also sell a cheaper digital copy.

Chinese Grammar: A beginner's guide to basic structures - This book goes over beginner level grammar concepts and can usually be found for less than $20 in print or as low as $2 for a digital copy.

Collins Mandarin Chinese Visual Dictionary - A bilingual English/Mandarin visual dictionary that comes with a link to online audio files. A new copy goes for about $14 but used and digital versions are available.

Merriam-Webster's Chinese to English Dictionary - In general Merriam Websters usually has the cheapest decent quality multilingual dictionaries out there, including for Mandarin Chinese. New editions usually go for around $8 each while older editions are usually even cheaper.

(at the end of the list here I will say I had a difficult time finding tv series specifically made for learners of Mandarin Chinese so if you know of any that are made for teenage or adult learners or are kids shows that would be interesting to adults and are free to watch without a subscription please let me know and I will add them to the list. There's a lot of Mandarin language TV that's easy to find but what I'm specifically interested in for these lists are free to watch series made for learners and/or easy to understand kids shows originally made in the target language that are free and easy to access worldwide)

[eudico-my-beloved]

Tryna upload a big file onto google drive so i can have more space and with like 20 minutes left on the upload the tab crashed and now i have to reupload it and wait 5 fucking hours im going to fucking explode

[foxtrology]

material girl (2)

harry castillo x reader

age gap, female reader, contains themes of body image.

─────

Harry didn’t mean to fall down the rabbit hole.

He really didn’t.

But once the folder was open—once the picture was in front of him, once youwere in front of him—it stopped being a folder. It stopped being a file. It became something else.

A door. A flare. A beginning.

So he searched.

He told himself it was research, at first. Due diligence. Curiosity, in the polite, professional sense. Sheer practicality. You were part of a high-profile family—of course—look at you. 

But then his fingers hovered over the keys just a little too long. His breath stilled. The city blurred at the edges.

And he typed your name.

Your full name.

He added Scorsese because he remembered your father mentioning it during the meeting, offhandedly, as if saying you'd once worked with the man was equivalent to noting you'd studied French abroad.

The first article was an old Vanity Fair feature. You were six. The headline..."The Girl Who Wouldn't Smile."

There was a photo of you at Cannes—baby-faced, sulking gloriously in some tiny couture number, middle finger raised to the paparazzi while agents reached out too late to stop you.

Harry blinked.

It wasn’t the gesture. It was the expression.

You were delighted to be bad. You wore the mischief like a designer scent. Head thrown back, grin feral, surrounded by men in tuxedos and women with tense smiles trying to hide their horror.

He didn’t realize he was smiling until his reflection caught in the dark window of his office.

God.

You were chaos. And not the kind that needed fixing. The kind that had already decided she didn’t care if you approved.

He scrolled.

There were clips from the Scorsese film. Grainy uploads, bad aspect ratios. You—tiny and unsmiling, eyes like blown glass—delivering lines in a voice too calm for someone your age. You played a child in mourning, the daughter of a dying boss. You didn’t cry. You just looked at people and made them uncomfortable.

Critics had called your performance "bone-deep."

You’d done no press.

There were murmurs of a nomination, but your mother had declined on your behalf. Said something about childhood being sacred.

And yet—

Photos kept surfacing. Official portraits. Red carpets. Especially the paparazzi shots.

Harry found them like breadcrumbs.

You on a yacht in the Mediterranean at twelve, holding a film magazine and wearing sunglasses that didn’t belong to you. You at a Paris café at fifteen, legs crossed too sharply, being scolded by your aunt and still not blinking. You in your twenties, in the front row at Dior, laughing too hard at something an actor said. You walking out of a gallery opening with a cigarette tucked behind your ear and a man trailing you like a lost dog.

You looked...untouchable.

Not in the princess sense. Not porcelain. More like a blade in a glass case, beautiful and always just out of reach.

Harry leaned closer to the screen, reading articles like they were scripture.

He found interviews your mother gave—quotes about you, never with you. She’d called you “singular,” “difficult,” “a little too aware of herself, even in the womb.”

He found a piece in The New Yorker about the house you grew up in—how the rooms had been preserved like museum wings, how the wallpaper hadn’t changed since 1963. You’d been quoted once. One sentence.

“I don’t dwell in the past.”

Harry said it out loud. Quietly.

“I don’t dwell in the past.”

He rubbed a hand over his mouth. His other hand was already opening a new tab.

Your name plus "breakup."

It shouldn’t have mattered. It did.

There it was. The play actor.

Lucian Voss.

Of course that was his name. The kind of name that came with daddy's money and deep insecurities.

There were photos—too many.

You on his arm at premieres, wearing gold dresses and dead expressions. You sitting beside him at some award show, staring straight ahead while he whispered something in your ear that made your jaw clench.

Then the headlines.

“Cinematic Heiress and Broadway Heartthrob Split in Fiery End.”

“Sources Say Locke ‘Devastated’ by Heiress’s Alleged Ultimatum.”

“Too Beautiful to Behave?”

Harry’s stomach went cold.

The coverage was savage. Brutal in that lazy, misogynistic way—pitting your aloofness against his sensitivity. Framing your silence as contempt, your cool as cruelty. Calling you icy, vain, a muse gone sour.

There were quotes from Locke’s representation. How you “shut down emotionally,” how you “never really wanted him to succeed,” how you “laughed when he cried after losing the Tony.”

Harry scowled.

What kind of man leaks something like that?

He found the only quote from you, buried deep in a long-form piece...

“It wasn’t love. It was casting.”

Harry stared at the screen.

Then leaned back and muttered, “Jesus.”

You’d been cast in your own relationship. And you'd walked away.

Of course you had.

There were photos from the aftermath.

You in Milan, laughing with friends. You in Tokyo, slipping into a car with your sunglasses on at midnight. You on your terrace with a drink and no one beside you.

You looked...untouched. But Harry could see it now. The difference. The tightness around your eyes. The new rigidity in your spine. The distance.

He opened another tab.

Found a gossip forum, of all things. People trying to decode your Instagram posts, though you rarely posted. Others speculating about your love life, your wealth, your sanity.

A thread titled...“Is she a genius or just terrifyingly well-styled?”

Harry didn’t laugh.

He wanted to throw his laptop.

Instead, he clicked on your tagged photos.

The camera never loved you gently. It wanted you. Needed you. And you gave it just enough. But never everything.

There were shots of you leaving clubs at dawn, your lipstick perfect. Walking barefoot across marble at some villa in Portugal. Wearing vintage Chanel in the snow with no coat. That one made him pause.

You were...mad. Opulent. Wound tight with history.

And Harry, very quietly, was losing his mind.

It wasn’t infatuation. Not exactly. He was too old for that. Too pragmatic.

It was something else.

Something cellular.

You’d been a myth when he met you—half-mentioned in boardrooms, glimpsed in portfolios. But now? Now you were in his blood.

You were everything he’d never let himself want.

Fire and ferocity. Elegance and mess. A woman who wouldn’t look at him twice unless he earned it.

And he wanted to.

God help him, he wanted to.

The window beside him reflected his face back at him—strong, weathered, tired. His hair curled slightly where it touched his neck, streaked with silver, his jaw tense. His eyes dark, thoughtful, still searching.

He clicked on one last photo.

You, standing on the steps of your family's townhouse. Black turtleneck, wide-legged trousers, a cigarette between your fingers. No expression.

The caption wasn’t even a quote. Just a date. The anniversary of your grandfather’s death.

He stared at it.

Stared like it might move.

It didn’t.

But something in him did.

He didn’t sleep that night. Didn’t try to.

He sat there, with the folder open on his desk and your face on his screen.

The internet kept going. More links. More stories.

He kept clicking.

Because the more he saw, the worse it got.

The worse it got, the better you looked.

And still—

he wasn’t done.

Harry’s hand hovered over the trackpad again, eyes dry from staring, back tense from leaning too close. The screen’s cold light lit the hollow of his throat, the arch of his brow, the cut of his jaw in profile. Hair mussed like he’d slept in a dream of you and never made it out.

He rubbed the heel of his palm over his eye, exhaled through his nose.

Then, finally, he sat back.

It was nearly three.

The city outside was emptied of meaning—just lights and shadows and the occasional bleating horn five stories down. Everyone else in his building was likely asleep, lulled into a curated calm by smart glass, cashmere sheets, the knowledge that nothing chaotic happened above Canal if you paid enough to keep it out.

But chaos had already arrived.

In the form of you.

Harry let his head fall back against the leather of his office chair. He stared at the ceiling. Then he reached for his phone.

Rose.

He didn’t hesitate.

She wouldn’t answer. Not at this hour. That was the point.

He wanted to say it out loud, but only to the kind of silence that wouldn’t try to interpret it.

He tapped the contact.

Voicemail.

He waited for the tone, then spoke.

“Rose. It’s Harry. Castillo.”

His voice was rougher than he meant it to be. He cleared it, leaned forward, elbow on the desk, his other hand still absently holding the photo you’d been tagged in—your fingers curled around a coupe glass, the kind of gaze that didn’t invite comments.

“I know it’s late. You’re probably asleep, or meditating in a sensory deprivation chamber, or whatever it is you people do to stay ahead of everyone else.” He exhaled lightly. “I got your folder. Obviously.”

He looked at the black wax seal, now resting in pieces like a ritual had already been performed.

“I opened it.”

Silence filled the line. He imagined her listening to this in the morning—brow raised, the kind of woman who catalogued things people didn’t know they revealed.

“I wasn’t going to,” he admitted, voice softer now. “Not yet. I thought it would feel…manufactured. But you knew that, didn’t you? You knew I wouldn’t be able to help myself once I saw her.”

He hesitated.

The silence felt heavier now. Intimate, somehow.

“Here’s the thing,” he said, adjusting slightly in his chair. “I met her today.”

The words tasted different out loud. True in a way he couldn’t explain.

“She doesn’t know, obviously. That we’re… whatever this is. A possibility. But I sat across from her in that boardroom while her grandmother talked and her sister tried not to yawn, and I looked at her—and something just…tilted.”

