#him going around to everyone and gently coaxing them out of their individual pits

[baldrickwhethers]

RARHGHGHGHGHH I'VE FINALLY CAUGHT UP ON SEASON 3 AND IM SO MAD AND HAPPY AND RHGRHGHRGHRHGRHGH

[wolfhednn]

🎄 A TREE FIR YOU EVEN IF YOU'RE NOT DOING THE MEME BUT DAMN IF BEING OVERBEARING WITH THIS AIN'T IC AF.

no i didn’t even reblog the meme but i’m doing it for @gallantgautier cause i’m an unapologetic trash bin :meowshrug:

          home stretch. it’s in their shared look, has been since the evening finally began to set in, has been since they got into the car behind a rowdy glenn and an ingrid chastising him about how they were going to be late if he didn’t hurry up. has been since glenn nearly got a ticket going 44 on the 30mph road leading up to the church because he was too busy laughing at the recollection of rodrigue’s face earlier that day after some stunt he had pulled.

         much of the long day is behind them now. home stretch. since nearly five in the morning, they’d been awake, the fraldarius household filled with motion and movement — presents to be wrapped ( and some secretly ), meals to be prepared, last-minute ingredients to be picked up amid the throngs in the grocery store all there for the same sticks of butter, the same sprigs of rosemary. with all the moments of warmth and moments of friction that come with christmas eve.

         home stretch. just the christmas eve service and they would be done, free to return to their shared apartment for a quieter night, a glass or two of something aged and sweet, respite beneath the north star before they would go their separate ways to different households again in the morning for christmas day with their families — felix knew sylvain would want to eke what solace he could from these dwindling hours before stepping into the pit of gnashing teeth that would greet him.

         ❝ text from dad. the gautiers’re there already, ❞ glenn announces from the front seat.

         ❝ glenn, don’t check your texts while you’re driving, please! ❞

         in the backseat, beneath where the rearview can see, felix keeps his neutral gaze out the window, watching the familiar rows of houses and trees pass, and his hand slides over to rest atop sylvain’s.

         the wheels of glenn’s car come to a stop over the familiar gravel lot, and felix’s breath puffs in a dissipating cloud over the rim of his coat lapels as he gets out of the car, promptly shoving his hands in his pockets. this, too, is tradition. the second generation wavers in their devotion, but each year the patriarchs fraldarius and gautier have built this foundation: a bedrock as unwavering as granite. glenn makes his jabs, but felix has never minded. the sermons preach the same lessons year after year, and he’s resolutely, though patiently, silent during the congregation’s prayers, but the hymns are pleasant, and he can admire the permeating spirit of warmth and the smiles on everyone’s faces.

         ❝ felix, you gonna finally sing with the choir this year? ❞ glenn’s obligatory teasing.

         ❝ i already told you, no. ❞ felix’s obligatory scorn.

         ❝ a tragedy. every year, i’m denied… how long will you- oh, hey, sylvain, what about you? come on, i’ve heard you at the hymns! don’t be shy! ❞ felix doesn’t even have to look back over his shoulder to know precisely the scene that’s playing out: glenn with that mischievous look, sylvain declining with a laugh equal parts playful and self-conscious, ingrid fondly shaking her head.

         heat from the central thermostat and the huddle of bodies arrayed in festive red and white billow to thaw his cheeks when he opens the door, glancing back at the carousing trio. the musical prelude has already begun, a medley piano arrangement of ‘ away in a manger ’ floating over the hushed voices of the settling crowd as they hasten to make final greetings to familiar faces. ❝ hurry up. ❞

         they find the array of royal blue and ivory, forest green and vermilion. ❝ we were just thinking you wouldn’t make it, ❞ rodrigue says by way of greeting, moving over for them to take their seats: the fraldariuses arrayed in one half of the row: rodrigue, glenn, ingrid, felix, before sylvain next to him makes the transition to the gautier side of the row, next to his mother, miklan, then his father.

