#it got my juices flowing and i wrote this in a frenzy this morning when I should have been working

[aziraphalalala]

Hey :)

Ask you anything? Okay :D

If you would fall into the back of the bookshop right now and Crowley would be there, staring you down, unblinking, what would you do?

This poured out of me. Thanks, @nerdypixel

--

Aziraphale was gone.

Well, good riddance. Better to have the ugly truth of him come out now, rather than later.

He gave it his all, but it was in vain.

The “I forgive you” still trembled in him, like a wild, hungry thing. It ate at him. It carved him out, left him brittle and broken.

Aziraphale was gone. The fucking Supreme Archangel Aziraphale had fucked off to fucking Heaven and left Crowley alone.

From the backroom sofa, Crowley extended his hand petulantly. Another bottle of Château-neuf-du-Pape 1921 floated unsteadily to him. He uncorked it with a vicious gesture (which was considered rude in the extreme in several cultures, including this one), and drank deeply.

He didn’t need that fucking angel—

“Excuse me?”

“Wot?”

There was a lady. A lady had entered the bookshop. Hadn’t he closed the door? Crowley couldn’t remember.

“Excuse me. Are you Mr. Fell?”

“WOT?”

“The door was open, and it started pouring like the end of the world out there, and me with no umbrella, so I thought, ‘Why don’t I drop in that delightful bookshop in the corner, I’ve always wanted to see it’, and—“

“Do I look like I run a bookshop?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I ssssaid, do I look like I run a bookshop?”

“Um, well. Don’t you? It kinda looks like you do.”

Crowley heaved a heavy sigh, and wobbled up to his feet.

“Nggyyeeeaaaah. I suppose I must do.” He picked up a stray book off the table. Jane Austen. Of course it bloody was. “Umm, so, what was it you said you wanted, exactly?”

She squinted, looking suspicious, and asked: “Are you drunk?”

“No. Yes! A little. What of it?” stammered Crowley.

“Nothing! I don’t mind a tipple myself, now and then.”

She looked half-intrigued, half-ready to escape back into the safety and predictability of English weather. Having been raised with three brothers and a mother with a penchant for bra-burning, she wasn’t easily intimidated. She could deal with a moody bloke. She resolutely stood her ground. 

“Lost someone, did you?”

Crowley’s head snapped up. His mouth was opening and closing, like a fish on dry land, struggling for breath.

Any other day, he would have snapped his fingers, and slung this nosy, too-curious-for-her-own-good insolent woman straight into a vat of acid.

This was not any other day.

This was this day, and he was a post-heartbreak demon, attempting discorporation through tears and extraordinary amounts of alcohol.

“Yeah,” He sighed with visible exhaustion.

“Was he the blond one?”

“Coulda been a she,” he retorted, cheekily.

She levelled a gaze at him, utterly unimpressed.

Crowley stared back, mutely.

“Yeaaahh, the blond one.”

“Was it your fault?”

“Was it my fault?!” he blurted, like spitting out food that tasted rotten.

“He wants to save the world. I think he can’t, and shouldn’t try. I wanted to run away. He wanted to stay. End of story.”

He sat back, indicating he was done arguing, and that he was undeniably right.

She stepped closer, understanding in her eyes. “So, he left you… for a job opportunity?”

“Nngggghhhyyeeaaaah, you could say that.”

“Well, good riddance. If he didn’t choose you, he doesn’t deserve you.”

“He kind of does, you know.”

“Rubbish. I’ve been there, you know, it’s absolutely not worth it. If he’s got an ounce of sense in him—“

“He really kind of doesn’t.”

“—then he’ll come to realise his mistake soon enough, and come crawling back.”

Crowley slumped even deeper into the sofa. Staring at his shoes, he poured himself another generous helping of wine.

“I… hope so.”

“He will, or damn him.”

“He’s just, he’s an angel, you know?”

“He’s really not, if this is how he treats you.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” he paused. ”And, if he does come back, I’m gonna make him do the apology dance for a century.”

“Do what now?”

“He will watch the entirety of Golden Girls with me from start to finish. Twisssce,” he hissed.

She looked a little confused, but decided to show support. “Attaboy.”

“Not a boy, but thank you.”

Crowley stoop up abruptly, wobbling a bit, and went to pick up another glass from the tray on the side table.

“He’ssss going to hate it, and he’s going to remember he misses m— sushi, and Shostakovich, and the bloody Sound of music!”

