#cie snippets

[emersonfreepress]

Team Murder does Adoption Day

What: Team Murder at a pet adoption event When: 12th grade Words: 2.9k

commissioned by and written for @liquorcanthropy

“Please just — Just repeat it back to me.”

Kile sucks his teeth and you roll your eyes.

“Dude, come on,” Kile groans.

“Gabe,” you snap. “We draw twice as much attention the longer you make us stand around like this.”

“What she said.”

“Just–” Gabe sighs, hard. “Fine. Manny, I saw someone with shirts that way. Kile, don’t disappear. We’ll need you in case she–”

Kile’s already off, long strides taking him in the direction of the dog tents. Gabe exhales tightly before facing you, a mild frown on his face. You don’t bother holding back a snicker.

“We both knew that would happen.” 

Kile ditching you for the dogs was inevitable and you guys shouldn’t even need him if things go perfectly. Maybe that’s why Gabe doesn’t look as mad as he could. It should help that your mission today is in Emerson's town square on a bright, sunny afternoon instead of someone’s creepy basement or public property in the dead of night. Gabe surveys the square, posture still but his eyes darting with observation. 

Then he catches you watching him.

“What?”

“Nothing.” You raise your hands up. “Just wondering what bug crawled up your butt this fine morning.” Gabe’s arms cross and his eyes narrow but you answer his scowl with a smile.

“We’re not here for fun,” Gabe reminds you, finally getting a move on. You walk beside him.

“Well sure, but that’s not really the purpose of this sort of thing anyway.” 

“You say that but ninety percent of these people are here to gawk at animals, not adopt.”

“I’m sure it’s less than ninety.”

“And I’m sure it isn’t unless they’re hiding the purebreds somewhere. It doesn’t matter.” He’s probably right about this cadre of pups not being a ‘dignified’ enough bunch for the locals to go crazy over. But surely this many people wouldn’t come down if none of them intended to adopt, right? “Why are you following me anyway?” Gabe stops abruptly, eyeing you with suspicion. “You’re supposed to be–”

“I know, I know. Finding a shirt. I have my methods, don’t worry.”

“Fine. I'm just…” He sighs, then runs a hand through his hair. “On edge."

“You don’t say,” you snicker, amused that he said it like it isn't obvious. Before he gets upset at that, you add, “Don’t sweat it, Gabe — you do your thing and I’ll go bamboozle a shirt out of these suckers. It’ll be perfect, you’ll love it.”

“You sound completely unreliable right now,” Gabe grumbles, mostly to himself, before his attention is diverted. “There.” It takes you a moment to catch on to what he means, but you see him watching a girl around your age headed to one of the tents. 

“That her?" Gabe said he knew a girl who helped organize this event.

It must be from the way Gabe relaxes his shoulders. He confirms your question with a nod, then hooks a thumb in his pocket while the other rakes through his hair again. “Alright, see ya.”

And just like that, Gabe is off to talk to his target. It baffles you a little, how focused on work he is even on a sunny day surrounded by precious, furry distractions on all sides. You figured he'd at least be a cat person or something… Oh, well. Gabe's working that volunteer and Kile is on stand-by. 

Time to play your part.

Mere minutes later, the white t-shirt in your hands feels like premium-grade cotton and reads SAVE A LIFE, CHANGE A LIFE in cheerful, blue lettering. You nabbed it during a rather rewarding session of playing with the cats up for adoption; their tent's proximity to the volunteers' break station made that child’s play. You aren’t sure yet how you feel about your rapidly improving theft skills. Your sigh is something akin to exasperation as you pull the simple disguise over your head in the relative privacy of the space between a tent and a portapotty, but there is no denying how comfortable it is. Damn. Maybe you’ll keep it.

You step back out into the main plaza and survey the area. Gabe is still chatting up the organizer near the steps, leaning against the concrete railing in that classic wow-that’s-interesting pose of his. The organizer, for her part, has a pleasant smile on and looks relaxed. Your eyes scan for your next stop: the sign-out booth. Sure enough, the person sitting there looks antsy, annoyed, and impatient — and is staring daggers at the organizer chatting with Gabe.

The perfect time for you to step in, then.

“Hi!” Your cheeriness causes the guy at the sign-in to jump in his seat, but he recovers quickly enough and plasters on a smile for you.

“Hi there! I’m — oh. You’re a volunteer?”

“Yep!” 

The real volunteer eyes you with skepticism, clearly aware that you weren’t around for any of the preparation. You raise a hand and wave the suspicion away with a bashful grin. 

“Overslept, missed the whole set up. Michael’s so mad.”

The volunteer’s demeanor calms down at the mention of some name you’d randomly heard a couple of volunteers bad-mouthing while you waited for your moment to nab a shirt. 

"Oh." He winces, sympathetic. “So rough morning, then.”

"The roughest." You sigh dramatically, shoulders slumping for a moment before perking up again. "But don’t sweat it — that’s just what I get for trusting the snooze button.”

Polite laughter follows. How quaint! Time to strike.

“Anyway, sure looks like she’s preoccupied…” You make a show out of raising your brows in vague judgment, then pointedly looking in the direction of Gabe and his mark. The volunteer (Adam, according to the sticker on his t-shirt) lets out a groan of frustration.

“Seriously. Kara's over there flirting while I'm just meant to wait for her to be ready to work, I guess.”

Ah, righteous indignation. Perfect. You huff out a sigh of sympathy as the two of you continue observing for a moment. Then you turn to Adam, feigning serious thought.

“How long have you been on sign-out duty?”

“Since opening…”

“Yikes. Well… I could take over? Until Kara remembers to take over, anyway.” 

Adam looks skeptical again. “I don't know… Don’t you have…” He’s right on the verge of realizing he doesn’t know what you’re meant to be doing here, so you nip that thought process right in the bud with another dismissive wave.

“Please. When the alternative is you missing lunch so Kara can get some action? Over my dead body." You gently gesture for him to get up.

“Are you sure?” Adam looks around anxiously, possibly for another organizer to deem this okay. “I don’t want–”

“Yes, I’m sure,” you say, continuously shooing him with your hands until he finally rises from his seat. Victory. “Kara will come to her senses and take over soon enough, so don’t worry.”

Adam does get up, but eyes you questioningly. Maybe wondering what you are supposed to be doing, but luckily he doesn’t resist any further.

“Fine, but… this wasn’t my idea.”

