fletching-scar

[fletching-scar]

starter for @thelightofcreation Shinon stumbles around Garreg Mach like a starving ghost. He skulks through the Knights' mandatory drilling, he debrides his wounds with whiskey in the night. It goes on for days.

Sometimes, he swears he can still feel the warmth of Greil's body on his brow, on the heels of his hands. He doesn't know whether to cling to it or--or what. Expel it from himself. Exorcise this ancient, festering ache.

We all learned to get on without you. The words are seared into him like a thief's brand: livid, ugly, blistering.

He wishes, desperately hungover, that he could just put it all back in the bottle. Seal the lid with wax, and dash the damn thing off the mountainside.

He knows, as his exhausted hand drags down his pale and sweat-slick face, that this is impossible.

There's no place worth running to. Not anymore.

The way out is through.

Shinon sits on this, a while. A few more desperate days of nothing doing.

He thinks the last person he ever apologized to was his sister, half a damn lifetime ago.

He knows it might probably be worth it. Like it was then.

But he'll be damned if he says it to Greil's fucking face.

And that's what leads Shinon here, to the slightly finer corner of the town. What keeps this bit of parchment in his fist, puts his head on a swivel, looking frantically for someone he might ask for a few splotches of ink.

take a letter

[fletching-scar]

plotting call 6/25

i offer u the dubious honor of threading with shinon!

firstly, shinon is unaffiliated, and i'd be happy to thread with anyone who's interested in something from the mission board.

secondly, shinon is most interested in the non-mission task surrounding the book 'regarding knights and chivalry.' after his big l during the ball, he's interested in advice about how to win love... but it might end up being a wild goose chase. (lance +1)

the non-mission task about perpetual stew is also interesting for shinon, since i think that's similar to the stuff he grew up eating. play this prompt out with him if you want to see him rant about Those Damn Rich People and their elitism.

thirdly, here are a couple of other ideas for hanging out with nonnie!

shinon will begrudgingly (happily) offer informal archery lessons to students and other folk around the monastery, if you ask him nicely.

i'm interested in integrating real-life games into rp, and i'd like to frame this as 'come gamble with shinon!' we can further discuss how we would include games like blackjack or some game of chance, etc, but i think it might be fun. come fleece shinon out of all his money.

shinon is illiterate. however, the need has arisen for him to swallow his pride and write a note of apology to greil. would some kind soul assist him in this effort?

[fletching-scar]

activity check - may 25

passed!

+1 skill pt

bow b -> b 1/2

classes mastered

fighter (claim pending)

[fletching-scar]

With quivering pale fingers, Shinon accepts the shell. He's never seen--maybe never cared to notice--anything quite like it. He turns the little thing in his hand, its smooth, tapered exterior more a comfort now than the battered old shape of his flask.

Inside the little lip of it, a tender blush of pink. A fine gift, he thinks. His smile does not strengthen--and yet, it does not wane.

"Thanks," he says. The word creaks with disuse.

Shinon sighs. "You should tell 'em. What's the worst that could 'appen? Y'end up like me?"

It's a joke. Not a very funny one, cobbled together from the split planks of a shipwreck.

Mouth tight, Shinon shakes his head. Leans back against the half-damp wall of the cave.

He studies the shell in his fingers. It's beautiful.

"Thanks," he murmurs, again. His voice is weak. "Thanks for--for giving a shit."

It's been a long time since anyone has.

if crying is gay i'll never be straight

-> adult problems at TOABall2025

[fletching-scar]

Heath plucks the stupid glass up from the sand, lays it back on the table. This, Shinon figures, is the type of stiff he is. Perhaps not Shinon's favored type of stiff.

Certainly, the kind that cannot take a hint. My wyvern's in the stables. He'll probably write his mother when he gets home, just to make sure she knows he's being a good lad.

Shinon's mother never cared about that kind of thing--and even if she did, Shinon has neither the skill nor the inclination to write her.

Heath asks after Shinon's plans, and that's when Shinon decides that Heath is doing this on purpose. There are very few men who're that dense.

He smiles. At this point, it's more of a sneer, edgy and laced with something. Annoyance? Intrigue?

"Thinkin' about getting some peace an' quiet," he drawls. "Y'wouldn't happen to know any likely-lookin' gents who'd like to get some peace an' quiet with me, would you?"

His eye goes sharp and steady, drilling into Heath's. That's right, he seems to say. Plain as anything, that's the kind of man I am.

You gonna do something about it?

can i rizz you up? PLEASE PLEASE PLE-

cont. from here

[fletching-scar]

"Horseshit," sighs Shinon, at the precipice of enervated laughter. "No courage in it. None of that high-minded shit."