She stepped closer again, pleased that this strange, dark not-a-boy before her was emerging from the worst of his gloom. The rain had stopped.

Crowley wielded the bottle of wine at her like a sword.

“Care for a tipple?”

[shazyloren]

Break Up With Your Girlfriend, I’m Bored

Summary:  Jon and Dany split up, but when they see each other at the club, they both know what's going to happen...

Notes: As you know, I am taking part in a challenge on tumblr by user @jonerysfics and @mhysaofdragons in which for seven days from Valentines day I am uploading a new one shot. The prompts have been provided and the stories have all been written and I gotta say you're in for a lot of Jonerys content. So Day 6, 19th February, which is when I'm uploading this, the prompt I chose was 'Make up Sex'. Basically Ariana is a queen and I wrote this cus why not. Not full on Make-up sex but jealousy and lust and yeeeeeeeee

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17854064

-----

She was dancing, freely and full of vigour as the sleazy tunes filled her ears and possessed her very being. She’d already seen him here, with his new girlfriend she’d heard about, redhead and too good for the filthy man he was. She knew he’d seen her too, a stalling moment in the corner of her eye to where an intense gaze of lust immediately replaced it, and so the game had begun.

You got me some type of way, ain’t used to feeling this way…

Their breakup had been messy, but it wasn’t the first time it’s happened, nor she suspected would it be the last. But she was hot for him all the time, her vibrator at home hadn’t known another name or had another face other than his. Given the mini, leather dress and choker combination she was wearing, the fact he eyed her up and down, she had to assume he was hot for her too. Plus the tight ponytail and flow of her silver blonde hair, fashioned in a way that would be so good for pulling from behind.

She had him in the bag.

She tries to look disinterested, dancing around in a seductive fashion, her own hands roaming her skin, her flesh on fire as the skin on skin contact increased. But oh how she was interest, oh how she wanted nothing more than the taste the minty fresh mouth on her own, to feel his length pressed against the apex of her ass. She knew the freak he was, and she wanted to unleash him.

I do not know what to say, yeah yeah, but I know I shouldn’t think about it.

The music sent Dany into a place of complete and utter serenity, need and lust and adoration rolled over in waves but it never controlled her, she was in control of it. And so she was feeling sinful, wanting to kiss him right in from of the girl he’d come with, take him in her mouth in the unhygienic backrooms, or even the alleyway outside.

She knows he’s watching her, from somewhere, she knows he’s watching her every curve and edge move, wishing he was grinding up on her, wishing they were the only two there that existed and that he could take her here, in this very club. So with this information, she puts extra emphasis on her movement and the way she danced.

She bent down and up, she wiggled her hips to and fro, she breathed heavily as the air in the club became hazy over time. She grinded on other men, moving between different ones, none of them mattering, only him and his cock.

Took one fucking look at your face, I wanna know how you taste…

Over the hour of them both being there, she feels the precipitation, the sticky sweat building in her outfit, on her chest. The strobe lights make her feel almost invincible, like she was energised by the bulbs themselves. She catches the smallest of glances from his eyes again, intense and undressing her where she stands. She’d seen that gaze so many times, the outcome from tonight would be the one she wanted, she was sure of it.

She only breaks once, to get a drink from the bar to keep the fire within her going, to keep her feeling juiced and ready for him. She’s not far from him when she does, he’s leaned against the bar at the other end. She chances a look at him through the glass, and her clamouring chest wants to run to him and fuck him where he stands.

He looks to good to pass up, his wild and curly hair so grabbable and enticing, his eyes so entrancing and wandering over her form. He’s trying to pay attention to the redheaded girl stood next to him, but she knows he wants the woman she was.

Usually don’t give it away, yeah yeah, but you know I’m already thinkin’ bout it.

Daenerys doesn’t put women down, she’s not better than anyone else, but she’s carried away by the game they’re both playing, she’s in need of him, she hates him not being against her, he’s the half of her she need to feel whole in the moment. So she slowly makes her way over to him, one song at a time, dancing with different drunk and high men as she does.

She makes it seem so natural, but it’s turning into early morning now and she need to take him home, she needed to feel him devouring her in every way humanly possible. She needed to feel him inside her, them both pressed against a wall, against a glass window, anything...

Then I realise ‘she’s right there’, and I’m at home like ‘damn this ain’t fair’…

She was going to have to deal with the girl, effortlessly but in a way that would be gentle. She makes eye contact with him, and he’s almost daring her to come closer. She wants to, she’s aching for him. Her heart is hammering in her chest like she’s run a marathon, her breath in her lungs is struggling for an outlet.