He paused. Looked down. Ran a hand over his thigh, felt the faint trace of the scar through the fabric.

“She didn’t smile at me. Didn’t even really look at me. And I haven’t been able to think about anything else since.”

The corner of his mouth pulled. Not a smile, not quite.

“I read everything I could find. I didn’t mean to, but I did. I read the articles, the interviews. I saw the way they talked about her—like she’s just a headline with jewelry. I saw the way they dragged her through the breakup with that—” he broke off, jaw tightening. “That actor.”

He leaned forward again, voice low now.

“They tried to make her the villain. For not playing along. For not shrinking to make him feel bigger. It made me—”

He let the sentence die. No need to finish. Rose would hear the rest anyway.

“She’s brilliant. She’s—” he stopped, searching. “She’s not what people say. She’s real. And I don’t know what you were thinking, Rose, matching me with someone like that. But you were right.”

He looked at the photo again.

That posture. That tension. That hunger she kept folded in silk.

“I’m interested,” he said quietly. “In the match. In her.”

Another pause.

“I know we’re working with her family. I know that complicates things. I don’t know when I’ll see her again, and I’m not going to push anything. But I needed you to know.”

His voice dropped just a little.

“From what I’ve seen already, she seems incredible—I’d love to get to know her.”

A longer pause now.

Just him and the hum of his building’s smart systems and the distant throb of traffic. He could feel sleep trying to reach him. It wouldn't win.

“Call me in the morning,” he finished. “Or don’t. Just…keep me in the loop.”

He hung up without saying goodbye.

The screen went black. He didn’t move.

The silence after the call was total.

The room felt smaller now. Like he’d cracked something open and it wouldn’t quite close.

He stared out the window, into the dark.

You were probably asleep. Sprawled out in some oversized bed in an apartment filled with objects too beautiful to use. Maybe you were dreaming. Maybe you weren’t the type.

He looked back at the laptop.

Still open. Still on the last photo. Of you.

When he finally looked up again, the clock on his desk read 4:02 AM.

A low, incredulous breath left him.

That was enough. For now.

He closed the laptop slowly, as if the silence in the room had grown sentient and was listening in. He rose from the desk, joints cracking faintly as he stretched his back.

His sweats hung low on his hips, the fabric soft and worn from years of ownership. The cotton shirt he wore still smelled faintly of cedar and something cleaner—something like order.

He padded barefoot across the apartment, lights dimmed automatically as he passed. The city was still alive outside, but quieter now, gentler. He liked it best like this, before the noise, before the emails, before the world expected anything.

When he reached his bedroom, he didn’t bother turning on the lights.

The bed was vast. Perfectly made. Uninviting in its symmetry.

He climbed in anyway.

One arm behind his head. Eyes wide open. Your face still floating behind his lids, even now.

He wasn’t done.

But sleep came eventually.

Not because he was tired.

Because your silence finally let him go.

The sun rose in slanted gold, catching on crown molding and spilling into curated spaces like memory.

You blinked awake slowly, like you resented the intrusion.

Your bedroom was warm already, sunlight filtered through your ivory sheers, casting soft shadows over your silk duvet. The air smelled faintly of orange blossom and last night’s candle smoke. One leg slid from the sheets, cool air greeting your thigh.

Your limbs were heavy, but not unpleasantly so. The way they got after a long dinner, or a memory you didn’t want to examine just yet.

You didn’t move right away.

Instead, you stared at the ceiling and let the morning wash over you in pieces. Your jaw was tight. You’d clenched again in your sleep. Your stomach, flatter than it had been last week, ached faintly from last night’s wine and not enough food.

Typical.

Eventually, you rose.

You didn’t believe in morning routines in the spiritual sense, but you moved through yours like a rite.

Bathroom first. Cold water on your face, then that French exfoliant your facialist swears by. Eyes still half-shut as you brushed your teeth, hair a loose, expensive mess.

Your robe—cream, monogrammed, heavy enough to feel like a hand on your back—hung on its usual hook. You wore it without thinking.

Kitchen next.

You didn’t eat, not yet. You never did before pilates.

Espresso instead. Two shots. No sugar. You stood barefoot on the terrazzo while the machine hummed, staring out your kitchen window toward the Hudson, like the water might have changed shape overnight.

Then your phone buzzed.

You ignored it.

Another buzz.

You sighed, walked over, picked it up, eyes still not fully adjusted.

And then you saw the name.

Lucian.

It hit like a dull knock behind the ribs.

You hadn’t blocked him.

That would’ve felt like admitting something.

But you’d muted him months ago—after the interviews, after the public performance of heartbreak he orchestrated for his own benefit. You hadn’t seen his name on your screen in weeks.

And now, there it was. Like a dog scratching at the door.

Lucian Voss: Saw your little Vogue feature. You look thinner. That new?

You stared at it for a full ten seconds.

Not shocked. Not hurt.

Just...bored by it. In that deep, bone-deep way that comes when a pattern becomes a punchline.

He always did this.

The slow, snide drip of commentary disguised as interest. The need to remind you that he was still watching. Still haunting.

Your thumb hovered over the screen.

You didn’t reply.

You just locked the phone. Set it down.

And sipped your espresso.

The bitterness grounded you.

Lucian didn’t matter. Not anymore.

He was a scene you'd already played to death. And you didn’t do reruns.

You turned toward your closet, silk robe slipping from one shoulder, the city beginning to hum outside your window like a chorus of old gods waking up.

You had pilates in an hour.

You had sweat to break. Tension to burn.

You had no idea that somewhere, in a different part of the city, a man was waking up with your name in his mouth like a secret.

But soon—

You would.

For now, the world was still quiet. Or as quiet as Manhattan ever got at 8:22 on a Tuesday morning.

You pulled on your black leggings—structured, matte—and a matching long-sleeved top, the kind with thumb holes and a neckline just high enough. Your hair went into a slick knot, your sunglasses went on, and you tucked your keys into the small, zipped pocket in your coat with the same precision you'd once used to accept an award you didn’t remember earning.

Today, you walked.

The pilates studio was only a few blocks away, and the morning air was still cool enough to allow it. Spring hadn’t entirely bloomed yet—it was that thin season between coats and sweat, where fashion outpaced the weather and no one knew if they were too early or too late for what was coming.

You walked quickly, heels clipped against the pavement even in sneakers.

The city greeted you the way it always did—selectively. Doormen nodding. Strangers half-looking. Tourists pretending not to gawk. Someone’s latte spilled in a perfect little bloom on the corner of Madison and 74th. Someone’s poodle in a sweater more expensive than your first agent.

You didn’t care.

You had no room for it today.

Not after him.

Lucian and his predatory nonchalance.

That message—you look thinner, is that new?—still vibrating faintly in your chest like the echo of a slap you didn’t flinch from.

He always found a way to crawl back in. Not lovingly. Not regretfully. Just...performatively. As if reminding you that he still existed meant you had to fold in some part of yourself to make room.

You didn’t.

You never had.

He was a scene partner who’d mistaken you for a prop.

You kept walking.

Three blocks down, just before Lexington, you passed the newsstand.

You weren’t planning to stop.

You never stopped. Print was for grandfathers, like hers. You got your news from inherited instincts.

But this time—

You caught a glimpse of the headline.

"Voss Nominated Again. Still No Shot?"

You stopped walking.

Your eyes dropped to the page.

There he was.

Lucian.

Front page of the arts section, hair blown out like he was auditioning for the ghost of someone talented, jaw clenched just enough to suggest tortured genius. Beneath the photo was the quote—a predictable nominee in an unpredictable year—and under that, the little line that caught the back of your teeth.

“Better luck this time. Or don’t.”

It wasn’t journalism. It was gossip dressed in serif. And it was glorious.

Your mouth curled.

Not in shock. Not in sympathy.

Just that slow, private grin. The kind that tasted like revenge and something mean you’d almost forgotten how to enjoy.

You pulled your phone from your pocket.

No hesitation. No second thoughts.

You snapped the photo clean. Cropped it just right. Just that face, and that quote, and the quiet little dagger that lived between them.

You hit send.

To him.

The message flew off like a carrier pigeon made of pettiness and velvet.

You didn’t regret it. Not even a flicker.

He’d asked if you looked thinner.

Now he’d read about his limitations before he even got to set.

Fair was fair.

You handed the vendor a five and didn’t take the change. Walked off with the crisp page folded under your arm like a receipt for a favor you hadn’t asked for.

The sidewalk opened up again.

Traffic thickened.

Someone honked, unnecessarily.

A woman jogged past you with a dog the size of a wolf.

You breathed in—cool metal, hot bread, something floral from a nearby stoop—and kept walking.

Your body was already preparing for the familiar ache of reformer straps and core engagement and Matteo’s irritatingly gorgeous smirk.

The newspaper was still warm under your arm.

Lucian’s headline printed bold.

Your smile lingered.

He deserved worse. But this was enough. For now.

The day was young. The city was watching.

And you had better things to do.

The studio was cool, almost cold, the way moneyed spaces liked to mimic Scandinavian minimalism as a performance of calm. Concrete floors, pale wood, tall windows that filtered in light like it had been vetted. Everything matte. Everything just expensive enough to remind you not to touch it too hard.

Your friends were waiting in the lobby, already glowing in their curated pre-sweat.

Sophia looked up first. Her ponytail was sharp, a statement of discipline. “Well, well,” she said, crossing her arms. “The duchess arrives.”

You smirked. “Your form of address improves every week.”

Inez was seated on the edge of the plush bench, lacing her shoes like she was preparing for battle. “Did you walk?” she asked, eyes flicking to your sneakers with mock disbelief. “God. Are you poor?”

“She’s unwell,” Sophia said. “Leave her.”

You shook your head, pushed your sunglasses up into your hair, and let your coat slide from your shoulders. “I was clearing my head,” you said.

“Of what?” Inez asked, genuinely. “Carbonated water and maternal trauma?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

They knew you well enough to leave it alone when your silence stretched just a little too long.

