Drowning In A Wave of Sadness

by chain_unchained

Summary:

A semi-rewrite of my previous work, From Despair to Sunshine, since I no longer work on it, now including Stardew Valley Expanded. Lance in this is based off of the mod Lance Expanded by aviroen. Unfortunately the mod is no longer being worked on, as the mod author is creating an entirely new expansion, but their writing of Lance is absolutely fantastic and inspired me to start writing again.

Chapter 1: Apples in the Woods

“Alright sweetie, have fun. And remember, don’t go into the deeper forest!”
“Kay mama! I won’t!”
With picnic basket in hand, six year old Oliver set out from grandpa Wally’s farm. He’d done his farm chores in record time, even before his mother Millie had finished putting his lunch together. Beaming with pride he skipped along the cobbled path, past Fairhaven Farm with a wave to farmer Andy (who smiled despite his gruffness), and towards a small camping spot just south of a little cottage farm owned by a kindly woman, Alexa, who was only too happy to give him some honey and rolls to add to his lunch.
The people he passed had come to expect the chubby lad, as he loved to picnic in this spot. He felt at home among the trees as much as he did among the crops on grandpa’s farm. And despite it being summer, a cool breeze always blew through the trees in that favorite spot of his, surrounded by long grass and flowers that swayed with a wind that carried their sweet scent.
He spread his favorite checkered blanket out and set up his spread—the rolls and honey from Alexa, freshly picked blueberries, grilled corn on the cob, sliced pink melon, baked summer squash. Millie desperately wanted him to lose weight; even at age six, he was pushing 80 pounds. A result of having a single working mother who could barely afford junk food with an employee discount, let alone healthy ones. Summers at grandpa’s farm usually helped shed a few pounds, but they always came back. It didn’t matter what kind of food it was though, Oliver was happy to eat it. A few curious honeybees joined him, and he left a few of the sweets on a paper plate for them before digging in himself.
“Mmm… yummy~”
With a full tummy he laid back, arms tucked under his head to watch a few fluffy clouds slowly trail across the blazing blue sky. Warm, content, listening to the rustling leaves and gentle burbling of the nearby river. His eyelids grew heavy; a nap sounded very good right now…

A louder rustling roused him from the doze he’d slipped into, and he sat back up, looking around while rubbing the sleep from his eyes. At first he saw nothing; then, more rustling, and a strange high pitched noise like a bird’s chirp. Not too far away, a little round green thing jostled among the bushes, as if watching him.
“… H-hi?”
The creature, the size and shape of a granny smith apple, jumped at the sound of his voice and hid among the branches—though after a moment, it peeked back out at him, seeming just as curious of him as he was of it.
“Um… do you want some lunch?” Oliver picked up one of the blueberries and held it out. “We can share.”
Hesitantly the creature inched forward, drawn by the offer—an eagle’s cry overhead sent it scurrying away, towards the deeper parts of the forest.
“W-wait!”
Oliver scrambled to his feet and grabbed the basket to follow it, forgetting his mother’s warnings about staying out of those parts. He wanted to talk to the creature, to learn what it was, to be friends with it—it was so small and cute, how could he not?
“It’s okay! It’s gone! The eagle flew away!”
His voice echoed through the woods; the sun dimmed the further in he went, the thick canopy of trees smothering its light save for what could peek through the gaps. His feet slowed to a stop, his chest heaving, eyes darting around looking for an apple in a sea of greens.
Once more he saw movement in the brush, this time taking a step towards it. The little creature squeaked and… bounced? back, so he stopped and crouched down with the picnic basket outstretched.
“My name is Oliver. Do you want to have the rest of my lunch?”
He set the basket down and scooted back a step; this time, the creature crept forward, towards the basket that was twice its size.
“My mama packed it. There’s still lots of yummy stuff in there—it’s got blueberries, and melon, and corn on the cob.”
A curious squeak. Slowly he tipped the contents of the basket out onto the ground.
“We can have a picnic in here. Even if I forgot my blanket out there.”
Tiny hands that were more like twigs picked up a blueberry; it glanced between the berry and the boy before him several times, judging if it was safe, then took the tiniest bite that must have been overwhelmingly delicious—it leaped for joy and started bouncing circles around him.
“I told you it was yummy! My grandpa grew those himself. I helped,” he added the last bit proudly. The creature certainly approved, happily nibbling away on the rest; it didn’t seem capable of talking, he noticed. Maybe the squeaks were like a dog’s bark or a cat’s meow. “… You look like an apple. Can I call you that? Apples?”

Before long the two were frolicking together as though they’d been friends forever, playing tag and hide and seek, climbing trees, finding rocks. The hours passed, the sun began to set, and with it the woods grew dark and dim.
It was only when they stopped to catch their breath that Oliver even realized.
“Uh oh… I forgot my mama said I wasn’t supposed to come in here.” Almost as scary as breaking one of the rules was the fact that he couldn’t even remember the way they came. “Do you know the way back? I’m s’posed to go home before it gets dark.”
Apples squeaked curiously, seeming just as confused as him. An owl’s hoot echoed in the distance, spooking them both—little Apples clung to his leg for comfort.
“I-It’s okay. We’ll be okay.” He picked Apples up to sit on his shoulder, looked around a bit more, then hesitantly started walking in a random direction. But the woods were endless, stretching on and on around them, and the way forward grew harder to see with each passing minute.
“I-It’s okay,” he repeated, both for his own frightened self and the quivering creature hugging his head. “… H-Hey, do you live here? M-Maybe your mommy and daddy are looking for you. They m-might know the way back.”
Apples squeaked sadly.
“… Do… do you not have a mommy or daddy?”
Another sad squeak, affirmatively.
“You live here all by yourself?”
Even sadder squeak. Oliver’s chin quivered, and he took Apples from his shoulder to hold them in his arms instead.
“You’re not gonna be alone anymore,” he said, trying his very best to be brave for his little friend. “We’re gonna get out of here, and I’m gonna take you home, and you’ll live with me and my mama—”
A low growl stopped him cold in his tracks and sent a terrified shiver down his spine. A pair of glowing eyes peered at them from the darkness—then two pair, three pair, four. A frightened whimper escaped his lips; he clutched Apples close, and felt the little creature trembling against him.
He took a slow step backwards. A pack of wolves crept forward, staring hungrily—growling, fangs bared, hackles raised.
“St… stay away!”
In a blind panic, he turned on his heel and ran. The pack was on him in an instant, biting at his legs to bring him with a scream to the ground; Apples tumbled out of his arms, just avoiding being crushed as the pack surrounded them, but Oliver was quick to pull them back into his hold and shield them with his body.
“Mama! Mama!!!!”
He tried to push the snapping jaws away, but the wolves were strong. Stronger than him. Fear gripped his heart, clawed at his throat.
“G-go away!!! Leave us alone!!!”
A powerful sensation welled up with the last shove—a great gust of wind blew out of nowhere, followed the arc of his push to scatter the wolves several feet back. For a moment, Oliver was stunned, blinking fearful tears from his eyes as he struggled to his knees. His legs burned from the bites, shaking and refusing to bear his weight. But he had to run. He had to run.
Another powerful wind rushed past him, much stronger this time, carrying a different energy. A figure stood before him, tall and imposing, robes billowing, separating him and Apples from the ravenous wolves.
“Begone!”
His commanding voice rumbled through the trees, sending birds to the skies; the wolves yelped and scurried away, tails tucked between their legs.
Relief flooded Oliver’s body at their departure, only to be replaced with fear anew at the stranger who sent them running. He clutched Apples tighter to his chest, trying to quell his uncontrollable shaking, and visibly flinched when the man looked back at him. Dark eyes studied him from under a large brim, his figure casting an imposing shadow over the pair. For what felt like an eternity, the man just looked at them. At Oliver. And for a moment of that eternity, their gaze met—and the man seemed satisfied.
“You are just like your grandfather. I will take you home.”
“M-My grandpa? You know my grandpa Wally?”
The man didn’t answer, instead holding out his hand to the frightened boy; hesitant, though somewhat comforted by the revelation, Oliver grasped it.
A blinding light, a gale of wind as though he were flying through a hurricane. Frightening, overwhelming.
The world exploded, and then he was on the farm—but Apples was gone.
“Wh-where’s Apples?!”
The man paid him no heed, his gaze fixated on the two figures sprinting towards them.
Oh Oliver had never received such a scolding as he did that night. In between Millie’s relieved sobs and hugs came threats that he would never be allowed to roam alone again. Grandpa Wally stood off to the side, letting his daughter fuss over her child while exchanging quiet words with the man who rescued him. They had a familiarity between each other, one that Oliver noticed over his mother’s attention—though even she spared a moment to profusely thank the man, who seemed to know her as well.
“Where’s Apples…?” he asked again, when things startled to settle down. The man, set to depart, paused at the question.
“Who?” asked grandpa.
“A junimo, I believe,” said the man. “I found the two together.”
“Ahh.” Grandpa knelt down with a grunt to look his grandson in the eyes. He explained the junimos—spirits of nature, that only a few people were able to see. They belonged to the forests, he said, and that was why they couldn’t come with. A wholly unsatisfactory answer that left the overtired child sobbing—the strange man took his leave when the tears started flowing, leaving his grandpa and mom to deal with the tantrum.
Oliver was special, the adults learned that night—in more ways than one.
14 years later, Oliver stood before his grandpa’s run-down cottage, a single packed bag in hand and a deed to the farm grasped in the other. The once lush farm he’d loved as a child now lay in ruin, nature having reclaimed in many years ago. The air bit his skin; heavy snow blanketed the ground and covered his motionless self. No longer was he the bubbly, chubby, happy boy that spent blissful summers here. He was cold, thin, hungry, tired. So very tired, and numb. And despite that, he was hopeful.
“You were right, grandpa… you knew. You knew.” A lump formed in his throat. He’d already cried so much the last few months, he didn’t think he could still shed a tear. “Thank you for taking care of me, right up to the end…”

Chapter 2: Familiar Unfamiliarity

Notes:

(apologies for the abrupt chapter end and short length, I'm trying not to stress about finishing parts I'm struggling heavily with just to keep my interest and flow going)

His first few weeks back in the valley passed in a blur. Much of the first few days were spent acclimating back into the town. The local grocery store had a request board outside, where folks could put up odd jobs. One of the first Oliver took was delivering grocery orders for its proprietor, Pierre.
“Thanks for doing this, Oliver,” he said, handing over the bags of groceries to be delivered. “… You sure you’re holding up okay?”
“Mhm.” Oliver smiled the best he could through the fatigue and chattering teeth while he fixed his numb fingers’ grip on the bag handles. “I’m just fine.”
“Alright… the bill’s been paid already, so any money they try to give you is a tip.”
“Kay.”
“Is that Oliver?” called Caroline, Pierre’s wife, from back in the shop’s attached house.
“Yes dear, he’s picking up the Mullner’s delivery order.”
Rushed footsteps pattered down the hall, and the green haired woman emerged from behind the door. “Hang on a moment, sweetie, I’ve got some tea brewing that I’m going to put in a thermos for you.”
“Ah—th-that’s alright, you don’t have to…”
“Nonsense, you need something to warm you up if you’re going to be running around in the cold. You stay right there, I’ll be right back.”
She disappeared back into the house; Pierre gave an apologetic shrug of his shoulders, a sort of ‘what can you do’, while they stood there awkwardly waiting for her to come back. All Oliver could do was fidget; he couldn’t deny a nice hot tea sounded wonderful, but just standing around doing nothing left too much time for his mind to wander. And he wasn’t used to people doing kind things for him; after so long of relying only on himself, any sort of charity just felt wrong. Undeserved.
“Here you go, honey.” Caroline pressed a hot thermos into his hands a minute later. “It’s green tea with jasmine and honey. Make sure you drink it before it gets cold, alright?”
“Thank you, ma’am, I will.”
“None of that ‘ma’am’ nonsense, either. It’s Caroline to you. And if you need anything, you come and ask right away, understand?”
“Yes ma—C-Caroline.”
He couldn’t get out of the store fast enough, cheeks flushed with embarrassment that extended all the way to the tips of his ears. That wasn’t charity—that was pity. Shame gripped him as he walked through the town square towards the Mullner’s house. Everyone he’d met who knew him as a child treated him with that same pity. They all knew about his mother’s passing. It was all he could do to put on a face and hold himself together in front of them; the busy work kept his mind distracted, helped him keep from breaking down.
The Mullners were no different; the kindly Evelyn took the groceries as he crossed the threshold, and as soon as the door was shut the little old lady pulled him into a hug.
“You poor thing. I’m so sorry.”
“I-It’s alright, Mrs. Mullner… I’m okay.”
“There’s no need for the formalities, dearie. Just call me granny, like you did when you were little.” She held him at arms’ length, smiling sadly as she took him in. “Oh, but look at you, all grown up. I could barely recognize you in those photos Mayor Lewis showed us.”
“Hrmph.” George rolled his wheelchair into the hallway to get a look at him, eying him up and down with a much less kind eye. “Went from a beach ball to a string bean, you did.”
“George!” his wife admonished; Oliver just laughed awkwardly. “Forgive him, dear. When you get to be our age you tend to lose your filter. Come in, come in; I just baked some cookies that need eating.”
“Ah—I’d love to, but I’ve got other errands I need to run…”

A whirlwind of an afternoon ended with him taking the long way back to the farm, via the beach. A long path wound along the coastline, offering a beautiful view of the endless Gem Sea. Would that he had the luxury to stop and admire it…
Not far up the path loomed a massive vineyard, impressive in its scale. No grapes grew on the trellises lining the garden, it being the dead of winter, but surely in the height of summer it would be a sight to behold. He vaguely recalled seeing the vineyard in passing as a boy, but he hadn’t interacted much with its owners.