She moves in slowly, the sluttiest part of herself engaged as she moves to music and feeling, dancing with some random junkie next to him and the girl, grinding with purpose and allowing her mouth to part as a force she can’t control takes over her body, in full view of him.She knows he’s hard for her, knows he’s desperate to taste what she had to offer.

But she can’t give the game over to him in such an easy turn of events, she needs to make him work for it. The guys she’s grinding on backs it up into her ass almost, and so forth, there’s a sudden frenzy where the randomer thinks he’s found his luck, but she pushes him away for another guy, all to make the one she wants jealous.

Break up with your girlfriend, yeah yeah, cus I’m bored, you can hit it in the morning, yeah yeah, like it’s yours…

All it would take, would be one little word, one magical word to her and she’s be his. But he was stoic, their eyes constantly connecting as she’s within a few yards of him. Sipping his drink by the bar, holding onto his drink tightly, the girl not doing much but stare around. The girls knows, she knows his eyes are elsewhere and she’s nervous of what will happen. She needs to make her move, or it will be over.

She pushes the final man away before she makes her close approach. She runs her hands over his chest, feeling the strength in his muscles as she does, wanting his other muscle inside her. She’s whispering in his ears that she’ll be somewhere waiting for him, that this girl is nothing compared to her pussy and he knows it.

She gives the girl a sorry glance, the shock and upset on her face prevalent and perturbed. She offers condolences, saying that they’ve been on and off for years and it wasn’t meant to be for her, all the while grinding up against him. She can feel his hard length, it’s making her feel stir crazy.

I know it ain’t right, but I don’t care, break up with your girlfriend, yeah yeah, cus i'm bored...

She feels a small amount of sorrow for the redhead, who’s tears begin to stream down her face, so she offers her a hook, and points to a guy she knows from somewhere else, saying he likes Redheads, before gripping her man by his arm and dragging him towards the back of the club.

The smoke and haze of the room filled her with a feeling of lust she knew well. He was her drug. One touch and the intoxication is instant. Whatever he wants to do is what they will do and there isn't a thing she can do to stop him in this moment - not that she'd want to. Just his scent sends her into a heady trance, one that won’t end until their finish.

But there’s a part of her that wants him to give her the control, or for her to just take it, like she’d taken him from the girl. She wants to drive him crazy, she wants to make him beg for mercy because her pussy is so good, make him plead for a moment to breathe. She wanted to do every naughty thing to him until his mind exploded.

This shit always happen to me yeah, why can't we just play for keeps? Practically on my knees, yeah, yeah, but I know I shouldn't think about it...

They stop, to kiss against a wall, his finger tips are electric, they must be, for wherever they touch her, her skin tingles in a frenzy of static. As his hands move over her skin her body has a transitory paralysis, her mind unable to process the pleasure so fast. His head moves around to her left ear and he whispers what's coming next, a promise of going into the bathroom or some other closed of area and fucking her senseless.

Suddenly her body is off pause-mode and she pull back for a kiss that's both soft and hard. Both of us move in an intoxicated dance of limbs, never making the exact same moves twice, not in the decade we've been on and off lovers. He's her cat-nip, She’s his whiskey on ice. The music is still entrancing, and she knows the redhead is long forgotten.

You know what you're doin' to me, you're singin' my songs in the streets, yeah, yeah, actin' all innocent, please, when I know you're out here thinkin' 'bout it

They need to move to privacy and she knows they need each other. She’s needed him since she last had him. They used to fuck in his car every single day. Even hours after she touched herself body, his smell still lingers on and she’d imagine him entering her again and again and again. She used to do anything they could imagine for him and would do anything so that he wouldn't tire of her like he clearly had the redhead.

But they couldn’t move straight away, they were too consumed by one another. Their lips fitted perfectly, as if they were meant for each other. Moving against each other, feeling each other. he grabbed the back of her neck, growling in the kiss as she whimpered in pleasure. They were fighting for control, and both knew the control was a pendulum, swinging one way and then another.

She fought for a bit, urging them both across the club to the door she knows is there, to the hiding place in which they could both be free  to fuck hard. The others in the club don’t even look, a couple of people making out was nothing new, but the freaky nature with which this would end was something else.

Then you realize she's right there yeah, and you're at home like, ‘Damn, she can't compare’...

She wants him, needs him, she’s desperate beyond compare and so forcefully, she pushes him, running to the door with him on her tale as the clubbers grind into the new day. She is wet, she can feel it between her thighs, feel it where she needs his cock.

