* Saltwater Scourge

Salt:  ah little kraken, bold are you. restless sailor, dauntless fighter, lower your sword, let me see your shield. ah, of course, they are but the same object. oh wave-tossed ruffian, lend me some of your mettle would you? you have been struck by the sharpest of spears yet you still stand here proudly. but off your guard, elsewhere of the battlefield, you will find your spirit can parch others. your words are but weapons crafted from your soul. little lion, sheathe your claws, or the ones you love the most will suffer. you do not have to be strong all the time love, there's nothing wrong with being soft. vulnerability is not weakness, and if it were, what's wrong with that? strength is not always your greatest tool, your heart is good. put down excalibur, and use your words. you'll find they will carry you much farther. not everything in life is a battle.

Tagged by: @biolightning

@bilgeruled   says   ; “If   you   had   just   said   the   word,   I   would’ve   joined   you.   In   a   heartbeat.”

   𝐒𝐇𝐄   𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒   𝐇𝐈𝐌   ,   expression   one   difficult   to   place.   it   spoke   of   all   sorts   of   emotion   ;   of   fondness,   of   regret,   of   longing   —   but   it   ends   only   in   a   solemn   certainty.   

            ❝   this,   I   know.   ❞   she   says   in   a   sigh,   and   for   a   moment   her   eyes   close.   even   now,   he   remains   in   a   fond   place   in   her   heart,   regardless   of   what   has   happened   since.   ❝   but   i   know   better,   Gangplank.   you   would   not   be   moving   forward,   if   you   had   been   beside   me.   Perhaps,   I   am   part   of   your   desire,   yes   —   but   as   it   were,   to   bind   yourself   to   me   …   that   is   not   the   motion   meant   for   your   life.   it   would   draw   to   a   slow   &&   terrible   halt.   My   goddess   has   shown   you   the   way   forward.   ❞

      she   pauses,   and   her   tone   is   just   a   little   lighter.   ❝   turn   your   focus   forward,   love,   not   backward.❞   

He  wants  to  let  the  rage  spit  out.  Make  an  example,  like  he  always  does.  A  show  of  FORCE,  but  he  doesn’t.  Not  with  her.  Not  with  the  one  person  who  saw  more  in  him  than  he  saw  in  himself.  He  wants  to  shout  her  down,  claim  she  never  cared  — 

But  he  knows  it’s  the  furthest  thing  from  the  truth.  The  blame  for  who  and  what  he  became,  it’s  his  fault  and  his  alone.  It  would  be  easy  to  cast  blame,  place  it  onto  Illaoi. But   truthfully?  HE  LOVED  HER  TOO  MUCH.  It   wasn’t  ever  her  fault. 

But  that  word. ‘Love’. It  STUNG.  He  snaps  back,  words  unapologetic  and   brazen  directed  towards  the  Truth-Bearer.  He  had  supported  her  choice  to  become  dedicated  to  her  Goddess,  but  the  damage  was  still  done.  The  impact  from  what  she  did,  even  if  he  moved  on,  was  still  present.  PAIN  manifested  in  his  words,  a  fire  raging  behind  his  eyes. ❝ DON’T  CALL  ME  THAT.  YOU  MADE  YOUR  CHOICE. ❞

He  stops  himself.  He  lets  the  bitter  silence  remain  after  the  bark.  The  absent  stare  that  follows  as  his   face;  she  knows  it.  Knows  him  better  than  anyone.  It’s  not  anger,  rage,  upset.  It  was  HURT.  Gangplank,  as  much  terror  as  the  name  invoked,  never  resented  Illaoi  for  her  decision  even  at  the  cost  of  himself.  He  holds  his  tongue,  refusing  to  say  anything  which  he  knew  would  cut  her.  

❝  THERE’S  NOT  BUT  HATE  FOR  ME  IN  BILGEWATER.  AND  YET  I’VE  STAYED.  THIS  IS  MY  PATH  FORWARD.  I  WILL  BE  KING. ❞

There’s  a  long  silence.  Looking  over  the  water,  he  lowers  his  tone.  she’s  the  one  soul  he  refuses  to  let  his  anger  or  impulse  harm.  ❝  You’re  right.❞  His  words  are  softer,  and  he  gives  her  a  look.  Pained,  despite  hidden  behind  a  mask  of  fierceness  and  stoicism.   

continued  from  here  ↪  @bilgeruled·

                   𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐉𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐄  dribbles down his chin, and the rind of the fruit sits uncomfortably in his mouth ― like it’s not supposed to be there. just like he’s not supposed to be here, evidently; he feels the eyes of gangplank’s crew turn to watch him like frightened deer, and it doesn’t exactly help his nerves. oh, sweet tommy kench …

what’s he gotten himself into NOW ??

         graves swallows the chunk of orange in his cheek and takes another bite, never daring to break his eye contact. he knows the game that they’re playing ― DESTINY is a familiar weight in his other hand.

