#personalblog — Public Fediverse posts

“I, Ian” Full-Length Chapter Preview

Knock-knock. 

“Who’s there?” Ian said, jumping out of his inner thoughts as he was finished changing into some sleepwear and fresh from the shower. 

The door swung open to reveal Patrick with a backpack and a small bag of groceries. “Sleepover?” he asked gently. 

Ian smiled wanly, his mind flashing back to the days when he and Patrick had their usual sleepovers pre-curse when they were in high school and their former friends were around. “Sleepover,” he affirmed. “What brings you by?” 

Patrick sighed heavily as he came into the room. “It’s been a week since we went from dangerous dames with chips on our shoulders to petulant gay men who can’t be transformed back thanks to one coffee-making voodoo prince. And even though we have Tremaine MacLaren to teach us what it’s like on the other side, I can’t help but feel disoriented about being…” 

He gestured to his body. “Well, you get the gist.” 

Ian nodded as he went to the closet to grab a rolled-up sleeping bag and a blanket. “That I understand,” he answered. “It still feels so surreal yet it’s so realistic at the same time. I’m just wondering what will happen next for myself since I have a lot of hurdles to climb. I mean, I gave a lot of hell to a lot of guys when I was just Ivy, even towards the girls’ male relatives and male friends. Even more so when it came to Mom’s male clients and her male co-workers.”

There was a slight pause for a brief moment as Ian laid down the blanket and sleeping bag on the floor before the two young men sat down. “I guess you and I are going to have to make the most of this new chapter of our lives,” Patrick said as he set out bags of chips, two soda bottles, and some snack cakes, Ian making a phone call for some pizza delivery. “The one thing that is going to terrify me the most is what’ll happen when our former haters turn on us when they learn who we are and what happened to us.”

“Don’t remind me,” Ian replied, groaning at the thought of his former allies that he had on Instagram before it was closed thanks to Antoine. “They’re going to want to know ‘what happened to Ivy and her propaganda.’ When they get wind of what Antoine did and who we are now, the shit is going to hit the fan. Part of me is mad at him for taking away my social media status and profiles that had me on the top. Then again, I was on the verge of losing everything and I lost the followers who have families who are either identifying as LGBTQ or men in general, if not both.”

Patrick nodded, taking a sip of soda. “I get that,” he remarked. “And I guess you can say that my former social media pages are now nonexistent since I got hit with the curse. And maybe it’s for the best that we lie low until we get fully used to the new normal that we’re living now.”

The bedroom door swung open to reveal Joseph. “Gentlemen, I see that you’re renewing your Friday night sleepover,” he stated as he distributed the two boxes of pizza. “Any plans for this particular sleepover?”

“Mainly talking about learning to get used to this new life as gay men,” Ian replied. “And maybe have a little fun as well. Who knows what the night may bring?”

Joseph nodded. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” he said. “Tomorrow, you’re getting registered at Santa Monica College and you still have your shifts at the smoothie place, so make sure to get a good night’s sleep.”

“Okay, Dad. You have a good night yourself.” 

Joseph closed the door. 

Patrick sighed as he opened one of the pizza boxes that had meat lovers. “I wonder what Tremaine will have in store for us when we start school as totally new students. Since we’re basically going to be starting over with people wondering who we are, we’re definitely going to have to be careful with what we say or do.” 

“Well, I think it’s best to show them that we won’t be intimidated and we’re going to still own our grace and swagger,” Ian replied as he helped himself to a slice of pepperoni pizza. “Maybe Antoine will allow us some grace to let everyone know that we’re going to have that glow and style.” 

Patrick frowned. “Maybe it’ll be best to dial that down because that voodoo prince will have eyes everywhere,” he said warily. “And since he magically bound us to his cousin’s rules, you know that the curse will multiply if we step out of line and act like assholes.”

“Point made.”

The evening went on as Ian and Patrick talked about the days before being cursed, listened to their favorite songs on Spotify, and even watched an old movie on TV. And then…

“You know something? I always wanted to know what it’d be like to hook up with a gay guy when I was Pilar,” Patrick said from out of nowhere. “I mean, I’ve heard of stories regarding women having one-night stands with gay and bisexual guys when they’re totally wasted.”

Ian frowned. “I didn’t because I was still spiteful and hating guys in general,” he replied. “I thought it was tasteless and stupid.”

“What about now?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Patrick sat up, facing his friend. “I mean, what do you think about hooking up with gay guys now that you’re a gay guy yourself?” he asked. 

Ian blinked twice, his face warped in confusion briefly. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I mean, I’m still getting used to being a gay man myself and-” 

“Come on, bro. You know you that you want to at least try something a little reckless and even sensual at once,” Patrick interrupted. “Maybe it’s best that we…well, try something that we’d never considered doing when we were females.”

And without warning, Patrick’s lips branded Ian’s in a kiss.

You’ll never forget he first time! Magic, sensuality, and a transformative journey like none other! “I, Ian” returns with new chapters and plenty of drama and excitement! Available EXCLUSIVELY on Wattpad! Don’t miss it! 

“I, Ian” Full-Length Chapter Preview

Knock-knock. 

“Who’s there?” Ian said, jumping out of his inner thoughts as he was finished changing into some sleepwear and fresh from the shower. 

The door swung open to reveal Patrick with a backpack and a small bag of groceries. “Sleepover?” he asked gently. 

Ian smiled wanly, his mind flashing back to the days when he and Patrick had their usual sleepovers pre-curse when they were in high school and their former friends were around. “Sleepover,” he affirmed. “What brings you by?” 

Patrick sighed heavily as he came into the room. “It’s been a week since we went from dangerous dames with chips on our shoulders to petulant gay men who can’t be transformed back thanks to one coffee-making voodoo prince. And even though we have Tremaine MacLaren to teach us what it’s like on the other side, I can’t help but feel disoriented about being…” 

He gestured to his body. “Well, you get the gist.” 

Ian nodded as he went to the closet to grab a rolled-up sleeping bag and a blanket. “That I understand,” he answered. “It still feels so surreal yet it’s so realistic at the same time. I’m just wondering what will happen next for myself since I have a lot of hurdles to climb. I mean, I gave a lot of hell to a lot of guys when I was just Ivy, even towards the girls’ male relatives and male friends. Even more so when it came to Mom’s male clients and her male co-workers.”

There was a slight pause for a brief moment as Ian laid down the blanket and sleeping bag on the floor before the two young men sat down. “I guess you and I are going to have to make the most of this new chapter of our lives,” Patrick said as he set out bags of chips, two soda bottles, and some snack cakes, Ian making a phone call for some pizza delivery. “The one thing that is going to terrify me the most is what’ll happen when our former haters turn on us when they learn who we are and what happened to us.”

“Don’t remind me,” Ian replied, groaning at the thought of his former allies that he had on Instagram before it was closed thanks to Antoine. “They’re going to want to know ‘what happened to Ivy and her propaganda.’ When they get wind of what Antoine did and who we are now, the shit is going to hit the fan. Part of me is mad at him for taking away my social media status and profiles that had me on the top. Then again, I was on the verge of losing everything and I lost the followers who have families who are either identifying as LGBTQ or men in general, if not both.”

Patrick nodded, taking a sip of soda. “I get that,” he remarked. “And I guess you can say that my former social media pages are now nonexistent since I got hit with the curse. And maybe it’s for the best that we lie low until we get fully used to the new normal that we’re living now.”

The bedroom door swung open to reveal Joseph. “Gentlemen, I see that you’re renewing your Friday night sleepover,” he stated as he distributed the two boxes of pizza. “Any plans for this particular sleepover?”

“Mainly talking about learning to get used to this new life as gay men,” Ian replied. “And maybe have a little fun as well. Who knows what the night may bring?”

Joseph nodded. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” he said. “Tomorrow, you’re getting registered at Santa Monica College and you still have your shifts at the smoothie place, so make sure to get a good night’s sleep.”

“Okay, Dad. You have a good night yourself.” 

Joseph closed the door. 

Patrick sighed as he opened one of the pizza boxes that had meat lovers. “I wonder what Tremaine will have in store for us when we start school as totally new students. Since we’re basically going to be starting over with people wondering who we are, we’re definitely going to have to be careful with what we say or do.” 

“Well, I think it’s best to show them that we won’t be intimidated and we’re going to still own our grace and swagger,” Ian replied as he helped himself to a slice of pepperoni pizza. “Maybe Antoine will allow us some grace to let everyone know that we’re going to have that glow and style.” 

Patrick frowned. “Maybe it’ll be best to dial that down because that voodoo prince will have eyes everywhere,” he said warily. “And since he magically bound us to his cousin’s rules, you know that the curse will multiply if we step out of line and act like assholes.”

“Point made.”

The evening went on as Ian and Patrick talked about the days before being cursed, listened to their favorite songs on Spotify, and even watched an old movie on TV. And then…

“You know something? I always wanted to know what it’d be like to hook up with a gay guy when I was Pilar,” Patrick said from out of nowhere. “I mean, I’ve heard of stories regarding women having one-night stands with gay and bisexual guys when they’re totally wasted.”

Ian frowned. “I didn’t because I was still spiteful and hating guys in general,” he replied. “I thought it was tasteless and stupid.”

“What about now?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Patrick sat up, facing his friend. “I mean, what do you think about hooking up with gay guys now that you’re a gay guy yourself?” he asked. 

Ian blinked twice, his face warped in confusion briefly. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I mean, I’m still getting used to being a gay man myself and-” 

“Come on, bro. You know you that you want to at least try something a little reckless and even sensual at once,” Patrick interrupted. “Maybe it’s best that we…well, try something that we’d never considered doing when we were females.”

And without warning, Patrick’s lips branded Ian’s in a kiss.

You’ll never forget he first time! Magic, sensuality, and a transformative journey like none other! “I, Ian” returns with new chapters and plenty of drama and excitement! Available EXCLUSIVELY on Wattpad! Don’t miss it! 

“I, Ian” Full-Length Chapter Preview

Knock-knock. 

“Who’s there?” Ian said, jumping out of his inner thoughts as he was finished changing into some sleepwear and fresh from the shower. 

The door swung open to reveal Patrick with a backpack and a small bag of groceries. “Sleepover?” he asked gently. 

Ian smiled wanly, his mind flashing back to the days when he and Patrick had their usual sleepovers pre-curse when they were in high school and their former friends were around. “Sleepover,” he affirmed. “What brings you by?” 

Patrick sighed heavily as he came into the room. “It’s been a week since we went from dangerous dames with chips on our shoulders to petulant gay men who can’t be transformed back thanks to one coffee-making voodoo prince. And even though we have Tremaine MacLaren to teach us what it’s like on the other side, I can’t help but feel disoriented about being…” 

He gestured to his body. “Well, you get the gist.” 

Ian nodded as he went to the closet to grab a rolled-up sleeping bag and a blanket. “That I understand,” he answered. “It still feels so surreal yet it’s so realistic at the same time. I’m just wondering what will happen next for myself since I have a lot of hurdles to climb. I mean, I gave a lot of hell to a lot of guys when I was just Ivy, even towards the girls’ male relatives and male friends. Even more so when it came to Mom’s male clients and her male co-workers.”

There was a slight pause for a brief moment as Ian laid down the blanket and sleeping bag on the floor before the two young men sat down. “I guess you and I are going to have to make the most of this new chapter of our lives,” Patrick said as he set out bags of chips, two soda bottles, and some snack cakes, Ian making a phone call for some pizza delivery. “The one thing that is going to terrify me the most is what’ll happen when our former haters turn on us when they learn who we are and what happened to us.”

“Don’t remind me,” Ian replied, groaning at the thought of his former allies that he had on Instagram before it was closed thanks to Antoine. “They’re going to want to know ‘what happened to Ivy and her propaganda.’ When they get wind of what Antoine did and who we are now, the shit is going to hit the fan. Part of me is mad at him for taking away my social media status and profiles that had me on the top. Then again, I was on the verge of losing everything and I lost the followers who have families who are either identifying as LGBTQ or men in general, if not both.”