Chapter 3: The Fiery Stranger

“I-I… definitely… overdressed for this…”

The heat of the caldera was suffocating, overwhelming, the veritable heat of the sun itself compared to the chilly fall weather back in Pelican Town. His top hung open, sleeves rolled up, skin glistening with sweat and soot, hair a disheveled mess clinging to his head and neck. The water in his flask had long run dry, and he leaned on his sheathed sword like a walking stick as he hobbled, exhausted, up the final steps. He’d had no idea the ascent would be this grueling…

He took the last step, emerging into the caldera proper. Molten lava bubbled all around, warping the air with its heat yet miraculously not searing his skin off—though that’s not to say he wasn’t sporting a few burns. Lifting his drooping head, blinking sweat from his eyes, he spied a figure standing in the distance before a grand forge, fiery red hair burning amidst the lava and wholly unperturbed by the heat.

Deep laughter echoed around the volcano walls. “My, my… it’s been quite awhile since anyone’s braved the top of the caldera! I thought it’d just be me and the dwarves for the next few centuries… Kohldur wasn’t known for its hospitality.”

The figure faced him—their eyes locked, the stranger’s emeralds piercing into Oliver’s amethysts as though staring into his very soul, and Oliver’s breath caught in his throat.  An amused smile broke across the stranger’s face, handsome and sharp to match those eyes that almost seemed to glint with playful mirth.

“Ah, but I digress. I have a feeling you and I will become very well acquainted.” A wave of his hand summoned a bright burst of light and wind. “See you next time.” 

“W-Wait!” Oliver took several steps forward, hand outstretched—but too late. He was alone, heart aflutter and racing in his tight chest.

The volcano shuddered as his hand fell back to his side, oddly disappointed. “We didn’t even get each other’s names…”

 

 

His foray into the volcano left him so exhausted that he was asleep before his head hit the pillow, but thoughts of the mysterious man filled his head as he lay there in the morning, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

‘I wish I could’ve spoken to him,’ he thought with a yawn, stretching his aching limbs then kicking the blankets off to get up. He had so many questions—namely, why was the man in the volcano in the first place? Who was he? Was he single--?

He quickly shook the last one away, the bright red on his cheeks having nothing to do with the cold. Surely someone as attractive as that would already be taken.

‘I don’t have time for things like that … ’

Hell, he barely had time to take care of himself, in every sense. Mornings were a rush of getting dressed, slapping butter on toast, rushing out to tend the farm and take care of errands and upkeep and monster slaying in the mines; when night came he was usually so exhausted he could barely finish a ten minute shower before collapsing into bed. He didn’t even have time to stop and think, let alone time to waste on pleasure. It’d been like that since high school. Since his mother became too sick to work.

He pushed thoughts of the man aside to finish his morning tasks. When noon rolled around he trudged up the winding mountain path to the adventurer’s guild, intent on filling his afternoon with a trip into the mines to hunt monsters. As he pushed the door open, he heard raucous laughter—Marlon’s, and another freshly familiar voice.

“Ah come off it, Marlon!” The man slapped the counter he was leaning against, wiping a tear from his eye as his laughs petered off. “That’s not how it—oh, hello there sweetheart.”

“Excellent timing, Oliver.” Marlon beckoned the bewildered lad over. “Meet Lance. He’ll be here for the foreseeable future as a local battle mage.”

“I—er—b-battle mage--?”

Lance chuckled. “We’ve technically already met once before, albeit briefly. At the caldera.” He turned to Oliver, extending a hand to him with a warm smile. “I told you we would become well acquainted, didn’t I?”  

“Y-You did, yeah…” Oliver tried to gather himself and shook the proffered hand. “It’s nice to meet you properly… I didn’t know Pelican Town needed a battle mage.”

“Magnus has noticed increased activity in the deep woods west of his tower,” Marlon explained. “It’s also just a good idea to have another hand on deck for the mines.”

“I see… is there anything that I can do to help?”

“You’re sweet to ask.” Lance chuckled again. “Just keep doing what you’ve been doing; Marlon’s been singing your praises, saying you’ve been a great help with keeping the mine populations under control.”

“That he has. He’s been an outstanding addition to the guild. In fact, I daresay that’s what brought you here today, isn’t it?”

“Oh? Well don’t let us old men keep you. Good hunting, Oliver. And it really was a pleasure to meet you.”

“S-Same to you.”

‘’Us old men’? Marlon I get, but Lance doesn’t look much older than 30 … ’

Chapter 4: What Makes a Mage

“I want to learn battle magic.”

Magnus opened one eye, breaking his meditation, to look at Oliver pointedly. “What use do you have for battle magic?”

“I fight monsters in the mines. And Marlon said that monsters have been creeping out from the deeper woods.” Oliver’s lips pursed into a taut line. “I want to help protect the town too. It shouldn’t just fall on you and Lance.”

Lance’s name finally grabbed Magnus’ attention, which he focused on Oliver. “I am most curious as to how you know that name.”

“I met him on Ginger Island—what does it matter?”

Magnus was silent for a time. “… While it is true that you have shown an aptitude—perhaps even a gift—for the arcane, battle magic is different to the spells I have taught you thus far. It is wild, potent, dangerous. And not all who are attuned to magic can wield it.”

“I still want to try.”

He sighed, rubbing his beard in contemplation. “… You simply cannot be content with the simple magicks I have taught you so far, can you? Another way you resemble your grandfather. Always pushing to see what he could learn… Very well. We shall see if battle magic is possible for you.”

A rush of relief washed over Oliver. If he could lob fireballs or lightning like Lance, perhaps he wouldn’t have to fear wolves in the dark anymore…

 

They stood before Magnus’ cauldron, bubbling and boiling with a dark purple liquid that emitted an acrid smell. It reminded Oliver of the forest potion he had to drink to be able to communicate with junimos.

“As before,” Magnus began, dipping a bottle into the cauldron to fill it with the draught, “you must drink this potion.”

“… Will it be like the first one or the second one?”

“That depends. If you have a talent for battle magic, it should taste of something pleasant; if not, well…” His foot nudged a wooden bucket closer to Oliver. “We shall see.”

The putrid smell, enough to make Oliver’s eyes water and stomach churn, did not fill him with confidence. He took the vial, staring down into its contents whilst psyching himself up. Finally, he took a deep breath, and downed it in one go.

To his great relief, a lovely taste coated his tongue; melons and blueberries, perhaps pies, like the ones he used to eat on Grandpa’s farm. It filled him with warmth, a moment of happiness he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

“Well?”

“It tasted like… like my childhood. The fruits I used to pick with grandpa and mom during the summer.”

“Most curious. And most impressive. You continue to surprise me, Oliver.”

“So… does that mean…?”

“Yes, yes. It means I will begin instructing you on battle magic. However,” Magnus tempered Oliver’s enthusiasm before it bubbled too far, “there is a limit to what I can teach you, seeing as you are not my apprentice. Not formally. I am already skirting the line as it is. And one more thing.”

He beckoned Oliver to follow him down into his library nexus; he plucked several thick tomes from their shelves and set them with a rather loud thud onto a nearby table.

“Before I teach you anything, I require you to read through each of these books. They will instill important knowledge on the foundation of magic, knowledge that you must have in order to cast the spells.”

Just judging by the thickness of the books, it amounted to one or two thousand pages of reading. Of course Oliver agreed to it, but the next few months his head swam with magical theory and history…

Chapter 5: Monster Crops

Once more Oliver trudged through the snow to the guild, shielding his eyes from the sun reflecting on the powder’s surface. A rare clear, sunny day for winter, and here he was planning on spending it practicing his magic in the mines. Anything to keep himself busy with Christmas and the new year rapidly approaching…

To his surprise, he spied Lance fussing over several flowerpots outside of the guildhall, clearly perturbed by whatever he was attempting to grow in them—though the sound of Oliver’s approach drew his attention.

“Ah, sweetheart. I didn’t think you’d be stopping by today.” He grinned, brushing the palms of his hands off on his pant legs while Oliver’s face turned red. “Must be a sight to see me covered in dirt.”

“N-Not really… what are you doing?”

“Struggling to get these monster crops to grow.” He sighed, kicking the dirt with his brows furrowed together. A glint shimmered across his face. “You’ve had success growing all sorts of crops, haven’t you?”

“M-Me? I mean, I’ve been able to grow everything I’ve planted this year, so… maybe?”

“Perfect.” Lance gestured him over. “Do you think that green thumb of yours would be able to help me grow these plants?”

“I can try.” Oliver crouched down to examine the seeds in the plant pots. “You said these were monster crops?”

“Yes. These are seeds affected by monster energy, found throughout the Highlands. I need the crops for research purposes, and I have more… pressing matters that need my attention more than tilling dirt.”

“Like protecting the town?”

“Exactly.”

“Hm…” Oliver studied the seeds, and some fresh ones that Lance provided. He’d never seen ones like them before, and they definitely had a strange aura around them—how strange that he could sense auras now, however faintly. “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll definitely do my best. I’ll ask ma—Rasmodius if I can look through some of his books on arcane plants, too. Maybe I can find some cultivating tips there.”

“Seems like these seeds are in excellent hands, then. You have my sincere thanks, sweetheart. I need to get back to my outpost, but if you ever need anything feel free to reach out.”

Oliver was glad that Lance couldn’t see the blush return to his cheeks. ‘Does he call everyone that?’ he couldn’t help but wonder, as they went their separate ways—Lance via teleportation, and Oliver via the path down the mountain, bags of seeds tucked away in his pack. He’d rather not have to read another esoteric tome ever again, but if it meant keeping the valley that much safer, he was willing to.

 

“A-Are you sure this boat is safe, Marlon?”

Marlon chuckled at Oliver’s trepidation. “Yes, I’m quite sure. She’s fully repaired and sea worthy… well, river worthy.”

“A-And it can handle both of us, and the plants?”

“Absolutely. You weigh almost nothing, if anything those planters weigh more than you do.” He offered his hand to the anxious lad, who hesitantly accepted the help to get into the admittedly small vessel. “You’ve been to Ginger Island, haven’t you?”

“Y-Yes, b-but Willy’s boat was bigger…”

Again, Marlon chuckled and took the helm. “It’s not the size of the ship that matters, it’s the captain at the wheel. I promise you, we’ll get to the Highlands safely.”

The boat lurched forward, rocking side to side just a bit as it left the dock—Oliver yelped at the sudden motion, clutching the side of the vessel in utter fear.

Despite his misgivings and the frightening start (it wasn’t, really, but to him it was), the trip down the winding river was long but blissfully uneventful. They’d set out early morning, just after the sun peeked over the mountains; by the time they docked in the foggy Highlands, it was high overhead.

“You holding up alright, Oliver?” Marlon asked as he tied the anchor rope tightly around a docking post.

Oliver nodded meekly, quite glad to plant his feet back on solid ground. “Thank you for taking me out here…”

“It’s no trouble. Will you be able to carry them up to the outpost yourself?”

“Yeah,” Oliver carefully gathered the four planters in his arms, “I think so.”

“Alright. I’ll be here when you’re ready to leave. Might even pass the time with some fishing.”

“I didn’t know you fished!”

Marlon’s mustache curled upwards slightly. “Don’t often have the time to.”

Oliver related too much to that as he started up the admittedly steep steps towards Lance’s outpost. His jelly legs and the awkward shape of the planters forced him to take it slow, but he was still thoroughly winded by the time he reached the top.

The outpost resembled Magnus’ wizard tower, a tall and imposing brick structure surrounded by lanterns that emitted an oddly colored light. Even from a distance it felt warm, soothing.

“Ah, sweetheart!”

Lance’s voice called from the top of the tower. Squinting through the blinding sunlight, Oliver made out his figure leaning over the railings on the roof.

“Hello! Sorry for dropping by like this, but—” he tried to hoist up one of the planters, only to nearly drop it, “y-your crops grew!”

“Ah, you are an absolute lifesaver! One moment, I’ll be right down.”

 

The planters lined the outside of the outpost tower, and Lance stood silent for a time, admiring the results of Oliver’s labor: a tall, vibrant stalk with bright green berries; a plump, golden mushroom; a dark and foreboding carrot, brimming with void energy; a leafy green clump with a single eye-like fruit.

“Fascinating… simply fascinating. And you were able to germinate them so quickly as well. You truly do have an affinity for the earth, don’t you?”

“O-Oh, I don’t know—it wasn’t anything special, I don’t think.” Oliver dug the tip of his boot into the dirt, bashful at the praise. “Magnus’ library deserves most of the credit.”

“Come now, don’t sell yourself so short, sweetheart. This is a huge weight off my shoulders.” Lance almost seemed… giddy. “The First Slash will be impressed indeed—hm?”

He all but cut himself off, his attention shifting towards the meadows in the distance with brows furrowed. A second later, Oliver heard it as well—a faint cry in the aether, muffled, desperate.

“Wh-what was that?”