You signed in with a flick of your wrist, the front desk girl giving you the requisite compliment—love the bag, love the coat, you're glowing—before guiding you toward studio two, where the reformers waited like minimalist torture racks.

Your Celine bag, soft black, slid from your shoulder with a practiced motion and was tucked gently into the wall cubby, resting atop your neatly folded coat. Your phone was still inside. You didn’t look at it.

You never did during class. That was the point.

Silence as ritual. Movement as penance.

You took your place on the reformer, slid your feet into the straps, let your arms rest by your sides. Matteo entered moments later, barefoot and all perfect lines, voice low and gently accented. The kind of man who spoke like your body was a problem he could solve.

You ignored the heat in your neck when he adjusted your spine with a tap of his fingers.

“Relax your jaw,” he said softly near your ear. “Let it go.”

You did.

You tried to.

Meanwhile, in another part of the city, the call went through.

Once. Twice.

No answer.

Rose sat at her desk—no, not a desk, a surface—clear glass, nothing on it but her tablet, phone, a Montblanc pen, and a ceramic dish with three slices of dried pear she had no intention of eating. She wore white, as always. Cream, technically. Tailored pants, a blouse with a twisted collar. Her hair was pulled into something that defied gravity and logic and yet still looked editorial.

She stared at her phone like it had said something rude.

The call rang out. Straight to voicemail.

She let it.

Set the phone down.

Exhaled through her nose.

She didn’t need you to answer, of course.

She never needed anything.

But still—she liked to establish momentum early. Get a read. Set a tone. She was a matchmaker, yes, but more than that...a cartographer of potential, a soft-spoken oracle with a portfolio of impossible people trying to fall in love without admitting that they wanted to.

She’d gotten your number from your sister. Quietly. Unofficially. A little line at the bottom of the form, barely legible.

She’d known from the beginning that you would be the problem in this pairing.

Not in the way men were problems—restless, unoriginal, scared of softness—but in that elegant, jagged way only women like you managed to be.

Women with names that meant something, with voices like old cinema and mothers who taught you never to flinch. You didn’t trust easily. You didn’t play nice. You didn’t need anything.

Which was why it was working.

She had watched Harry’s profile ever since his breakup with Lucy. 

Watched him decline one match after another with calm efficiency, with polite detachment, with that haunted air of a man who hadn’t yet learned what it meant to want something out loud.

Until you.

You, with your curated iciness and terrible ex and voice like a dare.

She could see it already—the slow unraveling, the tension, the mirroring. Two people who didn’t flinch. Two people who only leaned forward when it hurt a little.

Her phone buzzed again.

A text this time.

Harry: Let me know if she calls you back. I’m not in a rush. But I’m ready when she is.

Rose smiled faintly.

She didn’t reply. Not yet.

Back in studio two, your breath was shallow but even. The burn had begun. Thighs lit up. Core tight. Wrists gripping the soft bar in that silent way that told everyone in the room you knew what you were doing.

Your thoughts had quieted.

Lucian’s name had stopped echoing.

The morning had stretched out, softened.

You didn’t know that your phone had lit up six minutes ago. That a woman with power in her voice and blood in her perfume had tried to reach you.

You didn’t know what she’d say.

Not yet.

You were too busy reclaiming your body from its stiffness.

From its history.

From the small, jagged voice that lived in your head, asking if you were still desirable, still brilliant, still wanted.

You were.

More than you knew.

And across the city, a man had already decided he’d wait.

As long as it took.

You left the studio warm and slightly unsteady, bones loosened, head clearer but body heavier. Your legs had that soft post-pilates wobble, the kind that made your movements feel momentarily honest. Human.

Matteo had winked at you on the way out—too knowing, too charming—and you didn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting.

Your friends loitered in the lobby, still glowing, half-laughing about someone’s awful date, someone else’s therapist, the way the barista downstairs looked like he was in witness protection.

“Lucien texted me this morning,” you finally said, dryly.

Sophia’s face twisted like she tasted blood. “Of course he did.”

“What’d he say?” Inez asked, already wondering what that asshole had said.

You only shrugged. “The usual projection. I sent him a nasty newspaper headline about the Tony award he's probably going to loose.”

They cackled. Gasped. Sophia touched her chest like you’d given her religion.

“You are God’s favorite,” she said.

“I’m declining breakfast,” you said.

“You always decline breakfast,” Inez said, pouting. “You’ll get rickets.”

“I’ll get peace,” you said, tugging your sunglasses from your coat pocket.

You kissed their cheeks and left them there, still laughing, still golden.

The air outside was brighter now, mid-morning sun sharpening everything into better versions of itself. Your hair was damp with sweat. Your sunglasses sat too perfectly on your face. The city felt like it was watching you again, only half-bored this time.

You didn’t check your phone until you were already on your street.

Habit. Avoidance. A strange form of self-discipline, or maybe just denial.

But as soon as you pulled it from your bag, you saw it...

1 Missed Call

1 Voicemail

1 Text Message

Unknown Number

You paused on the sidewalk, one foot already angled toward your building.

The number looked… intentional. Like it came from somewhere with hardwood floors and good stationery.

You didn’t open the voicemail.

Didn’t check the text.

Not yet.

You shoved the phone back into your pocket and went upstairs.

The elevator ride was too slow, your reflection in the mirrored walls too clear. You tried not to look at yourself but failed. You looked like you always did after exercise—slightly unraveled, like something had been softened inside you without permission.

Inside your apartment, you stripped quickly. Tossed your clothes on the bed, moved through the rooms in that deliberate, floating way you did when you were trying to pretend you weren’t thinking about something.

You showered.

Steam fogged the mirror.

You let the water run too hot. Watched it pool over your collarbone, your shoulders, down your spine. You washed your hair slowly, each movement its own punctuation. As if clarity could be coaxed from shampoo and pressure.

By the time you stepped out, towel wrapped tightly, the outside world felt further away.

But your phone was still on the counter.

Still buzzing inside your mind.

You picked it up again.

Stared at the number.

Then finally, like peeling a band-aid you didn’t want to look at—

You opened your browser.

Typed it in.

The number led to a landing page. Minimalist. Monochrome. The kind of design that didn’t try to impress—because it already had the clients that mattered.

Adore Matchmaking.

You blinked.

Then sat down on the edge of your bed, heart dropping into some strange, glittering pit inside you.

Rose.

It was her.

The envelope. The notes.

Him.

You swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how dry your mouth was.

She’d called.

And now everything tilted again.

You didn’t hesitate this time. You hit call.

The line picked up quickly. Not immediately—but with that precise rhythm of someone who’d been waiting. Not urgently. Just patiently.

“Hello?”

Her voice was exactly what you expected. Controlled. Glassy. A wineglass being set down just out of reach.

“This is Rose.”

You cleared your throat. Tried to pretend your towel didn’t suddenly feel like it was strangling you. “Hi. You called me earlier. This is—”

“I know who you are,” she said gently. “Thank you for calling back.”

You waited. She didn’t rush.

“I assume,” she said, “you’ve realized why I reached out.”

You let out a small laugh. Sharp at the edges. “The envelope. The profile.”

“Yes,” she said. “That was me.”

You felt your throat tighten.

You hadn’t thought about that folder in days. And also—you’d thought about nothing else. It had been tucked into your drawer, yes, but it lived somewhere deeper. Lived in the way you noticed broad shoulders on strangers now. In the way you replayed that line over and over—

He doesn’t flirt. He focuses. Makes you feel like the only room he’s ever stood in is the one you’re in now

Rose continued, calm and clipped. “I wanted to let you know the man in that profile…has seen your profile as well.”

You froze.

Your heart didn’t race.

It slowed.

Because for all your bravado, all your dismissals and eye-rolls and curated indifference—you hadn’t expected that.

He knew.

Whoever he was—

he knew you.

She went on.

“It wasn’t my intention to send your information without your direct permission. Your sister submitted it, but I always wait until I’m sure about the match before making contact. I sent yours to him because I felt—confident. And I waited to contact you until I knew he was interested.”

Your voice, when it came, was thin. “Interested how?”

There was the faintest smile in Rose’s voice. “Enough to ask about you. Enough to leave a voicemail.”

You said nothing.

Just stared out the window at the street below, the people moving like punctuation marks you didn’t want to decipher.

You didn’t know him. Not yet.

But you knew of him. Or what he allowed the world to see.

His notes had haunted you. Had lived under your skin like static. Now you knew—he had yours.

Your words. Your preferences. Your sister’s horrible little bullet points about the things that gave you the ick.

Your fingers tightened slightly on the edge of your towel.

It should’ve unnerved you.

It did.

But not in the bad way.

More like a glass being tapped from the inside. The sound of something wanting out.

“He’s… interested,” Rose said again, gently. “Which, in this context, means he would like to meet you.”

You swallowed.

The corners of your mouth lifted.

It wasn’t a smile.

Not yet.

But it was close.

Still, something in you tensed. “And who is he?”

Rose paused.

Only for a beat.

“I’d like you to discover that on your own,” she said. “If you’re open.”

You laughed once, softly. “That’s sadistic.”

“It’s deliberate.”

Another pause.

Rose’s voice dropped into something quieter. Something more intimate. A therapist, a confidante, a very expensive friend.

“I know you’ve been hurt,” she said. “And I know you don’t trust things that look like gifts.”

You said nothing.

Your chest burned slightly. The good kind.

“But this isn’t a gift,” she said. “It’s an intersection.”

You bit the inside of your cheek.

Still didn’t smile.

But god—you were glowing now.

You could feel it.

There in the quiet, in the flicker of your reflection in the window. Something inside you had turned over.

The man had read you.

Seen your profile.

Not as a performance. Not as gossip.

As you.

And he wanted in.

You didn’t know his name.

You didn’t know when, or how, or why.

But you were in.

And the city felt different now.

Like a door had opened somewhere.

And wind was rushing through.

You held the phone to your ear like it might burn you. It didn’t. But your palm was warm, and your pulse was suddenly awake in your wrist, ticking too clearly.

You didn’t answer right away.