Patrick nodded, taking a sip of soda. “I get that,” he remarked. “And I guess you can say that my former social media pages are now nonexistent since I got hit with the curse. And maybe it’s for the best that we lie low until we get fully used to the new normal that we’re living now.”

The bedroom door swung open to reveal Joseph. “Gentlemen, I see that you’re renewing your Friday night sleepover,” he stated as he distributed the two boxes of pizza. “Any plans for this particular sleepover?”

“Mainly talking about learning to get used to this new life as gay men,” Ian replied. “And maybe have a little fun as well. Who knows what the night may bring?”

Joseph nodded. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” he said. “Tomorrow, you’re getting registered at Santa Monica College and you still have your shifts at the smoothie place, so make sure to get a good night’s sleep.”

“Okay, Dad. You have a good night yourself.” 

Joseph closed the door. 

Patrick sighed as he opened one of the pizza boxes that had meat lovers. “I wonder what Tremaine will have in store for us when we start school as totally new students. Since we’re basically going to be starting over with people wondering who we are, we’re definitely going to have to be careful with what we say or do.” 

“Well, I think it’s best to show them that we won’t be intimidated and we’re going to still own our grace and swagger,” Ian replied as he helped himself to a slice of pepperoni pizza. “Maybe Antoine will allow us some grace to let everyone know that we’re going to have that glow and style.” 

Patrick frowned. “Maybe it’ll be best to dial that down because that voodoo prince will have eyes everywhere,” he said warily. “And since he magically bound us to his cousin’s rules, you know that the curse will multiply if we step out of line and act like assholes.”

“Point made.”

The evening went on as Ian and Patrick talked about the days before being cursed, listened to their favorite songs on Spotify, and even watched an old movie on TV. And then…

“You know something? I always wanted to know what it’d be like to hook up with a gay guy when I was Pilar,” Patrick said from out of nowhere. “I mean, I’ve heard of stories regarding women having one-night stands with gay and bisexual guys when they’re totally wasted.”

Ian frowned. “I didn’t because I was still spiteful and hating guys in general,” he replied. “I thought it was tasteless and stupid.”

“What about now?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Patrick sat up, facing his friend. “I mean, what do you think about hooking up with gay guys now that you’re a gay guy yourself?” he asked. 

Ian blinked twice, his face warped in confusion briefly. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I mean, I’m still getting used to being a gay man myself and-” 

“Come on, bro. You know you that you want to at least try something a little reckless and even sensual at once,” Patrick interrupted. “Maybe it’s best that we…well, try something that we’d never considered doing when we were females.”

And without warning, Patrick’s lips branded Ian’s in a kiss.

You’ll never forget he first time! Magic, sensuality, and a transformative journey like none other! “I, Ian” returns with new chapters and plenty of drama and excitement! Available EXCLUSIVELY on Wattpad! Don’t miss it! 

“I, Ian” Full-Length Chapter Preview

Knock-knock. 

“Who’s there?” Ian said, jumping out of his inner thoughts as he was finished changing into some sleepwear and fresh from the shower. 

The door swung open to reveal Patrick with a backpack and a small bag of groceries. “Sleepover?” he asked gently. 

Ian smiled wanly, his mind flashing back to the days when he and Patrick had their usual sleepovers pre-curse when they were in high school and their former friends were around. “Sleepover,” he affirmed. “What brings you by?” 

Patrick sighed heavily as he came into the room. “It’s been a week since we went from dangerous dames with chips on our shoulders to petulant gay men who can’t be transformed back thanks to one coffee-making voodoo prince. And even though we have Tremaine MacLaren to teach us what it’s like on the other side, I can’t help but feel disoriented about being…” 

He gestured to his body. “Well, you get the gist.” 

Ian nodded as he went to the closet to grab a rolled-up sleeping bag and a blanket. “That I understand,” he answered. “It still feels so surreal yet it’s so realistic at the same time. I’m just wondering what will happen next for myself since I have a lot of hurdles to climb. I mean, I gave a lot of hell to a lot of guys when I was just Ivy, even towards the girls’ male relatives and male friends. Even more so when it came to Mom’s male clients and her male co-workers.”

There was a slight pause for a brief moment as Ian laid down the blanket and sleeping bag on the floor before the two young men sat down. “I guess you and I are going to have to make the most of this new chapter of our lives,” Patrick said as he set out bags of chips, two soda bottles, and some snack cakes, Ian making a phone call for some pizza delivery. “The one thing that is going to terrify me the most is what’ll happen when our former haters turn on us when they learn who we are and what happened to us.”

“Don’t remind me,” Ian replied, groaning at the thought of his former allies that he had on Instagram before it was closed thanks to Antoine. “They’re going to want to know ‘what happened to Ivy and her propaganda.’ When they get wind of what Antoine did and who we are now, the shit is going to hit the fan. Part of me is mad at him for taking away my social media status and profiles that had me on the top. Then again, I was on the verge of losing everything and I lost the followers who have families who are either identifying as LGBTQ or men in general, if not both.”

Patrick nodded, taking a sip of soda. “I get that,” he remarked. “And I guess you can say that my former social media pages are now nonexistent since I got hit with the curse. And maybe it’s for the best that we lie low until we get fully used to the new normal that we’re living now.”

The bedroom door swung open to reveal Joseph. “Gentlemen, I see that you’re renewing your Friday night sleepover,” he stated as he distributed the two boxes of pizza. “Any plans for this particular sleepover?”

“Mainly talking about learning to get used to this new life as gay men,” Ian replied. “And maybe have a little fun as well. Who knows what the night may bring?”

Joseph nodded. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” he said. “Tomorrow, you’re getting registered at Santa Monica College and you still have your shifts at the smoothie place, so make sure to get a good night’s sleep.”

“Okay, Dad. You have a good night yourself.” 

Joseph closed the door. 

Patrick sighed as he opened one of the pizza boxes that had meat lovers. “I wonder what Tremaine will have in store for us when we start school as totally new students. Since we’re basically going to be starting over with people wondering who we are, we’re definitely going to have to be careful with what we say or do.” 

“Well, I think it’s best to show them that we won’t be intimidated and we’re going to still own our grace and swagger,” Ian replied as he helped himself to a slice of pepperoni pizza. “Maybe Antoine will allow us some grace to let everyone know that we’re going to have that glow and style.” 

Patrick frowned. “Maybe it’ll be best to dial that down because that voodoo prince will have eyes everywhere,” he said warily. “And since he magically bound us to his cousin’s rules, you know that the curse will multiply if we step out of line and act like assholes.”

“Point made.”

The evening went on as Ian and Patrick talked about the days before being cursed, listened to their favorite songs on Spotify, and even watched an old movie on TV. And then…

“You know something? I always wanted to know what it’d be like to hook up with a gay guy when I was Pilar,” Patrick said from out of nowhere. “I mean, I’ve heard of stories regarding women having one-night stands with gay and bisexual guys when they’re totally wasted.”

Ian frowned. “I didn’t because I was still spiteful and hating guys in general,” he replied. “I thought it was tasteless and stupid.”

“What about now?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Patrick sat up, facing his friend. “I mean, what do you think about hooking up with gay guys now that you’re a gay guy yourself?” he asked. 

Ian blinked twice, his face warped in confusion briefly. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I mean, I’m still getting used to being a gay man myself and-” 

“Come on, bro. You know you that you want to at least try something a little reckless and even sensual at once,” Patrick interrupted. “Maybe it’s best that we…well, try something that we’d never considered doing when we were females.”

And without warning, Patrick’s lips branded Ian’s in a kiss.

You’ll never forget he first time! Magic, sensuality, and a transformative journey like none other! “I, Ian” returns with new chapters and plenty of drama and excitement! Available EXCLUSIVELY on Wattpad! Don’t miss it! 

“I, Ian” Full-Length Chapter Preview

Knock-knock. 

“Who’s there?” Ian said, jumping out of his inner thoughts as he was finished changing into some sleepwear and fresh from the shower. 

The door swung open to reveal Patrick with a backpack and a small bag of groceries. “Sleepover?” he asked gently. 

Ian smiled wanly, his mind flashing back to the days when he and Patrick had their usual sleepovers pre-curse when they were in high school and their former friends were around. “Sleepover,” he affirmed. “What brings you by?” 

Patrick sighed heavily as he came into the room. “It’s been a week since we went from dangerous dames with chips on our shoulders to petulant gay men who can’t be transformed back thanks to one coffee-making voodoo prince. And even though we have Tremaine MacLaren to teach us what it’s like on the other side, I can’t help but feel disoriented about being…” 

He gestured to his body. “Well, you get the gist.” 

Ian nodded as he went to the closet to grab a rolled-up sleeping bag and a blanket. “That I understand,” he answered. “It still feels so surreal yet it’s so realistic at the same time. I’m just wondering what will happen next for myself since I have a lot of hurdles to climb. I mean, I gave a lot of hell to a lot of guys when I was just Ivy, even towards the girls’ male relatives and male friends. Even more so when it came to Mom’s male clients and her male co-workers.”

There was a slight pause for a brief moment as Ian laid down the blanket and sleeping bag on the floor before the two young men sat down. “I guess you and I are going to have to make the most of this new chapter of our lives,” Patrick said as he set out bags of chips, two soda bottles, and some snack cakes, Ian making a phone call for some pizza delivery. “The one thing that is going to terrify me the most is what’ll happen when our former haters turn on us when they learn who we are and what happened to us.”

“Don’t remind me,” Ian replied, groaning at the thought of his former allies that he had on Instagram before it was closed thanks to Antoine. “They’re going to want to know ‘what happened to Ivy and her propaganda.’ When they get wind of what Antoine did and who we are now, the shit is going to hit the fan. Part of me is mad at him for taking away my social media status and profiles that had me on the top. Then again, I was on the verge of losing everything and I lost the followers who have families who are either identifying as LGBTQ or men in general, if not both.”

Patrick nodded, taking a sip of soda. “I get that,” he remarked. “And I guess you can say that my former social media pages are now nonexistent since I got hit with the curse. And maybe it’s for the best that we lie low until we get fully used to the new normal that we’re living now.”

The bedroom door swung open to reveal Joseph. “Gentlemen, I see that you’re renewing your Friday night sleepover,” he stated as he distributed the two boxes of pizza. “Any plans for this particular sleepover?”

“Mainly talking about learning to get used to this new life as gay men,” Ian replied. “And maybe have a little fun as well. Who knows what the night may bring?”

Joseph nodded. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” he said. “Tomorrow, you’re getting registered at Santa Monica College and you still have your shifts at the smoothie place, so make sure to get a good night’s sleep.”

“Okay, Dad. You have a good night yourself.” 

Joseph closed the door. 

Patrick sighed as he opened one of the pizza boxes that had meat lovers. “I wonder what Tremaine will have in store for us when we start school as totally new students. Since we’re basically going to be starting over with people wondering who we are, we’re definitely going to have to be careful with what we say or do.” 

“Well, I think it’s best to show them that we won’t be intimidated and we’re going to still own our grace and swagger,” Ian replied as he helped himself to a slice of pepperoni pizza. “Maybe Antoine will allow us some grace to let everyone know that we’re going to have that glow and style.” 

Patrick frowned. “Maybe it’ll be best to dial that down because that voodoo prince will have eyes everywhere,” he said warily. “And since he magically bound us to his cousin’s rules, you know that the curse will multiply if we step out of line and act like assholes.”

“Point made.”

The evening went on as Ian and Patrick talked about the days before being cursed, listened to their favorite songs on Spotify, and even watched an old movie on TV. And then…

“You know something? I always wanted to know what it’d be like to hook up with a gay guy when I was Pilar,” Patrick said from out of nowhere. “I mean, I’ve heard of stories regarding women having one-night stands with gay and bisexual guys when they’re totally wasted.”

Ian frowned. “I didn’t because I was still spiteful and hating guys in general,” he replied. “I thought it was tasteless and stupid.”

“What about now?” 

“What do you mean?” 

