JB. Cooper's Weblog

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cooperjb — Fri, 05 Feb 2010 00:30:45 +0000

She smelled sweet like incense cotton candy and innocence. She tasted like fire and rain, like vanilla and lemon. Her breath was hot and sweet on his skin warming the cool still patches. Her hands were like brands leaving scalding imprints where they rested but moments, inquisitive patches of heat that moved, followed by warm, wet rasps and nips, tiny points of indigo violet pleasure that bordered on pain, soothed by lips like healing balm.
Her slender form moved and arched like a cat in the sun, her short nails scratched lightly into over sensitized flesh. Her breath rasping over his face, her lips warm, inviting when they met his. She murmured soft exhalations of air, which might have been words, half-formed. Fingers catching in his long locks, dragging him more tightly against her, as though she would crawl inside him if she could. Her breaths, panting gusts of hot, damp air that sent shivers coursing through him. Desire curling like smoke, like flames climbing higher, till it threatened to consume him completely.

Incense and Silk

cooperjb — Sun, 17 Jan 2010 07:30:16 +0000

There was something ancient here. Something powerful and wanting. Her breath caught, her skin prickled, her blood surged faster as her eyes seemed to take in everything, and more. Dark magic shimmered in the distance a gossamer blanket laying over the lands to the north of her out land perch. Her soul seemed to stir at the sight, her fingers curled as if to grasp, and her voice stirred almost against her will, a word working its unfamiliar way from her vocal cords out her carmine lips. She was no soothsayer, no prophetess bound by god and held in sprawling temples, a prisoner of incense and silk.

She shook herself, rain daughter, sister to wind riders she was no fortune-teller, whispering half-truths gleaned from the bottom of a liquor bottle. She knew herself, earth-bound wishing for wings. She can feel him long before she sees his tawny feathers tipped in Apollo’s fire. He dived, dipped and soared, riding the winds, moving only so often, gliding, he came down, a creature of the skies perched before her. He looks at her, twists his head, and shifts his taloned feet, seeming to question her in the way only he can.

Hello, brother she thought as he turned his head and nuzzled the hard edge of his beak into her flesh, he makes a soft sound in his throat, a cry that tells her he has missed her presence in his woods, in his hunting ground. She is welcome here, not because the land is hers but because she is his.

So her prison is vast tracts of land, no incense or silk to be found, her jailer a tawny feathered creature of the skies, rather than Helios Bright, she can never share in his flight and he would never be content with her on the ground, yet he dances in her mind, her heart, his fire, her spell.

Pretend

cooperjb — Sun, 17 Jan 2010 06:51:54 +0000

pre⋅tend [pri-tend]
–adjective 10. Informal. make-believe; simulated; counterfeit: pretend diamonds

The days are long and silent here. Whispered longings overshadow even the sweetest of victories, as learning becomes her only solace. It is not her place to desire more than has been offered to her. This unique offer made out of marble floors, and lush furnishings. Like the shah’s favorite, and yet required to give nothing but her voice as payment.

It did not seem terribly strange, music was the only thing that stirred his soul, and music was the one thing denied her outside these walls. Her voice a danger, her strange and unreliable magic brought to stunning life by a succession of notes.

Music bound her to him. Music bound them to each other in away, but even as he praised her voices beauty and slowly taught her technical. She knew she disappointed him. New that he wished for a song mage and instead found a singer, whose voice set things ablaze.

His breath was warm against her shoulder. His hands were hot on her arms. He stood too close against her back. Invading her personal space, as if it was his right, and a shiver worked its way down her spine.

Sing he whispered. Enticing and inexorable, her voice rose to meet his demand. He stopped breathing somewhere after the fifth measure, his warm breathe no longer tickling distractingly along her neck. His hands remained as if to keep her standing in the proper position, and song poured from her lips continuously. She wasn’t aware of breathing herself, though she knew she must be his scent so strong in her nose. When the song ended, he whispered his pleasure against her hair. His lips brushing against the wild strands as he spoke.