You let the silence bloom between you and Rose, delicate and charged, the way a woman like you lets herself hesitate when something real is brushing too close. The silence wasn’t fear. It was consideration. Curated pause. The instinct to slow down when something felt true.

But then—

“I’ll do it,” you said, finally.

Your voice was calm. Perfectly measured. Not breathless. You never gave breathless. But your chest did this strange, ridiculous little thing. Like a stretch. Like a held breath finding its exit.

You agreed.

And you never agreed to things like this.

Not dates—not curated, pre-arranged, prescreened introductions. Not experiences that reeked of vulnerability and small talk and the possibility of rejection in the backseat of a car. You’d turned down royalty. Literally. An actual Viscount had once offered to fly you to Madrid for a dinner party and you’d said no without looking up from your tea.

But this?

This man, this stranger, this…presence, this profile that had set up camp inside your chest?

You were saying yes to him.

And that was the difference.

On the other end of the line, Rose made a sound. Small, almost startled. The kind of reaction that only escaped when someone very composed forgot to rehearse it.

“I wasn’t sure you would,” she said. Not disappointed. Just… honest.

“You sent the envelope. You knew something.”

“I did,” she admitted. “But I also know people like you. The legacy. The armor. You say no because it protects you.”

Another silence.

This one sweeter. Intimate.

“You’ll like him,” she said eventually, her voice dipped in some light she wasn’t trying to explain. “And he’ll be…happy.”

Your stomach did something traitorous.

You curled tighter into yourself on the bed, legs still bare, your towel beginning to fall loose around your thigh. The way she said happy landed like a note in a song you didn’t know you’d been humming. Not delighted. Not excited. Not giddy.

Happy.

You hadn’t made a man happy in years.

You didn't care to. 

They said they were happy, sure—but it was the kind of happiness that wilted once they realized you wouldn’t shrink for them. That you didn’t melt. That your affections were real but your need was not their mirror.

This?

This was different.

“I’ll set it up,” Rose said. “And I’ll let him know you’re open. I won’t tell him when or how. Just that you said yes.”

You nodded, forgetting she couldn’t see you. “Alright.”

“He’s going to be happy,” she said.

Your mouth parted slightly, just the softest exhale escaping you.

It wasn’t that you needed to be wanted.

It was that you liked being understood.

And somehow—this stranger, this man who had seen your profile, seen your mess, your middle name, your icks, your preferences, your sarcasm filtered through your sister’s warped little lens—he’d seen it and still said yes.

You hung up shortly after.

Rose didn’t linger. She wasn’t that kind of woman. She gave you space to recalibrate, to fold the moment back into your body without interruption.

You set the phone down.

Sat very still.

The sun had shifted in the window. It was sliding slowly across the bed, brushing your knee like a silent approval. Outside, the city was swelling into afternoon—horns, pigeons, the low beat of someone’s terrible rooftop playlist.

Inside, you had work to do.

That part of your day always came next. The soft click of the machine, the ritual opening of your inbox, the scroll of things people expected from you. Your towel stayed on for the first ten minutes. Then you slid into a linen robe, loose and worn, something you stole from a hotel in Capri and never felt guilty about.

You opened your laptop.

Emails. Dozens.

Your publicist had sent over a press itinerary, too long and overly flattering.

VOGUE – Digital feature interview, styling TBD

MoMA Spring Gala – Confirm attendance? Seating with Wintour/Andersson table

*Met Costume Preview – Invite extended for private showing. Do you want press on-site?

You replied with short, clean answers. Yes. No. Push to next week. Cut the photographer. Move me to the other table, I don’t want to sit next to Wintour.

You’d already seen the dress.

It needed tailoring. Everything did.

Your assistant had also sent a spreadsheet. Events. Flights. RSVPs. A note in the margin about the auction your father was presenting at Bafta's next month—he asked if you’d be in town, if you wanted to weigh in on the order of the clips they’re screening beforehand.

You sighed.

Typed back, I’ll look. I always look.

There were texts from people you liked but didn’t love.

A designer wanting to send you samples. A gallery director inviting you to something “quiet and luminous” in Tribeca. A distant cousin asking if you’d consider being on a podcast about “women in film whose last names carry weight.”

You didn’t answer that one.

Your phone buzzed again.

Another text.

From your mother this time.

Mom: Call me. I had a dream about you and it wasn’t flattering.

You ignored it. You’d already done your emotional cardio for the day.

Instead, you closed your laptop. Stretched. Rolled your shoulders.

You were different now.

Still you—but post-yes.

Post-possibility.

Somewhere in the city, he was out there.

The man you didn’t know.

The man who’d read about you and wanted more anyway.

The man who, apparently, would be happy to see you.

You stood, walked barefoot across the terrazzo, and opened your closet.

You had nothing to wear.

You had everything to wear.

And suddenly—

You wanted to be seen.

And across the city, in a corner office high above West Broadway, someone was trying not to feel too much about that exact thing.

Harry’s sleeves were rolled to the elbows, his forearms tense as he leaned over a ledger, pen in hand, posture deliberate. The light in his office was warm and low, filtered by blinds he hadn’t touched in weeks. He liked it that way—half-shadowed, like everything in his life had become lately. The quiet hum of the floor around him, the sound of heels clicking past the glass, the occasional soft knock from an assistant bringing something that didn’t matter.

He hadn’t heard from Rose yet.

He hadn’t expected to—not immediately. Not even within the day.

But still, he kept the phone close.

Watched it, in intervals. Like it might become something more than plastic if he stared long enough. Like it might breathe.

He was reviewing language in a family trust clause when it finally rang.

The sound startled him—not because it was loud, but because it had intent.

He recognized the number immediately.

He didn’t even let it hit the second ring.

“Harry Castillo,” he answered, voice rough from disuse.

Rose’s tone was clipped and warm, the voice of a woman who’d built her career on unflappable elegance.

“Harry. I hope now’s a good time.”

He stood from his chair without realizing it. The pen dropped soundlessly onto the document. “It is.”

“I wanted to call you myself,” she said. “Rather than leave a message.”

His jaw tightened, not in impatience but in anticipation.

Rose didn’t dramatize. If she was calling, it meant something was happening.

“I spoke to her,” she said.

The words hit like something low and steady.

Harry moved to the window. Pressed one hand against the glass, the skyline spilling below in lines and edges. “And?”

“She's interested,” Rose said.

For a moment, the city went quiet.

Not literally—cars still moved, horns still flared, construction still murmured in the distance—but inside Harry, something calmed. Like pressure easing off a wire.

“She wants to meet,” Rose continued. “She was…hesitant, in the way you’d expect. But she’s curious. Open.”

Harry closed his eyes.

Let that sink in.

She was going to meet him.

Not in theory. Not someday.

In real time. In real air.

After days of sitting with your image, your name, your voice reduced to black serif on cream paper—now, there was a date. A point on the map where your lives would touch again.

This time not through business. Not through legacy. Not in a boardroom made of glass and money.

But in something...chosen.

“That’s good,” he said. Understatement. His voice was too even, even for himself.

“She doesn’t know it’s you,” Rose added, always precise. “Not yet.”

He opened his eyes. Let his hand fall to his side. “You didn’t tell her?”

“I never do.”

Harry paused. A thousand thoughts bloomed and died in his mouth.

“And when she finds out?” he asked. “That it’s me?”

“She’ll be surprised,” Rose said. “But not unkindly. You made an impression. And now she’ll see it wasn’t an accident.”

There was silence on the line, but the kind that invited something else.

Harry inhaled. Exhaled. Then said, “Let me plan it.”

A small beat.

Rose’s tone shifted slightly. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t want this to feel like another consultation,” he said. “Not for her. Not for me.”

She said nothing.

He could feel her thinking—calculating risk, assessing control.

“This is your first date since Lucy,” she said quietly. “Do you want to carry that into this?”

“No,” he said. “That’s the point.”

He stepped away from the window now, slower, as if the room were rearranging itself beneath his feet. He could still feel the faint buzz of Lucy in his system—the civility, the correctness of it all. The way she’d studied compatibility like it was a proof to be solved. The way she’d never once made him want to be wrong.

But this?

You?

You were a fucking wild card.

You were unreasonable. Untameable. Beautiful in a way that made sense only in the dark.

You were not a Lucy.

And he didn’t want to be that man again. Careful. Measured. Numb by design.

“I’ll send you the details once I confirm,” she tells Harry.

“Alright.”

“He’s going to be happy,” she’d said to you.

And now, she was letting him do what he rarely asked for—take a risk.

He hung up a few minutes later.

No flourish. No recap.

He returned to his desk, but didn’t sit.

He paced.

Thought.

Thought about what kind of place would feel like the opposite of a boardroom. Not loud, not performative. Just…meaningful. Somewhere real. Somewhere a woman like you might lower your chin and say something devastatingly true over a glass of something dark.

He’d call in favors. Clear tables. Speak to someone who owed him something.

He wanted low lighting. Something in brick. Intimate, but not needy. He wanted to be somewhere he could study you without feeling like he was on display.

He wanted it to work.

Not because it was strategic.

But because for the first time in years, he wanted something.

He ran a hand through his hair. His curls were loose again. That unruly softness that always came when he let himself think too long.

He glanced at the folder on the corner of his desk.

Still there. Your profile. That photo.

He didn’t open it again.

He didn’t need to.

He already knew the date wasn’t a formality.

It was a moment.

And it was coming.

Fast.

That’s how the world moved once the call ended.

Once you said yes, once Rose confirmed it—one week.

A week from today.

That’s all the time Harry had until he saw you again. Not on a screen, not in an archived photo or an interview with your mother or a still from a Criterion-restored reel.

But in real time. In fabric. In the kind of space where hands touched the same wine glass and glances shifted whole conversations.

A week.

He read the confirmation Rose sent twice. There was no flourish. Just a simple message:

Rose: You’re meeting her next Thursday. 8:00 PM. Your call on the location. Let me know. —R

Harry didn’t respond right away.

Instead, he sat very still in his office, hands folded, staring down at the message like it might bloom into something more vivid.

