#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

“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! 

“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! 

“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! 

“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! 

“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!