He sways, precariously, where he sits. He turns the flask over, all pensive, in his hands.

"Just had to tell the bastard. Make him--make him pay up, for what he did to me all that fucking time."

A hard, pointed release of breath. Shinon's nails scrape, grating, at the tin of his flask.

"If he wasn't good for it, then I'm the fool an' I always have been."

Love is a four-letter word.

Shinon steeps in that, for a moment, and then turns his eye on Zelkov.

"Y'r a good--you're a good man. Y'talk like some kinda... fuckin' blue-blood, but you're alright."

You give half a shit. Even for a ██████████ like me.

"Rather get... rather get a fuckin'... lifetime o' devotion brushed off by someone like you. 'F I had to do it again."

Shinon's smile is weak, like a guttering candle-flame... but it is there.

if crying is gay i'll never be straight

-> adult problems at TOABall2025

[fletching-scar]

Yeah, it's like that. A chasm, or a wide, dark river, or the thinnest veil between Shinon and the man he'll never touch again.

He tried to make peace with that, once. When Greil died, that he'd never clap Shinon on the back again, never again lay that companionable hand on his sharp shoulder. Not enough, these little points of contact, but still so much.

Now, Shinon must make that peace again. Greil is gone from him, and this time there's no vaunted, vicious villain he can blame.

Just Shinon, who has poisoned every well he ever drank from.

His tears burn. They dry rigid on his pitiable face.

"Yeah," he sniffles. "It's like that."

He sighs. A slow, heavy, cleansing breath. He fumbles the flask in his fingers--not opening it, not drinking. Just searching for something to do with his hands.

Searching for some way to staunch this--this hemorrhage of honesty, these words that gush unbidden from his throat.

Fuck, it's humiliating. All of it. But still, there's that perverse little twinge, that indelible urge to make it even worse.

"Y'know," he mumbles, "I was always proud. 'F it was a crime, f--being with men, I didn't fuckin' care."

He swallows. He screws his eyes shut.

"But... when he backed off of me? Felt like--felt like I did somethin' wrong."

if crying is gay i'll never be straight

-> adult problems at TOABall2025

[fletching-scar]

A rare breed...

They're small words, simple, but Shinon feels them like waves breaking on a desolate shore. All that weight, all that force.

His fingers spasm, and he drops the flask. The liquor spills, draining like Greil's life-blood, all those years ago...

Shinon's chest collapses, his body cringing in upon itself. He sobs, loud and jagged and guttural.

It's humiliating, coming undone like this. In front of--in front of fucking who? This stranger, with his feline kindness, seashells spilling from his boots?

Shinon doesn't care. He can't.

"Yeah," he whispers, hoarse and wretched. "We were... we were good. B-because of him."

Greil's face, Greil's voice, the broad golden lines of Greil's back... are bright in Shinon's memory. Like the midday sun after a drinking night, he cannot stand to see.

"The captain," he murmurs. "My captain. He made us like that. Heh--fuck--he--he made me like this."

if crying is gay i'll never be straight

-> adult problems at TOABall2025

[fletching-scar]

Shinon's never known what people like so damn much about temperance. Life is shit for damn near everyone. Everyone could use a drink, and pretending like they don't need it is just another high horse people ride on.

Shinon hasn't got the wherewithal to say that--or, really, the inclination. He knows, on some base level, that it isn't actually true.

He knows he's spit enough vitriol tonight to last ten lifetimes.

"Fine," he mutters, with a weak-shouldered shrug. He flicks the cap from his flask and drinks deep.

The stranger lays out--his shoes? Full of seashells? That's fucking strange. Kids collect seashells. Like Shinon did, once, the first time he saw the cold, broad Bay of Oribes.

He doesn't say shit. His mouth is full of rotgut, and then the stranger's speaking again.

Zelkov is his name. It suits him, Shinon thinks. Lithe and sharp-eyed, but not without warmth.

Shinon doesn't say that either. He just laughs, bitterly, 'cause Zelkov's taken him for some kind of mercenary. A keen observation, wrong in every way that matters.

"Y'did?" rasps Shinon. "A mercenary... Bet you didn't foul it up as good as I did."

He sniffles, coughs some grief out of his throat. "Insubordination. Desertion. Heh, does it count as fraternization if y'really, really want it but the bastard says no?"

If I'm the Master of anything, it's fucking up like this.

if crying is gay i'll never be straight

-> adult problems at TOABall2025

[fletching-scar]

The voice and its attendant footfalls are gentle, unobtrusive. Strange cadence to them, though Shinon's hardly got the wherewithal to mind.

It's... nice. A balm, to hear that feather-soft concern in anyone's voice. Even a stranger, even like this. Nice to know that someone gives a whisper of a shit.