A week.

The word had weight. Not enough to feel like delay. Just enough to prepare.

He didn’t like waiting. But he liked this.

The ache of it. The slow tension. The luxury of knowing it was already set—on the calendar, in motion, something future-bound and irreversible.

He spent the rest of the day doing exactly what he was supposed to be doing—signing off on restructuring documents, joining a call about a tech acquisition that barely moved the needle. His assistant brought him espresso he didn’t drink. The day ended with too many people saying his name and none of them saying it the way he wanted to hear it.

That night, he went home.

His penthouse was its usual perfection—silent, shadowed, designed to soothe.

He dropped his keys into the marble tray by the door. Took off his coat. Removed his watch.

And then, finally, sat at the kitchen counter with his laptop open and typed in three words...

“Best restaurants NYC.”

It was a stupid search. A beginner’s search. He didn’t need it.

He already knew where people went when they wanted to be seen.

He had spreadsheets. He had investments in some of them.

Still, he let himself spiral for a moment.

A week.

L’Abeille was first to come up.

Of course it was—quiet luxury, enough restraint to impress without feeling try-hard. He’d been there with Lucy. Twice. She’d said it was pretty and spent the entire dessert course tracing the stitching on the hem of her napkin, silent in that way that made him feel like he was apologizing just for taking her somewhere nice.

He clicked through photos anyway. Minimalist plating. Pretty, yes. But it held the wrong memory.

Next...Alto Paradiso. More casual. Beautiful in that downtown way that made all the chairs look like sculpture and all the diners look like press photos.

He’d taken Lucy there too. A different kind of date. Easier. Laughing. She’d liked the food but kept saying she felt like the waitstaff were judging her shoes. She wore boots that night—secondhand, she said—and drank too quickly. Said the wine made her feel like she’d broken into someone else’s apartment.

By the end of the night she was uncomfortable. Not loudly. Just enough.

Harry had told her it didn’t matter where she came from. She’d said, Exactly. That’s why it hurts.

He hadn’t known what to say then. He still didn’t.

But what he did know—

This wasn’t Lucy.

You weren’t Lucy.

You had no interest in being protected from wealth.

You were wealth.

Legacy wealth. The kind that didn’t apologize or second-guess or try to make itself smaller to be more palatable to people who couldn’t afford the wine list.

You’d been born in bergamot and linen and old reels of silent films. You didn’t enter rooms—you assessed them.

Harry wanted you to look at the place and see him.

So he kept searching.

Not for somewhere safe.

For somewhere honest.

By midnight, he’d made the reservation.

Masa.

No menus. Just the chef’s omakase. No noise. Just reverence. Located inside a windowless cube on the fourth floor of the Time Warner Center, behind a silent door and a long hallway of shadow. It wasn’t a restaurant—it was a temple.

People flew in for this. Dressed in soft cashmere and fear.

Harry had been there only twice. Never with Lucy. Never with anyone, really. Once alone. Once with his brother. Both times it felt like being invited into someone’s secret.

It wasn’t romantic in the traditional sense. There were no candles. No dimly lit corners. No violin in the background.

But it was intimate.

He thought of you in that space—your wrist resting against the edge of hinoki wood, your eyes flicking toward the chef without blinking. The silence between courses. The respect you’d command simply by existing.

It was perfect.

He sent the reservation details to Rose without comment.

Masa. 8:00 PM. Thursday. Private counter.

She replied only with...

R: Got it. She’ll know where to go.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaled.

Didn’t smile. But the room felt warmer somehow.

Over the next week, he did what he always did.

He worked. He ran. He read late into the night and forgot what he’d read.

But this time, you were in it.

In the rhythm of things.

You haunted the details.

He picked out a suit—something softer, less formal than his usual. Still tailored, still deliberate. Slate-gray again. 

He checked his watch more often.

He declined a drink with his brother. Didn’t say why.

Every time he walked into a room, he thought of your eyes skimming past him in the boardroom. That flicker of non-recognition. That mild disdain. That unbearable indifference.

He was going to earn your attention this time.

Not because he had something to prove.

But because for the first time in a very long time, Harry Castillo didn’t want to be invisible.

He wanted to be known.

By you.

A week.

And then—

Everything would begin.

But first—there was Fifth Avenue.

There was your sister, already four iced lattes deep, flopped across the boucle sofa like a woman mid-rehab for retail therapy. There was the fitting room’s dim, reverent lighting. The too-quiet hush of money that didn’t need to announce itself. The pale carpet you were scared to breathe on, the racks of pre-spring couture that looked less like clothing and more like curated moods.

You hadn’t wanted to come.

She’d dragged you out of the apartment. Said you were “gathering dust” in your own life, which was rich, coming from someone who still thought dating an heir to a rum dynasty was a form of employment.

Now you stood half-undressed, halfway out of a floor-length silk gown that did nothing for your shoulders, the zipper halfway down your spine like a betrayal. One strap had slipped off completely, baring one shoulder, and your hair was already escaping the clip you'd used to twist it back.

It was your third dress.

You’d already told the woman assisting you that you weren’t buying anything, that this was all your sister’s fault. She’d just smiled in that Chanel way—trained politeness, equal parts silent judgment—and said nothing.

Your sister was on her phone, filming herself trying on sunglasses.

“You look like someone who married for a vineyard,” you replied, tugging at the neckline in the mirror. “And not one of the nice ones.”

She threw a hanger at you and missed.

You rolled your eyes, then turned, reaching awkwardly to unzip the last few inches. The silk clung to your hips in that way that said run, don’t walk, to another boutique.

Just then—your phone buzzed.

Not the light kind. The call kind. The sound echoed in the dressing room like a tiny alarm bell.

“Can someone—?” you called through the half-closed door.

A moment passed. Then the Chanel girl’s voice floated in.

“There’s a call for you. R… S?”

You froze.

The zipper halfway down. Your heart stalling.

R.S.

Your hands jerked forward, one arm clutching the dress to your chest, the other fumbling with the latch.

You stumbled barefoot out of the fitting room, hugging the gown around you, silk swishing at your ankles as you nearly tripped over your sister’s designer bags.

“Give me the phone,” 

She held it out wordlessly, eyes wide. “Jesus, are you okay?”

But you were already pressing accept.

You turned away, one hand holding the phone to your ear, the other gripping the neckline of the dress like it might betray you too.

“Hello?”

“Good afternoon,” Rose’s voice, cool and untouched. “I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

You breathed once. Twice. “No,” you lied. “I’m just…shopping.”

“Lovely,” she said, and you could hear the smile in it. “I won’t keep you long. I just wanted to confirm that your date is officially set.”

The words landed like something poured over ice.

You blinked at the mirror, your reflection looking flushed and startled, half-wrapped in silk and expectation.

“When?”

“Thursday,” she said. “8 PM.”

You didn’t speak. You didn’t trust your voice yet.

She continued, unfazed. “The location is being chosen by him. He asked to plan it himself.”

That made something in your stomach tilt. “He did?”

“He was very specific,” she said. “He didn’t want it to feel like an assignment. He wanted it to be personal.”

You sat on the edge of the velvet ottoman in the corner, legs crossed under the dress, still holding it closed with one hand. The room was too warm. Or you were.

“What kind of place is it?” you asked, then immediately regretted it. “Wait. Don’t tell me.”

You didn’t want to spoil it.

You hated surprises, usually.

But this—this didn’t feel like a surprise. It felt like a…sign.

“You don’t have to tell me much,” you said. “Just… is it nice?”

Rose gave a low hum of approval. “It’s not just nice,” she said. “It’s intentional.”

That word landed like a soft blow.

“Intentional?”

“Yes,” she said. “Which tells me something about how he wants to meet you. It’s not flashy. But it’s…curated. Intimate. Specific.”

You didn’t realize how tightly you were gripping the fabric until your fingers went numb.

“And just to be clear,” she added, “I didn’t suggest any of it. He took full control. He knew exactly what he wanted.”

You exhaled—too sharply.

“You sound like you’re trying to impress me,” you said, mouth twitching.

“I don’t need to,” Rose replied. “He’s doing that himself.”

You stood slowly, adjusting the gown, suddenly aware of the way it hugged your ribs. The air felt thicker. You were jittery in a way that wasn’t about caffeine or your sister’s Chanel-induced mania.

This was anticipation. Clean and sharp. Not because it was your first date. But because it didn’t feel like one.

You knew something about him already.

Not a name. Not a face.

A presence.

“Any hints?” you asked.

Rose only smiled. You could feel it through the line.

“I think you’ll know when you see him.”

“Cruel,” you muttered.

“Correct,” she replied. “And you’ll thank me later.”

You didn’t hang up right away. Neither did she.

There was something reverent in the pause. Like both of you knew a line had just been drawn. A clock had started ticking.

“Thursday,” you said again. “Alright.”

“I’ll text you the address,” Rose said. “You don’t need to confirm. Just show up.”

You did hang up then.

Not abruptly. Not dramatically.

Just…quietly.

Like someone closing the door of a room they wanted to return to.

You stood still, phone in hand, the dress clutched to your body like a secret.

Your sister looked confused, very unaware. “Okay, what the fuck was that?”

You turned toward her slowly.

Then, “I have a date.”

The words sounded fake in your mouth. Like a line someone gave you to say in a scene you hadn’t rehearsed. But they were real.

You had a date.

With him.

Whoever he was.

The man who took control. Who read your profile and didn’t flinch. Who was planning a night for you with the kind of care most people reserved for marriage proposals or final meals.

You went back into the fitting room and stared at yourself in the mirror.

Then you let the dress fall.

It wasn’t right.

Not for Thursday.

Not for this.

You needed something better. Something sharper. Softer. Something that said I know you don’t know me, but you’re about to.

Your phone buzzed again.

A text from Rose.

Just the address.

No name.

Just a time. A location. A start.

The thing about your sister was that she thrived in moments like these—when she could claim credit for something larger than herself, for something with teeth and sparkle. When she could say I did this, and there was no one left in the room to contradict her.