Patrick sat up, facing his friend. “I mean, what do you think about hooking up with gay guys now that you’re a gay guy yourself?” he asked. 

Ian blinked twice, his face warped in confusion briefly. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I mean, I’m still getting used to being a gay man myself and-” 

“Come on, bro. You know you that you want to at least try something a little reckless and even sensual at once,” Patrick interrupted. “Maybe it’s best that we…well, try something that we’d never considered doing when we were females.”

And without warning, Patrick’s lips branded Ian’s in a kiss.

You’ll never forget he first time! Magic, sensuality, and a transformative journey like none other! “I, Ian” returns with new chapters and plenty of drama and excitement! Available EXCLUSIVELY on Wattpad! Don’t miss it! 

It insists upon itself.

https://lessthannonsense.com/posts/updates-from-a-serial-hypocrite

#Blog #PersonalBlog

“Of Couture and Supers” Full-Length Chapter Preview”

Ellen Montclaire’s office had never looked more like a war room disguised as a sanctuary. The Spartan lines of her desk, the aviator frames catching the late-afternoon light, the faint scent of tuberose and something sharper-gun oil, perhaps, or the particular perfume of people who had already decided who would live. Jim Nelson stood at her left, GQ’s editor-in-chief in charcoal Tom Ford that made him look like a very expensive executioner. I had barely closed the door when Mike and Ian arrived with River between them, two plainclothes officers peeling off at the threshold like shadows that knew their place.

River looked intact. That was the first mercy. His jaw was tight, his eyes already scanning the room the way a House mother scans a ballroom for shade and safety. He crossed to me without speaking and took my hand under the desk, a private gesture that would have been unthinkable six weeks ago.

Ellen did not waste time on greetings. “The text,” she said. “Read it again, Alcide. Out loud. I want everyone in this room to hear the exact temperature of the threat.”

I did. The rhyme sat in the air like cheap cologne.

River exhaled through his nose. “Of course she got out. Of course she found the one man in Texas who still thinks my dead name is a prayer. Mother never needed a lawyer so much as she needed an audience. Jarrett Morgan is her new front row.”

Jim’s voice was dry as good gin. “Forrester’s counsel is the sort who bills in blood types. She walked because the Reagans’ deaths were ruled justifiable by the agents on that rooftop. The insurance policies, however, remain. Two million each. That kind of money does not forgive. It only waits.”

“They’ll try to paint us as unstable,” River said. “Unstable, ungrateful, un-American. They’ll leak something during Paris-photos, a planted story, a ‘concerned source’ who swears we were seen with the wrong people at the wrong hour. Mother always preferred character assassination before the actual kind.”

Ellen’s gaze could have cut Givenchy silk. “The fashion houses, the magazines, the designers who matter-they already know who you are. They know the Lancaster-Monroe line. They know River Forrester is not a scandal; he is a fact. Anyone who attempts to discredit either of you will find their invitations revoked before the first look walks. That is not sentiment. That is policy.”

I kept my voice even. “What do we actually do? Besides look expensive and refuse to die.”

Jim answered. “FBI and CIA have already coordinated with Interpol. The French, Italian, and British details have your files. Several of our people-heroes who do not clock out when the lights go down-will travel with the official parties. You will not be alone in a corridor, a fitting room, or a hotel elevator. You will also not be reckless. Recklessness is a luxury for people whose grandparents did not leave a ledger.”

River’s thumb brushed my knuckles. “We already made that promise on a rooftop, Jim. We keep it.”

Ellen stood. The movement was small and final, the way Miranda Priestly used to stand when a collection had been approved or a career ended. “Tomorrow morning you meet Ra’Keem, Ja’Nisha, and Snow. Wardrobe upgrade. Style seminar. Paris is not New York with better bread. Paris is a stage that remembers every misstep for a decade. You will walk it as Guardians-in-training and as the last two interns who refused to fold. You will look as if you were born to it because, in the only way that matters, you were.”

Emilia entered without knocking, tablet in hand, the itinerary already glowing. She set it between us like a treaty.

“Monday: arrival, fittings at the Ritz, dinner with the Mughelli and Watanabe representatives. Tuesday: Dior, then the liaison briefing with the French detail. Wednesday: Givenchy and the first September-issue roundtable. Thursday: Valentino, followed by the private salon for the Asian houses. Friday: Chanel and the night the villains usually try something theatrical. You will also continue every ordinary duty-coffee, proofs, dry cleaning, holding a lens when Marcel needs a second pair of hands that do not shake. The celebrities will still test you. The politicians will still want to be seen with you. You will still be the ones who remember the oat-milk shot and the exact temperature of a smoothie.”

I almost smiled. Almost.

Ellen’s voice dropped into the register that used to make entire floors go silent. “Paris Fashion Week is the beginning of the public proof. You do not merely attend. You represent the bridge your grandparents built and your parents burned. You will show the world that chosen family, hard work, and the refusal to become furniture are not weaknesses. They are the only currency that still holds.”

River looked at me then, really looked, the way he had in my apartment the night we stopped pretending we were only allies. “We said it before they took me. We watch each other’s backs. We finish the summer. We show them who we are when the cameras are on and when they are not. This time we do it knowing the knives are already drawn.”

I squeezed his hand once, hard enough to mean it. “Say less.”

Ellen’s mouth did the smallest thing that might have been approval. “Good. Now get out of my office. Both of you have a city to survive and a wardrobe that is currently insufficient for what is coming. Tomorrow you will look like you belong in every room that ever tried to keep you out. That is not optional.”

We stood. Mike and Ian fell in behind us without being asked. The officers at the door nodded once, the way men nod when they have already decided they will take a bullet if the arithmetic requires it.

In the elevator River leaned his forehead against the cool metal for three seconds. “She’s going to try to make us look like the problem,” he said quietly. “Like we brought the violence with us.”

“Then we will be so precisely ourselves that the lie won’t have anywhere to sit,” I answered.

The doors opened onto the sixth floor that no longer felt like an intern’s floor. My new office waited. The passport would arrive tomorrow. The clothes would be chosen tomorrow. The threat had already arrived.

We walked toward the next hour the way people walk toward a ballroom when they already know the judges are watching and the prize is simply remaining standing.

No looking back.

“Of Couture and Supers” has fashionably returned with new chapters and plenty of drama! You’ll never forget the first time! Available EXCLUSIVELY on Wattpad! Don’t miss it!

“Of Couture and Supers” Full-Length Chapter Preview”

Ellen Montclaire’s office had never looked more like a war room disguised as a sanctuary. The Spartan lines of her desk, the aviator frames catching the late-afternoon light, the faint scent of tuberose and something sharper-gun oil, perhaps, or the particular perfume of people who had already decided who would live. Jim Nelson stood at her left, GQ’s editor-in-chief in charcoal Tom Ford that made him look like a very expensive executioner. I had barely closed the door when Mike and Ian arrived with River between them, two plainclothes officers peeling off at the threshold like shadows that knew their place.

River looked intact. That was the first mercy. His jaw was tight, his eyes already scanning the room the way a House mother scans a ballroom for shade and safety. He crossed to me without speaking and took my hand under the desk, a private gesture that would have been unthinkable six weeks ago.

Ellen did not waste time on greetings. “The text,” she said. “Read it again, Alcide. Out loud. I want everyone in this room to hear the exact temperature of the threat.”

I did. The rhyme sat in the air like cheap cologne.

River exhaled through his nose. “Of course she got out. Of course she found the one man in Texas who still thinks my dead name is a prayer. Mother never needed a lawyer so much as she needed an audience. Jarrett Morgan is her new front row.”

Jim’s voice was dry as good gin. “Forrester’s counsel is the sort who bills in blood types. She walked because the Reagans’ deaths were ruled justifiable by the agents on that rooftop. The insurance policies, however, remain. Two million each. That kind of money does not forgive. It only waits.”

“They’ll try to paint us as unstable,” River said. “Unstable, ungrateful, un-American. They’ll leak something during Paris-photos, a planted story, a ‘concerned source’ who swears we were seen with the wrong people at the wrong hour. Mother always preferred character assassination before the actual kind.”

Ellen’s gaze could have cut Givenchy silk. “The fashion houses, the magazines, the designers who matter-they already know who you are. They know the Lancaster-Monroe line. They know River Forrester is not a scandal; he is a fact. Anyone who attempts to discredit either of you will find their invitations revoked before the first look walks. That is not sentiment. That is policy.”

I kept my voice even. “What do we actually do? Besides look expensive and refuse to die.”

Jim answered. “FBI and CIA have already coordinated with Interpol. The French, Italian, and British details have your files. Several of our people-heroes who do not clock out when the lights go down-will travel with the official parties. You will not be alone in a corridor, a fitting room, or a hotel elevator. You will also not be reckless. Recklessness is a luxury for people whose grandparents did not leave a ledger.”

River’s thumb brushed my knuckles. “We already made that promise on a rooftop, Jim. We keep it.”

Ellen stood. The movement was small and final, the way Miranda Priestly used to stand when a collection had been approved or a career ended. “Tomorrow morning you meet Ra’Keem, Ja’Nisha, and Snow. Wardrobe upgrade. Style seminar. Paris is not New York with better bread. Paris is a stage that remembers every misstep for a decade. You will walk it as Guardians-in-training and as the last two interns who refused to fold. You will look as if you were born to it because, in the only way that matters, you were.”

Emilia entered without knocking, tablet in hand, the itinerary already glowing. She set it between us like a treaty.

“Monday: arrival, fittings at the Ritz, dinner with the Mughelli and Watanabe representatives. Tuesday: Dior, then the liaison briefing with the French detail. Wednesday: Givenchy and the first September-issue roundtable. Thursday: Valentino, followed by the private salon for the Asian houses. Friday: Chanel and the night the villains usually try something theatrical. You will also continue every ordinary duty-coffee, proofs, dry cleaning, holding a lens when Marcel needs a second pair of hands that do not shake. The celebrities will still test you. The politicians will still want to be seen with you. You will still be the ones who remember the oat-milk shot and the exact temperature of a smoothie.”

I almost smiled. Almost.

Ellen’s voice dropped into the register that used to make entire floors go silent. “Paris Fashion Week is the beginning of the public proof. You do not merely attend. You represent the bridge your grandparents built and your parents burned. You will show the world that chosen family, hard work, and the refusal to become furniture are not weaknesses. They are the only currency that still holds.”

River looked at me then, really looked, the way he had in my apartment the night we stopped pretending we were only allies. “We said it before they took me. We watch each other’s backs. We finish the summer. We show them who we are when the cameras are on and when they are not. This time we do it knowing the knives are already drawn.”

I squeezed his hand once, hard enough to mean it. “Say less.”

Ellen’s mouth did the smallest thing that might have been approval. “Good. Now get out of my office. Both of you have a city to survive and a wardrobe that is currently insufficient for what is coming. Tomorrow you will look like you belong in every room that ever tried to keep you out. That is not optional.”

We stood. Mike and Ian fell in behind us without being asked. The officers at the door nodded once, the way men nod when they have already decided they will take a bullet if the arithmetic requires it.

In the elevator River leaned his forehead against the cool metal for three seconds. “She’s going to try to make us look like the problem,” he said quietly. “Like we brought the violence with us.”

“Then we will be so precisely ourselves that the lie won’t have anywhere to sit,” I answered.

The doors opened onto the sixth floor that no longer felt like an intern’s floor. My new office waited. The passport would arrive tomorrow. The clothes would be chosen tomorrow. The threat had already arrived.

We walked toward the next hour the way people walk toward a ballroom when they already know the judges are watching and the prize is simply remaining standing.

No looking back.

“Of Couture and Supers” has fashionably returned with new chapters and plenty of drama! You’ll never forget the first time! Available EXCLUSIVELY on Wattpad! Don’t miss it!

