#wattpad — Public Fediverse posts

“I, Ian” Full-Length Chapter Preview

Knock-knock. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joseph closed the door. 

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

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

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

“Point made.”

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

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

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

“What about now?” 

“What do you mean?” 

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

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

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

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

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

I just realized that a lot of people don't know that I offer cheaper prices for eBook covers when they are for Vella, or Wattpad - if you need a cover like that, go check my gallery and prices, and reserve yourself a spot for 2027. <3 (Deposits are 20% of the price, no hidden fees)

AND - if you can bring me a topic I have never painted before, you can get 10% off of your purchase! :D

https://mxmilo.wixsite.com/hiisikoloart

#books #Bookstodon #book #bookcover #art #artcommissions #Wattpad #Vella #smallcover

I just realized that a lot of people don't know that I offer cheaper prices for eBook covers when they are for Vella, or Wattpad - if you need a cover like that, go check my gallery and prices, and reserve yourself a spot for 2027. <3 (Deposits are 20% of the price, no hidden fees)

AND - if you can bring me a topic I have never painted before, you can get 10% off of your purchase! :D

https://mxmilo.wixsite.com/hiisikoloart

#books #Bookstodon #book #bookcover #art #artcommissions #Wattpad #Vella #smallcover

I just realized that a lot of people don't know that I offer cheaper prices for eBook covers when they are for Vella, or Wattpad - if you need a cover like that, go check my gallery and prices, and reserve yourself a spot for 2027. <3 (Deposits are 20% of the price, no hidden fees)

AND - if you can bring me a topic I have never painted before, you can get 10% off of your purchase! :D

https://mxmilo.wixsite.com/hiisikoloart

#books #Bookstodon #book #bookcover #art #artcommissions #Wattpad #Vella #smallcover

I just realized that a lot of people don't know that I offer cheaper prices for eBook covers when they are for Vella, or Wattpad - if you need a cover like that, go check my gallery and prices, and reserve yourself a spot for 2027. <3 (Deposits are 20% of the price, no hidden fees)

AND - if you can bring me a topic I have never painted before, you can get 10% off of your purchase! :D

https://mxmilo.wixsite.com/hiisikoloart

#books #Bookstodon #book #bookcover #art #artcommissions #Wattpad #Vella #smallcover

“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!

#amquerying #writerslife #writing #ian1 #WattpadWriter #Wattpad inventingrealityediting.com/2...

Strive for Originality when Wr...

“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!

Wattpad returns to Manila International Book Fair for 20th anniversary

https://fed.brid.gy/r/https://interaksyon.philstar.com/hobbies-interests/2026/09/09/318922/wattpad-returns-to-manila-international-book-fair-for-20th-anniversary/

Wattpad returns to Manila International Book Fair for 20th anniversary

https://fed.brid.gy/r/https://interaksyon.philstar.com/hobbies-interests/2026/09/09/318922/wattpad-returns-to-manila-international-book-fair-for-20th-anniversary/

AU TEMPS DU N'iMPORTE QUOi
Le feuilleton passionnant drôle et intrigant qu'il faut lire pour le plaisir !

https://www.wattpad.com/story/402444014-au-temps-du-n%27importe-quoi

#Feuilleton #Wattpad #lire
#AuTempsDuNimporteQuoi
#Lecture #Ecriture #texte
#Jack #JayLight #John
#Nostya #Television
#Emissions #Talk
#variétés #Killer
#Fantome #kill
#Peuple #yes
#Jeux #fun
#Norman
#Drole
#TV
📺

‘Riverdale’ Star Madelaine Petsch, ‘Summer I Turned Pretty’s’ Gavin Casalegno to Lead Wattpad Adaptation ‘Chasing Red’
#Variety #Global #News #GavinCasalegno #MadelainePetsch #Wattpad #WattpadWebtoonStudios

https://variety.com/2025/film/global/madelaine-petsch-gavin-casalegno-chasing-red-movie-1236591536/

" Amanda, secreto entre amigos"
Cuarto capitulo ya disponible, vayan a checarlo se esta poniendo muy bueno 😋

#historia #wattpad #girosinesperados #amigos #secretos #lgbt #trans

https://www.wattpad.com/story/387800333?utm_source=android&utm_medium=link&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details_button&wp_uname=LukaPiers