“A call for help, I think. Coming from the caves to the northwest.” Lance turned on his heel, making for the door to the outpost. “I’m sorry to cut this so short, but this needs investigating. Thank you again for your invaluable aid, Oliver.”

“Ah—can I come with you?”

Lance paused, his hand on the door handle. “Are you certain?”

Oliver nodded, resolute. “I’ve been learning battle magic. I can help—besides, it’d be safer to go together, wouldn’t it?”

For a long moment, Lance regarded him. “… You are full of surprises, aren’t you?” He chuckled. “I’ll never say no to good company. Let me just get some supplies, and we’ll head out.”

 

The caves teemed with monsters that Oliver had never seen before—frightening and powerful. His admittedly fledgling magic barely seemed to touch them, while Lance’s blew them away with just a wave of his hand.

“I guess I still have a lot of practice to do,” he said, somewhat downtrodden, as Lance dispatched a mob with ease.

“Don’t worry too much about it. You’ve been using magic for a brief time, whereas I’ve had decades to master it. Forest magic is an unusual choice though, I must admit—though perhaps it suits you more than it would suit others.”

“Heh, Magnus said the same thing.”

“Did he now? Great minds think alike.” Lance sent another monster reeling, granting them safe passage to the deeper parts of the cave. “Though I’d rather not be compared to that old fuddy.”

“You don’t like Magn—is that a cage?!”

Lance’s attention snapped from Oliver to where Oliver was looking. Indeed, it was a cage of all things, mysteriously erected in the back of the cave—at least, it seemed to be mysterious, given Lance’s unfamiliar reaction to the sight. More alarmingly, the cage contained a small figure hunched up against the back wall. Even at a distance, their injuries were visible. Their footsteps quickened, hastening them to the cage’s bars. As they drew near, Oliver recognized the figure as a dwarf, like the one that lived in the mines back in Pelican Town.

“Who did this to you?” Lance asked; Oliver crouched down, squinting through the darkness to discern the extent of their wounds.

“I-I… don’t know…” The dwarf coughed, clutching their side. “I was knocked out… and found myself here… how did you find me…?”

“We sensed someone call out for help.” Lance studied the lock on the cage door. “Oliver, do you sense any other magic in the area?”

Oliver jumped a bit, surprised at the question. “Uh—n-no, I don’t think so. Just ours.”

“I thought so.” Lance conjured up a set of keys and began trying them on the lock; within just a couple, it clattered open on the ground. “Are you able to walk, my friend?”

“I-I’m not sure.” The dwarf winced and gasped in pain as they struggled to their feet.

“Don’t push yourself.” Oliver rushed forward to steady them. “I, uh—I don’t mean to offend, but—would you like me to carry you instead?”

The dwarf wheeze-laughed. “Y-you humans are amusing… no offense taken. I appreciate the offer, b-but I think—I think I can manage on my own.”

“I’ll cast a protection spell so the monsters leave us be.” Lance drew his sword and held it before him, eyes closed; a bright flash of light filled the area for a brief moment before fading. “There. Let us quit this place, quickly.”

Oliver offered the dwarf his staff to use as a crutch, which they accepted gratefully, and they began the slow return back to the outpost.

“Thank you for your help, Oliver.” Lance turned to the farmer once the dwarf was safely resting inside.

“I didn’t really do anything… you were the one handling it all.”

“You did more than you think, sweetheart. Seriously, you must stop undervaluing yourself.” His smile faded. “As much as I’d like to treat you to a warm meal as thanks for this and the monster crops, I’m afraid I must tend to our dwarf friend and send word to the Ministry about their imprisonment. This is… unprecedented.”

“I understand.” Oliver bowed respectfully to him. “Thank you for letting me help. I learned a lot just watching you.”

“Is that so?” He chuckled. “I’m honored to have been of assistance. Be safe on your way home. Give my regards to Marlon and Gil, would you?”

“Of course. I… guess I’ll see you around?”

“Count on it.” He winked playfully, then disappeared into the outpost, leaving Oliver flustered as he returned down the steps to the boat dock.

“You were gone awhile,” Marlon remarked as he climbed tentatively into the boat. “Did something happen?”

“You could say that…”

 

Chapter 6: Monsters in the Dark

Notes:

I'm sorry this is so cringe but this is my comfort fic right now and I'm just writing what I want pls no hate

The first rain of the new year soaked Oliver as he stood before the woods he’d been lost in as a boy, tightly clutching his staff to ground himself in reality. A deep seated, primal fear kept him rooted to the spot, unable to press forward past the treeline. He could hear the snapping of jaws, the growls, could feel the teeth sinking into his leg; the rising terror caught his breath in his throat.

‘I can do this. I can. Just have to … just have to take the first step.’

His legs refused to listen, every muscle tensed and taut. His breaths quickened, sharp, short pants that misted in the still chilly air. His consciousness flickered between the present and past, rapid flashes that overwhelmed him and nearly drove him to his knees in panic.

“You’ll catch a cold just standing there in the rain, sweetheart.”

A warm hand on his shoulder broke him from the spiral and nearly sent him skyward in fright.

“Heh, sorry—I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“L-Lance—” Oliver clutched his chest, his heart racing so quickly he feared it would burst or stop outright. “I-It’s okay. I-I was—was zoning out.”

“I noticed.” The man came to stand beside him, hand resting on the hilt of the sword on his hip. “Something on your mind?”

“N-No… well… sort of.” Oliver’s shoulders hunched, the panic and fear replaced with meek embarrassment. “I was remembering the time I got lost in the deeper parts of the woods. Back when I was little.”

“Ahh, I bet you were every bit as adorable then as you are now.”

“Th-that’s—!” Oliver’s cheeks turned crimson. “I-I am not, and I was not then either, believe m—you’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”

“Oh, absolutely not. But I apologize for interrupting; please, continue.”

Oliver pouted with a huff. “Hmph…” Lance chuckled, amused. “… Before I got lost,” he finally continued, “I’d met a junimo right around here. They were shy and ran away, and I chased after them because… well, why wouldn’t I?”

Lance’s brows raised in surprise, but he said nothing.

“We ended up playing together for hours and hours, and… well, that’s how we got lost. And then… th-then the wolves…” Oliver forced himself to breathe; he absolutely did not want to start panicking now, in front of Lance of all people. “I remember being scared, and wanting to save myself and Apples—uh, the junimo—and… I think I actually used magic for the first time back then. Just trying to get them to go away. And then Magnus came and magicked us away—well, magicked me away, back to grandpa’s farm. Grandpa said that junimos belonged to the forest…”

“Hold on. You used magic as a—how old were you?”

“Uhm—I think I just turned six?”

“And your grandfather owned that farm?” Lance gestured towards the farm. Oliver nodded. He just stared at him for a long minute, then abruptly burst out laughing.

“Wh-what’s so funny?”

“Hah—nothing, nothing.” The laughter quickly petered off, with Lance wiping a tear from his eye. “It all makes sense now.”

“What does?”

“Oh, don’t mind me. That was a most riveting story, but it doesn’t explain why you’re standing out here getting drenched.”

Pouting at the lack of explanations, Oliver looked back towards the forest. “I… it’s… embarrassing, but I… want to try looking for Apples again. But my legs won’t let me go in…” His grip on his staff tightened. “It’s so stupid. I’m not a child anymore. I fight monsters all the time. I can use magic! Magic! But I’m still scared of some stupid wolves!”

“I understand.”

To his surprise, Lance didn’t tease him for his silly fears. He sounded… sympathetic, actually.  

“… You do?”

“Most acutely. Trauma leaves scars long after; some that will never heal.”

“…. You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

Lance laughed softly, almost bitterly. “… Magnus asked me to lower the monster population in the deeper woods. If you’d like,  we could look for your junimo friend together.”

Oliver’s heart skipped a beat in his chest. “Really?”

“Heh. Yes, really. Like I said before, I’ll never turn down good company. And like you said before, it’s safer to go together, is it not?”

“I-I—if you’re sure…”

With a smile and a nod, Lance gestured for Oliver to take the lead; the farmer swallowed and did just that, taking the first steps into the forest that tormented his dreams as a child. It felt… different to back then. No warmth, no gentle shade. Just the soft pitter-patter of raindrops on leaves, and the crunch of fallen leaves and twigs beneath their boot as they walked.

“… Lance?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

Oliver’s cheeks flared as usual. “You knew my grandpa… how old does that make you, exactly?”

The mage chuckled. “Haven’t you heard it’s rude to ask a mage his age?”

“Ah—sorry, I didn’t…”

“You are adorable. I’m teasing, Oliver.” He rubbed his stubbled chin in thought. “I’m not entirely sure, to be honest… but probably in the ballpark of 150-200 years, I’d think.”

Oliver nearly tripped over a rock in his shock. “2-200?! I thought you were like 30!”

Lance busted out laughing once again. “I shall take that as a great compliment,” he teased with a wink. “I’ve certainly aged more gracefully than a certain fuddy in a wizard’s tower… ah, but perhaps I shouldn’t speak ill of him in his domain. Who knows if he can hear us.”

“Mages can eavesdrop from a distance?”

“You’d be surprised what mages can do from a distance. I once knew one who delighted in teasing their romantic partners as they went about their daily lives.”

“Teasing? Like… making fun of them in their ears or something?”

Lance regarded him with pure amusement. “Oh, you are simply precious.”

“I don’t…” Oliver thought it over for a moment, his face steadily turning redder and redder as he realized just what ‘teasing’ Lance meant.

“Ah, there it is.” Lance cackled as the farmer lightly smacked his arm. “I assure you, not all of us are like that.”

“I-I should hope not!” Oliver cupped his face; his cheeks were positively on fire. But despite his embarrassment and being so flustered, he was having… fun. When was the last time he actually had fun?

Lance abruptly put his arm out in front of Oliver, stopping both of them in his tracks. Dread settled into the pit of the farmer’s stomach, his blood running icy cold in his veins as he heard it: growls.

“Void wolves, this close to the town.” Lance’s other hand rested again on the hilt of his sword. “Magnus was right to be concerned.”

“V-Void… wolves…?” Oliver started trembling uncontrollably. Flashes of the attack flickered in his mind again. He started seeing glowing eyes all around them in the underbrush, multiplying, watching them. Watching him.

His childhood trauma replayed before his eyes, this time for real—silver wolves lunged from the dark, fangs bared, hackles raised. A primal scream tore from his throat, his terror driving him to his knees, his hands clutching the sides of his head, waiting for fangs to sink into him once again.

But the wolves never reached them. Lance drove his sword into the earth and thrust his hand out; a great shockwave exploded out from him, knocking the wolves back and sending them yelping back into the depths.

“Brazen bastards. We’ll need to erect deterrents to keep them from venturing so close… Are you alright, Oliver? Oliver?”

Oliver barely heard him, lost in the fear clawing at his throat. Lance’s hand on his shoulder pulled him back once again, his tear-filled face looking up at the concerned mage in bewilderment.

“That’s it, focus on me. Breathe.”

“B-breathe…” Oliver closed his eyes and did just that. In, out. Slowly. A gentle warmth filled him; it felt… familiar. He realized Lance was sharing mana with him, helping to soothe him. Lance smiled at the realization on his face. “Th-thank you… I-I’m sorry—” He hastily wiped the tears away on his sleeves, “I-I probably look so pathetic right now…”

“Not even a little. As I said, trauma leaves lasting scars. I simply did not understand the depth of yours.”

“I-It’s my fault, I’m the one who wanted to—” Oliver breathed out once again to steady his quivering voice, “—t-to come in here. I’m just… glad you were here with me…”

‘What am I saying? That’s so embarrassing … !’

Lance chuckled. “Can you stand?” he asked, offering his hand.

“I-I think so…” Oliver accepted the help to get to his feet; his legs were shaky, but held his weight. “… I don’t think Apples is here…”

“I’m inclined to agree.” Still holding onto his hand, Lance gripped his sword once again. “I’m going to warp us back to your farm.”

In the blink of an eye, they were there, on the farmhouse porch. The rain had intensified to an unseasonal downpour, drenching them both in seconds.

“And here we are, safe and sound.” Lance took the chance to look around, having never seen the farm before. A smile came onto his face. “… I daresay old Wally would be thrilled to see what you’ve done with the place.”

“I-I hope so… I don’t think I’m even half the farmer he was.” Oliver hugged himself as a chill set in. “U-Um… do you want to come inside and dry off?”

“You’re sweet to offer. As much as I’d love to, I need to inform Magnus about the wolves.”

“Oh… alright.” Oliver couldn’t quite hide his disappointment, but he understood.

Lance chuckled. “Be sure to warm yourself up, alright? I’d hate for you to catch a cold.”

“The same goes for you… Lance?”

“Hm?”

Oliver hunched his shoulders with a shy, meek smile. “Thank you…”

Chapter 7: Budding Flowers

Winter left, spring came and soon it too found its way out. The warmer weather beckoned the Flower Dance festival once again; last year, Oliver sat the dance out, choosing to be a wallflower and eat his fill for once. This year, though, Lance was in attendance as well, and Oliver silently mulled the thought of asking him to dance as he filled his plate with selections from the buffet. He took it off to the side, nibbling away at some jello and glancing in Lance’s direction every few minutes.

“For Yoba’s sake, just go ask them to dance.”

Shane sat beside him with his own plate of pepper poppers and deviled eggs, watching him waffle over the idea like an exasperated older brother.