“Of Couture and Supers” Full-Length Chapter Preview”

Ellen Montclaire’s office had never looked more like a war room disguised as a sanctuary. The Spartan lines of her desk, the aviator frames catching the late-afternoon light, the faint scent of tuberose and something sharper-gun oil, perhaps, or the particular perfume of people who had already decided who would live. Jim Nelson stood at her left, GQ’s editor-in-chief in charcoal Tom Ford that made him look like a very expensive executioner. I had barely closed the door when Mike and Ian arrived with River between them, two plainclothes officers peeling off at the threshold like shadows that knew their place.

River looked intact. That was the first mercy. His jaw was tight, his eyes already scanning the room the way a House mother scans a ballroom for shade and safety. He crossed to me without speaking and took my hand under the desk, a private gesture that would have been unthinkable six weeks ago.

Ellen did not waste time on greetings. “The text,” she said. “Read it again, Alcide. Out loud. I want everyone in this room to hear the exact temperature of the threat.”

I did. The rhyme sat in the air like cheap cologne.

River exhaled through his nose. “Of course she got out. Of course she found the one man in Texas who still thinks my dead name is a prayer. Mother never needed a lawyer so much as she needed an audience. Jarrett Morgan is her new front row.”

Jim’s voice was dry as good gin. “Forrester’s counsel is the sort who bills in blood types. She walked because the Reagans’ deaths were ruled justifiable by the agents on that rooftop. The insurance policies, however, remain. Two million each. That kind of money does not forgive. It only waits.”

“They’ll try to paint us as unstable,” River said. “Unstable, ungrateful, un-American. They’ll leak something during Paris-photos, a planted story, a ‘concerned source’ who swears we were seen with the wrong people at the wrong hour. Mother always preferred character assassination before the actual kind.”

Ellen’s gaze could have cut Givenchy silk. “The fashion houses, the magazines, the designers who matter-they already know who you are. They know the Lancaster-Monroe line. They know River Forrester is not a scandal; he is a fact. Anyone who attempts to discredit either of you will find their invitations revoked before the first look walks. That is not sentiment. That is policy.”

I kept my voice even. “What do we actually do? Besides look expensive and refuse to die.”

Jim answered. “FBI and CIA have already coordinated with Interpol. The French, Italian, and British details have your files. Several of our people-heroes who do not clock out when the lights go down-will travel with the official parties. You will not be alone in a corridor, a fitting room, or a hotel elevator. You will also not be reckless. Recklessness is a luxury for people whose grandparents did not leave a ledger.”

River’s thumb brushed my knuckles. “We already made that promise on a rooftop, Jim. We keep it.”

Ellen stood. The movement was small and final, the way Miranda Priestly used to stand when a collection had been approved or a career ended. “Tomorrow morning you meet Ra’Keem, Ja’Nisha, and Snow. Wardrobe upgrade. Style seminar. Paris is not New York with better bread. Paris is a stage that remembers every misstep for a decade. You will walk it as Guardians-in-training and as the last two interns who refused to fold. You will look as if you were born to it because, in the only way that matters, you were.”

Emilia entered without knocking, tablet in hand, the itinerary already glowing. She set it between us like a treaty.

“Monday: arrival, fittings at the Ritz, dinner with the Mughelli and Watanabe representatives. Tuesday: Dior, then the liaison briefing with the French detail. Wednesday: Givenchy and the first September-issue roundtable. Thursday: Valentino, followed by the private salon for the Asian houses. Friday: Chanel and the night the villains usually try something theatrical. You will also continue every ordinary duty-coffee, proofs, dry cleaning, holding a lens when Marcel needs a second pair of hands that do not shake. The celebrities will still test you. The politicians will still want to be seen with you. You will still be the ones who remember the oat-milk shot and the exact temperature of a smoothie.”

I almost smiled. Almost.

Ellen’s voice dropped into the register that used to make entire floors go silent. “Paris Fashion Week is the beginning of the public proof. You do not merely attend. You represent the bridge your grandparents built and your parents burned. You will show the world that chosen family, hard work, and the refusal to become furniture are not weaknesses. They are the only currency that still holds.”

River looked at me then, really looked, the way he had in my apartment the night we stopped pretending we were only allies. “We said it before they took me. We watch each other’s backs. We finish the summer. We show them who we are when the cameras are on and when they are not. This time we do it knowing the knives are already drawn.”

I squeezed his hand once, hard enough to mean it. “Say less.”

Ellen’s mouth did the smallest thing that might have been approval. “Good. Now get out of my office. Both of you have a city to survive and a wardrobe that is currently insufficient for what is coming. Tomorrow you will look like you belong in every room that ever tried to keep you out. That is not optional.”

We stood. Mike and Ian fell in behind us without being asked. The officers at the door nodded once, the way men nod when they have already decided they will take a bullet if the arithmetic requires it.

In the elevator River leaned his forehead against the cool metal for three seconds. “She’s going to try to make us look like the problem,” he said quietly. “Like we brought the violence with us.”

“Then we will be so precisely ourselves that the lie won’t have anywhere to sit,” I answered.

The doors opened onto the sixth floor that no longer felt like an intern’s floor. My new office waited. The passport would arrive tomorrow. The clothes would be chosen tomorrow. The threat had already arrived.

We walked toward the next hour the way people walk toward a ballroom when they already know the judges are watching and the prize is simply remaining standing.

No looking back.

“Of Couture and Supers” has fashionably returned with new chapters and plenty of drama! You’ll never forget the first time! Available EXCLUSIVELY on Wattpad! Don’t miss it!

“Of Couture and Supers” Full-Length Chapter Preview”

Ellen Montclaire’s office had never looked more like a war room disguised as a sanctuary. The Spartan lines of her desk, the aviator frames catching the late-afternoon light, the faint scent of tuberose and something sharper-gun oil, perhaps, or the particular perfume of people who had already decided who would live. Jim Nelson stood at her left, GQ’s editor-in-chief in charcoal Tom Ford that made him look like a very expensive executioner. I had barely closed the door when Mike and Ian arrived with River between them, two plainclothes officers peeling off at the threshold like shadows that knew their place.

River looked intact. That was the first mercy. His jaw was tight, his eyes already scanning the room the way a House mother scans a ballroom for shade and safety. He crossed to me without speaking and took my hand under the desk, a private gesture that would have been unthinkable six weeks ago.

Ellen did not waste time on greetings. “The text,” she said. “Read it again, Alcide. Out loud. I want everyone in this room to hear the exact temperature of the threat.”

I did. The rhyme sat in the air like cheap cologne.

River exhaled through his nose. “Of course she got out. Of course she found the one man in Texas who still thinks my dead name is a prayer. Mother never needed a lawyer so much as she needed an audience. Jarrett Morgan is her new front row.”

Jim’s voice was dry as good gin. “Forrester’s counsel is the sort who bills in blood types. She walked because the Reagans’ deaths were ruled justifiable by the agents on that rooftop. The insurance policies, however, remain. Two million each. That kind of money does not forgive. It only waits.”

“They’ll try to paint us as unstable,” River said. “Unstable, ungrateful, un-American. They’ll leak something during Paris-photos, a planted story, a ‘concerned source’ who swears we were seen with the wrong people at the wrong hour. Mother always preferred character assassination before the actual kind.”

Ellen’s gaze could have cut Givenchy silk. “The fashion houses, the magazines, the designers who matter-they already know who you are. They know the Lancaster-Monroe line. They know River Forrester is not a scandal; he is a fact. Anyone who attempts to discredit either of you will find their invitations revoked before the first look walks. That is not sentiment. That is policy.”

I kept my voice even. “What do we actually do? Besides look expensive and refuse to die.”

Jim answered. “FBI and CIA have already coordinated with Interpol. The French, Italian, and British details have your files. Several of our people-heroes who do not clock out when the lights go down-will travel with the official parties. You will not be alone in a corridor, a fitting room, or a hotel elevator. You will also not be reckless. Recklessness is a luxury for people whose grandparents did not leave a ledger.”

River’s thumb brushed my knuckles. “We already made that promise on a rooftop, Jim. We keep it.”

Ellen stood. The movement was small and final, the way Miranda Priestly used to stand when a collection had been approved or a career ended. “Tomorrow morning you meet Ra’Keem, Ja’Nisha, and Snow. Wardrobe upgrade. Style seminar. Paris is not New York with better bread. Paris is a stage that remembers every misstep for a decade. You will walk it as Guardians-in-training and as the last two interns who refused to fold. You will look as if you were born to it because, in the only way that matters, you were.”

Emilia entered without knocking, tablet in hand, the itinerary already glowing. She set it between us like a treaty.

“Monday: arrival, fittings at the Ritz, dinner with the Mughelli and Watanabe representatives. Tuesday: Dior, then the liaison briefing with the French detail. Wednesday: Givenchy and the first September-issue roundtable. Thursday: Valentino, followed by the private salon for the Asian houses. Friday: Chanel and the night the villains usually try something theatrical. You will also continue every ordinary duty-coffee, proofs, dry cleaning, holding a lens when Marcel needs a second pair of hands that do not shake. The celebrities will still test you. The politicians will still want to be seen with you. You will still be the ones who remember the oat-milk shot and the exact temperature of a smoothie.”

I almost smiled. Almost.

Ellen’s voice dropped into the register that used to make entire floors go silent. “Paris Fashion Week is the beginning of the public proof. You do not merely attend. You represent the bridge your grandparents built and your parents burned. You will show the world that chosen family, hard work, and the refusal to become furniture are not weaknesses. They are the only currency that still holds.”

River looked at me then, really looked, the way he had in my apartment the night we stopped pretending we were only allies. “We said it before they took me. We watch each other’s backs. We finish the summer. We show them who we are when the cameras are on and when they are not. This time we do it knowing the knives are already drawn.”

I squeezed his hand once, hard enough to mean it. “Say less.”

Ellen’s mouth did the smallest thing that might have been approval. “Good. Now get out of my office. Both of you have a city to survive and a wardrobe that is currently insufficient for what is coming. Tomorrow you will look like you belong in every room that ever tried to keep you out. That is not optional.”

We stood. Mike and Ian fell in behind us without being asked. The officers at the door nodded once, the way men nod when they have already decided they will take a bullet if the arithmetic requires it.

In the elevator River leaned his forehead against the cool metal for three seconds. “She’s going to try to make us look like the problem,” he said quietly. “Like we brought the violence with us.”

“Then we will be so precisely ourselves that the lie won’t have anywhere to sit,” I answered.

The doors opened onto the sixth floor that no longer felt like an intern’s floor. My new office waited. The passport would arrive tomorrow. The clothes would be chosen tomorrow. The threat had already arrived.

We walked toward the next hour the way people walk toward a ballroom when they already know the judges are watching and the prize is simply remaining standing.

No looking back.

“Of Couture and Supers” has fashionably returned with new chapters and plenty of drama! You’ll never forget the first time! Available EXCLUSIVELY on Wattpad! Don’t miss it!

“Of Couture and Supers” Full-Length Chapter Preview”

Ellen Montclaire’s office had never looked more like a war room disguised as a sanctuary. The Spartan lines of her desk, the aviator frames catching the late-afternoon light, the faint scent of tuberose and something sharper-gun oil, perhaps, or the particular perfume of people who had already decided who would live. Jim Nelson stood at her left, GQ’s editor-in-chief in charcoal Tom Ford that made him look like a very expensive executioner. I had barely closed the door when Mike and Ian arrived with River between them, two plainclothes officers peeling off at the threshold like shadows that knew their place.

River looked intact. That was the first mercy. His jaw was tight, his eyes already scanning the room the way a House mother scans a ballroom for shade and safety. He crossed to me without speaking and took my hand under the desk, a private gesture that would have been unthinkable six weeks ago.

Ellen did not waste time on greetings. “The text,” she said. “Read it again, Alcide. Out loud. I want everyone in this room to hear the exact temperature of the threat.”

I did. The rhyme sat in the air like cheap cologne.

River exhaled through his nose. “Of course she got out. Of course she found the one man in Texas who still thinks my dead name is a prayer. Mother never needed a lawyer so much as she needed an audience. Jarrett Morgan is her new front row.”