         ❝ dad, i’m always right in the nick of time. like the saint nicholas of ti— ❞

         a light shove from ingrid cuts glenn off. ❝ shh. it’s starting. ❞

         every year proceeds the same, with its own small changes. a steady stream of ups and downs, not much different from the last. at least, that’s how it’s always felt to felix. he closes his eyes to the soothing choral prelude, waits with quiet enthusiasm for the time to sing his favorite hymns, throws a shared look and grin ( as they do every year ) across ingrid to glenn at ❝ je-sus, to thee-ee be-ee glo-o-ry givennnnnnnn ❞ and waiting for her to sigh at them ( as she does every year. ❝ no ingrid, singing giv’n wrong is tradition! ❞, as glenn insists whenever she brings it up ).

         the homily is, as he’d expected, the same as usual. communion goes as it always does, with the choir’s arrangement of ‘ the shepherd’s farewell ’ drifting to hover above and around, its gentle blend warmer than a hearth.

         before long, the service, and the conclusion of their long day, is rounding its final bend. the weariness isn’t simply theirs; it follows the dimming of the lights, cloaking the congregation in a hushing mantle that descends in seraphic peace, a penumbral dusk whose velvet glimmers faintly with the new starlight of candles being lit one by one down the central aisle. ushers move carefully, sharing the first light from the altar candles with the first individual in each row, to have it passed down, person to person. felix picks up his own, laid under his seat before the service had ever begun, and waits for sylvain to take his — a tiny, flickering flame — from his mom before turning to him. the rector’s voice murmurs gently over the crowd:

                   ❝ the light shines in the darkness, and yet the darkness                                                  did not overcome it. ❞

         the wavering glow as it passes from the wick of sylvain’s candle to his illuminates the glimmer of the smile in felix’s eyes, the creases of the same in sylvain’s face.

         ‘ silent night ’s first faint notes float over from the choir, joined in a quiet swell of unison from the congregation and felix’s own mild bass as he turns, one hand cupping the flame to shield it from the moving air, to light ingrid’s candle next. as ingrid shortly does the same, he watches with knowing exasperation as glenn takes his chance to press a kiss to her forehead, her muted protests always followed by his coy grin. tranquil coppers then move out to gaze over the small sea of other heads, out to the high windows where the moonlight peeks through, to the pungent garlands of mistletoe and ivy hung up in long vines encircling the walls just beneath the ceiling.

         they’re at the third verse when a searching hand to his right finds his own, and he curls his fingers in the gaps between sylvain’s, rough and warm.

         son of god, love’s pure light.

         ❝ hey. ❞

         felix turns to read sylvain’s smile, an adoring, coaxing thing that needs nothing to help brighten it. it’s not the radiant, beaming one when he’s laughing so hard that he needs to sit down; it’s not the wistful one softened by fondness when he’s watching felix wipe the sweat from his forehead after another close match at his computer. this one is a small candle in a quiet twilight, a sheltered microcosm for only their dwelling.

          radiant beams from thy holy face.

         he shifts in closer so that their arms touch, inviting the other to rest his face in his hair, prompting felix to look up at him with a self-conscious turn to the corners of his mouth when sylvain responds by leaning in just a fraction.

         ❝ sylvain… ❞

         with the dawn of redeeming grace.

         he knows that sylvain knows the tones of his protest. knows that when their eyes close and lips meet anyway, that sylvain doesn’t need any light to see the warmth that blooms in equal measure across felix’s cheeks and within his chest.

[ruffsficstuffplace]

The Keeper of the Grove (Part 30)

“Are you sure you want to do this, Weiss?” Penny asked as she and Weiss stood in a public bathroom. “Your body's stress hormone levels still haven't returned to normal.”

“Yes,” Weiss said before she splashed more water on her face. “I'm a Schnee, and as my grandfather Nicholas famously said: 'Where other people see desolation, failure, and the writing on the wall, I see motivation to keep on going until we turn this shit around,'" she continued as she dried her face with a paper towel.

Penny nodded. “Calling the Watcher's Roost...” she said as she held up her arm, the “tablet” section flipped out.