“M-Me?”

“No, me, dumbass.” Shane snorted. “Yes, you.”

“I… don’t think I can.”

Shane rolled his eyes. “You can fight monsters in the mines but can’t ask someone to dance?”

“I-it’s different!” Oliver huffed. “Why don’t you ask someone to dance?”

“Fuck no. I look like a tool when I dance.”

“Well what makes you think I look any better?!”

“The difference between you and me is that I’m an old bitter asshole.” Shane looked away; he seemed… wistful, jealous almost. “You’re still a kid, in the prime of your life. This is the time for you to party, fuck around, fuck up, have fun, find love. Not waste it being a wallflower with some Joja schmuck.”

“Shane…” Oliver was quiet for a time, staring down at his food as he mulled things over. “… You know I don’t care if you’re a ‘Joja schmuck’, right?”

Shane snorted again. “Yeah, trust me I know. You made it pretty damn clear, for whatever reason. And I appreciate it. But like I said, you shouldn’t waste your time hanging around with me.” He elbowed Oliver. “Go.”

“I… what if he says no?”

“What if he says yes?”

“Are you sure you can afford to be gallivanting around like this, Mr. Sheffield?”

To their collective dismay, Morris had sauntered over, presumably to partake of the buffet table. The arbiter of both their misery, and he didn’t even have the courtesy to leave them alone on a holiday. Oliver bit his tongue, unable to hide his scowl which only seemed to amuse the portly man.

“Think of all the wasted earning potential. You seem to be struggling to make your full payments lately…”

“Payments?” Shane raised a brow. “The fuck’s he talking about?”

“I’m handling it, Morris,” Oliver all but snapped, his voice raised an octave in anxiety. He hated how Morris reveled in making him squirm like this.

“I certainly hope you are. Well, if you’re certain wasting your time here is wise, far be it from me to tell you otherwise. Enjoy the festival.”

Shane glared daggers at the man’s back as he went on his merry way. “… What was that about?”

“It’s—don’t worry about it. Please.” Oliver took a steadying breath. The worst thing was that Morris was absolutely right. He’d only just scraped the last few payments together.

“O… kay. Whatever.” Shane looked to the dance floor. “Looks like they’re setting up for the dance.”

“Huh?!” Oliver’s heart leaped into his throat. “Already?!”

“Seems like it. Welp, I’m gonna get some more food.”

Desperate indecision paralyzed Oliver. He was so scared to ask Lance for fear of rejection.

‘Why is this so upsetting?’ he asked himself. ‘Why do I want to ask him so badly? … oh.’ He brought his hand to his mouth, face turning red. ‘I-I think… I really like him…’

It wasn’t just fear of dance rejection. It was fear of outright rejection. Of ruining their friendship, all out of selfishness. And yet…

Before he realized it, his legs carried him across the festival grounds. Lance stood off in the corner with Marlon, chatting quietly yet animatedly about something, though he quickly noticed Oliver approaching and straightened up just a bit.

“Lance, I—o-oh, sorry, I-I—I didn’t mean to interrupt…”

“No no, it’s fine. Marlon, would you excuse us for a moment?”

Marlon chuckled, strolling off towards Marnie.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I-I, uhm—” Oliver fidgeted with his hands, trying and failing to look at Lance as he struggled to find his words; Lance just waited patiently, an expectant half-grin on his face. “W… W… w-wouldyouliketodancewithme?”

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Nn—”

His grin widening, Lance cupped his ear to hear him ask again. His face absolutely searing, Oliver squeezed his eyes shut and forced the words out again—slower.

“W-Would you like t-to dance… w-with me?”

“Oh, that’s what you said! Heh. Yes, I would be delighted to.”

Oliver peeked through one eye. “R-Really?”

“Yes, really.” Lance extended his hand. “We’d best hurry, the dance is about to start.”

His heart soared in his chest as he took the proffered hand, a bright if bashful smile lighting up his face in a way it hadn’t for years. He’d never really danced before—he’d never even been to a high school prom—and so his steps were clumsy and uncertain. At one point he outright tripped over himself; Lance gracefully caught him, twirling him around as though it were part of the dance all along whilst winking at him. He found himself laughing despite his clumsiness, and at the end, Lance bowed like a prince would to his princess which sent his heart all aflutter again.

Even though they didn’t win the flower crowns (as usual, Haley and Alex were crowned the king and queen), he was glad he took the chance and asked Lance to dance.

Chapter 8: Reflections

“… Hey, old lad.”

Amidst an early summer thunderstorm, Lance stood looking out at the ocean from the tide pool dock. The rain didn’t bother him; perhaps he simply didn’t notice it, lost in his thoughts as he was.

“We haven’t spoken in awhile, have we? The valley has… changed. Much more than I thought it had. And not all for the better…”

A faint smile crossed his face.

“Your grandson is doing well. The one you kept pestering me about all those years ago. The one you wouldn’t shut up about.” He closed his eyes, breathing deep the salty sea air. “… You’d be rolling around laughing at me. Because you were right… you were definitely right, you bratty bastard.”

The waves gently lapped around the pier in answer; several seagulls swooped down to land gently on its surface, seeking fish to dive for. Lance watched them for a time before he spoke again.

“You’d be proud, you know? Oliver is absolutely wonderful. He’s kind, thoughtful, tenacious. Sensitive. So very sensitive. The spitting image of you.”

His smile faded. Drops of rain spattered his face, slowly trailing down his cheeks like tears.

“… I miss our halcyon days.” Opening his eyes again, he watched the stormy clouds roiling on the horizon. “The war has… well, I honestly don’t know anymore… I know you kept your nose out of it. Tried to save me from it.”

A dull clap of thunder echoed in the distance. The rain fell harder.

“I hope you did well.” A small lump formed in his throat. “I’m… sorry I couldn’t go to your eulogy…” A deep breath calmed the turmoil raging in his heart. “… If Oliver’s attitude is anything to go by, I’d say you did pretty well.”

He stayed there for a long while, unbothered by the heavy rain drenching him.  Time for a mage passed differently to time for the mundane by virtue of their long lifespan; the hour he lingered felt to him a few minutes.

“… Have a good rest, Wally. Sorry to disturb you with my nostalgia.”

Chapter 9: Memento

Summer’s heat swelled as Willy’s boat docked once more at Ginger Island; how many times they’d made the hours-long trip, Oliver wasn’t sure, but he still didn’t quite have his sea legs and was always glad when the endless rocking finally stopped.

“What’s on the agenda for today, lad?”

Oliver steadied himself on the dock. “Remember that pendant you gave me?”

“Aye?”

“I’m taking it where it belongs.”

He left Willy scratching his beard in confusion, making his way through the jungle towards the western side of the island. Before long he was covered in a layer of sticky sweat that did little to cool him in the humid air; in the back of his head, he prayed that Lance wasn’t around to see him looking like such a mess.

In the distance, he spied a familiar hutch and a familiar figure sitting on the shoreline, fishing rod in hand. “Birdie!”

Birdie glanced over her shoulder at his call; a second figure, one he hadn’t seen until then, quickly darted into her hut as Oliver drew near. “Ah, hello child. It’s been awhile.”

“It has.” Oliver stopped to catch his breath. “Sorry for not visiting more.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I don’t expect anyone to visit.” She smiled. “Now, what brings you all this way today?”

Oliver held the pirate pendant out to her. “I kept my promise.”

“You found…” Her fishing rod clattered to the sand as she rose to her feet. With trembling hands she reached out to take it, hesitating as though in disbelief, turning it over several times to look at it from every angle. “… That you did, child. That you did.” With a smile she held it tight to her chest. “Thank you…”

“It was thanks to that picture you gave me. I’m just glad that I could bring it back to you.”

“As am I… A reward. I need to think of something to give you.”

“No you don’t. I didn’t do it for any reward.”

“I know. But my husband would never let me hear the end of it if I didn’t send you on your way with something for reuniting us.”

Oliver smiled, defeated; he should be used to this by now. It seemed like every time he did a favor for someone they wanted to give him something, a reward for such minor favors, for doing the right thing. It didn’t sit right with him, but refusing sat even worse. Who was he to tell people what to do?

“… Who was that with you just now?”

“Hm?” Birdie looked up from the pendant, following his gaze to her hut. “Ahh… yes, I suppose you haven’t met yet. Come sit with me a spell; you look like you’re about to keel over in this heat.”

They sat at the water’s edge, the waves gently lapping at their feet; Oliver took his boots off and set them aside, sighing in relief at the cool water washing over his skin. Even the sea lice didn’t bother him at this point.

“The person you saw was Leo. He washed up on the shore here… oh, it must have been a few years ago now, poor thing. The ship he was on capsized, I think. He was just a baby.”

Oliver’s heart sank at the implications, aching with familiarity of loss for the boy. “Oh no…”

“Of course I couldn’t just leave him there; he wouldn’t have survived a day. So I took him in. Tried to raise him as best I could.” Birdie watched a flock of gembirds flying overhead. “But a deserted island is no place for a child. There isn’t anyone for him to make friends with. He’s made friends with the birds here, but that’s no replacement.” She glanced at Oliver. “That’s why he ran and hid when you showed up; he’s never seen another person before.”

“That makes sense… I hope I didn’t scare him.”

She chuckled quietly. “I’m sure you did, but I wouldn’t stress about it.” Raising her voice, she called, “Leo! Come on out, now. This is a friend.”

The door slowly creaked open; a small face peeked out through the gap, and Birdie beckoned him further out. Oliver inhaled sharply through his nose, blinking back tears—Leo was so small, he couldn’t have been older than six or seven. To have been shipwrecked at such a young age, to lose his family… just imagining it broke Oliver’s heart.

“Come, come,” Birdie beckoned. Leo inched his way out of the hut.

“Hi, Leo. My name is Oliver.” Oliver kept his voice soft and gentle.

Leo hid himself in Birdie’s shadow. “… Hi…”

The old woman sighed and shook her head. “I’m sorry for his manners. A pirate’s ex-wife doesn’t make for the best of teachers.”

“No no, it’s fine. I can’t blame him, or you.” Oliver thought for a moment. “… I’ve always wondered what those birds are,” he said as another gembird flock flew overhead. “I see them everywhere here.”

“… G-Gembirds…” Leo peeked out from behind Birdie.

“Oh, is that what they’re called? I guess their colors are like gemstones. They’re very pretty.” Oliver smiled. “I bet you could name every bird on this island.”

The boy only gave a tiny nod of his head before hiding once again. He would not be won over so easily, but Oliver didn’t mind being patient.

“… By the way Birdie, have you met that weird professor up north?”

“Unfortunately.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t pay him any mind. He’s all academic bluster.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured when he asked me to dig up bones for his ‘museum’…”

Chapter 10: The Sacrifices We Make

Some mornings were harder than others. Some mornings, Oliver could jump out of bed and get to work. Others, it felt like pulling teeth to make himself stop crying and get up. Today, the waterworks wouldn’t stop.

“C-C’mon, stupid…” he sniffled, trying in vain to stem the flow of tears from his eyes. The clock by his bed read 8:30 AM; he’d been awake since 5. “Y-You have work to do… stop crying…”

Nothing he told himself worked—imagine that. With a fresh wave of tears looming, he picked up the black bordered picture frame sitting by the clock.

“I-It’s so hard, mom… I don’t know w-what t-to do…”

He wanted so badly to hear her voice again. To hear her say everything would be okay. That they’d find a way to make things work. But there was only silence. Silence and his own barely repressed sobs.

“I-I’m so scared I’m gonna l-lose grandpa’s farm…”

The weight of it all sat heavy on his chest, a 1-ton weight of fear crushing his lungs, making every breath a battle. Every day a struggle.

He still remembered the day his mother got her diagnosis. It came just a few days after his 15^th birthday. She’d ignored the symptoms as long as possible—as a single working mother in a dead end Joja job, she had to. She couldn’t afford not to. So by the time she finally took herself to a doctor, the cancer had metastasized. The next day, she was back at work. Until the day the chemo took her strength, her energy, she didn’t miss a shift.

Joja insurance paid for her chemo. Losing that job meant no more treatments. No more treatments meant no chance of survival. And corporate knew that. They approached Oliver with an offer: they’d pulled his school records, saw he was a good student. Offered to ‘let’ him take her job to keep the insurance benefits.  

He didn’t hesitate to sign that devil’s contract, even as his mother begged and pleaded with him not to. Told him he had a future ahead of him, that he needed to finish school so he wouldn’t have to work himself to death for a company like Joja. But it wasn’t really even a choice, was it? He’d do anything if it meant she would live. Anything.

He bought four more years with her. Four more years of just… watching his mother slowly waste away. Of waking up at 3am to take care of her before work, of coming home at 11 at night. One time, he fixed the manager’s computer, and earned himself a promotion to a ‘cushy’ office job that didn’t pay much better and had him ‘on call’ even at home. And yet, every day, his mother would smile and tell him she was so proud of him, so grateful to have him. And she would apologize for being a burden on him.

“Y-you were never a burden, mom… I-I know you never believed m-me when I said it, but you weren’t… If anyone was a burden, i-it—it was me…” He hugged the picture close to his chest, the sobs heaving out of him uncontrollably. “Y-You d-deserved so m-much b-better…!”

He cried. And cried. So much that when his tears were finally spent, and he was drying them off of the glass picture cover, his head ached as much as his heart did.