         ❝  hope  you  ain’t  referrin’  to  ME  like  no  snack.  i’m  taken,  honey.  ❞   his laughter echoes about the ship all the same, as if in competition.   ❝  …  but  i  suppose  that  sword’s  a  lil’  too  big  to  just  be  for  peelin’  oranges,  huh  ??  ❞

 ❝  CLEVER   LAD.  ❞  Cutlass  breaks  the  silence,  the  peeling  of  skin  the  only  sound  breaking  out  in  the  air,  the  Captain’s  unforgiving  eyes  fixate  on  Graves.  Patient  and  drawn  out,  he  makes  a   show  of  bringing  the  skin  of  the  fruit  along  the  neatly   kept  and  sharpened  edges  of  the  blade.  

❝  YOU’VE  DONE  ME  WRONG.  BUT  ITS  NOT  YOU  I  WANT  DEAD.  ❞  Graves  was  simply  at  the  wrong  time  and  place.  And  as  it  stands,  killing  him  here  and  now  would  be  a  waste  of  resources.  He  needed  to  make  an  example  out  of  him,  but  killing  him  wouldn’t  do.  It  was  obvious  how  Gangplank  ruled  by  fear,  every  word  making  the  hardened   pirates  around  them  on  edge.  

      𝐀𝐍𝐗𝐈𝐄𝐓𝐘   𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒   𝐅𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑,   to   the   point   of   feeling   light-headed.   there   had   to   be   a   way   out,   some   means   he   could   escape.   of   all   the   ways   to   die,   please   gods   don’t   let   it   be   like   this.   he   doesn’t   dare   to   look   at   the   cutlass,   instead   keeping   his   gaze   focused   on   Gangplank.   He   held   as   still   as   he   could,   willing   himself   to   not   tremble   or   wither   —   a   particularly   difficult   feat   for   the   likes   of   him,   cowardly   that   he   was.   

            ❝   a'course   yer   not,   ❞   he   agrees   with   sincerity,   before   his   brows   furrow.   ❝   You   …   Wench   meanin’   Miss   Fortune?   ❞   given   the   opportunity,   he   would   surely   slam   his   skull   into   the   wood   beneath   him   in   anguish.   What   the   hell   was   with   all   these   people   and   their   damned   grudges?   he   squeezes   his   eyes   shut   for   a   moment   to   prevent   his   eyes   from   rolling,   before   blinking   them   open.   

         ❝   you   sure   I   can’t   sweeten   th’   deal   more   than   that?   c'mon,   now,   I’m   not   so   useful   dead   as   I   am   alive.   I   know   lots   more   than   anyone   else   ought   to   know   ;   an’   a'course,   y'can   keep   me   locked   nice   without   my   cards.   can’t   do   nothin’   without   those.   an’   I   ,   uh   …   can’t   think   so   well   with   that   blade   pointin’   at   me,   either   …   ❞

HE  WAS  hoping  he’d  give  an  answer  like  that.  A  low  chuckle,  deep  and  unsettling,  leaves  him  as  his  voice  sharply  raises.  Cutlass’s  tip  simply  cuts  the  top  layer  of  skin  on  his  leg  right  above  the  bone,  enough  to  make  him  bleed  as  the  blade  pulled  away  entirely.  Similar  to  an  incision  made  before  an  operation.  

❝  DOESN’T  WANT  TO  TALK?  I’LL  MAKE  HIM  SQUAWK.   ❞  Merciless  eyes  look  to  Tobias,  without  mercy  or  sympathy.  They  were  on  HIS  territory,  HIS  turf,  and  he  was  law.  He  had  asked  a  question,  and  not  got  an  answer  he  liked.  Order  barks  out  like  a  crack  of  a  whip,  giving  him  mere  seconds  to  amend  his  mistake.  

LIPS  twist  into  a  sneer,