Weiss threw the towel away, checked her reflection in the mirror: her eyes were red and puffy from crying, she had the ominous beginnings of eye bags thanks to all the stress and less than ideal sleep she'd been getting recently, and just an aura of unpleasantness had settled on her from having been screwed over far too often and frequently.

She would have killed for make-up, some concealer at the very least, but she supposed she'd just have to work with it. Who knew: maybe looking like someone you wouldn't want to mess with would be a plus in the Watchers.

They left the bathroom and headed to the nearest Tube station, and off they went to the Watcher's Roost.

The Roost was situated on the side of one of the highest mountains of the Valley, overlooking all of the Bastion and a great deal outside the walls, too. Like the city itself, it was a series of trees and platforms connected by bridges and rope, along with a number of extra Tube stations, elevators, and zip lines for getting around quickly.

As Weiss arrived at the main entrance, she looked up and noticed giant birds perched in the higher branches, racks with saddles, bags, and harnesses with folded mechanical wings nearby. “If the Valley had an air force, this would be it,” she thought to herself as Penny arrived.

The two of them walked up to the doors, where there were already two Watchers waiting for her. One was an orange squirrel with all the chipper demeanor and hyperactivity that entailed, the other gave Weiss pause as she stared at him.

Most of the Fae she'd seen in the Bastion were based off mammals, and she'd only seen a handful of bird-like Fae such as Qrow. The one before her looked like a snake or a reptile of some sort, slit pupils in his pink eyes, pink-green scales creeping in on the sides of his face, his neck, and his hands, and what looked to be horns poking out from his forehead.

“Oh hi, you must be Weiss!” the squirrel said as she ran up to her. “Oh who am I kidding? EVERYONE in the Valley knows who you are! You're practically famous! Or is that supposed to be infamous? Anyway, I'm Nora, and that's Ren, and we're going to be helping you in your run through the Grinder!

“Hope you don't come out the other side as meat paste~!”

Weiss blinked, confused and more than a little concerned.

“'The Grinder's' what we Watchers call our entrance exam,” Ren said. “It can get pretty brutal.”

“Super brutal, you mean!” Nora cried. “There's a reason the Guild stopped offering 'Watcher' as part of the Job Gauntlet! Well, aside from the fact that we kept getting so much Moss and people who just didn't want to join up clogging up the ranks, but there's that, too!”

Weiss nodded slowly. “I… see...”

“So, are we going to stand here all day? Or are we going to see if you are Watcher Material?!” Nora said, grinning and leaning ever closer to Weiss' face with each word.

Ren calmly coaxed his friend back to a more polite, less uncomfortably close distance. “Sorry about that; Nora's been dying to meet you since Ruby told us that you were staying here permanently, and Penny's call got her excited all over again.”

“Why wouldn't I be?!” Nora cried. “We're going to be just like the Void Claw Clan and Lang-Lang from 'The Last Bear Ender!' An outsider, scared, confused, thrust into a new, dangerous world they are completely unprepared for, seeking guidance and protection wherever she can find it, fighting the wilds, her enemies, and her inner demons to rise up as their new CHAMPION!”

As Nora was busy with her monologue and dramatic posing, Weiss discretely asked Ren, “HV addict?”

Ren nodded. “It's how we both learned Nivian.”

“Figured...” Weiss muttered.

Nora turned back to her, put her fists on her hips and attempted a serious, dramatic look. “So, outsider, do you wish to grow strong with the darkness, or continue to cower in the light?”

Weiss wondered if it was too late to back out, and go see just what being a paid guinea pig would entail.

“There's a sign-on bonus of 1,000 Shinies if you pass, plus a regular monthly salary even if you'll probably be spending the next year or so training and shadowing senior Watchers in the less populated districts here in the Bastion.”

And at the promise of 22 Triple Chocolate Cake Shakes with change to spare, plus a year's worth of compensated on-the-job training, Weiss' mind was made up.

“Let's do this,” she said, smiling.