“Absolutely not!” you chirp, butt firmly settled in the seat of an actual volunteer. You officially look like the real deal. And it wasn’t even hard! You shrug and add, “Besides, if Kara wasn’t so distracted…”

Adam sighs and that seems to be the last push he needed. “True. Alright, I’ll see you around. Thanks…” His eyes search for a name tag and come up short.

“Jennifer!” You pat at a non-existent sticker, then feign surprise. “Oh — I think my sticker fell off…”

Adam grins, amused. “I’ll make sure to find you a new one.”

Ugh. Don’t do that. 

“Thanks, Adam!” You hope he’s just being polite about that offer as he walks away.

…Alright, then. You’re exactly where you need to be. Now you get to… sit and wait.

Or that’s what you think until a tired woman and two bouncing, smiling children stop in front of your booth with their new forever friend in tow. You look down at the forms and other supplies at your desk and then up at the woman's impatient face.

Oh, crap. This is actual work…

This is bullshit. Gabe gets to flirt, Kile gets to play with dogs (you’re sure, even if you haven’t visually confirmed it yet), and you get to collect names and signatures — for FREE. Utter bullshit.

Why do you always get stuck with the most boring job?

Just when your mood is threatening to sour for real, you notice that Gabe now faces you for the first time since you've split up. Is he trying to get your attention? You can’t tell what it is he wants to convey but… you get the feeling you should be on alert. Why?

Your question is answered by the next guest that approaches your table — the guest of honor, of sorts. 

“Hello… there,” greets an unassuming woman in a pair of jeans and sweater that blends into event's the casual atmosphere. What stands out about her is the rigid, dignified way she carries herself. You spot a relaxed Pomeranian-mix by her side on a lead. “Eileen Weber.”

Oh. Oh! This is her! The whole reason you're sat here collecting signatures in the first place. You quickly put on your best smile — you’ll need it for how much you’re about to inconvenience her.

In the end, you somehow managed to wrangle three signatures out of the Weber woman. One on the ‘wrong’ sign-out sheet, a second on the actual sign-out sheet, and another on a spare slip of paper when the pen ran out of ink between fiascos. That one especially felt like a stroke of good luck.

You’ve already taken off your volunteer disguise but can’t help but feel a little bad at the line beginning to form at your abandoned station. Hopefully you’ll be out of here before Adam returns from his break. For now, you’ve decided to hide out in the dog tent — where you easily, immediately, spot Kile.

Well, first you spot the exasperated volunteers working the station. Then you spot Kile, blatantly sat on the ground, pampering no less than four giant canines. A volunteer eyes you, tired. 

“Is that your friend?”

"Yeah..." You shrug, a helpless grin making your answer obvious.

He sighs. “Could you get him out of there, please? This isn’t a petting zoo and he’s been hanging out for an hour.”

Part of you feels oddly defensive, to the point where you have to stop yourself from asking why no one working here can just tell him themselves. It's a silly question; you know from experience that most people avoid telling Kile what to do. You assure the guy that you’re on your way to do just that before entering the dog pen yourself.

A bunch of good boys and girls greet you, causing Kile to notice your arrival. You coo at the puppies for a bit as you make your way over, then give the sociable dogs proper greetings. You really wish you could stay, but it's only a matter of time before Adam spots you or Kara finally gets back to work. Then you’re over by Kile — two of the dogs by his side acknowledge you while the other two seem too absorbed in the pets they’re receiving to notice you yet. Big hands have perks, if these dogs' lazy smiles are any indication.

You wave the papers you've acquired at Kile.

“Got it?”

“Yep. It was easy.”

“You need me to copy it now?”

“Nope! I’m as competent as ever.” 

Kile smirks, looking about to say something before his attention is drawn back to the dogs at his lap.

“You've really been here the whole time?”

Kile shrugs and hums a non-answer, intently focused on the old mutt getting a scalp massage. It pants happily, tongue lolling. “Spent a minute with the puppies, but yeah.” Ignoring the glare from the volunteer who wants Kile gone, you sit on the ground beside him and join in with the rubs, quickly gaining all of the dogs’ attention.

“Puppies too much energy for ya?”

Kile smirks again, his laughs little more than a huff as he shakes his head.

“They’re just gonna get adopted. These guys probably won’t.”

Confused, you're about to ask why — but all at once, it's obvious. These dogs that Kile has ingratiated himself to are... well, old. Greying fur, slow on their feet, heavy on their flanks when they sit down. You spot a the profile for one of them and your thoughts are confirmed. 

“You sought out the old, sick ones?”

The look Kile sends you seems borderline offended, though you doubt he's feeling that strongly. 

“I didn’t seek 'em out. This just happened.”

“Sure, it did...” As unconvincing as that sounds, you leave it alone. You almost end up glaring back at the guy who wants to kick Kile out — if no one else is giving the old dogs love, what does it matter if he does?

Alright, maybe you do throw that volunteer a glare.

"Well… we got what we came for, so as much as I'd love to keep petting dogs with you..."

"I know. Just one more minute."

Can you spare a minute? Maybe? You've got a bad feeling that you're liable to get caught out if you hang around much longer. As if on cue, your third partner arrives. Kile grunts unhappily as soon as Gabe is in sight, causing you to snicker.

"Hey." Gabe greets you from outside of the tent, standing close to the barrier. His eyes fall to the papers in your hand. "Did you..."

"You know," you interrupt. "'Hey' is way too casual to sound natural coming from you." Kile huffs another laugh and Gabe gives you a dirty look; exactly the reactions you wanted. Gabe ignores the comment and continues, leaning over the short wall.

"Did you get everything?"

"Yes, Dad," you whine. He rolls his eyes at the sarcasm.

"Everything? We don't need to make a copy and—"

"No," Kile grumbles. Uh-oh, he's annoyed. Even the dogs notice and — are you imagining them crowding around him in support? What?

Luckily, your competence seems to have left Gabe mostly speechless.

"Oh. Huh." He stares at the paper again, then at you. "Nice work." You only get about two seconds to bask in the moment before Gabe is right back to killing vibes. "Let's go, then."

Kile sighs loud and hard in response... but doesn't budge. You can see that one volunteer getting antsy. Gabe slumps over the fence at his reaction.

"Kile, come on…"

"I heard you the first fuckin' time."

"Hey..." you chide, bumping lightly against Kile's arm. You'll never get out of here without extra attention if they start fighting. Kile rolls his eyes at you and pulls away.

