#personalblog — Public Fediverse posts

It insists upon itself.

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

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“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/

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

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“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

Weekly Wrap-Up Check-In

Hey, y’all. JDE here. And as you can tell, it’s almost the end of the first half of 2026 and yours truly is feeling all types of emotions and yet needs to pull it together.

As I write this post, I’m wondering what my next move will be like for the rest of this year regarding not just my writing career but also my personal life. And yours truly is thinking about making some move that may or may not jeopardize my already-strained relationship with my family members. I won’t get into all the details, but you can say that I’ve been told what to do and how to do it and yet want to be taken seriously and have independence for life. Because I know that nothing can last forever and I need to start preparing for life outside my family when they pass on.

As for my current job, I’ve been learning a lot about work as a front-service clerk (janitor, cart-service manager, and bagger) at the grocery store and yet I still need to know more about financial stability and all that. Seems like I have to know more about my futures and understanding how it’s serving customers despite how I’m feeling. I’m improving, trust me, but I’m understanding that I can do more.

And when it comes to my writing career, I understand that I need to continue to find the balance between my work life and my creative-writing life- let myself make time for writing, blogging, and creating. Now, I am going to make this clear: I’m going to invest more time in writing poetry again since I’ve been looking at my old portfolio that’s full of written poetry coming from 2017 and 2018. And I intend to transcribe them as well as a short-story piece that I’ve also written back in 2018. I don’t know when I’ll publish them, but when I do I’ll be sure to make the announcement when the time comes. This is going to be when I share all my aspects of my life in my rhapsodic spoken words.

As for my stories on Wattpad, I’ll be working on my ongoing pieces- three of them being close to finished before the end of July while the rest of them being finished by the end of the year. And I intend to publish one of them by next year. All I ask is that you bear with me as I get through with them all while sharing sneak previews and what to expect. And remember, folks, that I’ll be starting a spinoff blog known as “Unscripted Jarrick Exum” and the launch date for that website is set for my 35th birthday (August 29th).

This new blog will detail everything regarding my ongoing journey as an indie/self-published author, my life with Asperger’s Disorder (autism), and my take of the world’s version of events. And I will give you fair warning: I won’t be holding back. So get ready for the official launch, you guys, because I intend to be unfiltered and unapologetically authentic about myself and how I see the world.

With that said, you guys, I thank you all for listening to my words and giving me this space for venting my emotions. I still feel a bit mentally and emotionally exhausted, but I am feeling better about talking about what I want for my next move in life and what I’m envisioning for my future. As for any future sneak previews from my ongoing stories on Wattpad, I will share something next week. I will see you guys later.

#BurgeonLab #WeekNotes 030 is out!

2026: Week 23/52 (Jun 1 – Jun 7)

➡️ https://burgeonlab.com/weeknotes/2026/w23/

Another short one this week.

This is post 53 of #100DaysToOffload
📈 https://burgeonlab.com/tags/100daystooffload/

#blogging #blogs #smallweb #indieweb #weeknote #personalBlog #weeklynote #linkdump #blog #hugo #hkosCon2026

“The Guardian of Couture” Teaser Promo, Part One

Couture Magazine isn’t just a fashion bible — it’s a battleground. Behind the glossy covers and celebrity spreads lies a world where interns are tested beyond coffee runs and copy machines. From clogged toilets to 24/7 on-call chaos, survival means shedding illusions and stepping into the fire.

But the real test? The Primal Premiere. That’s when the staff — those impossibly beautiful, retro-glasses-wearing editors — reveal their true selves. And if you’re not ready for what’s underneath, you’re not ready for Couture.

I should know. I lived it.

My name is Alcide Lancaster. I survived the summer internship that changed everything — spandex, secrets, Fashion Week madness, and the September Issue. I uncovered a legacy my grandparents once protected, one my family rejected. But I embraced it, with allies, love, and legends by my side.

This is my story.

You’ll never forget the first time.
Exclusively on Wattpad, hitting the runway May 2026. Don’t miss it!

Home Girl went to see some outside light

https://dearecholovelumpia.wordpress.com/2026/03/03/home-girl-went-to-see-some-outside-light/

Why More Scientists Should Have a Personal Blog A reflection on why scientists should write publicly, in their own voices, to build trust, counter misinformation, and make science feel more human. rohitfarmer.com/posts/2026/w... #writing #blogging #sciencewriting #personalBlog

Why More Scientists Should Hav...

Why More Scientists Should Have a Personal Blog

A reflection on why scientists should write publicly, in their own voices, to build trust, counter misinformation, and make science feel more human.

https://rohitfarmer.com/posts/2026/why-more-scientists-should-have-a-personal-blog/

#writing #blogging #sciencewriting #personalBlog

And that's a wrap for Blaugust.

https://axxuy.xyz/blog/posts/2025/thirty-one/

#Blog #Blogging #Blogpost #IndieWeb #PersonalWebsite #PersonalBlog #Blaugust #Blaugust2025