She sees the door, a small cupboard, perhaps a cleaning one, but all she knows is if she doesn’t go in there with him, she’d open her legs on the floor in front of everyone and risk being arrested. She can feel him behind her when she pauses outside the door to look around, his hard as rock cock trying to fuck her in the ass even with her clothes on. So she pushes the door open and drags him in.

With the door closed every pretence falls. The facade they show the club melts away and all they want is to fuck each other's brains out. Every kiss has a raw intensity - breathing fast, heart rates faster. Then before they both know how it happened they are naked and their skin is moving softly together, like the finest of silk.

Break up with your girlfriend, yeah yeah, cus i'm bored...

She feels his hand enter from below moving fast, their tongues entwined in a kiss, and then he's inside, changing her breathing with every thrust, hearing her moans timed to his body. Then all at once he stops and kisses from her breasts to her stomach, his hands light; then he's licking and using his fingers all at once, watching her reaction, feeling how her legs move, watching her body writhe.

He tells her he's going to make her beg for it, like she wanted him to, he says it’s a punishment for taking him away from a healthy relationship and dragging him back to her. She just lets out a moan, unable to articulate a response. In seconds he's on her again, fucking her harder, just long enough to intoxicate her mind before stopping again.

If it's begging he wants, he's gonna have to stop long enough for her brain to start working again first. And she wouldn’t beg for it, she didn’t see anything wrong in what she’d done, and he’d hardly complained out on the dance-floor. They both knew it was a power move, and he’s done it to initiate control.

With your girlfriend, your girlfriend…

Their end is close and so as they climax together, desperately clawing at one another for power, for the edge, feeling complete, she feels a feeling of relief was over her. There was no girlfriend anymore, he was hers once again, and they would be together from now on.

“Jon” She says his name finally, and it’s both their undoing.

“Dany” He replies, as their breathing slows down, their naked bodies flushed against one another, she’s in complete ecstasy. All she thinks about is his body against hers, his cum dripping down her leg, her sweating form as they look into each other’s eyes. Mutually missed one another.

They would try harder not to break up this time.

Try.

[sandybrownjensen]

"You must throw yourself in. There is no other way.”

“Then the Old Man of the Earth stooped over the floor of the cave, raised a huge stone from it, and left it leaning. It disclosed a great hole that went plumb-down. "That is the way," he said. "But there are no stairs." "You must throw yourself in. There is no other way.” ― George MacDonald, The Golden Key and Other Stories

Week Three of the Network Narratives class--now that I’ve thrown myself in, time to reflect on the free fall of the past week.

At the top of my list of achievements in the class this week is a short story I wrote for the #5cardflickr challenge, “Where Warriors Fall from the Sky.”  I realize that most people take the five photos presented and jot a few lines to find a unity if they can. Some of these make more sense than others, but the thing is--I take “story” seriously.

 If I am asked to write a “story,” I get out my storymaking toolkit and by god try to write an old-fashioned story with characters, a setting, a “world-shattering moment” that changes the emotional trajectory of the character arc, plus I feel a retro obligation to a beginning, a middle, and an end.

I find it useful to start with the Pixar storymaking tool. It looks like this, and if you’ve read any of my little stories, you’ll recognize these moves embedded in them:

Following that pattern with thought and integrity will always get me there. The hard part is “letting go and letting imagination.” Some piece of my conscious mind has to be subjugated, so the waking dream can come forward and take over and tell me where it wants to go.

Another rule I hold myself to that I get from the good folks at Pixar:

These little stories like “The Greenhouse” (week one), and  “The Wheel, The Horse, The Ladder to the Sky” (week two), and “Where Warriors Fall Out of the Sky” (week three)  are what Hemingway (and I) call “five-finger exercises.” They are like a musician’s scales and warm-ups and practice, practice, practice.

When I revise, I usually have something different in mind each time. For “Warriors,” I worked on “character arc.” I wanted to make sure the protagonist had an emotional flaw and some self-doubt that she grows through or out of by the end of the story. I am always looking for that “world-shattering” moment, and that is the biggest challenge to my imagination--dreaming that “what next?” incident.

These aren’t stories I believe in enough to go back and revise until I’m blue in the face; however, this is a digital STORYTELLING class, and I don’t want to miss any opportunity to actually exercise my storytelling muscles.