So of course, once you stepped out of Chanel, she became a woman possessed.

“We need a dress,” she said, already halfway down the sidewalk, bag swinging against her hip like a weapon. “No, a dress. This is going to be fucking amazing!”

“It’s just a date,” you said, following slowly, your heels catching on the edge of the concrete.

She spun to face you. “With a man handpicked by an elite matchmaker who sent a wax-sealed envelope to your penthouse. This is not just a date. This is the start of your life.”

You rolled your eyes. “My life has already started.”

“It really hasn't,” she said, breezing into the revolving door of Bergdorf’s. “God, I’m so good at this.”

Inside, everything smelled like cashmere and potential. Sales associates glanced your way with the practiced recognition of people who knew your family, who had seen your mother sweep through on the eve of galas, your grandmother arrive with her driver and opinions. One of them nodded and said your last name like it was a password.

Your sister didn’t slow.

She headed straight for the private collections, where the dresses weren’t on racks but on display—isolated pieces under gentle spotlights, like rare books or sacred objects.

You followed, slower. Thinking.

This wasn’t a task you’d expected to want. It felt performative at first, indulgent, an errand dressed up as romance.

But now?

Now it felt like ritual.

Now it felt like claiming something.

“Do you know what he looks like yet?” your sister asked, spinning a dress form lightly by its waist.

“No.”

“Do you want to?”

You looked at her. “Not yet.”

She grinned. “God, you’re so weird. I love that for you.”

You sifted through fabric. Racks were parted for you like the sea—silk, velvet, raw-edge satin, pieces flown in from ateliers that didn’t even list phone numbers. Your fingers moved on instinct, bypassing anything too soft, too polite. This wasn’t a moment for sweetness. This wasn’t a dress that could be worn by accident.

He had taken control. He’d planned it himself.

You wanted to meet intention with intention.

You tried on five. Rejected four.

Your sister sat on the fitting room bench and narrated each appearance like a fashion critic with a mean streak.

“Too virgin.”

“Too bitter divorcée.”

“Too cocktail hour.”

And then—

The sixth.

You stepped out. Slowly. The room quieted. She didn’t speak right away.

The saleswoman’s expression flickered into something almost reverent.

And your sister whispered, “Oh. That’s it.”

The dress was clean in silhouette. No embellishment. High-necked, sleeveless. Midnight black. It cut in at the waist just enough to feel deliberate, the fabric weighty, sculptural. The hem fell to the ankle, a quiet defiance of expectation. 

You looked at yourself in the mirror. Unmoving.

The woman in the glass didn’t look like someone waiting to be chosen.

She looked like someone you had to be ready for.

She looked like you.

You bought it, of course.

The associate wrapped it in a garment bag the color of paper money, the hanger thick, branded, discreet.

You held it yourself.

Back outside, your sister refused to stop talking.

“I knew it,” she said. “I knew you’d say yes. I knew this would work.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t know anything. You just filled out a form behind my back.”

“And now look at you,” she said, gesturing to the bag. “On your way to a date with a man so serious about you that he made Rose say he’s planning it. You don’t even let people plan dinner.”

You ignored the flutter in your chest. “You just want credit.”

She shrugged. “Obviously. You’re welcome, again.”

Back at your apartment, you didn’t hang the dress in your closet like your other clothes. You didn’t toss it over a chair or leave it folded in tissue. You cleared space.

You opened the closet and made room.

Pushed aside pieces from past seasons, coats that still smelled faintly of places you no longer cared about, dresses worn for events that never delivered.

The dress went in alone. Hung carefully. The bag zipped shut, the hanger balanced just so.

You stepped back.

Looked at it.

Didn’t touch it again.

Not yet.

You’d wear it once.

And it would mean something.

A beginning. A shift.

The kind of dress you didn’t put on unless you were ready to be seen by someone who might actually see you back

And so the week passed like a current under glass—calm on the surface, something wild humming beneath.

You did what you were supposed to do.

You attended dinner with your parents at Le Coucou, your mother in a lacquered silk blouse and your father pretending not to check his watch during dessert. She asked if you were dating again and you lied with ease, stirring your spoon through the custard, saying something about taking a break from men.

She laughed—an elegant, bloodless laugh—and moved on to discussing your grandfather’s reel archive and whether it was finally time to donate it to the museum in Los Angeles. You nodded. You didn't really care. Not in that moment.

The date hovered behind your ribs like a bruise you didn’t want anyone to touch.

You had brunch with your friends that Sunday, slipping into the corner seat at your usual table at the Mercer Hotel. The table was cluttered with glasses of sparkling water, oysters, coffee, and unsolicited advice.

Sophia was showing everyone a screenshot of a man she’d matched with on an app. “He has a photo holding a fish,” she groaned. “A fish. What do we think?”

“He’s honest,” Inez said, sipping her drink. “About the fact that he’s emotionally unavailable and smells like a boat.”

“God, I hate this city,” Sophia muttered.

You smiled but didn’t speak much. You were quieter than usual. Someone asked if you were hungover. You just shook your head and reached for the grapefruit.

You kept the date to yourself.

Not because you were hiding it.

Because you didn’t want to share something that hadn’t happened yet.

Didn’t want it dissected. Predicted. Polluted by projection.

Only your sister knew. Of course. And Claude.

Claude had driven your family through scandals, courtrooms, and three separate affairs your mother denied ever happened. He’d taught you to drive stick in Provence. He’d once pulled your ex’s cufflink off during a handshake because he didn’t like the way he looked at you.

Claude never asked questions.

But when you told him—softly, carefully—that you had somewhere to be Thursday night, and someone to meet, he just nodded and said, I’ll keep the engine running.

The week continued. You went to pilates four times. You worked through your inbox. You rescheduled a Vanity Fair interview because you didn’t like the tone of the questions.

You googled the address once.

Just once.

Then closed the tab.

You didn’t want to know anything until you got there.

You just wanted it to unfold.

You didn’t overthink your makeup. Not yet.

But you thought about his hands.

His eyes.

The way he’d look up when you arrived.

If he’d stand. If he’d smile.

You didn’t even know his name.

Not truly.

But something inside you ached with the shape of him. The way you’d imagined him...broad shoulders. Eyes that didn’t dart. A man who didn’t rush his sentences or blink when things got quiet.

A man who wanted you.

The night of the date, you shut down the rest of your world like it was a set you no longer belonged to.

Your calendar went dark.

You muted the group chat.

Turned off location sharing.

You soaked in a salt bath for forty minutes, water still and faintly pink from a luxury oil someone in Milan had sent you last year. You drank cold white wine. You listened to a jazz record that didn’t belong to you—it had been left behind by a lover whose name you barely remembered, but the sound had stayed.

Your hair was still damp when you wrapped yourself in the robe. No silk tonight. Cotton. Soft. Bare.

You sat at your vanity and stared at yourself.

Skin prepped. Eyes minimal. The kind of face that demanded the room come to you.

You pulled the dress from the closet like it was a promise.

The weight of it in your hands was serious. Reassuring.

You slipped it over your shoulders slowly, the fabric hugging your hips, falling like water. It didn’t cling—it draped. Like it already knew you.

No necklace. Just earrings. Sharp, architectural. A ring your mother once gave you. You kept it on.

You stepped into your heels—black satin, pointed, higher than necessary.

Then you stood in front of the mirror and looked.

You looked like every woman he wouldn’t know how to forget.

When Claude pulled up outside your building, he didn’t say anything when he saw you. He just opened the door and made sure the temperature was right.

You sat back in the leather seat and said nothing.

The city blurred past you, all metal and golden streetlights and people moving like brushstrokes.

You watched it but didn’t feel it. Not fully.

Your body was too aware of what was about to happen.

Claude pulled up across the street from the address.

Didn’t drop you right at the door. You hadn’t asked him to.

He put the car in park.

“I’ll stay close,” he said quietly.

You touched his shoulder. “Thank you.”

Then you stepped out.

The sidewalk met your heels like it was built for them.

You stood in front of the entrance, face upturned.

The building was unmarked. Discreet. The kind of door that only opened for those who belonged.

You inhaled.

Lifted your chin.

And walked inside the building.

The door closed behind you with that specific kind of hush only wealth could afford—soundproofed, softened, thick with silence that wasn’t absence but design.

The lobby was understated, almost empty. A long marble hallway led to an elevator tucked into the corner like a well-kept secret.

You didn’t hesitate.

Your heels clicked softly across the stone, each step echoing not because it was loud, but because there was no one else. Just you, the glint of brushed metal, the man and security guard at the front desk who didn’t ask your name—just nodded once and pressed a button.

The elevator opened like it had been waiting.

Inside, it was mirrored, the walls soft gold, the floor impossibly clean. You stood in the middle, spine straight, dress falling like a sentence, and watched your own reflection multiply infinitely.

It was not a nervous thing.

You didn’t get nervous. Not like that.

People watched you the way they watched legacy.

With that mix of awe and subtle resentment.

Like you were a statue come to life and somehow still had a credit line. When people saw you, they saw your last name first. Your posture second. And only then, if they dared, your mouth.

But tonight wasn’t about being watched.

It was about seeing.

The elevator ascended slowly. A single floor.

The doors opened.

No music. No host stand. Just another hallway—longer, quieter, bathed in that kind of minimalist lighting that made every step feel curated.

You walked.

There was doors at the end. A man opened it for you before you reached it.

He said nothing.

Just inclined his head, and held the door wide.

Inside—

Silence.

But not empty.

It took you a moment to process it.

Masa.

You’d never been. Always invited. Never interested. Too curated, too precious. But tonight—it felt right.

Hinoki wood. Pale and warm. The lighting like dusk. No chatter. No plates clinking. Just space.

And at the counter—

Him.

Alone.

Sitting with his back half-turned, slate-gray jacket soft against his frame, sleeves rolled, posture easy but alert.

His hair was slightly curled at the edges, the silver at his temples catching the low light. He wasn’t checking his watch. Wasn’t on his phone. He was just…there.

And when he turned—

You saw him fully.

Harry Castillo.