"I'm coming."

Gabe sighs, on the verge of complaining, before he just says, "Okay." Then he shoots you a pleading look. This is becoming more of a thing lately: Gabe turning to you to get Kile to do… well, not the impossible. But it's pretty undeniable at this point that sometimes Kile won't do things just because Gabe's annoyed him. 

So fine. You can't help but chuckle to yourself at how hopeless the two of them can be, though. You finish petting the old dog that had just settled its head in your lap, then get to your feet. Kile barely reacts, but you don't miss him shifting again. Just barely getting more comfortable. 

Worse than a stubborn old dog.

"Come on. Time to say bye to your new friends." When he ignores you, pretending that it takes all of one's attention to scratch floppy ears, you look around for some sort of motivation.

A-ha.

"Look. You're scaring off the kids." That does get Kile's attention, in the form of an irritated stare. Why the hell would I care about that, is what you're reading in it. So you point at, indeed, the one little kid in the dog tent whose eyes are glued to one of the old friends at your feet. Their gaze only breaks to nervously dart over you and Kile as they clutch their mom's skirt. Kile sees where you're pointing.

…And finally stands up.

"Gracias, Señor," Gabe sighs out, relieved.

"Thank you, Kile," you sing.

"Whatever, Manny. Let's go." Before either of you can stop him, he's pushed a barrier aside to leave right then and there, either to avoid the volunteers on the way out or just to make the quickest exit. You slip through the space provided and Kile follows — but stops abruptly.

"What are you—" You turn back, but your heart sinks and your eyes go wide at the sight before you.

All four senior dogs, on their feet, tails swaying and ready to follow you both home.

"Oh, no," you whimper.

"Stay."

A couple of the dogs heed Kile's command and sit, while the other two remain clueless. You might imagine it, but the sigh Kile makes as he closes the barrier back up sounds forlorn.

Gabe sighs and mutters something to himself. You shoot him a dirty look.

"I know you're lacking in a heart, but can the grumbling wait?"

"I have a heart. I also have a cat allergy, so give me a break." He runs a hand through his hair. "I swear you're just as bad as each other."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," you reply, half-paying attention. You're a little more interested in the prolonged farewell Kile appears to be having with the senior dogs. What could he possibly be saying to them? You miss Gabe scoffing.

"I never said it was a bad thing."

[netherworldwritersguild]

(via RAINBOW SNIPPETS - Change of Plans - April 3-4, 2021)

Oh my word--I remember the one time I woke up to a relative stranger in my bed. It wasn't nearly this romantic. It was my one semester of college. I was 18 and a hot mess, but I didn't usually bring strange guys back to my dorm room. Fortunately, we were both fully clothed. The only thing I knew was that his name was Ted and I met him in a line waiting for concert tickets, which tells you how long ago this was. My response was "you've gotta go!" I hustled him out the back stairs, hoping that no-one saw us.

[kaseylynnwriting]

A Little Snippet <3

Cie brushed her fingers through her best friends silken, ebony hair, absolutely relishing at the feeling of the strands between her fingers. When Briele slept, Cie always thought that she looked the sweetest. Safe and happy in whatever dream world her kind had taken root in. Atea had been a fitful sleeper, even at the end of her life, even on those few days before they left the orphanage for good. Cie remembered waking up to frantic cries. Only her dreams did Atea allow herself to cry. Never in real life and never in the presence of others. Cie could count only twice in the ten and some odd years that they knew one another, that she saw Atea cry. The first was when her knee shattered from a fam into a ravine, and even those were stifled tears, bit back and harnessed with the power of anger.

The second time they’d been 9, 8, and 7 and Atea snapped her arm in two when an older boy pushed her to the ground. She barely whimpered than, but it was the closest thing to tears that Cie remembered.

At least once a month, she and Briele would climb into their best friend’s little cot and wrap their arms around one another. Atea always woke up with a grown, thinking that the other two were the ones who needed comforting in the middle of the night, rather than the other way around. Cie wondered how long it would be before she succumbed to nightmares. In daytime, in the light of the sun, she could separate herself from the situation, think of Atea as if she weren’t the person who sniffed her life out. At night, such an action became harder. Exhaustion tended to let he mind wander, and she always found herself lipping back into that same blood- torn place. The look on Ateas face had been the worst of it all.

She wanted to apologize, to find a way, to know, for certain, that Atea knew that she hadn’t meant it, meant to snuff out her life.

Briele twitched next to her, her rosebud mouth parted ever so slightly as a low groan fell from her lips.

“Shhh,” Cie hummed, brushing back the other girls hair and daring herself to lean down and brush a kiss to her cheek. Briele seemed to smile at that. “‘S”okay, bri,” she promised, leaning back after a moment.

She gathered Briele up in her arms, tucked away in blankets like some mimicry of a child in their mother’s arms. Bri hummed just loudly enough for Cie to hear the noise and nuzzled up against her chest, her small hand grasping at Cie’s shirt in some strange kind of desperate motion, as though she were afraid that the other girl was about to disappear along with Atea. Cie and Bri had only one another for the last ten years, and now that the third member of their triad was gone, neither of them felt quite sure what to do with themselves. It was odd... Cie rather felt like she were a planet who had fallen out of orbit, circulating a fallen

star that had burnt out in some grand display. Most suns weren’t destroyed by their own solar system though.... perhaps she was more like a moth who had been left without a flame to flutter around.

[micaramel]

Artist: Gina Folly

Venue: Ermes-Ermes, Vienna

Exhibition Title: I want you to live in my city

Date: March 3 – May 3, 2017

Click here to view slideshow

Full gallery of video, images, press release and link available after the jump.

Videos:

Gina Folly, Basic Needs I, cardboard box, door lock, air filter, mini projector, video 2:07 min, looped

  Gina Folly, Basic Needs II, cardboard box, door lock, air filter, mini projector, video 2:40 min, looped

  Gina Folly, Basic Needs III, cardboard box, door lock, air filter, mini projector, video 2:39 min, looped

  Gina Folly, Basic Needs IV, cardboard box, door lock, air filter, mini projector, video 0:41 min, looped

  Gina Folly, Basic Needs V, cardboard box, door lock, air filter, mini projector, video 2:45 min, looped Images:

Images and video courtesy of Ermes-Ermes, Vienna

Press Release:

This is an exhibition of new works by Swiss artist Gina Folly, marking her second solo show at the gallery, in the new space of Ermes-Ermes in Vienna. Folly’s practice has focused on a multitude of cultural and social phenomena. Society, plants, animals, as well as everyday objects and situations play a vital role in her work.