Jim’s voice was dry as good gin. “Forrester’s counsel is the sort who bills in blood types. She walked because the Reagans’ deaths were ruled justifiable by the agents on that rooftop. The insurance policies, however, remain. Two million each. That kind of money does not forgive. It only waits.”

“They’ll try to paint us as unstable,” River said. “Unstable, ungrateful, un-American. They’ll leak something during Paris-photos, a planted story, a ‘concerned source’ who swears we were seen with the wrong people at the wrong hour. Mother always preferred character assassination before the actual kind.”

Ellen’s gaze could have cut Givenchy silk. “The fashion houses, the magazines, the designers who matter-they already know who you are. They know the Lancaster-Monroe line. They know River Forrester is not a scandal; he is a fact. Anyone who attempts to discredit either of you will find their invitations revoked before the first look walks. That is not sentiment. That is policy.”

I kept my voice even. “What do we actually do? Besides look expensive and refuse to die.”

Jim answered. “FBI and CIA have already coordinated with Interpol. The French, Italian, and British details have your files. Several of our people-heroes who do not clock out when the lights go down-will travel with the official parties. You will not be alone in a corridor, a fitting room, or a hotel elevator. You will also not be reckless. Recklessness is a luxury for people whose grandparents did not leave a ledger.”

River’s thumb brushed my knuckles. “We already made that promise on a rooftop, Jim. We keep it.”

Ellen stood. The movement was small and final, the way Miranda Priestly used to stand when a collection had been approved or a career ended. “Tomorrow morning you meet Ra’Keem, Ja’Nisha, and Snow. Wardrobe upgrade. Style seminar. Paris is not New York with better bread. Paris is a stage that remembers every misstep for a decade. You will walk it as Guardians-in-training and as the last two interns who refused to fold. You will look as if you were born to it because, in the only way that matters, you were.”

Emilia entered without knocking, tablet in hand, the itinerary already glowing. She set it between us like a treaty.

“Monday: arrival, fittings at the Ritz, dinner with the Mughelli and Watanabe representatives. Tuesday: Dior, then the liaison briefing with the French detail. Wednesday: Givenchy and the first September-issue roundtable. Thursday: Valentino, followed by the private salon for the Asian houses. Friday: Chanel and the night the villains usually try something theatrical. You will also continue every ordinary duty-coffee, proofs, dry cleaning, holding a lens when Marcel needs a second pair of hands that do not shake. The celebrities will still test you. The politicians will still want to be seen with you. You will still be the ones who remember the oat-milk shot and the exact temperature of a smoothie.”

I almost smiled. Almost.

Ellen’s voice dropped into the register that used to make entire floors go silent. “Paris Fashion Week is the beginning of the public proof. You do not merely attend. You represent the bridge your grandparents built and your parents burned. You will show the world that chosen family, hard work, and the refusal to become furniture are not weaknesses. They are the only currency that still holds.”

River looked at me then, really looked, the way he had in my apartment the night we stopped pretending we were only allies. “We said it before they took me. We watch each other’s backs. We finish the summer. We show them who we are when the cameras are on and when they are not. This time we do it knowing the knives are already drawn.”

I squeezed his hand once, hard enough to mean it. “Say less.”

Ellen’s mouth did the smallest thing that might have been approval. “Good. Now get out of my office. Both of you have a city to survive and a wardrobe that is currently insufficient for what is coming. Tomorrow you will look like you belong in every room that ever tried to keep you out. That is not optional.”

We stood. Mike and Ian fell in behind us without being asked. The officers at the door nodded once, the way men nod when they have already decided they will take a bullet if the arithmetic requires it.

In the elevator River leaned his forehead against the cool metal for three seconds. “She’s going to try to make us look like the problem,” he said quietly. “Like we brought the violence with us.”

“Then we will be so precisely ourselves that the lie won’t have anywhere to sit,” I answered.

The doors opened onto the sixth floor that no longer felt like an intern’s floor. My new office waited. The passport would arrive tomorrow. The clothes would be chosen tomorrow. The threat had already arrived.

We walked toward the next hour the way people walk toward a ballroom when they already know the judges are watching and the prize is simply remaining standing.

No looking back.

“Of Couture and Supers” has fashionably returned with new chapters and plenty of drama! You’ll never forget the first time! Available EXCLUSIVELY on Wattpad! Don’t miss it!

🕷️ Learning to Look Closer #9 — I Looked. I Regret It.

https://destinylaharris.com/2026/09/09/%f0%9f%95%b7%ef%b8%8f-learning-to-look-closer-9-i-looked-i-regret-it/

🕷️ Learning to Look Closer #9 — I Looked. I Regret It.

https://destinylaharris.com/2026/09/09/%f0%9f%95%b7%ef%b8%8f-learning-to-look-closer-9-i-looked-i-regret-it/

🕷️ Learning to Look Closer #9 — I Looked. I Regret It.

https://destinylaharris.com/2026/09/09/%f0%9f%95%b7%ef%b8%8f-learning-to-look-closer-9-i-looked-i-regret-it/

🕷️ Learning to Look Closer #9 — I Looked. I Regret It.

https://destinylaharris.com/2026/09/09/%f0%9f%95%b7%ef%b8%8f-learning-to-look-closer-9-i-looked-i-regret-it/

🕷️ Learning to Look Closer #9 — I Looked. I Regret It.

https://destinylaharris.com/2026/09/09/%f0%9f%95%b7%ef%b8%8f-learning-to-look-closer-9-i-looked-i-regret-it/

Mickey Mouse Mickey Mouse Mickey Mouse…

https://snowebell.cc/mickey-mouse-mickey-mouse-mickey-mouse/

Mickey Mouse Mickey Mouse Mickey Mouse…

https://snowebell.cc/mickey-mouse-mickey-mouse-mickey-mouse/

Mickey Mouse Mickey Mouse Mickey Mouse…

https://snowebell.cc/mickey-mouse-mickey-mouse-mickey-mouse/

Mickey Mouse Mickey Mouse Mickey Mouse…

https://snowebell.cc/mickey-mouse-mickey-mouse-mickey-mouse/

Mickey Mouse Mickey Mouse Mickey Mouse…

https://snowebell.cc/mickey-mouse-mickey-mouse-mickey-mouse/

Thank you, kind stranger for using my #Bunnynet referral code on August 30! You’re my second successful referral to one of my favourite web services. Appreciate you supporting me!

I just migrated my secondary #WordPress 👋🏻site from #Hostinger to #Quartz on #BunnyCDN & Storage. Working on getting the routing working because Quartz outputs HTML files...

Read full note https://burgeonlab.com/notes/2026/0909-2358

This is post 93 of #100daysToOffload
https://burgeonlab.com/tags/100daystooffload/

#personalBlog #statichost #blogpost #ssg

Thank you, kind stranger for using my #Bunnynet referral code on August 30! You’re my second successful referral to one of my favourite web services. Appreciate you supporting me!

I just migrated my secondary #WordPress 👋🏻site from #Hostinger to #Quartz on #BunnyCDN & Storage. Working on getting the routing working because Quartz outputs HTML files...

Read full note https://burgeonlab.com/notes/2026/0909-2358

This is post 93 of #100daysToOffload
https://burgeonlab.com/tags/100daystooffload/

#personalBlog #statichost #blogpost #ssg

Thank you, kind stranger for using my #Bunnynet referral code on August 30! You’re my second successful referral to one of my favourite web services. Appreciate you supporting me!

I just migrated my secondary #WordPress 👋🏻site from #Hostinger to #Quartz on #BunnyCDN & Storage. Working on getting the routing working because Quartz outputs HTML files...

Read full note https://burgeonlab.com/notes/2026/0909-2358

This is post 93 of #100daysToOffload
https://burgeonlab.com/tags/100daystooffload/

#personalBlog #statichost #blogpost #ssg

Thank you, kind stranger for using my #Bunnynet referral code on August 30! You’re my second successful referral to one of my favourite web services. Appreciate you supporting me!

I just migrated my secondary #WordPress 👋🏻site from #Hostinger to #Quartz on #BunnyCDN & Storage. Working on getting the routing working because Quartz outputs HTML files...

Read full note https://burgeonlab.com/notes/2026/0909-2358

This is post 93 of #100daysToOffload
https://burgeonlab.com/tags/100daystooffload/

#personalBlog #statichost #blogpost #ssg

Thank you, kind stranger for using my #Bunnynet referral code on August 30! You’re my second successful referral to one of my favourite web services. Appreciate you supporting me!

I just migrated my secondary #WordPress 👋🏻site from #Hostinger to #Quartz on #BunnyCDN & Storage. Working on getting the routing working because Quartz outputs HTML files...

Read full note https://burgeonlab.com/notes/2026/0909-2358

This is post 93 of #100daysToOffload
https://burgeonlab.com/tags/100daystooffload/

#personalBlog #statichost #blogpost #ssg

“Being Arian Halliday” Sneak Preview

Arian’s POV


The following day arrived as I was soon facing the first day of school.


But this was no typical first day of school, folks. It was my and Catriona’s grand debut as the new kids attending St. Ignatius Academy. With full capital letters.


Needless to say, I was both excited and terrified all at once even as I was joined by my brothers Reagan and Ryan as well as my cousins with them making sure my uniform wasa up to par.


“Never you mind your fears, Arian,” Kyren said as he handed me my pair of black oxford shoes that were equipped with gel insoles for comfort. “You will do fantastic.”


“And when word gets around of you being the long-lost Halliday heir, people will draw to you like moths to a flame,” Tyler commented as his twin brother fixed my tie. “Not only that, you’re going to be part of the Masquerade Games with us. This is basically a year-round coming-out party for you that’s long overdue.”


I nodded as I was handed a cup of tea from Reagan. “I’m just worried that I might make a wrong impression by saying or doing something stupid,” I admitted. “That, and I did run into Derrick Giddens yesterday during the tour.”


The air turned chilly after that statement. “Derrick Giddens and his friends are known as the self-entitled assholes known to all,” Kendrick stated stiffly, eyes narrowed in silts. “To know him and his girlfriend Giada as well as their friends is to hate them with a passion. Little wonder why they’re never qualified to be part of the games no matter how much their parents throw money or curry favor with our dads and granddads. If you can help it, try not to start any drama and stay away from them at all costs. But if it can’t be helped, try to at least bite your tongue and appease them as much as possible.”


“Other than that, Arie, most of the students and teachers are pretty cool to know,” Terrance added as he handed me my uniform jacket. “And it’s mandatory to try and earn as much favor from them as possible. We’ll make sure which ones to bond more and which ones to be cordial but keep your distance from. And I know that Ra’Von and his fellow journalism friends will do the same.”


There was a knock at the door. “Gentlemen, your fathers are waiting for you all down at the lobby,” came the voice of Annette as the maid in question as well as another butler (a dark-skinned older man) came inside my bedroom. “And Master Arian? I believe that this is going to be the senior year of a lifetime for you. Just stick with your brothers and cousins as well as your friend Catriona, and you can’t go wrong. Trust in everyone who believes in you. Trust yourself.”


No better words were said as we grabbed our backpacks and laptop bags before heading out to meet our fathers who were chatting animatedly with Catriona, my best friend looking as if she was born for the hallways at any school. “Damn, Arie,” she trilled. “You look like you definitely belong with your family. St. Ignatius Academy won’t know what hit them when they see you.”


“I’ll bet,” I remarked, giving her a gamely smile. To my dad Jason, “Shall we go?”


“We shall, Arian. Your debut awaits,” my father said.


With that, we all trooped into the black limousine which was waiting for us outside. Let the day begin, I thought as I was greeted by the sounds of Manhattan beginning its usual day of morning chaos.

“Being Arian Halliday” is back with new chapters!” You’ll never forget the first time! Available EXCLUSIVELY on Wattpad! Don’t miss it!

“Being Arian Halliday” Sneak Preview

Arian’s POV


The following day arrived as I was soon facing the first day of school.


But this was no typical first day of school, folks. It was my and Catriona’s grand debut as the new kids attending St. Ignatius Academy. With full capital letters.