Of course.

Of fucking course.

You almost smiled.

You’d noticed him at that family meeting.

Pretended not to.

Pretended to be too busy analyzing estate clauses and your grandmother’s bone structure.

But you’d seen him.

The way he listened when no one else did. The way he didn’t interrupt youwhen you spoke. The way his eyes didn’t wander, didn’t scan, didn’t apologize for landing.

And now—here he was again.

Except not as an associate.

Not as a number-cruncher your father respected.

Now he was your date.

Your match.

He stood slowly when he saw you.

Not rushed.

Just…steady.

Like he’d been rehearsing this moment all week and didn’t want to mess up the delivery.

And god, he looked good.

Not in that easy, accessible way. But in the way men look when they’ve lived long enough to mean it.

“Hello,” he said.

His voice—low, deliberate. That same quiet control. A man who didn’t need to fill silences to make them safe.

You stepped toward the counter, letting him pull the chair out for you.

You sat, unbothered. Perfect posture. Your skirt folding like fabric in a painting.

You turned to him. “So it’s you.”

He gave the smallest smile. “It’s me.”

You nodded once, lips curving at the edges.

“I remember you,” you said.

“I remember you,” he replied.

The chef behind the counter placed two chilled towels in front of you with the reverence of a man setting down holy texts.

Neither of you reached for them.

You just looked at each other.

Like two people who had circled each other in another life and were finally allowed to speak.

You didn’t ask him why he chose this place.

You didn’t have to.

It was written in everything—his gaze, his stillness, the way he hadn’t tried to charm you, just show up.

“I’m glad you came,” he said after a moment.

You tilted your head.

“I almost didn’t,” you lied.

He didn’t laugh. Just watched you. Let the air hold it.

“I would’ve waited,” he said.

And that—

That was the first moment.

The first break in the ice that hadn’t yet formed.

You breathed out slowly.

The chef placed the first course in front of you.

You didn’t look down.

You weren’t ready to look away yet.

You reached for your towel.

Wiped your hands.

Lifted your chopsticks.

And smiled like the beginning of something.

The door behind you closed gently.

And outside—

Claude waited. Engine idling. Eyes on the door.

But inside—

Everything had just started.

And you—

You weren’t leaving.

tag list: @lizziesfirstwife @bluevelvetpedro @thatpinkshirt @i-wanna-be-your-muse @okiegal68 @buckyandlokirunmylife @sohaaa6 @saltyfartdreamland @catharinamarea @cassiuspascal @glxsyymads @greenwitchfromthewoods @meanderingcaptainswanmusings @possiblyafangirl @sarahhxx03 @silksepia @noisynightmarepoetry @discoems @havensucks @yournameyn @mallingcalling-blog @he-is-the-destined @strawberrylemontart1 @stargirl-mayaa @maniac-penguin @rosylnsworld @llamaproblem @ultrav10l3nce @the-curator1 @lazybot @books-for-summer @junggoku @wecanbepiratez @behomewhenthestreetlightscomeon @victoriaholland @star-of-velaris @primadonnasdream @ilovefictionallmenn @brittmb115 @girl-eaterr @hermionelove

[woesoftheirwretched-if]

death, life, is there a life after death?

WOES OF THEIR WRETCHED.

| “You will be getting your revenge, no matter what the cost is and whom you have to use..”

Main blog : @pearldvs || other if blogs : none....

LINKS :

DEV-LOGS || FAQ || WARNINGS || SECRET ROS & FLINGS || MASTERLIST || BUG REPORT || THE SEED verse 9:80 || SHORT SIDE GAME(?)

PLOT: a recommended 18+ interactive fiction (that contains disturbing/dark subject matter that is not for everyone)that takes place in a mix and alternate universe of ancient medieval times. Nothing in this story will be historically accurate. Woes of their wretched (wotw-if) is where you play as a consort of a cruel king, Leif. You are going to get your revenge for yourself and possibly for other reasons but you will play as a consort and a parent.

| 18+ themes such as described nudity, graphic depictions of blood and gore, depression, rape, abuse, forced Marriage, morally questionable behavior, toxic and unhealthy relationships, child abuse, and more(you can check out the full warnings down above)

note | you will not be able to pick the gender of your child, you will have a son. the main character will start off as a bad parent towards their son and later on the game, you can still be a bad parent or try to be a great, how you choose will affect your life, other characters, and your son's life.

| mc will get pregnant regardless of gender due to magic (if amab)

FEATURES

=Choose the person you wish to be, customize your name, gender, sex, sexual orientation and appearance, you can also choose what kind of parent you want to be; loving and caring or unloving and uncaring as well with choosing what kind of lover you wish to be; loving, lying, manipulative, toxic, healthy…

=Choose your endings and life : There are bad and happy endings for anyone. Yourself, Your Son. It's all up to you, what you can get.

=Build or break your relationship with characters such as ros(romance options) and your son. Even though you can help them, there is no way to make everyone happy but it’s your choice to pick who can be or not.

=Romance anyone of the eight romance interests and 6 secret romance interests(and a few that would be seen as conversational)…but some are not really romance options, a few might die, betray or reject you… will you pick the right ones and be possibly happy? ( 14 ros in total and 4 flings )

DEMO: Prologue 0.5 —on itch io [43k words] : has been uploaded.

| currently : working on the rest of the prologue part one...

Note: as of currently, I cannot use butlers on Itch io due to my chromebook being messy, if you want. You can download save files or export it.

NOTE; EVERYONE IS THE GAME IS MESSED UP, SICK AND THEY'RE AWARE, DO NOT BABY ANY CHARACTERS (-the kids ofc)

ALL 8 ROMANCE OPTIONS[ros] & OTHER NON-DATEABLE CHARACTERS BELOW

All romance in this story is optional and can be skipped all together if preferred. Still, the platonic relationships will be rewarding and deep on a different level. There are currently no options for poly relationships but I will think about it..

[MAIN CAST]

THE VOICE [unknown] , ?? - ◇

??? : the voice is something or someone that has been with you ever since your mother had died when you were ten years old.

?? : your mother had the voice inside of her mind for a long time when her father was killed, this voice seems to be from your mother's side and it says it is a demon.

| the voice and mc will have a complex relationship and throughout the game, the voice will be a bastard and judge you throughout the game and later on you can have a nickname for it.

#wretched : voice

MC 'DOVE' AUGUSTKINGS (ALCOTT) [genderselectable] , 21 - ☆

Backstory: You are a outcast as people would say, just in the shadows with the title of 'one of Leif's many consorts' as people would say...

📎 A person, with gold eyes and customize-able to your likings.

#wretched : mc

| customized-able looks except for eyes (gold)

° | mc will originally be a bad parent towards Emil(your child) due to trauma, its up to if you want to be a bad parent or a great parent... your child's faith will lay on your hands.

EMIL AUGUSTKINGS [male] , 7 - ♧

Backstory: your child, you had no interest in him, born out of force and no love for him, but you realize that you can take your revenge - a possible heir of the throne, your ticket to revenge.

📎 An young boy, he has light brown skin, he has gold eyes. He is short in height (4'0). His hair is dark green and short that reaches to his ears and it is neatly combed. His body is skinny and petitle.

#wretched : emil

| you are unable to name him but you can give him a nickname later on, if you wish so.

MIRSELL CONSTAN [female] , 57 - ◇

Backstory: A old woman that takes care of consorts' children, a nanny but she seems to take care of your child more. - A elderly woman, a nanny people would say. She calls herself, Emil's Mother. Not around you, obviously.

📎 An older woman, she has brown skin tone, she has black deep eyes, she is short in height (5'4) and her hair color is fully grey and white and it is shoulder length and tied in a bun. Her body is leaning towards chubby.

#wretched : mirsell

| you can choose her faith later on the game, she can die or live also she can hate or love you later on.

ARTHUR IOVMISE [male] , 47 - ○

Backstory: A man, he is an assistant of the king, he also helps the consorts - He is a strong man that is also seen scolding the consorts, his daughter was also a consort of the king but rumors say that he helped her flee.

📎 An man, he has a tan skin tone and he had dark blue eyes along with his height being tall(6'1) and his hair being dark green with some grey hairs(he has facial hair), it is short and reaches to his ears, his body type is lanky and tall.

#wretched : arthur

| depending on your choices, he can hate or love you as his own.

SONA(SOPHIA) BELLWON [male] , 25 - ☆

Backstory: A servant, he is having an affair with one of the consorts, a young woman named Emilia - He is a servant that is related to Lady Mirsell, his grandma, well not really but he says he is.

📎 An man with fair skin, he has hazel eyes and he is average in height(5'11) and he has a color that mixes of grey and blue, his hair is shoulder length and is tied in a low ponytail. His body type is lean and average.

#wretched : sona

| sona will either help you or betray you depending on a very important choice you will make and he will be important as well.

LEIF AUGUSTKINGS [male] , 56 - ♧

Backstory: He is a man that was raised by a cold mother and a ill father, he is cold as well - He is your husband, he wants a heir, a strong one. A son. Every daughter is ignored, you're lucky.

📎 An man who has two different colored green eyes with dark blue and brown skin, he is tall(6'4) and his hair color is dark green and it is ear length along with his beard which is a stubble and his body is quite muscular.

#wretched : leif

| he will die in a lot of endings except the bad endings and he is one of the main problems with your life and trauma.

ESME DAWN-BALDASSARE [male] , 18 - ☆

Backstory: your brother, despite being younger, has taken care of you, he is your sweet brother and he love you and Emil. - your his only family left and he is yours, he doesn't do much but stays at king Leif's castle at your request.

📎 An man with olive skin that is your younger half brother, his eye color is ruby red, and his height is short(5'4) his hair color is purple but with natural highlights of ash blonde and it reaches up to his shoulder and often tied in a small pigtail. His body is lean.

#wretched : esme

| no matter what you do, esme will always be there for you.

MOTHER ALCOTT [female] , 29 - ☆

Backstory: your mother, none hardly used her name in the castle, she was like a curse - she had died when you were younger, around 8. Just taken away by your father and his guards.