“I-I have to make it work… I-It’s my fault th-that Joja’s trying to take the farm… I-I can’t let them…”

He took a deep breath, pushing himself to his feet to finally start the day. He was stupid for not reading the contract all the way when he signed it; he barely read it at all, being a naïve teenager desperate to help his mom. He didn’t see the clause they’d put in to keep him from quitting, a severe fine for early resignation. A fine he had to pay off, or Joja would seize the farm to pay it instead. He made this bed, and he had to sleep in it.

No matter what it took, no matter what he had to sacrifice, they would not take the farm from him.

Chapter 11: A Feverish Heat

“Are you sure you can afford to be gallivanting around like this, Mr. Sheffield?” 

Morris’ slimy jeering played over and over in Oliver’s head, darkening his face with a scowl as he packed a basket with potions, elixirs, snacks—all handmade. Painstakingly he arranged them just so, tying a ribbon into a neat bow on the handle to finish it off.

‘It’s not a waste of time,’ he told himself on the boat ride to the Highlands. ‘I’m making sure Lance has enough supplies out there. He’s keeping everyone in town safe; it’s the least I can do to help.’

The boat docked; the stairs still winded him, steep as they were, and he had to stop to catch his breath at the top.

‘A year and a half on the farm, I shouldn’t get winded just from some stairs…’ he chastised himself, frustrated at his continued frailty. Fixing his grip on the basket handle, he pressed forward towards the Outpost, seeing Lance’s figure standing on the wooden outlook; his gaze fixed somewhere out in the meadows. Oliver found it strange that he didn’t so much as budge as he drew near; usually the mage heard him coming from a mile away.

“Lance…?”

He reached out to touch Lance’s arm; the contact finally got Lance’s attention as he snapped out of whatever trance he’d been in.

“Oh, hello sweetheart. What brings you to my neck of the woods today?”

Oliver furrowed his brow in concern. “Are you alright? You seem… off.” His eyes caught the sight of crimson staining the side of his shirt. “You’re hurt.”

“Am I?” Lance followed his gaze, tugging the fabric in surprise. “So I am.” He laughed. “I must be getting careless—”

Oliver’s heart jumped to his throat. Abruptly he grabbed hold of his arm, pulling him unceremoniously to sit on the ground. “It’s nothing to laugh about!”

His voice rang out over the trees, high pitched in panic. Lance stared at him in bewilderment.

“What if it’s a serious wound? What if you got poisoned? What if you died?!”

“Oliver, it’s—I’m sure it’s just a cut, nothing more.”

“What if it’s not?!”

A deafening silence fell between them, heavy as water. Oliver understood he was being irrational. He knew, and yet…

“... S-Sorry,” he mumbled, tearing his eyes away from Lance’s face. Trembling hands dug into the basket for antibiotics and bandages. “I… I just don’t want to lose anyone else…”

Lance chuckled as fabric rustled; Oliver looked back up to see him shedding his shirt, his face flaring a red to match the blood staining it. “I suppose I ought to get it tended. Fortune must be smiling on me to have you bringing supplies today.”

“D-Don’t be silly.” Oliver soaked a rag in disinfectant and gently dabbed at the gash. “How did you even get hurt in the first place?”

“Carelessness on my rounds, most likely.” Lance closed his eyes and breathed through his nose.

“Sorry—does that hurt?”

“Hah! You couldn’t hurt me if you tried, sweetheart. No, I’m simply feeling a little worn out today is all.”

Even more concerned now, Oliver sat up on his knees, brushing the back of his hand against Lance’s forehead. “… You have a fever.” He quickened his ministrations, quickly treating the gash—the depth scared him a little, but he couldn’t exactly give stitches or heal—and wrapping Lance’s abdomen in bandages. “C’mon, you need to go lie down.”

Lance brushed the suggestion aside with a wave of his hand. “I’ll be fine, Oliver.” He caught the look on the farmer’s face again. “Really, I will.”

With a surprising display of strength Oliver hoisted him to his feet. “You. Are. Resting.” He pushed the mage towards the outpost door, leaving no room for him to argue.

“You—you are surprisingly tenacious when you want to be, you know that?”

“And you’re too stubborn for your own good.” The door swung open. “Bed.”

“Ah—” Lance feigned weakness with a dramatic sigh, going limp so that Oliver would have to catch him. “Forgive me, I don’t think I can make it that far.”

“Hey—!”

Lance flashed a cheeky grin up at him. “What? You had no problem getting me to my feet outside just now.”

With a grunt of effort Oliver managed to heave him onto the bed, nearly losing his balance and falling onto him in the process. “Make up your mind!” he huffed breathlessly. “Are you fine, or are you an invalid?”

“Hm… I’m not sure. Which one would keep your attention longer?”

Another blush blossomed onto Oliver’s cheeks. “Y-You—! Th-That’s not funny!”

“Heh… Forgive me. This fever is making me erratic, it seems.” Lance got comfortable on the bed; still bristling from the relentless teasing, Oliver moved to cover him. “Ah, that’s alright. I’m not cold.”

“Are you sure?”

Lance smiled faintly. “In this heat? I’m surprised I haven’t burst into flames yet.”

“Alright… Listen, I’ll keep an eye on things in the Highlands. So—so you just focus on resting. Okay?”

“Mm. Yes, sir.”

The ease with which Lance fell asleep betrayed how ill he was; unease settled into the pit of Oliver’s stomach as he stood watch outside, keeping an eye on the barriers and trying to open his senses to disturbances in the ambient mana. He wished he’d paid more attention to Magnus’ lectures now.

‘Please be okay, Lance … I can’t bear to lose you, too … ’

 

 

The sun and moon had traded places by the time a disheveled Lance stumbled out of the Outpost. Oliver had not moved from his spot, though he did jump at the sound of the door abruptly swinging open and smacking against the wall.

“Lance?” He hurried to the mage’s side, concern writ plain across his face. “You shouldn’t be up, you need to be resting!”

“… It wasn’t a dream, then…” he murmured to himself. He cleared his throat. “And leave you to stand watch all night as well?” He stretched languidly, mindful of the wound on his side. “I’m feeling much better after that nap—”

He stopped short as Oliver stood on his toes to feel his forehead again, finding his skin much cooler than before.

“See?”

“Hrm… I don’t believe you. Fevers don’t just go away that fast.”

“They do when you’re a mage.” Lance winked at him. “Seriously, though. I can’t ask you to stay any longer than you have. You need your own rest.”

“You didn’t ask me to stay, I offered.” Oliver glanced up at the star-speckled sky; it really had gotten late. “… Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“Sweetheart, don’t worry so much about me. You ought to focus on yourself; whatever would happen to your farm if you fell ill?”

The blood in his veins ran cold at the thought, the color draining from his face.

“… Okay… But I’m coming to check on you in the morning.”

Lance laughed. “If that sets your mind at ease, then by all means, please do.” His face softened to a gentle smile. “Be safe on your way home.”

“I-I will… g’night.”

The mage waved him off, leaving his emotions in a confused jumble—he attributed it more to being overly tired than anything else. Still, thoughts of Lance filled his head even as it hit the pillows, following him into his fitful dreams.

Chapter 12: A Broken Heart

Sometimes the days seemed to blend together, a whirlwind of busy colors and faces as he flitted about like a hummingbird gathering nectar. Do this errand, find this, make that. Finally, finally, he was making a dent in his debt, finding his footing on the farm at last. No longer did it loom over him, pulling him down and drowning him under its weight.

Finally, he could breathe. But he didn’t dare slow down for fear of losing that momentum.

Clutching a bag filled with fairy rose seeds and fairy stones he’d been gathering for weeks, he traipsed up the coast to Blue Moon Vineyard, humming a tune he’d heard Lance singing the other day.

‘Curse him for getting it stuck in my head.’

He shook the earworm out and rapped on the door several times, then stepped back to wait. A minute passed. He knocked again. No answer.

“That’s… weird. She said she’d be here today…” He knocked once again. “Sophia?”

All he heard were the lapping of the waves at the bottom of the cliffs. Worry creased his brow; it wasn’t like Sophia to not answer. Come to think of it, she was usually tending the vineyard this time of day.

“Sophia?” he called louder, hurting his knuckles with how hard he knocked. “… Sorry, but I’m coming in!”

Concerned for her safety, he let himself in. The lights were on, but the living room and kitchen were empty, as was her crafts room.

‘Maybe she’s not actually here … ?’

“Hello…?”

He walked down the hall, straining his ears for any response. Faintly, he heard sniffling, further towards the end behind another door. He knocked lightly.

“Sophia?”

Something clattered to the ground on the other side. “… Wh-Who’s there?”

“It’s—It’s Oliver. I brought those things you asked for.”  

“O-Oh. Um… S-Sorry. Now—now isn’t a good time. Please leave…”

“… Okay. I’ll leave this stuff on the kitchen counter.”

As he set the bags on the counter, she called out from the hallway. “W-Wait.” She didn’t quite come all the way into the kitchen, instead keeping her distance. “… Why d-did you just let yourself inside?”

“Well… you weren’t answering. I was worried that something might have happened to you.”

“You… you were?” She came closer, rubbing eyes that were red from crying. “Um… Y-you don’t have to worry about me. This is just, um… This is j-just something I have to live with.”

She forced a tearful smile, turning around to try and dry her eyes again with a faint sob. Oliver understood a little how it felt. Trying to pretend everything was okay when it wasn’t.

“Well, of course I’m going to worry about you. You’re my friend.”

“F-Friend…?” She turned back around, eyes wide in surprise.

“Yeah. Aren’t we friends?”

“I… I guess we are…” Sophia took a shaky breath. “I-I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”

Oliver smiled sympathetically. “You don’t have to apologize for that. Sometimes the sadness just takes over, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Y… Yeah… Um… s-something that helps i-is spending time with others. D-Do you… watch anime?”

“I haven’t had the time to watch any lately, but I used to when I was in high school.”

“D-Did you ever watch Pink Princess Crusaders? I-I have the full set on DVD. We could… watch a few episodes, if you wanted.”

“Sure.”

It didn’t matter if he had other things to do that day. He sat and waited in the living room while Sophia made up some popcorn, then joined him with it and a stuffed animal from her bedroom to cuddle with. The rest of the afternoon they binged the first season together, munching their way through the popcorn and chatting about this, that and the other thing. He knew that a single afternoon of anime wouldn’t do anything to fix the pain in Sophia’s heart, but he hoped it at least helped to ease the weight of it that day.

Chapter 13: The Image We See

Notes:

CW for EDs and body image issues. For context, Oliver is just under 5'2". I really tried my best to approach this as tactfully and compassionately as possible, as someone who has never been diagnosed with an ED. Please leave a comment if you think I mishandled this subject matter, I am always happy to be corrected.

Oliver didn’t like hospitals. His mother spent too much time in them in the last few months of her life, and so did he. Any sort of clinical setting made his skin crawl, his legs itch like he had to run, reminded him too much of watching his mother take her last breath. He’d rather be anywhere but near a hospital or doctor. So when a letter from Dr. Harvey showed up in his mailbox asking him to come in for a physical, his heart sank, dread weighing down every footstep towards the clinic. The overwhelming smell of medical disinfectant greeted him at the door, and he nearly turned around then and there.

“Hello, Oliver!” Maru waved at him from the front desk. “What brings you here today? Here to pick up some more tonics?”

“N-No, I… have an appointment…” he mumbled. Maru checked the computer.

“Oh okay, I see you on here.” She reached under the counter to give him a form attached to a clipboard. “Dr. Harvey’s with another patient right now, but you can get started on this new patient intake form.”

Miserably Oliver took a seat to fill out the form, anxiety bouncing his knee up and down all the while. He’d just about finished when the door to the back swung open, with Alex and Harvey emerging into the waiting room.

“—and make sure you rest it for a least a week,” Harvey instructed. “Don’t take it out of that sling if you can help it, either. If the pain gets any worse, don’t hesitate to come back right away.”

“I won’t. Thanks, doc.” Alex gave Oliver a wave with his other hand as he headed to the door, in remarkably high spirits despite his injury.

“Thank you for waiting, Oliver.” Harvey held the back door open for him with a smile. “If you’ll follow me…”

The way Oliver dragged his feet, you’d think he was walking to his execution, not a simple exam. He took a seat in Harvey’s office, shoulder slumped in utter defeat.

“Thank you for coming in today. I know it was a bit short notice.” Harvey washed his hands in the sink and sat in his swivel, backless chair, turning to face Oliver so they could speak properly. “… Is everything alright?”

“Yeah… I just…” Oliver sank down in the chair a bit. “Don’t like hospitals…”

“Ahh. I understand. I’ll do my best to make you feel more comfortable.” The good doctor opened a drawer, producing a fancy looking candle and lighting it on the counter. A comforting, citrus-y scent filled the air as it burned. “Sometimes, it helps to get rid of that ‘doctor’s office’ smell.”

Oliver took a deep breath. “… That does help a little,” he admitted, a small bit of the anxiety and dread melting away.

“I’m glad! Familiar scents can have a very powerful impact on our emotions and mental health.” Harvey picked up his clipboard, pen in hand. “So, tell me a bit about your medical history.”

“Um…” Oliver kicked his feet a little; Harvey just waited with a patient smile. “It’s… not much. I had chicken pox… and I was fat until I was like… 16.”