Needless to say, I was both excited and terrified all at once even as I was joined by my brothers Reagan and Ryan as well as my cousins with them making sure my uniform wasa up to par.


“Never you mind your fears, Arian,” Kyren said as he handed me my pair of black oxford shoes that were equipped with gel insoles for comfort. “You will do fantastic.”


“And when word gets around of you being the long-lost Halliday heir, people will draw to you like moths to a flame,” Tyler commented as his twin brother fixed my tie. “Not only that, you’re going to be part of the Masquerade Games with us. This is basically a year-round coming-out party for you that’s long overdue.”


I nodded as I was handed a cup of tea from Reagan. “I’m just worried that I might make a wrong impression by saying or doing something stupid,” I admitted. “That, and I did run into Derrick Giddens yesterday during the tour.”


The air turned chilly after that statement. “Derrick Giddens and his friends are known as the self-entitled assholes known to all,” Kendrick stated stiffly, eyes narrowed in silts. “To know him and his girlfriend Giada as well as their friends is to hate them with a passion. Little wonder why they’re never qualified to be part of the games no matter how much their parents throw money or curry favor with our dads and granddads. If you can help it, try not to start any drama and stay away from them at all costs. But if it can’t be helped, try to at least bite your tongue and appease them as much as possible.”


“Other than that, Arie, most of the students and teachers are pretty cool to know,” Terrance added as he handed me my uniform jacket. “And it’s mandatory to try and earn as much favor from them as possible. We’ll make sure which ones to bond more and which ones to be cordial but keep your distance from. And I know that Ra’Von and his fellow journalism friends will do the same.”


There was a knock at the door. “Gentlemen, your fathers are waiting for you all down at the lobby,” came the voice of Annette as the maid in question as well as another butler (a dark-skinned older man) came inside my bedroom. “And Master Arian? I believe that this is going to be the senior year of a lifetime for you. Just stick with your brothers and cousins as well as your friend Catriona, and you can’t go wrong. Trust in everyone who believes in you. Trust yourself.”


No better words were said as we grabbed our backpacks and laptop bags before heading out to meet our fathers who were chatting animatedly with Catriona, my best friend looking as if she was born for the hallways at any school. “Damn, Arie,” she trilled. “You look like you definitely belong with your family. St. Ignatius Academy won’t know what hit them when they see you.”


“I’ll bet,” I remarked, giving her a gamely smile. To my dad Jason, “Shall we go?”


“We shall, Arian. Your debut awaits,” my father said.


With that, we all trooped into the black limousine which was waiting for us outside. Let the day begin, I thought as I was greeted by the sounds of Manhattan beginning its usual day of morning chaos.

“Being Arian Halliday” is back with new chapters!” You’ll never forget the first time! Available EXCLUSIVELY on Wattpad! Don’t miss it!

“Being Arian Halliday” Sneak Preview

Arian’s POV


The following day arrived as I was soon facing the first day of school.


But this was no typical first day of school, folks. It was my and Catriona’s grand debut as the new kids attending St. Ignatius Academy. With full capital letters.


Needless to say, I was both excited and terrified all at once even as I was joined by my brothers Reagan and Ryan as well as my cousins with them making sure my uniform wasa up to par.


“Never you mind your fears, Arian,” Kyren said as he handed me my pair of black oxford shoes that were equipped with gel insoles for comfort. “You will do fantastic.”


“And when word gets around of you being the long-lost Halliday heir, people will draw to you like moths to a flame,” Tyler commented as his twin brother fixed my tie. “Not only that, you’re going to be part of the Masquerade Games with us. This is basically a year-round coming-out party for you that’s long overdue.”


I nodded as I was handed a cup of tea from Reagan. “I’m just worried that I might make a wrong impression by saying or doing something stupid,” I admitted. “That, and I did run into Derrick Giddens yesterday during the tour.”


The air turned chilly after that statement. “Derrick Giddens and his friends are known as the self-entitled assholes known to all,” Kendrick stated stiffly, eyes narrowed in silts. “To know him and his girlfriend Giada as well as their friends is to hate them with a passion. Little wonder why they’re never qualified to be part of the games no matter how much their parents throw money or curry favor with our dads and granddads. If you can help it, try not to start any drama and stay away from them at all costs. But if it can’t be helped, try to at least bite your tongue and appease them as much as possible.”


“Other than that, Arie, most of the students and teachers are pretty cool to know,” Terrance added as he handed me my uniform jacket. “And it’s mandatory to try and earn as much favor from them as possible. We’ll make sure which ones to bond more and which ones to be cordial but keep your distance from. And I know that Ra’Von and his fellow journalism friends will do the same.”


There was a knock at the door. “Gentlemen, your fathers are waiting for you all down at the lobby,” came the voice of Annette as the maid in question as well as another butler (a dark-skinned older man) came inside my bedroom. “And Master Arian? I believe that this is going to be the senior year of a lifetime for you. Just stick with your brothers and cousins as well as your friend Catriona, and you can’t go wrong. Trust in everyone who believes in you. Trust yourself.”


No better words were said as we grabbed our backpacks and laptop bags before heading out to meet our fathers who were chatting animatedly with Catriona, my best friend looking as if she was born for the hallways at any school. “Damn, Arie,” she trilled. “You look like you definitely belong with your family. St. Ignatius Academy won’t know what hit them when they see you.”


“I’ll bet,” I remarked, giving her a gamely smile. To my dad Jason, “Shall we go?”


“We shall, Arian. Your debut awaits,” my father said.


With that, we all trooped into the black limousine which was waiting for us outside. Let the day begin, I thought as I was greeted by the sounds of Manhattan beginning its usual day of morning chaos.

“Being Arian Halliday” is back with new chapters!” You’ll never forget the first time! Available EXCLUSIVELY on Wattpad! Don’t miss it!

“Being Arian Halliday” Sneak Preview

Arian’s POV


The following day arrived as I was soon facing the first day of school.


But this was no typical first day of school, folks. It was my and Catriona’s grand debut as the new kids attending St. Ignatius Academy. With full capital letters.


Needless to say, I was both excited and terrified all at once even as I was joined by my brothers Reagan and Ryan as well as my cousins with them making sure my uniform wasa up to par.


“Never you mind your fears, Arian,” Kyren said as he handed me my pair of black oxford shoes that were equipped with gel insoles for comfort. “You will do fantastic.”


“And when word gets around of you being the long-lost Halliday heir, people will draw to you like moths to a flame,” Tyler commented as his twin brother fixed my tie. “Not only that, you’re going to be part of the Masquerade Games with us. This is basically a year-round coming-out party for you that’s long overdue.”


I nodded as I was handed a cup of tea from Reagan. “I’m just worried that I might make a wrong impression by saying or doing something stupid,” I admitted. “That, and I did run into Derrick Giddens yesterday during the tour.”


The air turned chilly after that statement. “Derrick Giddens and his friends are known as the self-entitled assholes known to all,” Kendrick stated stiffly, eyes narrowed in silts. “To know him and his girlfriend Giada as well as their friends is to hate them with a passion. Little wonder why they’re never qualified to be part of the games no matter how much their parents throw money or curry favor with our dads and granddads. If you can help it, try not to start any drama and stay away from them at all costs. But if it can’t be helped, try to at least bite your tongue and appease them as much as possible.”


“Other than that, Arie, most of the students and teachers are pretty cool to know,” Terrance added as he handed me my uniform jacket. “And it’s mandatory to try and earn as much favor from them as possible. We’ll make sure which ones to bond more and which ones to be cordial but keep your distance from. And I know that Ra’Von and his fellow journalism friends will do the same.”


There was a knock at the door. “Gentlemen, your fathers are waiting for you all down at the lobby,” came the voice of Annette as the maid in question as well as another butler (a dark-skinned older man) came inside my bedroom. “And Master Arian? I believe that this is going to be the senior year of a lifetime for you. Just stick with your brothers and cousins as well as your friend Catriona, and you can’t go wrong. Trust in everyone who believes in you. Trust yourself.”


No better words were said as we grabbed our backpacks and laptop bags before heading out to meet our fathers who were chatting animatedly with Catriona, my best friend looking as if she was born for the hallways at any school. “Damn, Arie,” she trilled. “You look like you definitely belong with your family. St. Ignatius Academy won’t know what hit them when they see you.”


“I’ll bet,” I remarked, giving her a gamely smile. To my dad Jason, “Shall we go?”


“We shall, Arian. Your debut awaits,” my father said.


With that, we all trooped into the black limousine which was waiting for us outside. Let the day begin, I thought as I was greeted by the sounds of Manhattan beginning its usual day of morning chaos.

“Being Arian Halliday” is back with new chapters!” You’ll never forget the first time! Available EXCLUSIVELY on Wattpad! Don’t miss it!

“Being Arian Halliday” Sneak Preview

Arian’s POV


The following day arrived as I was soon facing the first day of school.


But this was no typical first day of school, folks. It was my and Catriona’s grand debut as the new kids attending St. Ignatius Academy. With full capital letters.


Needless to say, I was both excited and terrified all at once even as I was joined by my brothers Reagan and Ryan as well as my cousins with them making sure my uniform wasa up to par.


“Never you mind your fears, Arian,” Kyren said as he handed me my pair of black oxford shoes that were equipped with gel insoles for comfort. “You will do fantastic.”


“And when word gets around of you being the long-lost Halliday heir, people will draw to you like moths to a flame,” Tyler commented as his twin brother fixed my tie. “Not only that, you’re going to be part of the Masquerade Games with us. This is basically a year-round coming-out party for you that’s long overdue.”


I nodded as I was handed a cup of tea from Reagan. “I’m just worried that I might make a wrong impression by saying or doing something stupid,” I admitted. “That, and I did run into Derrick Giddens yesterday during the tour.”


The air turned chilly after that statement. “Derrick Giddens and his friends are known as the self-entitled assholes known to all,” Kendrick stated stiffly, eyes narrowed in silts. “To know him and his girlfriend Giada as well as their friends is to hate them with a passion. Little wonder why they’re never qualified to be part of the games no matter how much their parents throw money or curry favor with our dads and granddads. If you can help it, try not to start any drama and stay away from them at all costs. But if it can’t be helped, try to at least bite your tongue and appease them as much as possible.”


“Other than that, Arie, most of the students and teachers are pretty cool to know,” Terrance added as he handed me my uniform jacket. “And it’s mandatory to try and earn as much favor from them as possible. We’ll make sure which ones to bond more and which ones to be cordial but keep your distance from. And I know that Ra’Von and his fellow journalism friends will do the same.”


There was a knock at the door. “Gentlemen, your fathers are waiting for you all down at the lobby,” came the voice of Annette as the maid in question as well as another butler (a dark-skinned older man) came inside my bedroom. “And Master Arian? I believe that this is going to be the senior year of a lifetime for you. Just stick with your brothers and cousins as well as your friend Catriona, and you can’t go wrong. Trust in everyone who believes in you. Trust yourself.”


No better words were said as we grabbed our backpacks and laptop bags before heading out to meet our fathers who were chatting animatedly with Catriona, my best friend looking as if she was born for the hallways at any school. “Damn, Arie,” she trilled. “You look like you definitely belong with your family. St. Ignatius Academy won’t know what hit them when they see you.”


“I’ll bet,” I remarked, giving her a gamely smile. To my dad Jason, “Shall we go?”


“We shall, Arian. Your debut awaits,” my father said.


With that, we all trooped into the black limousine which was waiting for us outside. Let the day begin, I thought as I was greeted by the sounds of Manhattan beginning its usual day of morning chaos.

“Being Arian Halliday” is back with new chapters!” You’ll never forget the first time! Available EXCLUSIVELY on Wattpad! Don’t miss it!

New blog post! It's the one where I reply to The 5 Ws of Reading

#Blog #personalBlog #personalWebsite #personalWeb #smallWeb #indieWeb

“Nacirema Requiem” Sneak Preview

“Armando?”