📎 An woman whom you called your mother, she has gold eyes like yours, she is quite tall(5'12) and her hair color is black and unevenly cut, and it is left loose. Her body is thin and bony.

#wretched : mother

| no matter what you do, she will always hate you.

+ more *on codex in the game, more characters will appear on there once more chapters are released... i will make a separate codex for more characters since putting all of them in one would be too much. (Important characters only will show or who have more appearance than others)

[ROs] 8 known ros, 6 secret ros and 4 flings

(ros : 14 in total w/ 4 flings) + poly routes

| one or more of those romance options(ros) can die, betray your or your child or even reject you. you can be healthy or toxic towards characters, romance options, and even your son.

| most ros will start with slow burn, flings, and towards you can confess your feelings where some might reject or accept you but some ros are not really ros, dont trust anyone. (some ros might not like your child and will try to convince you to get rid of him, everyone is a red flag including mc)

| note. one of the ros is legally your step-son but none of the consorts(leif's consorts) feel like family and one the flings is your cousin. again, its up to you, if you want to romance the ro or sleep with the fling. One of the ros is older and does know mc when they were younger(not really but they do know and see mc when they were a child meanwhile they were an adult) and it might be seen as uncomfortable, one fling is married just uses mc for pleasure. (Again, everyone is toxic and might not show their true colors)

× RO ART | micela, luceydell, fayette

MICELA LENN [female] , 25 - ☆ [she/her]

Backstory: a young woman who was hired to be a nanny for the children like Mirsell but just younger - she takes care of children, she seems fond of your son, Emil. She also takes care of you, when she can. Maybe she admires you.

📎 An woman with brown skin and dark green eyes. She is short in height (5’4). Her hair is a deep shade of black, short and tied in a short messy bun. She has a lean body type . She has a gap between her two front teeth along with a small scar on her nose. Maria is seen mostly wearing her nanny’s outfit–a black dress with puffy sleeves and a white apron– but when she isn’t working, it would be a dress–a cool shade of blue dress, long that covers her knees and her arms, like an sundress– that her mother brought her before she left her home.

#wretched : micela

| she can be in-love with you or hate you in the first part of the game, depends on you.

LUCEYDELL RICHNESS [male] , 20 - ☆ [he/they]

Backstory: another consort of Leif, he is closer to you than any other consort, he seems fond of you. he is seen as feminine and often is dressed and he was originally a consort of a deity called "wraith". there are some rumors that he is the favorite.

📎 A male with light brown skin and pink eyes. He is around average in height (5’7). His hair is a very light shade of white, long that reaches his chest and tied in drill ringlets. He is average but leaning towards thin, he has beauty marks about everywhere on his face and a birthmark of something that seems like a fingerprint. Luce is seen mostly wearing his robes; it's completely white with gold undertones and has ribbons and many ties on it.

#wretched : luceydell

| he will be kind of a cock block during other routes and also toxic (more on the yandere side)

FAYETTE IRVINE [female] , 34 - ☆ [she/her]

Backstory: a dancer, a woman who has born and brought into a work of dancing and more, she is often brought by the king to perform - she often dances and has her own personal room despite her work, she is seen with kids. She cannot give birth to her own, she once said.

📎 A woman with light brown skin and dark green eyes. She is short in height (5’2). Her hair is auburn brown, long and tied in a low ponytail. She is thin in size and weight. She has a beauty mark under her eye and mouth. She mostly wears a long blue gown that is tied with many laces and noble, it is see through but not much.

#wretched : fayette

| this is the ro who knows and seen mc when they were a child but fayette never payed attention to young mc until present day(chapter one) and fayette doesn't remember them but can still be see as uncomfortable.

PANDORA AUGUSTKINGS [male] , 25 - ☆ [he/him]

Backstory: one of the king's children, they hate their father and is wanting to get the throne to avenge their mother - They are technically your step-child since marriage to the king but not really, none feels like family, they seem rude and often bothers you.

📎 A man with warm ochre skin and deep black eyes. He is tall in height (6’1). His hair is a deep shade of black like jet-black along with natural purple highlights, short that reaches up to his chin and left well-combed and slightly slicked-back with some strands in his face. He has an average built. He has two scars, one across his cheek to his other cheek, that goes across his nose and the second one on his neck. He is seen mostly wearing a royal suit–that is white and has blue undertones.

#wretched : pandora

| he is the stepson (legally by marriage) soo... also hates you but hey, hate-fuck/j

SALLY FIORISE [male] , 24 - ☆ [he/him]

Backstory: a baker and florist, he is a young parent like you - he is working at the castle since he is the town's delight and gets paid well!

📎 An man with peach skin and black-hole eyes. He is average in height (5'9). His hair is dirty blonde that reaches his ears and it is messy but yet noble looking. He has a lean; body type. He has one beauty mark under his eye. He has scars on his hands and fingers due to his job. He wears a white undershirt with a black apron with a white bandanna on his head, with black trousers and brown shoes.

#wretched : sally

| he has a daughter that is overprotective of him, depending on your choices, you can be happy or mad with sally.

EMMY GREENBRIAR [f/m] , 27 - ☆ [depending on choice]

Backstory: a knight, your personal knight ever since an attempted murder, the king has brought you a knight. - they are always near you. Visible or not. They will stand by your side.

📎 An person with tan skin and dark green eyes. They are very tall in height (6'2). Their hair is short black hair that reaches chin but bit above and is tied up in a small low ponytail. They have a musclar build and a strong body. They have more scars on their body that is scattered every where, face, neck, legs, back. They wear a knight's amour at all times and without it, is just wearing a loose black shirt with brown trousers.

#wretched : emmy

| regardless of gender, emmy will still be very tall and very strong since some people might like a strong woman with muscles!

ADEN BASTARD [f/m] , 23- ☆ [depends on choice]

Backstory: ironically by the last name, They are a bastard. Born out of incest, their parents both siblings, surprisingly no birth deflects well they were born with an illness - They are a noble and stays close to you after their castle was burnt down, they are soon to be betrothed to an other.

📎 An person with a fair skin tone with red eyes. They are around short and average in height(5'6). Their hair is a natural blue, it reaches their shoulders and it's tied in a low ponytail that lays across their shoulder. They have a skinny body type due to the illness. They easily bruise and often is seen with bruises on their skin. They wear a mix of a nightgown and that still scream nobility instead of sleepwear, it's completely white with some red undertones.

#wretched : aden

| you can help them from the unwanted marriage or not but depending on your choices, they will no longer be a ro if they do get taken away.

MARRYJOY WHITEFIELD [nonbinary] , 22 - ☆ [they/them]

Backstory: not much is known but they are quiet and mysterious, weirdly the king is very interested in marryjoy - they are a mage but a fortune teller, the king seems happy around marryjoy, they have a secret.

📎 An person with a brown skintone and has hazel eyes. They are average in height (5'8). Their hair is black hair and long that reaches their past their shoulder that is left loose. They have a average build; a mix of skinny yet some chubby-iness on them. They have eye bags on their face along with a circle birthmark on their forehead. They wear a mages robe almost all the times.

#wretched : marryjoy

| marryjoy will be a problem at the start and will be seen at chapter one but rarely.

woes of their wretched.

@interact-if | @pearldvs

[infamous-if]

✭INFAMOUS UPDATE IS HERE ✭

238K -> 457K WORDS

Please read this post before playing! It's finally here! After five months of writing and rewriting and salvaging and crying and sweating and bleeding I finally finished sort of kind of! Firstly, I want to thank you for your patience and understanding over this duration of this rewrite. It was stressful at times but I'm happy with the end result and I hope everyone else will be too :)

This will be the last chapter I release without beta testers/other sets of eyes so expect errors. I can playtest until my fingers turn blue but I'm just one person </3 I'm bound to have missed stuff.

Please let me know of errors! I tested it a few times with no problems but we know how it goes lol

IN THIS CHAPTER THREE UPDATE:

drama

mayhem

chaos

some betrayal

some surprises

just...read it lmao

PROLOGUE - CHAPTER 2 CHANGES:

**chapter two was too large of a file to upload on dd so I had to split it last minute and I uhhhh dont know how that translates in the demo but it should work lol please let me know if its wonky!**

fixed up grammatical errors and typos

expanded some scenes and added some more choices

you can now choose that your mc has "changed" in some way (drinking, no longer drinking, partier, no longer a partier, negative, positive, attached, detached, or a general default. I was asked to add an MC who "gets around" or hookups a lot but I'm still debating on whether I'll add that since there's already quite a bit lolol)

you can choose to have changed your band's genre before/after seven

TECHNICAL CHANGES:

you will be able to explicitly state your sexuality in the beginning. this was a big ask and I apologize for not doing it earlier! I wasn't good at coding when I started and I knew I always wanted to make the genders separate from MC's sexuality but I didn't know how to do that at the start :) So you can still choose the genders of the ROs for story purposes and variety. IF YOU DO NOT SEE ROMANCE OPTIONS THAT IS NOT A BUG. You simply chose a RO gender that doesn't correlate with the sexuality you chose for your MC. Having said that, if you do see a romance option available and it's not supposed to be there please let me know! That means I may have missed it coding-wise.

the stats have been all fixed! I've added all the necessary variables and such. The stat portion of the game has been updated with the appropriate pages but they're not finished. Still, the stats should be fine.

You will now have confessionals in the stat page! The feature still isn't a thing yet because I haven't come up with the confessionals lolol but you can click on it to see what it's about. Essentially, as you progress through the story you will be able to see confessionals from the cast of Infamous throughout. They disappear and appear periodically so if you miss it, THAT'S IT! You won't get a chance to see them again until MC watches an episode where it's relevant.

There is now a: Discography page, Infamous wiki, botb cast and staff page, and other characters page for organization. Those are not finished but they're there!

I changed a few stat names but their functions remain the same.

You will be able to choose how you would like to be described (masculine, feminine, neither, both).

O is officially gender-selectable.

You can set the genders of the ROs at the start or wait till you meet them.

PLAY HERE