Two drabbles and two sketches.
One sketch of Jack Davenport in 'the Moth', one of Jack Sparrow, and two drabbles.
I can’t breathe. The corset is constricting my airway so that every tiny gulp of air is insufficient for life. Like the poem: water water everywhere and not a drop to drink. It’s painfully ironic and ironically painful. If I could think straight enough to answer Norrington, it would help. If he could think straight enough to help me... He is rambling on, and now he wants to marry me and I’m being strangled by my own clothes. Stop talking, James, and save me. I can’t breathe.
I fall and I realize he’s told me that he can’t breathe either.
xxxxx
He had tasted of cheap tea and metal, as if the iron he worked with had become part of him. He was gentle, stroking my hair with his calloused hands. Will was the beginning.
He tasted of rum and the sea, the salt on his lips mingling with the sweetness of his choice drink. His mouth was heavy against mine. Jack was the middle.
He tasted of perfection. There is no other way to put it. He tasted of freedom and liberty and I will never get enough. Even though he’s gone now, I know that James is the end.
And two sketches.
I drew this a few days ago. It doesn't look /exactly/ like him, but his face was at a hard angle to draw and I just couldn't capture him perfectly. But it wasn't quite bad enough to scrap... so I just decided to post it anyways.
This is my favourite one. I think it's my best. Hopefully I'm always improving, but it's hard to top this, I think. xD I'll keep working on it.
I can’t breathe. The corset is constricting my airway so that every tiny gulp of air is insufficient for life. Like the poem: water water everywhere and not a drop to drink. It’s painfully ironic and ironically painful. If I could think straight enough to answer Norrington, it would help. If he could think straight enough to help me... He is rambling on, and now he wants to marry me and I’m being strangled by my own clothes. Stop talking, James, and save me. I can’t breathe.
I fall and I realize he’s told me that he can’t breathe either.
xxxxx
He had tasted of cheap tea and metal, as if the iron he worked with had become part of him. He was gentle, stroking my hair with his calloused hands. Will was the beginning.
He tasted of rum and the sea, the salt on his lips mingling with the sweetness of his choice drink. His mouth was heavy against mine. Jack was the middle.
He tasted of perfection. There is no other way to put it. He tasted of freedom and liberty and I will never get enough. Even though he’s gone now, I know that James is the end.
And two sketches.
I drew this a few days ago. It doesn't look /exactly/ like him, but his face was at a hard angle to draw and I just couldn't capture him perfectly. But it wasn't quite bad enough to scrap... so I just decided to post it anyways.
This is my favourite one. I think it's my best. Hopefully I'm always improving, but it's hard to top this, I think. xD I'll keep working on it.