Said young man snapped out of his reverie (or rather, his umpteenth argument with Amanda, the young woman he shared his body with) and stared into the concerned eyes of Melina. “Sorry, lost in thought after last night,” he said apologetically.

“Are you okay? You look a bit out of it. Come to think of it, you look like you’ve been at odds with yourself lately,” Melina replied.

That’s because I AM at odds, but with a hardy and extremist-minded young woman from another version of Earth, Armando thought inwardly.

“I’m still here, you know that?” Amanda’s voice shot back before the Hispanic young man shoved her back.

Armando inhaled sharply. “It’s the planning of everything and all,” he said to Melina. “That, and with this being our senior year…it feels like every day is like we’re facing a lot of pressure.”

“Has Corwyn been haunting your dreams again?”

That statement gave Armando pause while Amanda took a great deal of interest. “Okay, this Corwyn girl is DEFINITELY like me, but what did she did to you?”

Armando shook his head, pushing Amanda to the back once again. “Not lately, but who knows what she’s planning? It’s getting a bit too quiet, and it means that she’ll be ready to strike once again.”

Melina nodded, reaching towards him and patting his back twice as they exited her car. “If you wanna talk more about her or get something off your chest, I’m here for you…and Tybee,” she replied, a bit of Salgiel slipping in her voice.

Sure enough, the first night of the mandatory breeding period had come and gone. Most of the students were hanging out with either their friends, their opposite-sex pairs, or a bit of both. Others were milling around the parking lot and shooting the breeze. For Armando, however, his mind was not only filled with Amanda’s presence but also of his concern that he wasn’t going to last long with the deceased young woman still acting passively defiant about the new world she was to endure for the thirty-day trial period.

Armando knew that Amanda felt grossed out from last night, but he was loyal to the cause as a Nacireman citizen. And gentle reader, he knew that Amanda didn’t have enough time on her hands. The more she wanted to defy the odds, the more at risk she was for hell. And he wasn’t going to let her or Corwyn get the best of him.

“I wonder where Ryan and Ariah could be?” Melina asked as she looked around. “I know that the bus that you two would take hadn’t arrived yet.”

That’s what I’d like to know myself, Amanda responded snidely.

“I’m sure that Ryan’s dads want them to have a big breakfast together,” he answered.

The two didn’t have to wait longer for the two teens to arrive, Armando’s eyes going wide with amazement as he took in Ryan being dressed in a form fitting bright-blue shirt with a V-neck collar and beige jeans that highlighted the diver’s legs perfectly. A pair of blue-and-white Converse sneakers and leaf-shaped pendant necklace completed the look. But what caught Armando off-guard was how Ryan felt more and more relaxed and at ease with himself, Ariah (dressed in a simple pink sundress with white tennis shoes) walking with him hand-in-hand as if they were crowned royalty.

Most of the students and teachers thought that the two friends were glowing after last night’s sexual escapade.

Armando, however, knew the truth. And so did a now-livid Amanda who was ready to show herself through her male counterpart. “What is this?!”

“That, Amanda, is your Ryan and my Ryan now fused as one,” Armando said inwardly before pushing her to the background and approaching his godbrother. “Bro, I know that you’re not turning straight on me, right?”

Ryan smirked. “And forget about our times together, even when we’re supposed to be studying? Not on your life,” he said. “You know the motto, bro. Equality and tradition.”

“Until the day we die,” Ariah and Melina finished in unison.

“Come on, you guys,” Armando stated good-naturedly. “We don’t wanna be late for homeroom. Let’s go to class.”

Amanda, on the other hand, was itching to break free and read the now-consolidated Ryan for filth. That bastard owes me some answers, she said as she let her male counterpart take over the wheel. Who does he think he is? He can’t be going through with this, right? Right? 

You’ll never forget the first time! “Nacirema Requiem” is back with new updates, available EXCLUSIVELY on Wattpad! Don’t miss it! 

“The Passion of Sean Gillain” Full-Length Chapter Preview

Sure enough, I was sitting at a table with Caeleb and Tim at Macy’s Cyber-Cafe (one of the many on-campus coffeehouses that the students of RISD liked to frequent). After placing our orders, it was Caeleb himself who started things off. “Sean, Tim and I never really understood how rough you had it with being the middle child in a family of successful influencers,” he began. “But once we got dressed down by Alyssia and Liam who gave us the whole story, I personally wanted to know how you managed to stay strong with all of this going on.” 

I nodded, inhaling sharply. “Well, you can pretty much say that being under the harsh criticism of Horace and Reva Gillain as they both expected nothing but pure perfection I had plenty of time to tell myself not to care,” I remarked. “But I was under the care of my maternal grandparents and grew up on the farm back in Adams Falls, Georgia. Mom said that she never liked living in a town that never got down with the times and where there’s nothing else to do, so she saw it fitting to make sure that none of her children got to be in the same position.”

“But when it came to you,” Tim began. 

“It was easy for me to adapt to the rural life because my parents pushed me into my grandparents care,” I finished. And so began one hour of me letting out my life and times as the “Gillain family oddball,” not leaving anything out as I talked about how I saw passion as originally for the reckless and me putting away my innocence after the non-birthday dinner, vowing to help out my grandparents with the farm, the boycott after Ra’Keem and the others humiliating me at the celebratory dinner in his honor, and everything that led me to coming to Newport. “In a way, you two, I guess you can say that I’m still trying to figure out my place with the changes of life.”

Tim nodded. “Let me ask you this, Sean. Had it not been for your parents and older siblings wanting to control your plans for the Fashion Showcase, would you have entered?” he wanted to know. 

I closed my eyes briefly before facing the blonde. “Honestly, I wouldn’t have,” I stated. “Then again, I might have because Mom thought that I had talent with my designs when she submitted my sketches that I did back in middle school as part of my application portfolio. Who can say? I mean, I know that Jessica has her impossibly high standards and would’ve been ashamed of me if I had shown ‘anything shoddy and embarrassing to the family image,’ as she would like to say. Her twin brother Ra’Keem and our father- the biggest thorn in my side- would agree.”

“But you have talent as you said,” Caeleb pointed out. 

“Wouldn’t have made a difference. When it comes to the Gillain name, how one presents oneself is everything. And in my parents eyes as well as Ra’Keem and Jessica’s, I was basically the epitome of everything that they were against.”

“Damn,” Tim hissed, shaking his head. “That’s rough.”

I shrugged my shoulders as our fare arrived. “It is what it is. I’ve been the disappointment in my father’s eyes for as long as I can remember. So why should anything be different?”

Before anyone could reply, my phone rang with an unfamiliar number flashing on my screen. “Who’s calling you?” Tim asked. 

“Damned if I want to know, and double-damned if I don’t. All the better to just get this out of the way now,” I muttered as I pressed ANSWER. “Hello?”

A pause. Then, “Sean? It’s Monica, your younger twin sister,” the voice of the person in question replied. 

I inhaled sharply, pantomiming for Caeleb and Tim to be silent as I placed it on speaker. “Okay, Monica? What’s up?”

“Look, I got your new phone number from Uncle Jace because I really need to talk to you,” Monica stated. “And I just want you to listen, okay? Jamal and I have heard all about what’s been going on between you and the others- Mom, Dad, Jessica, and Ra’Keem. How you’re not entering the end-of-semester showcase because they want total control of your designs and all. And personally? I think you’re doing what’s right for you. You shouldn’t have to do anything that they want for their benefits or design something that’s based on their impossibly high standards.” 

I hummed. “What does Jamal think?” 

Monica snorted. “He’s fallen into the same trap that Ra’Keem and Dad’s been feeding him, that you’re not caring about the family name and that you’re too good for anyone who’s not like Grandma or Grandpa. Hell, Jamal’s becoming more and more of a prick by hanging out with the wrong crowd.”

“Damn, Monica. And what about you?”

I heard her sigh. “I’m just keeping out of this until the time is right to break out on my own. But Grandma and Grandpa told me that they’d take me in if things got too bad or I end up losing Mom and Dad’s favor,” she answered. “Probably for the best since Jessica’s been haranguing me about my weight and my looks. She’s putting me on these crash diets while Mom’s been all drill-sergeant on me about my grades. It’s a nightmare, Sean. And I thank God that you’ve been raised differently from everyone else. But I gotta warn you that Mom and Dad won’t let you slide on not entering the showcase. I don’t know what they’re planning, but it’s not going to be good. All I can tell you is that you at least have one more ally on your side.”

My heart ached for my younger sister. “Thanks, Monica, for letting me know,” I said, keeping my voice even. “Look, you play your role perfectly and plan for your own exodus from the Gillain circus. If possible, take up Grandma and Grandpa’s offer. And do me a favor?”

“Fire away.”

“Keep your eyes peeled for anything suspicious that our parents, Jamal, Ra’Keem, and even Jessica could be planning. One or all of them are on the same ‘Let’s-all-hate-Sean-for-being-different’ parade, and there’s no telling what can happen next. So play your part and do what’s been told. But if it becomes too much, call Grandma Evaline at once.” 

“I will, Sean. I love you. Don’t forget that.”

The line disconnected.

And as Caeleb and Tim came to my side while the tears that threatened to fall began cascading down my cheeks, I could only hope and pray that my sister would find the strength to become her own person. 

You’ll never forget the first time! “The Passion of Sean Gillain” is back with new chapters, available EXCLUSIVELY on Wattpad! Don’t miss it! 

Recap of #Blaugust2026

New post on #BurgeonLab

https://burgeonlab.com/blog/blaugust-2026-recap/

Really chuffed about my first go at this blogging event. The last day was exceptional with my second ever guest / collab post (this time with James).

Thanks for everyone who followed my Blaugust journey! I look forward to doing more next year.

This is post 91 of #100DaysToOffload
https://burgeonlab.com/tags/100daystooffload/

#blaugust #smallWeb #bloggingcommunity #personalblog

📝 New #Blog Post!
20260827 Purpose + intellectual life
The past month has been a blur. I had a bug for a few days, and then I had a few days off work that ended up being extremely busy…
The post 20260827 Purpose + intellectual life appeared first on The Wallflower Digest.

https://thewallflowerdigest.co.uk/life/blog/digest-blog/20260827-purpose-intellectual-life/

#Blogging #Blogger #BloggingCommunity #PersonalBlog #RSSFeed

New post on #BurgeonLab!

➡️ https://burgeonlab.com/blog/augustory/

It's my AuguStory entry for Robert Birming's blogging challenge! See his OG post: https://robertbirming.com/augustory-story-blog/ and consider joining in on the fun. 👍

This is post 13 of #blaugust2026 and
post 87 of #100DaysToOffload
📈 https://burgeonlab.com/tags/100daystooffload/

#blogs #bloggingcommunity #personalblog #personalwebsite #indieweb #blogging #blogger #blaugust #blogpost #augustory #smallweb #smolweb

The Weight of Snow and Regret & Bo Hopkins’ Blues

My Review The Weight of Snow and Regret by Elizabeth Gauffreau is a beautifully-written story that throws light on an important and largely unmet societal problem. One that has eluded us forever: how to house the houseless, including families with no place they can afford to live, people with mental health issues unable to care […]

The Weight of Snow and Regret & Bo Hopkins’ Blues

#BurgeonLab #WeekNotes 036 is out!

2026: Week 31/52 (Jul 27 – Aug 2)

➡️ https://burgeonlab.com/weeknotes/2026/w31/

This is post 77 of #100DaysToOffload
📈 https://burgeonlab.com/tags/100daystooffload/

And post 3 in #blaugust2026

#discourse #forums #32bitcafe #linuxcommunity #blogger #blogs #smallweb #weeknote #personalBlog #blogpost #weeklynotes #blaugust #PersonalSites #BloggingCommunity #indieweb #smolweb

📝 New #Blog Post!
Digest 202160728 – I ❤️ Binface
I just checked, and my last non-book blog post was 8th June! That was ages ago! It is 8pm, and I’ve not got my daily steps done because work was…
The post Digest 202160728 – I ❤️ Binface appeared first on The Wallflower Digest.

https://thewallflowerdigest.co.uk/life/blog/digest-blog/digest-202160728-i-%e2%9d%a4%ef%b8%8f-binface/

#Blogging #Blogger #BloggingCommunity #PersonalBlog #RSSFeed

#BurgeonLab #WeekNotes 035 is out!