Nora cheered, while Ren smiled back. “Alright,” he said. “Let's head inside, and get you started.”

The interior of the Roost was a bizarre mix of a military base, a police station, and a hunter's lodge.

There was a giant board with announcements and notices about dangerous and criminal individuals, and suspicious activity in general. An army of operators manned terminals, screening and updating the others on important tips from citizens and their sources of information. A holographic “Heat Map” of the entire Valley was projected from the ceiling, lighting up in different colours depending on how dangerous an area was, sometimes with images of particularly deadly animals, always with a name in Actaeon or Nivian and a corresponding bounty for taking them down.

There were also the stuffed heads and carcasses of famous kills throughout the ages, portraits and pictures of proud Watchers and their trophies, and sometimes statues and reliefs of their more legendary figures, frequently portrayed in combat with their most infamous opponents.

Weiss passed by a giant statue of what looked like the bastard child of an alligator, a shark, and a tank that had also been heavily irradiated with magic, then injected with several gallons worth of steroids, because apparently whoever had designed it thought it wasn't terrifying enough.

There was a plaque underneath it: “Death Claw, the First Soul Eater,” Penny translated.

It was definitely just a statue, but the detail in its six eyes, the rows of serrated fangs within the three flaps that made its “mouth,” and the giant, twisted horns atop its head gave Weiss the chills. “That's a Soul Eater...?” she whispered.

“Yeeep!” Nora said as they passed it by. “Big reason why we Watchers are paid and funded so well—and also why we recruit year round, too!”

“We keep it largely as a reminder to never get complacent,” Ren continued.

Weiss gazed it at one more time, before she resolved never to turn her head in its general direction again, and hurried on after the others.

They went deeper into the Roost, into a series of underground caverns. She could hear the echoes of training and fighting, shouts and war cries from both Fae and animals. And from even deeper in…

“… Is that music?” Weiss asked.

Ren nodded. “We share our facilities with the Pits for extra funding and convenience.”

“Plus, a lot of Watchers tend to be Pit Fighters when they're off-duty, or vice-versa! You're going in there later as part of the Grinder, by the way.”

Weiss' eyes widened in alarm.

“Don't worry, we have safety measures and really good equipment,” Ren explained. “Your opponent's also skilled at roughing folks up without actually causing lasting harm.” He paused. “Physical harm, at any rate.”

“But for now, we're going to do Part 1 of the Grinder: The Reflex Test!” Nora said as she opened a door that led to a training room. It was very basic with a safety mat in the center, some machines for exercises and drills, and a rack of training dummies.

“It's very simple,” Ren explained as they headed to a table. “For 30 seconds, I'm going to try to touch you on your nose, you try and stop me or dodge. To pass, you only need to do either once. Ready?”

Weiss nodded and stood in front of him. “Ready,” she said as she held up her hands.

Nora put her hand over to a giant timer and turned on a camera. “On three: 1… 2… 3!”

Boop.

Ren lightly tapped Weiss on the nose, just enough for her to feel it.

Weiss blinked. “Wait, wha--”

Boop.

Weiss scowled. “Hey--!”

Boop.

Weiss raised her arms in front of her face.

Ren effortlessly weaved his hands around her defense.

Boop.

Weiss growled.

Boop.

Ren was unfazed.

Boop.

Weiss started flailing her arms in the air.

Boop.

Weiss grabbed both of Ren's wrists.

Boop. Boop. Boop. Boop. Boop. Boop.

“Gah!” Weiss let go, unable to stand against the assault. She spun around.

Ren sidestepped.

Boop.

She hid her face in her hands.

Ren gently pried her hands from her face.

Weiss looked him straight in his pink, slit-pupil eyes.

Boop.

Ding!

“Time's up!” Nora yelled. “Reviewing the footage now and…. yeeep… looks like you dodged a grand a total of zero Boops!”

“Don't worry,” Ren said, “you need only get a score of 2 out of 4 to pass, and the Combat Test counts for 2.”