I want you to live in my city presents a new body of work consisting of five video projections in cardboard boxes, and a series of keychain objects. The cardboard boxes act as placeholders for an environment: a stand-in for the idea of a room, with four walls and a ceiling, a door with a lock for privacy, vents and filters for fresh air intake. Each keychain object holds a key to a corresponding lock on the cardboard boxes, for allowing or withholding access. These elements play with the idea of privacy, as in whom you want or not to share your space with, much as the filters hint at basic survivability (you cannot exist in a space without air). Moreover, the boxes act as on-the-go living spaces, instantly foldable and ready to move on to the next location, small portable autonomous vessels for living. Inside the boxes, small snippets of captured beauty are projected and looped; sunlight bounces off a closing window, tiny fish perform grooming tasks, a Buddha statue mystifyingly looks on to passersby, and so on. Folly transfers these ecstatic daily glimpses from the corner of the eye to the mini projectors, creating ephemeral mnemonic capsules which keep shimmering in the makeshift domestic spaces.

Gina Folly (b. 1983) lives and works in Basel. Upcoming: solo show, Ginevra Gambino, Koln, April 2017. Selected solo exhibitions: in 2016 Domestic Problems, Almanac, London, UK; Gina Folly et Elle&Antélio en conversation, Tunnel Tunnel, Lausanne, CH; Soon is now, SPREEZ, Munich, CH; in 2015 New Conditions, Ermes-Ermes, Rome, IT; Me You 2, with Lene Adler Petersen, Space Is The Place, Basel, CH; Ströme, with Mandla Reuter, S.A.L.T.S., Birsfelden, CH. Selected group shows: in 2016 Adrift on Plastic Island, Galerie Bernhard, Zurich, CH; Body pt. 1 (zombie), Ginevra Gambino, Cologne, D; L’etat parfait, Freymond-Guth Fine Arts, Basel, CH; A MYSTICAL STAIRCASE, curated by Francesco Urbano Ragazzi for 63rd77thspeps.com; Some of My Best Friends Are Germs, Le Doc, Paris, FR; The Free Design, Art Bärtschi & Cie, Geneve, CH. Since 2013 running the artist space ‘Taylor Macklin’ in Zurich together with Selina Grüter and Michèle Graf.

Link: Gina Folly at Ermes-Ermes

Contemporary Art Daily is produced by Contemporary Art Group, a not-for-profit organization. We rely on our audience to help fund the publication of exhibitions that show up in this RSS feed. Please consider supporting us by making a donation today.

from Contemporary Art Daily http://bit.ly/2qEttkT

[emersonfreepress]

Breakfast with Jack & Vincent

What: Anything about Jack and Vi!

When: Summer before 12th grade

Word count: 858

commissioned by @cekorax

“You’re really not talking to me?”

Vincent doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to since he opts to walk around the kitchen island, taking the longer, less convenient route back to the stove and successfully avoiding even the briefest eye contact.

“I’m...” Jack stops himself with a light huff, then spoons cereal into his mouth to cover it. He wants to say sorry for getting Vince in trouble again, but he promised he wouldn’t anymore. Gavin asked him not to before him and Mom left for their brunch date.

So now they both get to suffer.

As if to revel in that suffering, the bane of their co-existence marches into the kitchen after a pause and a luxurious stretch. King, Vincent’s Bengal kitten, pads after his owner without a care in the world or so much as a glance at Jack.

“What are you making?” Jack can’t help but try again.

Vincent ignores him.

Several more minutes pass of Jack trying to find entertainment in the back of the French Toast Crunch box, but he quickly ends up surreptitiously watching Vincent prep his breakfast instead. The flour is out which had gained his immediate interest. Vince never messes with baking stuff. Oh, unless—

“Are you making pancakes?”

Ignored again. He finally decides he’s going to give up for real this time… until the unmistakable smell of burning batter reaches his nose. Accompanied by the familiar sound of Vincent’s quiet swearing. Oh, boy. Should he say something? Every time he opens his mouth, it just seems to make things worse. Hopefully, he hasn’t added extra baking powder again. Maybe he could just check things out…?

Sneaky. Jack is operating with such stealth right now. The sink is close enough to the stove that he’s able to sneak a peek at Vincent’s work. There’s a lot of batter. He watches him flip over the pancake with thinly veiled interest and immediately sees the issue.

“God—Damn it.”

“Oh… It’s pale.” And burnt around the edges and in the middle somehow.

Vincent’s head snaps to him with so much ferocity, it threatens to make Jack’s own neck hurt. He offers a nervous smile and takes half a step away.

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” Vincent remarks, every ounce of the annoyance on his face leaking into his tone. “I have eyes.”

“Right, sorry.” Vincent moves to throw this failed pancake out which lets Jack notice the open recipe book on the counter next to a plate of distinctly anemic, though not burned, rejects. King stands on his forelegs, propped up against the counter, his attention focused on this precarious pile of pancakes, tail swishing. Jack quietly nudges the plate a safer distance from the edge. That tiny thing has a reach. Hm… “Um, you might want to raise the fire a bit? Instead of leaving them in for longer.”

Vince sighs over the trash. Then, after a tortured pause, he drags his feet back over to the stove.

“I can’t do that,” Vince mumbles, staring at his yellow pancakes. “They always come out like that. No matter what I do.” He pores over the simple recipe again, probably for the third or fourth time. “They never brown if I up the heat; they just burn.”

“But if they aren’t browning, they’re probably undercooked,” Jack says, as gently as he can. Vincent doesn’t reply but Jack’s mind churns as he stares at the pancakes. They don’t look undercooked… Might as well try one.

“Hey.” Vincent admonishes Jack but the taller boy doesn’t register it.

“Wait a sec. Vince—”

“Vincent.”

“These are perfect!” Jack takes another bite. “Better than perfect, oh my God.”

Vincent sighs, irritated.

“Don’t give me that, Goodnight. They don’t even look like pancakes, they look like…”

“Sunshine.”

Vincent throws him a flat look.

“Like what?”

“Yeah! Because they’re light and fluffy but also crispy at the edge, like—man, these don’t even need butter! You can just go straight to syrup.”

Vincent stares at Jack for a prolonged moment, then looks away, rubbing his arm.