2026: Week 30/52 (Jul 20 – Jul 26)

➡️ https://burgeonlab.com/weeknotes/2026/w30/

A pretty long one with a bit of everything. ;)

This is post 72 of #100DaysToOffload
📈 https://burgeonlab.com/tags/100daystooffload/

#driving #discourse #journaling #artisttradingcards #forgejo #hugo #blogging #blogs #smallweb #weeknote #personalBlog #blogpost #weeklynotes #PersonalSites #BloggingCommunity

I accidentally wrote the emotional finale to my little “stop optimizing the joy out of everything” trilogy.

It contains burnout, Stockholm, outsourced identity, grindset brainworms, a wood chipper with OKRs, a future electric farm truck and, naturally, a goat named Ralf.

Anyway, please enjoy my carefully formatted psychological damage:

https://augustini.wtf/fieldnotes/i-was-grinding-myself-down/

#Burnout #MentalHealth #Writing #Tech #SoftwareEngineering #Career #Queer #Trans #PersonalBlog #FieldNotes

I accidentally wrote the emotional finale to my little “stop optimizing the joy out of everything” trilogy.

It contains burnout, Stockholm, outsourced identity, grindset brainworms, a wood chipper with OKRs, a future electric farm truck and, naturally, a goat named Ralf.

Anyway, please enjoy my carefully formatted psychological damage:

https://augustini.wtf/fieldnotes/i-was-grinding-myself-down/

#Burnout #MentalHealth #Writing #Tech #SoftwareEngineering #Career #Queer #Trans #PersonalBlog #FieldNotes

I accidentally wrote the emotional finale to my little “stop optimizing the joy out of everything” trilogy.

It contains burnout, Stockholm, outsourced identity, grindset brainworms, a wood chipper with OKRs, a future electric farm truck and, naturally, a goat named Ralf.

Anyway, please enjoy my carefully formatted psychological damage:

https://augustini.wtf/fieldnotes/i-was-grinding-myself-down/

#Burnout #MentalHealth #Writing #Tech #SoftwareEngineering #Career #Queer #Trans #PersonalBlog #FieldNotes

I accidentally wrote the emotional finale to my little “stop optimizing the joy out of everything” trilogy.

It contains burnout, Stockholm, outsourced identity, grindset brainworms, a wood chipper with OKRs, a future electric farm truck and, naturally, a goat named Ralf.

Anyway, please enjoy my carefully formatted psychological damage:

https://augustini.wtf/fieldnotes/i-was-grinding-myself-down/

#Burnout #MentalHealth #Writing #Tech #SoftwareEngineering #Career #Queer #Trans #PersonalBlog #FieldNotes

I accidentally wrote the emotional finale to my little “stop optimizing the joy out of everything” trilogy.

It contains burnout, Stockholm, outsourced identity, grindset brainworms, a wood chipper with OKRs, a future electric farm truck and, naturally, a goat named Ralf.

Anyway, please enjoy my carefully formatted psychological damage:

https://augustini.wtf/fieldnotes/i-was-grinding-myself-down/

#Burnout #MentalHealth #Writing #Tech #SoftwareEngineering #Career #Queer #Trans #PersonalBlog #FieldNotes

#BurgeonLab #WeekNotes 034 is out!

2026: Week 29/52 (Jul 13 – Jul 19)

➡️ https://burgeonlab.com/weeknotes/2026/w29/

A weeknote about writing, books, #bookwyrm and #indiebookclub, a #micropub app by @gregorlove.com

This is post 69 of #100DaysToOffload
📈 https://burgeonlab.com/tags/100daystooffload/

#indieweb #indiekit #hugo #hongkong #hk #frontend #books #reading #booktracker #blogging #blogs #smallweb #weeknote #personalBlog #PersonalSites #BloggingCommunity #bookstodon

Where I’ve Been and Why This Blog Is Back

If you’ve been following this blog for a while, you’ve probably noticed something: it went quiet.

The last article was published on January 16, 2025. I didn’t plan on disappearing for over a year… but life had other ideas.

Ironically, I started this blog to entertain myself. It was supposed to be a place where I could write, share ideas, learn new things, and occasionally make people laugh.

Then work decided to become my main source of entertainment.

Between new projects, more responsibilities, frequent travel, and life generally refusing to slow down, the months passed much faster than I expected. Every week seemed to bring something new, and before I knew it, this blog had been sitting quietly on the sidelines.

But here’s the thing: I never forgot about it.

In fact, the longer I was away, the more ideas I kept collecting. I’d come across an interesting topic and think, “That would make a great article.” I’d read something fascinating and want to write about it. The list kept growing… the publishing didn’t.

Until now.

This blog is returning with a much clearer vision than when it first started.

The goal is simple: build a library of content that’s worth coming back to.

Whether you want to learn something new, improve your finances, laugh for a few minutes, read an original story, discover a poem, practice Spanish, or simply explore different perspectives on the world, I want there to be something here for you.

Over the coming months, you’ll see articles across every category, with new content published consistently. Some posts will make you think, some will teach you something practical, and hopefully, a few will make you laugh.

This isn’t just another post. It’s the start of a new chapter for the blog.

If you’re returning after all this time, thank you for sticking around.

And if you’re new here… Welcome. I hope you’ll enjoy what’s coming next.

“Edge of Seventeen” Sneak Preview (Grand-Finale Week)

“Skylar, did you have fun tonight with Jorge?” Dad asked me upon my entrance inside the house after two hours spent at the upscale diner and a matinee at the movies. And now, both my parents were waiting up for me in the living room with expecting looks on their faces.

“We did, but remembered that we had school tomorrow,” I replied as I took off my jacket. “Jorge gave me his undivided attention and I did the same for him.”

“And are you excited for this Wednesday when you’ll see him again?” Mom asked eagerly.

I inhaled sharply. “I am, but-“

“Ah-ah, no ‘buts.’ This is a week dedicated to you and you alone, Skylar, as your peers are hoping that you’ll make the right choice,” Dad cut me off. “Don’t you think that you deserve to have a bit of happiness of your own, especially with a boy like Jorge who grew up with you?”

“Enrique grew up with me back in the day as well,” I replied meekly.

Mom scoffed, rolling her eyes as she motioned to sit in between her and Dad on the sofa, the TV playing some reality show on mute. “Enrique Pinero’s your grandparents’ favorite, not ours,” she stated. “Yes, his family is well-to-do and they have their connections as well, but the boy is too enigmatic for my and your father’s tastes. That, and I heard that he’s too deep with that Simmons huzzy and her friends. No, Skylar. You and Jorge are meant to be together. Fate is binding you two, and everyone believes that you two need to make it official.”

But not everyone thinks the same way, I wanted to shoot back. “Well, Jorge did say that he wants to continue fighting for me as long as possible,” I replied before giving my parents a recap of what’s been said at the restaurant.

“Sounds like Jorge knows what he wants, and it’s not Simmons,” Dad intoned. “And he’s right with you needing to make the best choice for everyone, even when it means making everyone else unhappy. But your mother and I will not be so forgiving if you choose that Pinero boy or not choose at all. That year-long project is still in effect, and you can’t afford to fail senior year. Not when everything that you dreamed of is in close range for you to touch.”

“And think about the opportunities you’ll enjoy if you choose wisely- and I mean, if you choose Jorge,” Mom added. “You being given a place at the Fernandez table, being the favorite in all the students’ eyes and given many passes by the teachers, being voted ‘Cutest Couple’ in the school yearbook by your classmates. All of that and more can be yours, but not if you make the wrong choice.”

“And what about Greenlee?”

“Forget her for a moment, boy, and think about what you’ll leave behind if you don’t do what’s best for everyone,” Dad admonished me sternly. “As long as she doesn’t try anything reckless or put you in harm’s way, you won’t have to fear her. All you need to do is the right thing.”

All I could do is just nod. They just didn’t get it because they didn’t have it bad growing up like I did as a queer kid in a very conservative state in the Deep South. Or maybe they didn’t want to get it at all or just don’t care about the consequences…

You’ll never forget the first time! “Edge of Seventeen” is reaching the final several chapters all this week, available EXCLUSIVELY on Wattpad! Don’t miss it! 

“The Passion of Sean Gillain” Sneak Preview

“I think that you should consider joining the student showcase,” Trevor said as he, Liam, Alyssia, and I met up at the school’s student center with cups of coffee (iced tea for me under Jace’s instructions) on hand. “Who knows what talent you’ve got hiding under you? And believe me, bro, I’ve seen your designs. The cocktail dress inspired by the Cherokee rose is kind of my favorite.” 

“Yeah, but that’s where Jessica began her road to stardom with dressing celebrities for all the award ceremonies and whatnot,” I remarked. “And you know the standards will be high. What if she becomes one of the judges on the panel and she’ll make sure that I am barred from the fashion world for good? Or what if my designs fall flat?” 

“But what do you think will happen if your line becomes a success and you get some street cred?” Liam offered. 

I shook my head no. “That’ll never happen.”

“Sean, be serious about this,” Alyssia commented, pausing to sip on her cup of cappuccino. “You only get one shot of making it big while you’re presented with this opportunity. Do you know how many freshmen would kill to be presented with this moment?”

“Bully for them,” I stated firmly. “Then they can have my spot while I stick with being under the radar.”

“Worrying that your parents and older siblings will get under your skin?” Liam asked. 

Before I could reply, my cellphone ring with Ra’Keem’s number flashing on the screen. “Damn it,” I hissed. “I’ve been hoping to avoid this challenge from my therapist. Talking to Ra’Keem right now could spell disaster.” 

“But you know that Dad and Pops won’t relent until you do,” Trevor reminded me. “You gotta do what you gotta do.”

I knew he was right. “Fine, but I know that this is going to bite me on the ass,” I said as I pressed answer. “Hello?”

A pause. Then, “It’s about time you picked up the phone, Sean,” I heard my brother’s cocky voice over the line. “Dad’s been hoping that you’ve finally got the sense to talk to someone other than your uncles and your cousins.” 

“Well, I’m here now. So, to what do I owe this phone call?”

“Straight to the point, aren’t we? Fine, bro. I’ll play along. Look, I’ll be heading up to New York/New Jersey as the Falcons are playing the Jets, and Dad’s been on his spiel to make sure that everyone’s going to be there. It’ll be good for you to come along, but you gotta look like somebody. So Jessica’s coming over to Newport and make sure that you’re ready for your premiere.” 

I knew that this was going to happen. “I actually have other plans,” I began. 

“And they can wait until after your brother’s game,” came the sharp and condescending voice of my father as he got on the line. “This is going to be  good for you to start bonding with all of us, especially Ra’Keem since he still thinks that you’d be better off with him in Atlanta. Or maybe give some thought to move in with Jessica in Savannah or bond with me and your mother as well as Jamal and Monica in Macon.”

I shook my head. “Well, you did say that the move to Rhode Island will be good for me,” I commented. “That, and I’m not keen on being with people who see me as an expendable accessory to your golden children’s campaigns.”

There was a chilling pause. Then, “You really don’t want to disappoint this family more than you already are, do you?”

That was it, folks. Time to end this now. “I’ve been disappointing you and everyone else since I was born and living with your in-laws,” I replied coldly. “So why should things be different now? As for the plans regarding the game, I regret to inform you that I will not be attending.”

“Sean, you are really acting too cool for us,” Ra’Keem’s voice said harshly. “Maybe it’s best that you don’t be with us for my game. You bring us down with your holier-than-thou attitude and all that shit.” 

“Well, big brother, that makes it easier for me to say no and end this call right now.” And before I lost my nerve or let him or Dad say anything else, I ended the call…

You’ll never forget the first time! “The Passion of Sean Gillain,” available EXCLUSIVELY on Wattpad! Don’t miss it!