Still, it is instinct that drives the rise of Shinon's tearstained head, that hardens his eye and forces his wailing mouth into the shapes that make "fuck off."

Instinct, it has always been, to say things that he doesn't mean.

(And he'd just left Greil like that. In that morass of happy couples dancing, he'd left the one love of his life unmoored, waterlogged in his own acrid venom.)

Instinct, it has always been, to be a loathsome bastard.

His head falls, once again, into the cradle of his curled-up knees. His body wracks with grief, years of it, all at once.

His entire adult life, he's been like this. Now it's over.

Suddenly, it seizes on him that he cannot be alone.

Again, Shinon lifts his wretched head.

"Hey? D-don' fuck off," he mumbles. Begs.

With a trembling hand, he fumbles out his flask.

"Drink with me?"

if crying is gay i'll never be straight

-> adult problems at TOABall2025

[fletching-scar]

No, says Greil. And just like that, he recedes from Shinon. His warm, thrumming, vital body ebbs away.

Slips back into his grave, for all that Shinon cares!

Only... that isn't true. Shinon is still--Shinon is still there, his head bowed; he still clings in desperation to Greil's every stone-faced breath.

I've always cared for you, Shinon. If he could take those words alone, excise them from anything that's come before or since... keep them in his flask, pressed always against himself. Drink from them, when he needs it.

But he can't. The rest... is just as seminal, as absolute as anything that's ever come from Greil's mouth.

It's not going to happen.

A wretched, gnarled cry is ripped from Shinon's throat. He cannot breathe. He cannot move his hands, lest they forget the shape of Greil's broad chest.

And then, clarity. Blood-hot and venomous, it burns away greensickness. Leaves his body dry.

Shinon snarls, spits into the sand. Levels his vitriolic gaze into Greil's eye.

"Have it your way," he growls. "We've all learned how to get on without you."

equal to gods, that man

sappho 31, trans. anne carson

[fletching-scar]

Their footfalls steady in the sand; they rock together like the slow tide of the sea. Shinon bathes himself in the warmth of Greil's body, of his gentle voice.

And still, the words are wrong. Still, he does not understand, he has never understood! Of all the times Shinon has tried to show him--here he is now, embracing Greil, nigh-weeping into his breast, and...

You sure missed me a lot, huh?

It's... familiar. Jocular, as though Shinon's overflow is unaccountable and strange, as though Greil could not possibly guess why.

And after all this time. Years, day in and out. Every heartbeat in between.

Shinon snarls weakly, twists his fingers in the fabric of Greil's shirt. Despite everything--because of everything!--his rage fragments into nihilistic laughter.

"Are you," he wheeze-whispers, at the edge of the hysterical. "Are you fucking dense?"

Tears are welling, desperate, in his eyes--but as they rise they're wicked away into Greil's clothes.

"Do you--after all this fucking time, you need me to spell it out? Is that... what you want?"

Is that how I get through to you?

Is that how I get what I've always needed?

equal to gods, that man

sappho 31, trans. anne carson

[fletching-scar]

@loyaldeserter

The stranger--Heath--accepts Shinon's bribe somewhat stiffly, but he does take it. And... there's a little thrill to be found, watching him savor the food. Full marks to whoever put on this shitshow, for decent snacks at least.

But, to be sure, there is a greater thrill in the way Heath's granite face goes red, blood blooming up from the stone. Gorgeous, the way a few indiscreet words can fluster him, and the way his eye lingers on Shinon's hair might pass for charming.

The way he stammers through an introduction, the offer of a trinket from his wrist... charming? A little naive. This is not the game we're playing, anymore.

And hells, Shinon hates pussyfooting around his point.

Still, he takes Heath's little charm, because it really might be worth something. A moment passes before he remembers that there's some fussy little etiquette to this, and he offers a tiny gilded starfish on the flat of his palm.

The ritual complete, the poncy little trinket-gods appeased, Shinon drains his gossamer goblet. The stuff's so sweet it burns, and he grimaces--dashes the empty cup into the sand.

"'M Shinon," he drawls, but does not give his hand to shake. Just lists a little closer, 'til he can smell the starch on Heath's stiff suit. "You really reckon you can stand a whole damn night of this?"

He says this sourly, conspiratorial.

"Wouldn't y'rather just... end up someplace else?"

can i rizz you up? PLEASE PLEASE PLE-

cont. from here

[fletching-scar]

@urvanswrath

Greil shepherds him kindly to the center, and they dance without ever having learned how. Instinct, that's what it is, and the music...

Shinon had always imagined that this would happen in perfect silence. Greil's body close to his, the plainspoken permission to call his lodestar by his name...

Shinon had always imagined... something other than this. But he has always been a man who takes what he can get. The intrusion of the music, the crowd that thrums around them, the way they run roughshod across the rhythm of the dance...