“That’s only because if I don’t use a lot of butter they burn on the outside before they cook inside…” He turns the stove off, an uncomfortable look on his face. “That’s probably why they come out looking weird.”

“But they don’t look weird! They’re cute.” Jack beams, holding up what’s left of the pancake he snatched. By now, Toast has trotted into the kitchen—which makes sense for the butter-loving retriever. “And they taste great, that’s the best part.”

Vincent crosses his arms for a second before quickly uncrossing them. He stands there awkwardly for another moment before opting to get another plate out.

“Well. If you like them, just have some.” He practically shoves the plate into Jack’s chest. “I’m fed up with getting it wrong over and over.”

“I can have some?” He’s not hungry anymore but he definitely has room for these.

“Yeah, just…” Vincent mumbles something to himself. Jack smiles.

“Thanks. You know, you could call them angelcakes instead.”

“Stop it.”

“Oh, or sunshinecakes?”

“I said stop it.”

“Shut. Up, Jack.”

Jack gasps. “Suncakes??”

[emersonfreepress]

New Year's Eve 2000 @ the Emersons'

"Is he here? Have you seen him?!"

The laughter in Heidi's clique fades abruptly and the queen herself scowls at her brother for his interruption.

"Seen who?" Jessie asks in such a sweet tone Heidi's forced to wipe that sneer off her face. Good ol' Jess. Curt can always count on her to diffuse the H-bomb before it even gets going.

"Gabe." Curt does another cursory glance around the room and still doesn't see him. Then he checks his watch and groans. "It's like five minutes to midnight, where the hell is he??"

"I'm pretty sure he isn't coming," Madison says. She crosses her legs and looks up for a second in contemplation. "Is he even in town still?"

"What do you need him for?" Brooke whines with a pout and a subtle toss of blonde hair. "Come sit with us, the countdown's starting soon."

"Brooke," Curt starts. "You're beautiful."

Brooke quits pouting and preens under the unexpected compliment, batting her lashes with a small smile. "Curtis..."

"But I see you all the time."

She deflates just as quickly.

"Cortés said he would be here, he wouldn't just..."

The girls all stare at him. Madison fails to hold back a laugh.

"Oh." Madison covers her mouth slightly. "Sorry."

"He wouldn't just lie to you?" Heidi asks, voice dripping with sarcasm. Her eyes add, 'Are you stupid?'

Curt just groans again and walks away. He can't explain himself to them. Jessie might know what he's talking about but he's only got four minutes left to find Gabe and he's already got his answer: they haven't seen him.

Is it possible he really didn't show? Curt doesn't know how to feel about that. He's not an idiot, that was sort of what he expected. Gabe has skipped the holidays in Emerson for two years straight and it was pure dumb luck that Curt even spotted him at all downtown last weekend. He didn’t seem all that different, busy as ever somehow, but he'd at least had enough time for Curt to invite him to his parents' New Year's Eve bash and to give a polite yes.

Curt sighs. Maybe that was the sign. The politeness. Since when has Gabe ever been polite to him?

It's only ever hostile neutrality or whining with that guy...

Three minutes.

Curt is being stopped by a former classmate/future nobody or some family acquaintance every few seconds now. Even if Gabe is here, there's no way he's going to find him before the clock strikes twelve. Sighing forlornly, he decides to make his way back to Heidi and her friends. At least Brooke is reliable for a kiss.

- - -

"Oh!" Jessie beams and jumps up from her seat. "There you are!"

Gabe gives her half a genuine smile before settling into a more careful one for Heidi and the Madisons—um, Brooke and Madison. He should probably stop thinking of them like that.

"Hey, Jess." The two hug and Gabe shuts his eyes for a quick second as he gives her an affectionate squeeze. They part and he greets the other girls. Heidi shoots him a nod of acknowledgment and a raised glass while Madison gives him a short wave. And Brooke... crosses her arms and ignores him.

Okay...

"Curt's been looking for you," Heidi says, holding an empty champagne flute out to him before standing to grab their table's bottle of Dom. "Apparently you promised him you'd come."

"Ah, yeah. I wouldn't call it a promise, though. " Gabe almost passes on the champagne but Jessie's bright smile leads him to accept the glass and the alcohol that follows. "More like..."

"Placating a child?" Heidi asks, amused.

Both Gabe and Madison laugh at that.

"Sure, that."

"One minute, everyone!" someone shouts.

"Here we go..." Madison gets to her feet, nearly reaching Gabe's height in her heels.

Brooke jumps up, perplexed. "What, already? Who the heck am I supposed to kiss??"

"Aw, I'll give you a kiss, Bee."

Brooke's arms uncross just to rest on her hips alongside another pout. "That won't count, Mads."

Madison just laughs in response and teases Brooke some more. Meanwhile, the remaining empty hands around the room quickly fill with glasses while more and more people begin joining the countdown. Heidi makes sure their group's glasses are filled before swapping the bottle in her hand for a tumbler of whiskey and downing it. Gabe also notices her shoes are off and to the side—someone's had a long night.

Jessie lightly nudges him in the side with her elbow, breaking him from his observations.

"So are you leaving tomorrow, after all?" The soft smile on her face is hopeful so Gabe sighs, regretful to disappoint her.

"Yeah." He rubs the back of his neck. "I just... This town is..."

"'Stifling?'" They both wince a little, Jess in her attempt to keep a smile on despite her disappointment and Gabe at hearing his exact word quoted back at him.

"Right. It's not the people—"

Jess giggles and pats him on the arm. "Oh come on, Gabe. It's the people."

He rolls his eyes with a light laugh. "Okay, yeah. Even just being here right now..."

Jessie sighs. "Yeah, I know. It's always weird coming back just after a few months out of state. I can't imagine after two years."

Gabe nods, the thin glass stem in his hand suddenly feeling a little too brittle for how tense he is. How tense this environment makes him. He shrugs, though.

"Well, I'm glad I got to see you, at least."

"Ten seconds! Ten! Nine!"

Jessie hits him with the full brightness of her smile and one of her tiny bounces of joy.

"Yeah! Me, too."

- - -

Just as the entire party begins counting down from ten, Curt finally gains sight of his sister and her friends again. Brooke catches sight of him too and smiles, knowing exactly why he's returned. He smiles back at her for a second before he falters when he sees...

Ha! I knew he meant it!

He's never wrong about these things. Curt smirks hard and licks his lips, unable to keep from internally gloating. Gabe showing up at all is a victory in and of itself.

