May these little pieces of great literature inspire you to write and draw your best fan fiction and art.
"Asher lay on his side in the painting, one hand curled against his stomach, the other hand flung outward, limp with sleep. His skin glowed golden in the candlelight, only a few shades lighter than the foam of hair that framed his face and shoulders.
"He was nude, but that word didn't do him justice. The candlelight made his skin grew warm from the broadening of his shoulders to the curve of feet. His nipples were like dark halos against the swell of his chest, his stomach was flat to the grace of his belly button as if an angel had touched that flawless skin and left a delicate imprint, a line of hair dark gold, almost auburn, traced the edge of his stomach, and ran in a line down, down to curl around him, where he lay swollen, partially erect, caught forever between sleep and passion. The curve of his hip was the most perfect few inches of skin that I'd ever seen. That curve drew the eye down to the line of his thigh, the long sweep of his legs."
(Laurell K. Hamilton 49)
Inspiration. Glorious inspiration. This is why I love Cerulean Sins.
Don't go, Asher, please, don't go. I love the way your hair shines in the light. I love the way you smile when you're not trying to hide or impress anyone. I love your laughter. I love the way your voice can hold sorrow like the taste of rain. I love the way you watch Jean-Claude when he moves through a room, when you don't think anyone's watching, because it's exactly the way I watch him. I love your eyes. I love your pain. I love you.
(L. Hamilton 85)
That's from Anita to Asher, in Cerulean Sins. Cool, neh?
I looked at him, and he was pale alabaster with that black, black hair, those blue eyes. The folds and hollows of his body exposed to the overhead lights were as beautiful and familiar to me as a favorite path that I could walk forever and never tire of.
I stared at Jean-Claude, and it wasn't the beauty of him that made me love him, it was just - him. It was a love made up of a thousand touches, a million conversations, a trillion shared looks. A love made up of danger shared, enemies conquered, determination to keep the people that depended on us safe at almost any cost, and a certain knowledge that neither of us would change the other, even if we could. I loved Jean-Claude, all of him, because if I took away the Machiavellian plottings, the labyrinth of his mind, it would lessen him, make him someone else.
I sat on the edge of the tub with my jeans and my jogging shoes soaking in the water, looking at him laugh, watching his eyes bleed back to human, and I wanted him, not for sex, though that was in there, but for everything.
(L. Hamilton 216)
This is Anita thinking about Jean-Claude. I really wish she'd said all of it out loud! Or written it down, "To Jean-Claude, with love," signed, "Anita" - wouldn't that be awesome?
"'... you know nothing about me, and nothing about the sort of love of which I am capable. Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear. Your mind is my treasure, and if it were broken, it would be my treasure still: if you raved, my arms should confine you, and not a strait waistcoat - your grasp, even in fury, would have a charm for me: if you flew at me as wildly as that woman did this morning, I should recieve you in an embrace, at least as fond as it would be restricted. I should not shrink from you with disgust as I did from her: in your quiet moments you should have no nurse but me; and I could hang over you with untiring tenderness, though you gave me no smile in return; and never weary of gazing into your eyes, though they had no longer a ray of recognition for me... '"
(C. Bronte 319-320)
In reality, or at least in the novel Jane Eyre this is Mr. Fairfax Rochester speaking to Miss Jane Eyre. In my head, it sounds a lot like Anita speaking to Asher. Or at least thinking about him. Can't you just see pieces of this on a card - "To Asher, with love," signed, "Anita"?
"'... never was anything at once so frail and so indomitable. A mere reed she feels in my hand!" (And he shook me with the force of his hold.) "I could bend her with my finger and thumb: and what good would it do if I bent, if I uptore, if I crushed her? Consider that eye: consider the resolute, wild, free thing looking out of it, defying me, with more than courage - with a stern triumph. Whatever I do with its cage, I cannot get at it - the savage, beautiful creature! If I tear, if I rend the slight prison, my outrage will only let the captive loose. Conquerer I might be of the house; but the inmate would escape to Heaven before I could call myself possessor of its clay dwelling-place. And it is you, spirit - with will and energy, and virtue and purity - that I want: not alone your brittle frame. Of yourself you could come with soft flight and nestle against my heart, if you would: siezed against your will, you will elude the grasp like an essence - you will vanish ere I inhale your fragrance...'"
(Bronte 338)
In the novel Jane Eyre this is Mr. Fairfax Rochester speaking to Miss Jane Eyre. In my head, it sounds a lot like Asher (before, ah... before Cerulean Sins) speaking to Anita. Or JC for that matter.