“Chicken pox, alright… and when you say ‘fat’—which, personally, I’m not a fan of calling anyone regardless of their weight—do you have a rough estimate?”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Would you say you were obese, morbidly obese…?”

“… Probably morbid, I dunno…”

“Alright. I’m sorry, I can see it’s an uncomfortable topic for you. Do you think we could get a weight for you today?”

Another shrug. Harvey scooted over to the exam bed and tugged a scale out from under it. “Alright. Whenever you’re ready.”

Oliver didn’t even bother kicking his shoes off before stepping onto it. He didn’t know what number he expected to see—150, 175, 200? His highest had been almost 250 in 9^th grade.

The scale beeped. 92 flashed on the digital display. He blinked.

“… That can’t be right.”

“I’m almost certain that it’s accurate.” Harvey tucked the scale away as Oliver sank back into his chair. “How much would you say you eat in a day?”

“Uh… I mean, I usually have some buttered toast in the morning…” Oliver fidgeted with his hands. “I’m usually so busy I forget to eat lunch… sometimes I swing by the saloon to get dinner, usually a sandwich or something… Um…” He laughed awkwardly, just now realizing that he didn’t actually eat that much. “Dinner at home is like… 5 minute rice and air fryer chicken? Whatever I can make in a few minutes cos I’m so tired.”

“Mmhm. Do you eat many of the vegetables or fruit you grow?”

“No, no, I ship it all.”

“Do you have any snacks throughout the day?”

“Uh—sometimes I’ll pick berries and eat those on my way to places…”

Harvey nodded his head, writing everything on the clipboard. “I’m going to be honest with you. You’re underweight, and the amount of calories you consume concerns me. It’s not enough to sustain someone who burns as much energy as you do.”

“I-I mean, I’m sure I’m underestimating how much I actually eat…”

The doctor regarded him for a minute. He set the clipboard aside. “Oliver, do you still feel like you’re overweight?”

“U-Uh—”

“Don’t tell me what you think is the right answer. I want to know what you think, in your heart of hearts. There’s no judgment in my clinic.”

Out of nowhere, Oliver’s eyes welled up with tears, a sudden, overwhelming outpouring of pent up emotions swelling in his chest. “I… I guess I do… I-I still try not to look at myself in the mirror…”

Harvey offered him a box of tissues. “What makes you think that way?”

“I-I don’t know. I-I just—I was fat most of my life, y-y’know? E-Everyone at school would m-make sure I knew it. I-I didn’t make many friends who actually liked me for me.”

The doctor nodded sympathetically. “You said you were overweight until you were about 16. What changed then?”

Oliver cast his eyes to his lap, taking a shuddering breath. “M.. My mom had cancer. Sh-she couldn’t work anymore. So… so I had to.”

“Ah… I see. I appreciate your openness, and I’m sorry for making you recall such a terrible time in your life.”

“S’fine…”

“It goes a long ways towards explaining the issues you’re having with body image now, though.” Harvey leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. “I want you to know: you are not overweight. You are not ‘fat’. In fact, it would be healthy for you to actually put on some weight.”

“I still… th-that’s still hard to wrap my head around…”

“I understand. As your doctor, I’m not going to push you to be a certain weight. I’m here to make sure you’re healthy and taking care of yourself. So, with that being said,” he turned to the counter with the clipboard, turning it to another page, “I’d really like you to try eating three times a day, with one snack in between each meal. It doesn’t need to be much, and it doesn’t need to be particularly ‘healthy’—as long as it’s something. That’ll be our starting point, and we’ll go from there.”  

“I-I do my best…”

Harvey smiled at him. “That’s all I ask for. Habits won’t change in a day, and neither will long-held beliefs. I also would like to get you in touch with a colleague of mine in Zuzu City who specializes in cognitive behavioral therapy, to start addressing your self-image issues.”

“I-I don’t—is that necessary?”

“I think it would help you feel a lot better about yourself in the long run. When I’m treating a patient, I don’t just treat their body—I try to consider their mental health as well. And I truly believe that until this starts being addressed, you’re going to struggle to get to and maintain a healthy weight.”

Oliver sank down a bit further in his seat. “… Okay…”

“I know it seems like I’m asking a lot, and it probably feels overwhelming.” Harvey set his pen down and picked up his stethoscope. “We’ll just take it one step at a time, alright?” He checked Oliver’s vitals, making note of them in his patient chart. “And I think that about covers everything. Unless there’s anything else you’d like to discuss?”

The farmer quickly shook his head, and Harvey laughed.

“Alright. I’ll see you to the front desk.”

Oliver couldn’t get out of the clinic fast enough.

Chapter 14: Crawling In The Dark

Notes:

TW for suicidal ideations. It's Shane's 6 heart event. If you know, you know.

A long day toiling in the mines left Oliver exhausted, covered in dust and dirt (and at least one dust sprite stuck in his hair), but triumphantly clutching a decent haul of ores and gems to take home. A heavy, late summer downpour struck on his way home, completely drenching him by the time he made it through the front door.

‘I wonder if Clint knows how to make jewelry,’ he pondered back at home, gathering some towels to take shower and wash away the rest of the grime. ‘… Probably not. He’s  a blacksmith, not a jeweler.’

A knock on the door stopped him just as he was about to turn the faucets; it caught him off-guard—who would be out and about in this rain besides him?

“Coming!!”

A distressed and soaked Marnie stood on the other side, wringing her hands anxiously as he opened it. “Oliver, I’m sorry to bother you, but have you seen Shane?”

“Huh? N-No, I was in the mines all day.”

She covered her mouth with her hand. “Yoba, that’s what I was afraid of…”

Oliver’s heart sank. “What’s wrong?”

“I haven’t seen him since this morning, and nobody else has either. Usually I wouldn’t worry, but—Oliver, he went through two entire six packs.”

“Today?”

“This morning.”

“Shit—” He covered his mouth; Marnie didn’t care for strong language. “S-sorry. When was the last time anyone saw him?”

“This morning. I checked in on him before I went to the store since he hadn’t come out all night.”

“So he was probably drinking since yesterday… Okay. I’ll go look in Cindersap forest.”

“I’ll get a search party going at the saloon. If you find him—”

“I’ll make sure to let you know.”

 

 

His feet carried him swiftly south to the forest, shielding his face from the rain with one arm while holding a flashlight in the other. The sun had long since set, and he barely could see two feet in front of him between the sheets of rain and encroaching darkness.

“Shane! Shane! Can you hear me?!”

He strained his ears for any answer, doubtful but hopeful that the pounding rain didn’t completely drown out his voice. He ran down the path towards Fairhaven Farm, nearly slipping in the mud on his way to Andy’s door.

“Andy!” He pounded his fist against it. “Have you seen Shane?!”

The door opened after the third or fourth hit. “What in tarnation are you doin’ out in this weather—?”

“Have you seen Shane?”

The urgency in his voice and in his eyes belayed the seriousness of the situation. Andy nearly stumbled over his answer.

“Uh—saw him headin’ towards them cliffs over there this afternoon.”

He jerked his thumb in the direction, and Oliver turned on his heels.

“Thanks!” he shouted over his shoulder. Tree branches smacked against him as he darted through the trees, cutting into the skin on his arms and legs and face; he didn’t notice, didn’t even feel them in his raw panic to find his friend.

“SHANE!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, his voice carrying over the treetops and out to the sea. He came to a stop, chest heaving, rain dripping from his face and hair as he cast his eyes and flashlight frantically around.

‘Please don’t have fallen into the river. Please don’t have fallen into the river … ’

He jogged along its bank, scanning the water—nothing. As he followed its winding path towards the ocean, he saw something sprawled out on the ground dangerously close to the cliffs. His chest tightened, his legs breaking into a run again, the sound of the rain fading into the background as he slipped and fell in the mud, scrambling to his feet again only to drop back to his mud-covered knees before his fallen friend. Empty beer cans littered the ground all around him.

“Shane!”

Vigorously he shook the unresponsive man’s shoulder. A faint groan was the only answer he got. He rolled him onto his back and out of the pool of sick beneath his head, cradling it instead on his lap as he gently smacked the man’s cheek to rouse him.

“Shane. Shane! Open your eyes, please!”

Hunched over him to shield him from the rain, he held his breath, waiting for any signs of life.

“Please…”

Faintly Shane groaned again, his eyelids twitching before finally cracking open. “Ol… Oliver…?”

“Thank Yoba… yes, it’s me. I’m here. I’m right here. It’s gonna be okay.”  

Glazed, unfocused, glazed eyes stared back up at him. “I… I’m sorry… m… my life… it’s a pathetic joke…”

“Don’t say that.”

“Don—don’t say what? The truth?” He turned his head to the side and belched. “Look at me… why do I even try…”

His chest heaved with great, heavy sobs. Oliver leaned down, hugging him the best that he could from the awkward position.

“I’m too small and stupid to… to take control of my life… I’m just a p… piece of garbage fluttering in the wind.”

“No you’re not. You’re more than that.”

“Oh—” he hiccupped, “—yeah? Got an answer for everything, don’t you? Th… think you can ‘fix’ me like you fixed the farm?”

Shane’s words cut through his heart like a knife through soft butter, silencing his voice before it left his throat. A tempest of emotions raged in his chest, incomparable to the one rampaging in Shane’s. Was that really what Shane thought? That he was just trying to fix him like some hobby project?

With a limp hand Shane gestured half-heartedly to the cliffs at their feet. “… I’ve been coming out here often lately… looking down… Here’s a chance to finally take control of my life… B.. but… I’m too scared… too anxious… just like always… All I do is work, sleep, and drink… t…. to numb the feelings of self-hatred… why should I even go on…”

He tried to focus his eyes on Oliver again; Oliver tried not to let his tears fall onto his face. “T… tell me why I shouldn’t just roll off the cliffs right now… please… give me a reason to—to keep going on…!”

The heavy rain lessened to a quiet drizzle as the waves crashed below, the spray cresting just over the edge of the cliff, close enough to lightly spatter them with foam. Oliver struggled to find the words to say; what could he say, that could possibly make things better, that wouldn’t just sound like empty platitudes? How could he convey how much Shane meant to him as a friend, the older brother he never had, without piling more guilt onto his fragile heart?

“… It’s your choice in the end,” he finally answered, his voice small and quiet, as he wiped some mud from Shane’s cheek. “I won’t sit here and tell you what the right choice is. I can’t. I don’t know what you’ve gone through to get to this point.” He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, tried to bite back the tears still welling in his eyes. “You must feel so alone... carrying so much pain and hurt for so long… I-It might not feel like it, but—I’m here. I’m here for you. And Marnie is, too. We’ll always be here for you. N-no matter what.”

He turned his head away, repressing a sniffled sob as he tried in vain to dry his eyes and push his emotions to the side. He had to keep it together. Shane needed someone to be strong for him, someone that he could lean on.

“… Y… you really mean that… after what I’ve said…?”

“Of course I do.” Oliver smiled tearfully down at him, his chin quivering just slightly. “You’re my friend, remember?”

“… Yeah… I d… do…” Shane’s face scrunched up, fighting back his own drunken tears. “Thanks for… for always putting up with me… I-I appreciate it…” He took a shuddering breath, trying not to be sick all over himself. “… C-can… can you take me to the hospital…?”

“Of course I can.”

Heaving 200 pounds onto his back was no easy feat, but Oliver managed to carry him back into the town and to the clinic. Just one look at Shane brought Harvey leaping over the front desk, yelling for Maru to come help. All Oliver could do was hand his friend to them and watch as they whisked him to the back for emergency treatment.

‘He’s gonna be okay. He has to be.’

Anxiously he paced back and forth, dripping water and tracking mud all over the floor. The minutes ticked by, agonizingly slow. He blew on his numb fingers to warm them before wringing them together, straining his ears for any sort of noise from the back. He heard nothing, just the soft tick-tock of the clock on the wall and tip-tap of raindrops against the window.

 

 

After what felt like an eternity of waiting, the door to the back swung open.

“How is he?” Oliver asked, before Harvey could even open his mouth.

“He’s breathing, and his vitals are stable.”

A great weight lifted from his shoulders, and he breathed a sigh of relief. The emergency had passed.

“… Can I see him?”

Harvey nodded, holding the door open for him. “He’s unconscious right now, and—I must warn you, we had to pump his stomach. So the smell might be… unpleasant.”

That was one way of putting it. The recovery room smelt sharp, like expired milk mixed with acidic garbage. Oliver’s face took on a slightly green tint as he stepped quietly towards Shane’s bed. The man was out cold, stripped of his sopping wet clothes and hooked up to just about every monitor and IV line in the clinic. He looked… scarily like his mother did in the last few weeks of her life. Oliver bit his lip; it was all he could do to keep from breaking down into a sobbing mess on the floor.

“He’ll be okay.” Harvey rested a gentle hand on the farmer’s shoulder. Maru fixed an oxygen mask over Shane’s mouth and nose. “Of course we’re concerned about acute alcohol toxicity, but more than anything, right now I’m worried about his mental health.”

“Y-Yeah… me too.”

“When he’s awake and lucid, I’ll have a chat with him about his treatment options. Until then,” he gave Oliver’s shoulder a squeeze, “you’ve done all you can, and so have we. You ought to go home and change out of those wet clothes.”

“I… you’re right. I’ll go let Marnie know he’s okay.”