"Eight! Seven!"

Oh, wait. No, it's not. Curt speeds up his approach.

"Six! FIVE!"

It's only really a victory if he reaches him at midnight!

- - -

"I have a good feeling about 2001!" Gabe rolls his eyes, cynical as always, but Jessie cheerfully insists. "Just watch, this year is going to be perfect and—oh! Three! Two!"

Gabe refrains from counting but turns with everyone else to face the giant screen displaying the Times Square Ball Drop.

“ONE! Happy New Year!”

The room they’re in, and the rest of the house, erupts in raucous cheers, shouts, and champagne glasses chiming. Jessie nearly crushes Gabe with a giant hug as she shouts “Happy New Year!” and that manages to pull a real smile from him, even as they almost spill both of their drinks. They both laugh and clink glasses instead.

“Happy New Year, Jess.” He turns to the other girls, who are just toasting each other. “Happy New Year, Heidi. Madison.”

Heidi wears a polite smile and nods as she raises her glass to him and Madison enthusiastically clinks her glass against his with a breathless “Happy New Year!”

Gabe turns to Brooke, who’s turned away from him and is fluffing her hair. Should he bother? Eh... might as well. “Happy New Year, Br—”

- - -

Curt is vaguely aware of Brooke leaning into him as he walks up to Gabe, but his tunnel vision forces him to sidestep her with a smile. Everything’s fallen into place: it’s a bangin’ party, it’s midnight, Auld Lang Syne’s just started, and the belle of the ball has finally arrived. He doesn’t wait for the boy to finish whatever he was saying and just goes for it.

Gabe’s eyes widen just a bit before Curt plants a kiss fully on his mouth, placing one hand lightly at his lower back for support as he leans into him. Gabe lets out a stuttered breath and clasps at the lapels of Curt’s suit jacket to keep upright. That brings a cocky grin to Curt’s lips and he raises his other hand to brush his thumb along the bottom of Gabe’s jaw, just as lightly.

"Mm." Curt darts his tongue out to savor his old classmate for just a moment longer before finally drawing back. With a boyish smile and a slight bite to his own lip he says, "Happy New Year, Cortés."

Madison makes a strangled noise somewhere between a gasp and a shriek.

“God—DAMN it! I told you I needed my camera, Jessie!” The girl darts away in a flash of jet black hair and spilled champagne, presumably to go find it. Brooke has gone pale. Heidi rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her champagne.

Gabe is frozen, gobsmacked. After he starts to feel others’ eyes on them, though, his expression finally breaks into one of angered incredulity and he shoves Curt away from him.

"What is your fucking problem, Emerson?!" He wipes his mouth on his sleeve as his face breaks into a subtle yet violent blush. "Is—" Gabe’s expression clouds, the brief panic that was there gone in an instant. "Is that why you invited me?!"

Curt frowns, confused.

"Of course! I said I couldn’t wait to kiss you at midnight!”

Brooke, completely forgotten, makes an indignant sort of squawking sound.

Gabe's hands curl into fists and the look he throws him is venomous. "Curt."

“And I’ve said kissing you's on my bucket list?” Curt blinks, lost. “Like, a thousand times at this point, Gabe."

Gabe’s fists curl tighter and Jessie steps between them, her glass waved between the boys like a penalty flag and a deceptively natural smile plastered on.

“Oookay! Curt, I think you just startled Gabe. I’m positive he didn’t think you were being serious, right?”

“No, I fucking didn’t,” Gabe growls.

Curt has the gall to look even more confused.

“For six years?”

Gabe shuts his eyes, his anger in danger of rising faster than he’s able to suppress it.

“Jesus, Curt. Just apologize.” Heidi looks more annoyed than anything else. But at least Curt finally catches on to the huge party foul he’s committed.

“Sorry! Sorry, man. I thought you knew what I meant.” Curt is, for whatever it’s worth, blushing now, seeming actually embarrassed for once. When Gabe doesn’t reply, he raises his hands in a placating manner, then brings them together at his chin with a truly pleading look in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I’d take it back if I could, don’t be mad!”

Gabe rubs a hand over his face and lets out a long, hard sigh. Then his other hand rakes through his hair briefly as he looks away from the blond idiot.

“Fine. Fine.”

Curt sighs in relief.

Then, because it’s very important to him, he asks, “It was good, though, right?“

Heidi barks a laugh, flopping back down into her seat. Jessie winces and pleads, “Curt, no...” Brooke, of course, seethes and plops into her own chair, quietly downing the contents of her flute.

And even though the anger has dissipated, Gabe’s annoyance surges to new heights. But before he can even voice his disdain, Curt’s looking around the immediate area as if something’s just dawned on him.

“Oh, wait a minute.” Curt huffs, dissatisfied. “I’m the only one without champagne!”

[emersonfreepress]

so your music taste is superior!!!! i am specifically currently listening to i’m not in love and we haven’t even met curt and i am now emo about him 😔 i also wanted to send an ask but am not very creative so if these words inspire you at all for a situation with how the ros might react: handshakes and/or music OKAY THANK YOU FOR BEING YOU AND THIS STORY 💘

i'm always glad to share some good tunes 😊😊 I'm also starting to feel bad that I introduced curt so early 😅😅 thank you so much for the kind words 🥰

'handshakes' actually does make me think of something! but it's not an RO reaction, if that's ok?

¬ ¬

"You always fuck it up," Kile says.

"Only 'cause your timing's always off." Gabe shakes out his wrists in preparation. He did fuck it up the last two tries. (Like always.)

"Uh-huh." Kile smirks and extends an open hand. A trap if there ever was one. "Last chance."

"Yeah, okay." Gabe presses his lips and rubs his hands together, clearing his head. He can get this stupid handshake right, he's done it before. Hell, he came up with most of it! "Okay, I'm ready."

First, dap. Then a fist. Bump that up, down, straight forward—but lock the fingers! Kile always speeds up once the other hand gets involved and this is always where Gabe trips up but not this time, not today—!

Annnd, nope, he missed a beat. Here it comes.

"Shit! No, no wait—"

SLAP!

Resistance is always futile against Kile's reflexes. And their laughter. Gabe's cheek burns but all he can do is cradle his own face in the aftermath. Truth is he barely feels it because he's too busy being indignant.

"I didn't mess that up, it was you!"