It’s easy for me to be lazy--it is a known character flaw. I would rather slide through a prompt with half a poem, a germ of an idea, a fragment that I tell myself is an arty fragment--or a meme, clever saying or even somebody else’s thought repackaged. 

But none of that is doing the real work of dreaming the wholeness of a story.

I completely understand master fiction teacher Robert Olen Butler when he says:

 “There are two of you, one who wants to write and one who doesn’t. The one who wants to write has to keep fooling the one who doesn’t.” ― From Where You Dream: The Process of Writing Fiction

One of the startling and fun things that happened to “Where Warriors,” is that co-#netnarr-conspirator Kevin Hodgson riffed his own meta-story on top of it in Hypothesis (clickety-click!). How cool is that? It is, to me, the quintessence of internet “openness” a.) for me to trust someone else with my story and b). for someone to have the initiative, imagination and sensitivity to jazzify my tune into a more intricate and interesting composition.

The week was also made extra special special with a Virtual Studio tour with Leonardo Flores, followed by weird annotation frenzy of its video on Hypothesis. I praise Kevin for Hypothesizing my story in a creative and original way, but my general opinion of Hypothesis does not yet match that of others. “Faint but pursuing.”

Hypothesis aside, I got very jazzed by Dr. Flores and his exciting introduction to e-poetry and e-literature in general, and I blogged about this Virtual Studio event in “Dr. Flores! Dr. Flores! My Head is Exploding!”

The “Daily Digital Alchemy” challenges gave me something to do each morning as I woke up with iPad and coffee:

Mon. Jan. 30 #30 “Distort the Scale” Day. “Find similar objects of different sizes, and make a photo that emphasizes or exaggerates the differences.” 

This was a photo I had taken the Sunday afternoon before which does the real deal in terms of foreshortening or visually distorting the scale. The Great Blue Heron has a wingspan of six and a half feet, but he looks tiny approaching the willows on the far shore because of the distance of the shot.

Tues. Jan. 31 #31 “Defy the rules- take a photo directly into the light.”

I had just come down off local Spencer’s Butte. As I approached the top, I just turned around and looked up at the summit crag with my iPhone 7+. I saw these people on top and the eerie light of the sun behind them and just shot into the sun. I didn’t see the rainbow effect until I got home. 

Wed. Feb. 1 #32 “Show us the most laboratory-like place in your home.”

Right above my computer is a collection of art supplies, so I didn’t have far to go. I had just received the journal with the Dark Angel on the right in the mail from an artist in Poland, so I moved things around to include it.

Thurs. Feb. 2 #33 Visualize Taroko Gorge Day. This was a super cool idea that got lots of good responses. The instructions were to “Open Nick Montfort’s dynamic, generative poem…. Let it flow by… Relax your mind.Now try to isolate a stanza or two. Try to copy it or save it in a screenshot. Next, connect to a photo (preferably your own). What imagery comes to mind? What gorge do you see?” My response was based on one of my own recent photographs with screencaptured text layered on top:

Fri. Feb. 3 #34 This was supposed to be “Build a community story using memes” day, exact wording, “Find the tweet for this DDA from @netnarr, and make a new meme that continues the narrative. Or build on someone else’s responses.” I thought nobody really understood the story-building concept of this prompt and the responses, including mine, were pretty lame.

Here is the original with my so-called response:

Sat. Feb. 4 #35 The question of the day was, “What gets your alchemist brain juices flowing?” I take any opportunity I can to make videos out of all the beautiful sites I get to photograph here in the Great Northwest, so I knocked together this little video to show that getting out into my world revs my creative brain right up:

Sun. Feb. 5 #36 This was Magical Realism Day where we were to write a paragraph based on a Twitter bot offering. We are promised this will go somewhere else next week. I collected a bunch of the bot-generated lines and saved them in a post.  My two favorite lines are “A talented cook bakes a cake made of stars,” and:

“A professor of English literature is looking for an enormous turtle in a Sicilian garden.”

Mon. Feb. 6 #37 Today was “Glitch Art” Day, which I had never heard of; however, directions and links were given. I randomly chose the glitch art generating site LunaPic and loaded a selfie I had taken of me and a tree. Result is actually kind of cool:

That’s about it for another quiet week at #netnarr. I’m looking forward to another Virtual Tour tomorrow plus the Big Reveal of the Week Four Syllabus. Somewhere in a universe far far away (Kean University in New Jersey), real students are sitting around doing this class and getting real credit for it. I sure hope they’re having as much fun as I am as an Open Participant here in Eugene, Oregon!