 

 

“Oh, thank Yoba…”

Marnie slumped into one of the kitchen table chairs, burying her face in her hands as she shook her head in relief and disbelief. Beside her, Jas sat silently in the other chair, her face unreadable—but her shimmering eyes betrayed the depths of her terror and fear.  

“Come here, sweetie…” She swept the little girl into her lap and into a tight hug, gently rocking her back and forth. “It’ll be okay, it’ll be okay…”  Jas clung to her aunt, her tiny frame shaking with silent sobs. “Oliver, thank you so, so much for finding him.”

“Of course, I wasn’t just going to sit and do nothing…” Oliver swayed slightly on his feet, staggering just a little, the physical and mental fatigue smacking him square in the face as the adrenaline started wearing off.

Marnie used one hand to pull a third chair out and patted it in invitation. “Here, sit down. You look like you’re about to drop like a sack of truffles.”  

Oliver gratefully accepted the offer, sinking down onto the cushioned hardwood surface a bit harder than he’d intended. “I wish I’d done something sooner…”

“Honey, there wasn’t anything any of us could’ve done. I know my nephew. He ain’t one to ask for help. It was always going to take hitting rock bottom for him to realize he needed it.” She patted Jas’ back gently. “Some people are just like that.”

I know, but…” He sighed and rubbed his face. Was this him just wanting to ‘fix’ Shane? He didn’t know anymore.

“You gonna be okay, baby-boo?” Marnie cupped the little girl’s face and brushed her tears away with her thumbs; she nodded ever so slightly. “Alright. Auntie’s going to heat up some leftovers for dinner. Oliver, you are more than welcome to stay if you want.”

“Ah…” The offer tempted him, but not enough. “I think I’ll pass. I need to change, and shower, and…”

Marnie smiled faintly. “You don’t have to make excuses, hon. I ain’t gonna take it personal. You be careful walking through the mud, you hear me?”

“I will, I promise.”

 

 

This time he sank down onto his own kitchen chair, burying his face into his hands and exhaling a shaky breath.

“Why… why does everyone keep trying to leave me…?”

Chapter 15: Someday

Notes:

if you squint you can see that a bunch of chapters have song names as their titles, no they usually don't have anything to do with the actual chapter lmao

“… And it looks like the mines population is being kept well in check.”

Lance leaned against the adventurer’s guild counter, tiny diamonds of sweat speckling his sun kissed sienna skin; this late summer heat could give Ginger Island a run for its money. Between him and Marlon lay an unfurled roll of parchment detailing the results of his numerous excursions, the local monster populations, their dispositions. For all his laid back humor and whimsical attitude, he took protecting the town very seriously. Lately, even more so.

“Honestly, you almost don’t even need me keeping an eye on it anymore,” he laughed, running his fingers through slightly damp hair before shaking it out. “I will, of course, but it may just be the easiest job I’ve ever taken.”

“I expect we have Oliver to thank for that.” Marlon’s wrinkled finger slowly trailed down the parchment, his good eye skimming over the atrocious handwriting scrawled all over it. “… Lance…”

“Listen, it’s hard to find steady surfaces to write on during my patrols. I’m trying my best!”

“Perhaps you should invest in one of those high-tech inventions called a ‘clipboard’. In fact, I may have one or two lying around, if you don’t mind hand-me-downs.”

“Ha-ha.” Lance made a face as the old man dug around beneath the counter. “Very funny. I really do try, you know. But you can’t expect me to be good at everything, now can you?”

“Not good, maybe, but adequate would be nice.”

The mage took a step back from the counter, clutching his chest. “What is this, shit on Lance day? What have I done to deserve this mistreatment?”

Marlon cracked a grin at the dramatic display. “Do you really want me to start listing the reasons? We could be here awhile.”

“Oh, very well. I can tell when I’m not wanted anymore.” Lance feigned an exaggerated sniffle, but he was grinning all the same as well. “Do pass my well wishes onto Gil. I hope he makes a speedy recovery.”

“I’m not worried; he’ll outlive us all out of sheer spite.”

Lance didn’t doubt that. He stepped outside, smacked in the face by a wall of sticky, uncomfortable heat. Summers in the valley never used to be this bad—

“You BRAT!”

In the milliseconds between the flash of light from a teleportation spell and the appearance of his guardian, Lance’s stomach dropped all the way to his feet. He knew that tone. He was in trouble.

In the blink of an eye Camilla was right in front of him, all but backing him up against the Adventurer’s guild door. “Why didn’t you tell me you were taking up Marlon’s mercenary contract?!” she demanded, jabbing her finger repeatedly into her charge’s chest.

“Ah—you see—about that—I meant to tell you…”

“And when exactly was that gonna be, hm?! If Marlon hadn’t asked for more supplies because you’re here, I never would have known!”

“I-I would’ve told you eventually—”

“Even RAZZY knew before me!” She sighed, taking a step back to give him at least a little room to breathe. “Honestly, what am I going to do with you?” Her scorn softened, as it always did when she scolded him; she never could stay mad at her adoptive son. “Is the food better here?”

“Well, maybe not better, but different—”

Another flash of light, and she stood at his left side. “Monsters?”

“No, they’re tame—”

A flash, and she was at the right. “Razzy?”

“Why would I care about the old man—?”

She was pinching his cheeks before he could blink. “Oh but you love our crotchety old man! New research?”

Lance’s head started spinning. “Yes, but no—”

“DO YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON SOMEONE?”

He froze in place, unable to answer. A giddy smile slowly spread across Camilla’s face.

“Who is it? Who is it? Who is it?!”

She couldn’t even wait for his answer this time, quite literally jumping for joy as she warped around wildly.

“SPRING HAS FINALLY SPRUNG FOR MY BOYYYYY! OH I’M SO HAPPY!”

“C-Cam, please—”

“When’s the wedding?!”

“I haven’t—”

“I want grandchildren! No, TWO of them!”

“I HAVEN’T EVEN ASKED HIM OUT YET!”

It took raising his voice to a yell to finally get her attention; she whipped her head around so fast it would put an owl to shame, eyes wide in disbelief.

“You? The sweet-talker? The heartbreaker? The Lone Wolf? YOU HAVEN’T ASKED HIM OUT YET?!” She grabbed him by the shoulders. “Is it because he's playing hard to get? Is he not into men? Are you not TRYING?”

“Cam—” Lance sighed in exasperation and embarrassment. “Look, I’ve only been back in the valley for a short time, and he’s been here for awhile—” He ran his fingers through his hair; not even monster hunting was as stressful as this. “He’s so personable, I labor to believe he hasn’t caught the eye of someone else in town—”

Camilla let go of his shoulders to grab his face instead. “I have never heard you speak like this! Who is this boy I see before me? Where has my Lancey gone?! SOMEONE HAS STOLEN MY SON! MARLON—!”

“CAM PLEASE! Let me maintain some of my dignity!”

“Fine, fine!” She pulled him over towards the dock to continue the interrogation. “So who is it?”

“… You remember Wallace?”

“Jolly Wally? The little brat that used to ask me out on dates? That Wallace?” Lance nodded, and she smiled wistfully. “… I miss him.”

“Me too. His grandson took over his farm.”

Camilla’s eyes glinted. “A grandson? And you have a crush on him?” She cackled and clapped her hands in delight. “Oh that little brat would be rubbing it in your face!” The smile faded, tinged with sadness. “I wonder if he inherited the magic that he tried so hard for…”

“He inherited some sort of magic, I can say that much. I’m certain he still has a mundane lifespan, though.”

“Ohhh, you changed the subject. Don’t think you can get out of this, young man. When are you going to ask him out?”

“Ah—” Lance faltered. He ran his tongue over his dry lips. “I… I don’t know.”

The interest was there, wasn’t it? He wasn’t reading too much into their interactions? What if he had it all wrong, and asking ruined the wonderful friendship they already had?

“… If the moment feels right, I’ll bring it up. I won’t make any promises other than that.”

“Ugh, I swear this is not the son I raised. Fine, but I want updates! And pictures, I want to see if he looks like Wally!”

Being thoroughly harassed about his love life was not how Lance thought the rest of his afternoon would go…

Chapter 16: That One Second In Slow Motion

The final day of summer slowly came to an end, beckoning the townsfolk down to the beach to marvel at the spectacle of the lunaloo migration. The unseasonably hot and humid weather finally relented, blessing them with a gentle warm sea breeze and clear skies that reflected on the water’s surface, a collage of twinkling lights against a pitch black canvas.  

Oliver had fished here at night before, of course, but this time felt different. Looked different. He’d never seen the waters so clear and still.

“Is it always like this?” he asked Abby, who was busy doodling on the cast encasing Sam’s leg.

“What, busy?”

“No—I mean the beach, the ocean, the—everything.”

“Oh, iunno. Everything looks the same to me.”

“Hm… maybe it’s just me, then.”

Sebastian lit a joint (after looking to make sure Robin wasn’t close by) and took a drag on it. “I know what you mean. It’s a magic that only happens during the Dance.”

“Magic?” Oliver perked up a little.

“Metaphorically speaking. Magic doesn’t exist.”

“O-Oh, of course.” He tried to hide the little smile on his face. If only they knew. It would certainly change the weekly Solarian Chronicles games. He tore his gaze away from the endless expanse of shimmering lights stretched out before them, casting it instead towards the east side of the beach—and a familiar figure sitting alone on the edge of the pier.

“That Leo kid seems to be settling in pretty well,” Sam said, watching his little brother and Jas build sand castles with the town’s newest resident to pass the time until the lunaloos arrived. “I wasn’t sure if he’d get along with Vince and Jas, but looking at ‘em, you’d think they’d all grown up together—” Realizing that Abby was halfway through doodling a cartoon phallus on his plaster, he frantically smacked her hand and the sharpie away. “DUDE! My mom’s gonna kill me if she sees that!”

“Well, if you’d let me finish it, I was gonna turn it into a cat. One of those ‘do you have a dirty mind’ trick drawings.”

“Seeeeeb, make her stop!”

Sebastian took another drag. “Nope. Staying out of that one.”

“Ollieeeee, make her stop!”

“Huh?” Oliver barely registered what he was saying. “Oh, yeah, I’ll… get around to it.”

“You’re not even listening to me!”

“No no I am, I just…”

The three of them all shared a look. “Uh, you okay there Ollie?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just—just fine.”

Abby squinted through the dark to see what he was staring at. “Ohhhh. Lance is here.”

“Ohhhh. That explains it.”

“H-Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”  

“Nothing, nothing.” Sebastian patted his shoulder. “Just that you’re completely coocoo for cocoa puffs over him.”

Oliver bristled, a furious red spreading across his entire face. “I-I am not!!!”

“Aww,” Abby draped her arms around his shoulders, grinning ear to ear, “widdle Ollie wants to make smoochies with his crushie-kin. That’s so cute~”

“I am not little! A-And I do not!”

“Sure you don’t~”

Seb sat down beside him. “Look Ols, it’s hard not to make assumptions when you keep looking in his direction. You can hardly keep your eyes off him right now.”

“Th-that’s not… true…” Oliver’s protest died in his throat; he knew full well that it was, and they knew it too. All three of them broke into shit-eating grins. “… S-Stop looking at me like that, it’s creepy!”

“Well, don’t let us keep you from your true love.” Abby pulled him up by his elbow and gave him a push. “Go on, go have fun!”

“H-He is not my—you just want to get rid of me so you can have the evening to yourselves!”

“What? Nooooo,” they all answered in unison, in the most disingenuous tone ever.

He bristled again with a huff and a pout. “Fine. I can tell I’m the fourth wheel here.” He started towards the other side of the beach, stopped, and looked back at them to add, “I’m not going over there to be with Lance! I’m just getting away from you gremlins!”  

Their laughter rang in his ears as he crossed the small wooden footbridge to the tide ponds, silently fuming at what he knew was just light hearted ribbing between friends who definitely didn’t have ulterior motives. He didn’t think it was that obvious how besotted he was with Lance…

‘I guess it would be nice to watch the jellies with him, though … ’

Butterflies fluttered in his stomach as he traipsed down the pier. “Um—Lance?”

The mage glanced over his shoulder; Oliver swore his eyes lit up when he saw him, though maybe it was just a trick of the… moonlight. “Ah, Oliver! What an unexpected surprise.”

“I-I could say the same. I didn’t think you’d come tonight.”

“Oh, I could never pass up an opportunity to admire the lunaloos.” Lance patted the spot beside him. “And especially not with such lovely company.”

“Pfft, I’m sure…” Oliver gingerly sat on the edge with him, lightly swinging his dangling legs as he looked out to the horizon. “How many times have you watched the jell—uh, the lunaloos?”

“The names are interchangeable; you were right the first time.” Lance smiled. “And too many to count. But each time…” He too cast his gaze forward, the stars above and below reflecting in the verdant forest of his eyes. His voice grew soft, contemplative. “Each time it is a new experience, as breathtaking and beautiful as the last. I could watch them for a thousand thousand years and never once grow tired of the spectacle.”

“Can mages live that long?”

“The particularly adept and powerful ones can. Assuming they don’t make equally powerful enemies.”

“I see… Living that long sounds terrible.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well…” Oliver pulled one leg up against his chest. “How do I put it? They’d outlive everyone around them. Say so many good-byes to people they love.” He rocked back and forth steadily. “I dunno. It just seems like it’d be so lonely.”

“… It can be, yes. Of course, not everyone sees it that way. I’m glad that you’re one of the few who do.”