Weiss grumbled as she rubbed her repeatedly booped nose.

“To the Endurance Test!” Nora said, walking off to the side and wheeling in a device that was composed of a tank with a valve, a hose, and a nozzle pointed well away from the operator's side.

“What is that?” Weiss asked.

“A Soul Fire Thrower!” Nora replied cheerfully.

“… What's Soul Fire?”

“A magical substance used for non-lethally taking down powerful targets that shrug off more instantaneous methods, or to weaken strong enemies to level the playing field,” Penny explained.

Weiss worriedly eyed the nozzle. “… Is this going to hurt?”

“Yep!” Nora replied, nodding her head. “Gonna hurt LOTS!”

Weiss stared at her. “Wait--”

“On 'Burninate!' 3, 2, 1: BURNINATE!”

FWOOSH!

Weiss screamed and ran around as she was suddenly engulfed in green flames. She patted herself, stopped, dropped, and rolled and rolled on the floor, but the fire wouldn't let up and kept on burning, and burning, and burning.

Then, as quickly as it started, it ended, leaving Weiss sprawled out on her back, eyes wide and breathing heavily, her body, hair, and clothes unburned, though tendrils of leftover magic rose up from her like smoke.

Ren stopped the timer. “5.27 seconds,” he said, before he walked over to Weiss, uncapped a bottle from his belt, and poured its contents over Weiss.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT ALL ABOUT?!” she screamed as she scrambled up, rejuvenated.

“Testing how long you might last out in the wilds,” Ren replied. “The time you can stay alight is a very accurate predictor.”

Weiss groaned. “Please tell me I passed...”

“Nope!” Nora chirped. “Gotta burn for 15 seconds at the least, 30 seconds ideally, and at least 72.08 seconds to break the record!”

“There's still the Combat test, don't worry,” Ren said. “I'd recommend at least a repeater, a melee weapon of some sort, and the lightest armour we have for speed and agility.”

“Do you have rapiers?” Weiss asked.

Ren nodded. “We do.”

“Good.”

Weiss stood in one of the smaller arenas in the Pits, armed and equipped exactly to Ren's advice.

Tall rocks and waist high barriers were strewn about, alongside a miniature mountain range behind her back and a deep ditch on her opponent's side, but hiding behind them wouldn't count for much with how small the arena was, how easy it would be to get flanked.

She looked at her repeater—a wrist-bound machine-pistol of sorts—then at the rapier of carved bone in her other hand. She'd been given time to practice with both, and a vigorous warm-up before the fight beside, but no one would tell her who or what her opponent was going to be, exactly.

“Are these darts live?” she asked earlier as Ren taught her how to reload her repeater with a fresh canister.

“As real as your sword,” he said calmly.

Weiss frowned. “Aren't you worried I'm going to hurt someone?”

Ren smiled. “Weiss, believe me, your opponent's going to turn out fine, and you will, too.”

She complained and cajoled anyone to give her a hint, but everyone kept their mouths shut, wanted her to find out for herself as she had with the Tubes. And as the lights dimmed, the crowds in the stands howled and cheered, and her opponent's gigantic cage was lowered into the ring, Weiss could take comfort in the fact that the mystery was finally going to be over.

She got into the stance Ren had taught her—sword for defense and deflection, repeater to actually do the actual hurting.

Nora got on the mic. <And now, Weiss Schnee's opponent for her Combat Test: ZWEI!>

The crowd cheered and howled as the lid opened and crashed to the ground with a massive thud. Zwei casually trotted out, both heads panting happily.

Weiss smiled.

<And for the purposes of this test: ZWEI on FIRE!>

A bird dropped a flaming pot of soul fire on Zwei's back. The flames engulfed his entire body in an instant, but he was completely unharmed. Heavy metal music began to play as he raised his heads up and howled, twin jets of green flames shooting out from his mouths.

Weiss eyes widened as several hundred pounds of burning, giant, mutant two-headed Corgi came bounding towards her, jaws open and tongues flapping in the wind.