She turned slowly, uncertain of his response. She had sung and sung well, but as was custom, no power rose to meet her voice. Though she could not ignore the candles, each burnt to tiny stubs with only the passage of an hour.

“You should go prepare for dinner.” He said after a moment, dismissing her easily.

table:

cooperjb — Sun, 17 Jan 2010 06:40:24 +0000

I stole this from someone else. It was there prompt board. It was part of the 100 quills challenge. You write 100 stories, short of long, somehow relating to the following words.

001.	Pretend.	002.	Desire.	003.	Fog.	004.	Today.	005.	Freckles.
006.	Thrive.	007.	Sound.	008.	Ends.	009.	Home.	010.	Jealousy.
011.	Dance.	012.	Despair.	013.	Secret.	014.	Disheveled.	015.	Plain.
016.	Sweet.	017.	Deafening.	018.	Exhaustion.	019.	Surrender.	020.	Fluid.
021.	Rage.	022.	Heartless.	023.	Silk.	024.	Box.	025.	Stable.
026.	Independence.	027.	Melody.	028.	Fire.	029.	Years.	030.	Bonds.
031.	Fever.	032.	View.	033.	Snow.	034.	Old.	035.	Waste.
036.	Pretty.	037.	Mystery.	038.	Hush.	039.	Reminisce.	040.	Nothing.
041.	Questions.	042.	Friendship.	043.	Disguise.	044.	Window.	045.	Fade.
046.	Wish.	047.	Fortune.	048.	Tender.	049.	Vigil.	050.	Sister.
051.	Star.	052.	Completion.	053.	Fear.	054.	Ring.	055.	Sorrow.
056.	Bane.	057.	Laugh.	058.	Duty.	059.	Sorry.	060.	Desert.
061.	Time.	062.	Drive.	063.	Haunted.	064.	Seasons.	065.	Devotion.
066.	Flowers.	067.	Vision.	068.	Brother.	069.	Close.	070.	Misery.
071.	Lying.	072.	Nuance.	073.	Hope.	074.	Breathe.	075.	Solid.
076.	Food.	077.	Colorless.	078.	Touch.	079.	Blood.	080.	Candle.
081.	Hot.	082.	Vanish.	083.	Compassion.	084.	Soul.	085.	Twilight.
086.	Truth.	087.	Smooth.	088.	Cruel.	089.	Redemption.	090.	Vigilance.
091.	Foreshadow.	092.	Air.	093.	Search.	094.	Poison.	095.	Sunrise.
096.	Death.	097.	Hours.	098.	Kiss.	099.	Innocence.	100.	Sacrifice.

Now I don’t know if I will actually get through all of these, or if I will actually even use them, I might just use them for scenes. Who knows….it just seemed like it might be a fun thing.

Something in the Air

cooperjb — Wed, 11 Jun 2008 03:35:20 +0000

There is something in the air. A sort of expectant rush waiting to happen. The afternoon was punctuated by high winds and intermittent showers. A beautiful, dangerous day. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that Summer is a season of opposites. We think of heat and growing things, but there is also cold wind, and harsh rain, and harsher thunder ripping the sky. The afternoon was a dance of madness, and fear, twined with a kind of wild ecstasy. There is power in days like this. Power and strength and a kind of certainty that you are eclectrically alive.

This is going to be for my writing prompts.

cooperjb — Tue, 10 Jun 2008 03:42:28 +0000

I consider myself a writer. I don’t pretend to be a very good one. My language skills are somewhat lacking, but it does not preclude a passionate love of words in general. Something about the mechanics of language defeats me. I wish I was far better at properly connecting the words into proper and complete sentences. My friends tell me that the only way I will improve is to write, and write a lot. So this blog will be the place I try and write. Try to write everyday. It might not be much, but it will be words. If I am very lucky it will also be glorious worlds.