Kile just keeps laughing. The rule has always been that you get three shots to get the shake right or a slap to the face. Avoiding slaps was a great incentive for memorizing the steps to their handshake originally, but then Kile just got faster at it and quickly left Gabe in the dust, struggling to catch up. There's nothing Gabe can do except seethe and insist, to the reply of pitying laughter, that Kile made him mess it up. Again. Like every other time, shockingly!

"God, I hate you." Gabe winces at the sting in his cheek but he's mostly pouting now. There's no depth to his words since it's about as common a phrase between them as 'See you later' or 'What time is it?'

"And why do you have to hit so hard, Jesus."

"You're the one who keeps pushin' it. You knew what would happen."

"Ugh. Get out of my house."

Kile scoffs. "Sike."

[emersonfreepress]

Could we please get a fluff scenario where curt is telling a mc who is romanced to Heidi all about her embarrassing moments while she like embarrassedly watches or something. Thank you!

No, and here is why:

¬ ¬

There's a lull of silence in your conversation with Curt—or you've been granted a short break from Curt talking at you; it's a matter of perception. Suddenly, those brown eyes of his light up and his lips slowly lift into a smile. He leans forward slightly, whatever idea he's had making him appear positively impish.

"Hey, MC."

"Yeah?"

"Have I ever told you about Heidi's sadly short-lived and yet completely scandalous ballet career?"

Heidi has been content to sit quietly with you two and her copy of The New Republic, her legs crossed and her focus unperturbed even during the more animated portions of your discussion. Until now. Curt's gaze darts over to his sister at the exact moment her eyes finally flick up from the magazine.

The Emerson twins' eyes meet and some sort of psychic battle of wills or dominance that you aren't privy to ensues. Heidi's strategy seems to be to freeze Curt into shutting up with an icy glare but his growing smile indicates it isn't working. The hostility in the room mounts and—you can't help it.

"No?"

The blond twin smirks and turns back to you, declaring an early victory in their staring match, apparently. You look over to Heidi, at least half expecting her to be frowning back at you or for her jaw to be doing that thing you've noticed when she's adding somebody to her shit list. Instead, she's still staring at her brother with her magazine still in its reading position.

Curt's got an easy smile on and leans over to you even more in his chair, either oblivious or uncaring about Heidi's continued death glare.

"Well, MC. Since you're getting so close to Her Majesty The Queen here, it's only right that you get to know the Heidi you don't see—"

"Space dinos."

Heidi abruptly slices through the start of Curt's story with those two words. First you look at her, an eyebrow raised at what she's said, but she isn't looking at either of you anymore. Instead, she's got her nose in her magazine once more. When you look to Curt, however, he's suddenly sat properly in his own chair and staring wide-eyed at his sister. He catches you looking, though, and makes an effort to appear relaxed, quickly wiping the gobsmacked expression from his face.

"Space dinos?" You look between the both of them, sensing a story. "What does 'space dinos'..."

Curt clears his throat once, loudly—and obviously only because he meant to drown out the end of your question.

"You haven't been cleared to know about all that, MC." The levity in Curt's voice is undercut by the way he's fidgeting with the bracelet around his wrist and the fact that the tips of his ears are turning red right before you. "Though the two things are not even slightly equal, Heidi."

He didn't quite manage to avoid sounding whiny there, you note with a small, amused smile. When you look in Heidi's direction, she's smiling back. At you. Oh, Heidi's decided to smile at you.

"Anything MC is curious to know, they can just ask me," Heidi says, looking right at you. "Better to hear directly from the source, right?" She flips the page in her magazine but her dark green eyes are trained on you. Heidi's smile lifts a little more to one side and she very gently bites her bottom lip before returning to whatever it is she's reading.

But you don't miss how Heidi's lips gleam now, just enough for you to know, to be certain... that she just licked her lips at the sight of you.

Would she really tell you about the ballet stuff if you asked? Is that a trap? And if it is...

Is it weird that you kind of want to get caught in it?

[emersonfreepress]

Captain and quarterback of E Prep's football team, Tyler!

[emersonfreepress]

Conspiracy in Emerson: an interactive fiction WIP

Synopsis

Emerson, an ultra-wealthy New England coastal town, has held a strong religious belief in self-preservation and personal success for just about three centuries. This way of life is so deeply ingrained in the town’s history, politics, and culture that now things are reaching an untenable state.

The year is 1997 and the older methods of subtleties and negotiation have deteriorated as the stakes have risen, the egos have multiplied, and the competition has stiffened. People are resorting to sabotage. Slander. Smear campaigns. Shaming. Framing. Arson.

Murder.

A month before your senior year at Emerson Prep starts, you get caught up in the violent crimes of two of your classmates. The course of your life takes a sharp turn into the macabre as you get your first peek behind the curtain of your Machiavellian hometown. Quickly swept up in a series of sabotage missions and contract killings that take Emerson by storm, are you a victim of circumstance? Just along for the ride?

Or a willing accomplice?

Demo | CoG thread

approx. 70k words total | 2/? chapters playable | last updated Apr 14, 2023

tags i follow: #conspiracy in emerson, #if cie

or you can @ this Tumblr!

Commission status: Closed, permanently!

Before you send an ask:

*I keep spicy prompts TV-14 because the characters are mostly in the age range of 17-18

**I generally delete these prompts (if i like it enough, i'll bite but...): jealousy; hurt/comfort x; overly detailed scenarios x; alternate universe settings

***Yes, I am still working on this game lol

FAQs

Is this a series? / Wait, how many love interests?

Who are the love interests? | Profile posts under construction!

the Emersons as side romances | Post 1 Post 2 Post 3 Post 4

Can I write fanfic?

Highlighted Topics

🌟 March 2022 1K Follower Character Q&A!

Is everyone Bi tm? | Post 1 Post 2 Post 3

About the violence | Post 1 Post 2 Post 3 Post 4

MC Skills: Conviction, Magnetism, Persuasion

What is the setting like?

How tall is the MC?

Does the MC have to be Catholic?

How will the game handle trans MCs?

How will the game handle race?

Is asexuality a dealbreaker for any ROs?

Are any characters ace or on the ace spectrum?

Can the MC be ace?

Will it be relatively easy to have a good relationship with all the characters?

So are all the ROs going to be friends?