It is enough. It is good, and Shinon warms with it, sweeter than any drink. When the desire comes to bow his head, to lay his brow on Greil's proud chest, he offers no resistance.

He can hear Greil's heart beating, like this, can feel it when he speaks. Bone-deep, but the words...

The words are wrong. Greil--knows, and seeks to know more, Greil coaxes information out. So pragmatic, as he's always been, the way Shinon has always known him... Still.

"Fuck," Shinon murmurs, half-laughing. "Save it, save it, will you?"

His voice shakes, creaking toward utter collapse.

"Let me have this," he whimpers, "Greil, you--let me just have this one thing!"

equal to gods, that man

sappho 31, trans. anne carson

[fletching-scar]

[ ZENITH ] - A dance invented to celebrate the burgeoning peace recently established between the once feuding kingdoms of Askr and Embla. Long ago, so the story goes, these faraway lands had been meant to work in harmony. One land tasked with the closure of gates, and the other charged with opening them - this dance evokes a history of the back and forth of conflicting duty, eventually culminating in a tranquil hope for a better future.

There’s been an ongoing trend of Greil meeting unexpected faces. He must be very lucky to come across the Greil Mercenaries one by one, learning what each of them had been through since he was gone. Ike and Mist had been the main reason why he went to this ball, after all. When he is wandering around, seeing what activities were in store, he notices a head of long, red hair. There's many red-haired folks around, but that posture, that face... That’s undoubtedly him.

“Well, if it isn’t Shinon! Been a while, eh?” He approaches him from behind, pointing his thumb over at some dancers taking up the floor. “What say we talk over a dance? Give each other our charms when we’re done.”

In a way, he hopes that at least Shinon could open up to him. If Soren’s intel was anything to go by, there’s a couple of answers he’d like to find out. 

There is a ghost, here. A wraith that shambled from the sea, now so close to Shinon he can feel the echo of its long-gone body heat.

He arrests his body's urge to turn, to look once more upon that best-beloved face. He doesn't know what he will see, or if he'll be able to stand it. What it will do to his heart.

"You're dead," he says, his voice gone cold and brackish like the deep. "A-an' I got over it. I'm fine."

Shinon surmounts the lead in his feet, he slips a step away. And then again, and then...

Shinon forgets, as he always, always does, how to deny himself anything.

He turns, and Greil is there. Hale and whole and beautiful, just as lovely as he was the day he died.

Hazy, Shinon blinks. His breath breaks in his throat.

"Captain," he murmurs, he pulls the word out of his mouth in small, sharp pieces.

He reaches out and touches Greil--is this the first time? He doesn't know. He holds him the way he thinks people hold each other, to dance. He doesn't know.

He knows that this is Greil, and his body is warm.

[fletching-scar]

Shinon skulks, swift as a needle, through the dolled-up swarm of bluebloods, perfumed thick enough to choke a man. He's searching for--for something worth his time, a bowl of strong punch or a worthwhile companion.

But this is an Academy party, after all, and done up by the stiffs at the Church. He supposes he'll find neither, and his effort in laundering his clothes will have been for naught.

Still--they did give him a little charm bracelet, clinking with tiny starfish. If he collects enough of these... could he get a decent price for them?

charm tracker:

seashell: heath

starfish:

anchor:

turtle:

pearl:

[fletching-scar]

kiss roulette

inspired by the infamous "i want the k" meme by deactivated tumblr user tastcful. send 🎲 to generate a kiss! potential suggestive/nsf.w themes may appear

A kiss on the cheek

A kiss on the nose

A kiss on the forehead

A kiss to the top of the head

A firm kiss

A gentle peck

A romantic kiss

A platonic kiss

A kiss to the eyelid

A kiss along the jawline

A kiss to the neck

A kiss along the collar bone

A kiss on the chest

A kiss to the stomach

A kiss along the hips

A kiss in the rain

An upside-down "Spider-Man" kiss

A kiss while laughing

A kiss underwater

A rough kiss

WILDCARD! Dealer's choice :)

A french kiss/kiss with tongue

A kiss influenced by alcohol/other substances

A sleepy kiss

A kiss that's an accident

A kiss while one or both parties are crying

A kiss in greeting

A kiss in parting

A kiss to the back of the hand

A kiss to the palm of the hand

A kiss to the inner thigh

A kiss while someone watches

A kiss to a scar, birthmark, injury, or other marking

A kiss after a bite

A kiss against a wall

A kiss to the shoulder

A kiss to the back of the neck

A kiss while one party is carried

A tentative kiss

An impulsive kiss

A kiss out of spite

A clumsy kiss

A bloody kiss