General

Emerson Prep dress code | Speculation | Teases

Main Cast/Love Interest stuff

Ages | Appearances | Skin tones | Artbreeder | Birthdays | Fashion sense | Full names | School uniforms | Zodiac signs | Their flowers

RO Frequently Asked Questions

Facts | Flirty asks | Likes/Dislikes | Reactions | “What if...” | Scenarios

Pinterest Boards (including hair and body refs)

Gabe's Pinterest | Kile's | Jack's | Jessie's | Rain's | Rupan/Rohan's | Vivian/Vincent's | Heidi's | Curt's | ??'s | MC inspiration | Classmates | Team Murder vibes

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[wincestshippingtrash2]

Weekend Writing Warriors 17 March 2019 (ER, LGBT, PA, SF)

For your consideration, I am now sharing a snippet from Naughty Netherworld Press’ forthcoming release, Carnal Invasion X. I am the editor of and also a collaborator in this very bawdy and naughty Kindle smut series.

According to the seemingly ever-growing crop of fools who cannot distinguish fiction from reality, this snippet would indicate that I am interested in having sex with tentacled extraterrestrials. 

In fact, I have a very low sex drive and have no interest in having sex with anyone either tentacled or non-tentacled, Earthly or extraterrestrial. I’m simply a long-time fan of the fabulous Rocky Horror Picture Show and of 1960′s/1970′s sci-fi exploitation flicks like Barbarella and Flesh Gordon.

Enjoying over-the-top fictional creations, whether it be explicit fan fiction involving canonically related characters, hyperviolence in video games or gory thrillers such as Hannibal and Dexter doesn’t mean that the person who enjoys those things is a sociopath, a wannabe serial or spree killer, or that they think that incest is a good idea in real life. 

I enjoy reading and writing Wincest. In real life, a sexual relationship between close family members is a big red flag for serious dysfunction in the family. 

I enjoy collaborating on wild erotic sci-fi stories involving horny tentacled aliens. In reality, I would be aghast at meeting such a being, although, in fairness, the aliens of the Naughty Netherworld Press Smut-O-Verse have never probed anyone who didn’t want to be probed.

Fiction is not reality.

I find it distressing that this needs to be explained.

And now, the snippet. 

If you have writing of your own that you’d like to share, feel free to jump in the game anytime!

~Cie~

Weekend Writing Warriors

“They didn’t seem unhappy about the experience,” Cumming remarked.

“No, but they did seem euphoric, which is an indication…”

“There were no illicit drugs, sedatives, or even alcohol present in their blood, and that gel is something that can’t be identified. It isn’t toxic and it even smells pleasant, but it’s not of this Earth. Still, they did say some strange things, didn’t they?”

“Embarrassing things. Things like: “It was totally hot being probed by her tentacles, but I want to see Mistress Nyx in her human form,” and “Desire is a real sex goddess. I hope she’ll come to Earth for the Carnal Carnival.”

“Right. I guess I’ll be spending Fat Tuesday at a sex party,” Dicking sighed, rolling his eyes.

~Cie for Naughty Netherworld Press~

Notes:

Happy Carnal Carnival Day! I mean, St. Patrick's Day. I am well relieved to not have to work this St. Patrick's Day. When I am not collaborating on Kindle smut projects, I work as a delivery driver, and you will have to trust me when I say that making deliveries on St. Patrick's Day is chaos personified.

In this snippet, Agents Marc Cumming and Dale Dicking of the secret government agency A.S.S.S. (Alien and Supernatural Search Squadron) are discussing an incident in which their fellow agents Julie Spitz and Sarah Swallows turned up on Agent Cumming's doorstep covered in the same sparkling gelatinous jelly that often appears in the adult videos released by Climax Productions. 

The cynical, jaded Agent Dicking is not looking forward to spending a wild and boisterous night at a Climax Castle party. The ever-eager Agent Cumming is looking forward to seeing what happens.

Just a bit of fun.

Nothing to do with the snippet.

I would like to apologize to anyone who left a comment on my previous snippet because I did not return any visits this go-round. I left the link for the wrong blog (I duplicate the posts on this blog and the Horror Harridans blog.) I have had an atrocious week psychologically speaking. In spite of my messed-up head, publication of the first segment of Carnal Carnival is a go. At least I didn't manage to screw that up.

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[netherworldwritersguild]

Weekend Writing Warriors 3 February 2019 (ER, LGBT, PA, RO)

Weekend Writing Warriors

“I was intending to put off Sonny’s and my annual joining until the night of the full moon,” Tobias revealed. “That’s the sixth of this month. I’ve always managed to keep him out of the moonlight on the night of the full moon so he wouldn’t transform by surprise. He’s been so angry with me that I didn’t know how to broach the subject with him. But maybe with you here, and maybe with me showing mercy to the Queen by bringing her up here, I may be able to convince everyone to see things my way. I never intended harm to befall the Queen. I only need for Sonny to drink a bit of her blood. It wouldn’t do at all for him to transform into a perfectly ordinary lycanthrope, you see, not with as wondrous as he is. Would you not agree, dear Jemma?”

Cie for Naughty Netherworld Press Notes:

This snippet is from Full Moon Frenzy, the ninth installment of the Carnal Invasion series. It is due for release on February 20, 2019.

In this paragraph, Tobias Walton, the unscrupulous head of the mysterious Xquenda Industries, is explaining his motives to Jemma, a shape-shifting extraterrestrial from the planet Gamma Iridon, whom he forced to take the form of Felice Navidad, queen of the frost elementals.

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[netherworldwritersguild]

Weekend Writing Warriors 13 January 2019

Weekend Writing Warriors

The following snippet comes from our newest WIP, Carnal Invasion IX: Full Moon Frenzy. Details follow the snippet.

“There is a young lady here to see you, Master Tobias,” a mature, vermillion-haired Haitian woman dressed in a tuxedo announced.

“Thank you kindly, Leah,” Tobias replied. “Send her right in.”

A nervous Jemma entered Tobias’ office.

“Queenie! How did you get out of your cell?” Tobias demanded.

“It…it isn’t Queen Felice, Mr. Walton,” Jemma stammered. “I’m the Gamma Iridian you had take her form. My name is Jemma.”

“Well, what can I do for you, Jemma?”

~Cie for Naughty Netherworld Press~

Notes:

Full Moon Frenzy was originally scheduled to be released on Valentine's Day, but will instead be released on February 20th to coincide with the publication of a very special chapter created just for the WEP blog's February 2019 challenge. If you want to find out more about the challenge and maybe enter a piece of your own, click the banner below.