“Are you lonely?”

Lance chuckled. “How could I be with such wonderful company as yourself?”

“C-C’mon, that’s not what I meant…” Oliver hugged his leg, unable to stop himself from smiling like an idiot.

“I know. But it’s too fun to tease you.” He stuck his tongue out; Oliver stuck his out back. “What about yourself? Have you seen the lunaloos dance before?”

Oliver shook his head. “Mm-mm. I didn’t feel up to coming last year.”

“Ah, then you are in for a treat.” Lance pointed. “Look, you can see them now.”

“Really?” Oliver leaned forward, squinting through the dark to try and see. Faintly, he could make out the smallest spattering of warm glows in the far distance. “I think I see them… C’mon Lewis, send the boat out already…!”

His impatience earned another laugh from the man beside him. “You are absolutely, positively adorable.”

“I-I am not. Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“I imagine because it’s true.”

“I’m not, though…” He looked down to his lap. ‘I’m barely even mid…’  

Steadily the jellies flowed closer, their light illuminating both the sea and sky—too numerous to count, seemingly endless as the ocean itself, diamonds strewn across an obsidian gown that stretched on forever.

Oliver’s breath caught in his throat, a swell of emotions rising up behind it. “They’re so beautiful…” he whispered, so captivated by the spectacle he didn’t notice the tears shimmering in his eyes.

“They always are. In all my time on this earth, nothing has compared to their majesty.” Lance glanced at him, smiling at how enraptured he was. “Though, some things have come close.”

“I can’t believe I missed seeing them last year…”

The jellies drifted ever nearer towards the shore. Amidst the sea of gentle blues and purples, a lone emerald shone apart, seemingly floating right towards Oliver. He reached out as it stopped just out of reach, the changing tide gently returning them back to their true course.

“There they go. Off for another year.” Lance sighed, content by the display. “Every time I find myself wishing it lasted just a bit longer.”

“Yeah… but it wouldn’t be quite so special if it did.”

“That is true.” Lance rose to his feet and offered his hand to Oliver. “Thank you for joining me tonight. I daresay this has been my favorite Dance.”

“Th-thank you for letting me.” Oliver grasped his hand and let himself be pulled to his feet—for a brief moment, he didn’t want to let go. His hand slipped out of Lance’s. “I’ll never forget tonight.”

Lance gazed down at him, his eyes glimmering like a summer pond as they all but pierced into his very soul. “Neither will I.”

Oliver’s heart quickened in his chest, its beating nearly drowning out the rest of the world around them. In that moment, only he and Lance existed—

“Oliver! Oliver Oliver Oliver!”

The moment was gone, chased away by the children excitedly scrambling over to the tide pools. Disappointment filled the void left by rising anticipation, weighing heavy on Oliver’s shoulders as he reluctantly turned his attention to them.

“Did you see them?” “They were so pretty!” “Babies! I saw babies!”

The children clamored around him, excitedly talking over one another; Lance chuckled, leaning down to speak into Oliver’s ear.

“Good night, sweetheart.”

Chills ran down Oliver’s spine at the tenderness in the mage’s voice, though he didn’t have the luxury of ruminating on the feeling swelling in his chest—the children demanded his attention, and they were determined to keep it right up until the beach cleared out.

Chapter 17: Look This Way

A gentle autumnal breeze rustled through the trees and grass, kissing Oliver’s skin as he sprawled out on the ground not far from Marnie’s ranch. For once, he had no chores to do, no errands to run, no pressing matters to address. A rare moment of free time. And here he was, choosing to spend it lying in the warm sun. Perfection.

A blue winged butterfly fluttered around his head before perching on the tip of his nose; he scarcely noticed it, unfocused eyes watching the few fluffy clouds in the sky lazily make their way across its surface. No thoughts in a head that for once was empty.

“Vincent, please don’t run so far ahead!”

The butterfly took to the wind at the voices clamoring nearby; Oliver failed to register them for a solid minute, he’d zoned out so thoroughly. Nothing compelled him to investigate for once. He took his time to sit up, stretch, bask in the sun a bit more, admire the little white flowers adorning the grass. From that spot in the grass, he watched Penny shepherding her students along to Marnie’s ranch; only when Leo started trying to climb the fence to the pasture did he get up and start making his way over.

“Leo! No no—” Penny tried to pull the rambunctious boy off of the fence, “we don’t climb into private property—”

“Ms. Penny, Ms. Penny!” Jas tugged at her skirt. “I can name all the breeds our cows are. That cow’s a Highland, that cow’s a Holstein, that one’s a—”

“Yes, very good, Jas,” Penny interrupted, exasperatedly blowing a stray strand of hair from her face. “Please, let’s all just take a deep breath and settle down a bit, hm?”

Oliver suppressed the urge to laugh. “Would you like some help?” he asked as he joined the group.

“Oliver! Yes, please, some help would be wonderful.”

“Mr. Oliver!” Vincent waved enthusiastically. “We’re on a field trip to the ranch!”

“I can see that. I don’t think many animals will want to come over and say hi when you’re making so much noise.”

“They won’t?”

“Well, would you want to say hello to someone making an awful ruckus?” The boys looked at each other with wide eyes. “There you go. And besides, you ought to be on your best behavior for your teacher who works very hard to make fun lessons for you.”

“Oh, I—I wouldn’t go that far.” Penny laughed. “But thank you. Now, then, children! Let’s have a lesson on farm animals.”

Oliver leaned against the fence, listening as Penny spoke about some of the history behind farm animals. The lesson fascinated him, probably moreso than it did the children, though as it went on his mind started to wonder.

‘I should start figuring out what I’m putting into the grange display. Can’t let Pierre win again, he didn’t stop bragging about it for weeks last time…’  He drummed the tips of his fingers against fence in contemplation. ‘Oh, and I should ask Sophia about making a Spirits’ Eve costume… think I can set aside enough to pay for it…’

He felt something tugging on the hem of his shirt. “Mr. Oliver?” asked Jas, looking up at him with those big, expressive eyes of hers.

“Yes?”

“You have chickens on your farm, right?”

“I do! I have four of them.”

“Do they lay lots of eggs?”

“They lay so many eggs. Eggs for days.”

The children giggled; digging into his bag, Oliver pulled out a small sack of chicken feed and scattered a bit on the ground on the other side of the fence.

“Jas, you won’t tell Marnie, right?” he asked; Jas’ poms shook vigorously along with her head. A few hens clucked their way over, pecking at the seeds enthusiastically. Leo especially seemed captivated by them, his eyes flicking back and forth between each one.

“Hm…” Jas looked contemplative. “… What do you guys think came first, the chicken or the egg?”

Penny smiled; she delighted in her students asking philosophical questions. “That’s a good question. What do you think?”

“I think the chicken came first.” The little girl bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. “Animals evolve, and something had to evolve into a chicken.”

“That’s very sound reasoning.”

“But did that first evolution come out of an egg? And how exactly do you define what ‘the egg’ is—”

“Oh, um—I think that’s—”

“Jas, look!” Vincent grabbed her arm; while they’d been talking, a gaggle of ducks had waddled over to try and get some feed. “LOOK AT ALL THOSE CHIMKINS!”

Jas started giggling again. “Those are ducks, silly!”

“Yeah, but that’s not the point!”

She cocked her head to the side, puzzled. “… I don’t get it.” Behind her, Leo nodded his head furiously in agreement.

The ground crunched beneath well-worn boots. “Personally,” Lance said, “I think the egg came before the chicken.”

“LANCE!”

The children abandoned the farm animals in favor of clamoring around him, all vying for his attention. Oliver’s face too lit up at the sight of him, his heart all aflutter once more in his chest, though he stayed back for fear of being absolutely trampled by the rambunctious littles.

“Whoa—calm down, there’s only so much of me to go around!”

Penny clapped her hands to get their attention. “People are not jungle gyms!” she reminded them, as Leo quite literally hung off of Lance’s arm. “I’m so sorry, Lance. They’ve been a little difficult to manage today.”

“Oh it’s quite alright. Their enthusiasm is a much welcome reprieve from the tedium of my duties.”

“Mr. Lance,” Jas waved her hand around in the air, “why do you think the egg came first?”

“No!” Vincent whined. “No more egg talk! I wanna hear Lance talk about his adventures!”

“Ah, I wouldn’t want to derail your teacher’s lesson plan…”

Penny shook her head with a smile. “It derailed a good ten minutes ago, if I’m honest.”

“Well then, if it’s alright with you…”

They moved to the meadows south of the farm, where Oliver had been basking in the sun, and Lance regaled them with tales of his derring-do’s with all the theatrics of a Broadway production. For the first time that afternoon the children sat with rapt attention, with not a single peep out of any of them save to ask things like, “B-But you won, right?” and “What happened then?”

“He certainly does have a way with storytelling, doesn’t he?” Penny asked Oliver quietly. Oliver just nodded, enraptured all the same, unable to take his gaze off of the mage’s animated expressions, the way his hair bounced with his movements, the glint in the eyes that had peered so intimately into his own during the Moonlight Jellies.

As the sun began to set, the group and their conversation returned back to the farm, and back to the topic of eggs.

“Well, if you want to go by record and research, Jas,” Lance said, still carrying their attention just as he had been during his storytelling, “’shelled’ eggs were leathery and malleable.”

“Oh! Like a lizard’s egg!”

“Exactly. Snake eggs tend to be quite leathery as well.”

“I don’t like snakes…”

“Lizards are cool, though!”  Vincent insisted.

Leo looked contemplative. “I wonder if those things at the volcano are lizards…”

Once more Penny clapped her hands to get her students’ attention. “Alright! Your homework this week is to ask two people which came first, the chicken or the egg.” Vincent and Leo groaned at the prospect of homework. “But for now, there’s still plenty of sunlight for a trip to the playground~”

The groans became cheers, with Jas and Leo racing on ahead—and Penny calling after them not to run. Vincent, however, remained behind.

“Hey, Lance?” he asked. Lance didn’t answer, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. “… Lance? Laaaaance!”

“Huh? Ah, sorry—what’s up, bud?”

“Are you gonna stay in town with us forever?”

An unexpected question for Lance, who appeared caught off-guard, though Oliver too wondered the same. He didn’t want to think about the possibility of never seeing Lance again…

Lance rubbed the stubble on his jaw with a quiet ‘hm’. “That’s quite a long time to think about, but y’know? Maybe.”

Oliver’s heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t a no.

“You’ll tell me about all of your adventures, right?” Vincent asked.

“Of course!” Lance lightly ruffled the boy’s hair. “You’d better get going now, the others are leaving you behind.”

“Huh? Oh—oh no! WAIT UP GUYS!”

Oliver laughed as he tore up the path like a bat out of hell to catch up with the group. “I wish I had that much energy all the time.”

“Forever, huh…”

“Hm?”

“Ah, nothing, nothing.” Lance brushed his thoughts aside and gave him that smile, that damn smile that made Oliver weak. “Shall we? I’ll walk you back to your farm.”

“S-Sure.”

As if he could say no.

They took the long way back, meandering through the town, past Pierre’s shop to stop at the fountain, chatting idly about this and that. A few coins tossed into the fountain joined the ones already at the bottom, carrying unspoken wishes and prayers.

‘I wish … I wish that I could tell Lance how I feel.’

Their shadows stretched out far behind them as they trailed down the road past the bus stop, picking a few ripe raspberries from the bushes along the way. Oliver swore they tasted just a bit sweeter than usual.

“So, my question to you, Oliver,” Lance said, once they’d reach the steps of his front porch. “What came first?” Confused, the farmer tilted his head to the side; Lance’s face softened as he drank in the sight of him. “These feelings that have nowhere to run but to escape my lips?”

Oliver’s breath caught in his throat as the mage’s hand reached out to gently tease a strand of his obsidian hair.

‘I-Is this … ?’

“To tell you that I’ve realized I can no longer hide it?” His fingers moved to trace along Oliver’s jaw to his chin. “That I’ve found you so endearing, charming, and utterly loveable?”

Oliver’s heart beat so quickly in his chest he was sure Lance could hear it, could feel it reverberating throughout his entire frame, as goosebumps erupted across his skin just from that gentle touch. His head swam as though drunk—drunk on the man stood before him. This really was real.

“Or did you garner feelings for me before I even realized it?”

“I-I…” He struggled to turn the feelings bubbling in his chest into words. “Y-You really… feel that way about me?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Lance chuckled. “Must I repeat myself?” Gently he tilted Oliver’s face towards his own, brushing his thumb over his lower lip. “Your charm? Your cute remarks? Your attentiveness to me and my intense work schedule?”

Steam all but poured out of Oliver’s ears, red all the way to the tips to match his cheeks.

“Ah, and that wonderful way you become so flustered at the lightest teasing… But this all comes down to my main question.” His hand left Oliver’s chin to return to his side. “Would you be mine?”

Oliver’s words failed him, and he could only think of one way to answer.  His fingers took hold of the lapels on Lance’s shirt to yank him down until their lips connected.

“Oh—”

Surprise widened the mage’s eyes briefly, quick to leave as he chuckled and pulled Oliver closer. Oliver felt his pulse all the way in his ears—he couldn’t believe he just did that. That Lance didn’t reject him. That he was finally showing his feelings to the man he’d been so infatuated with for so long, and they were being so enthusiastically reciprocated.  

All too soon Lance pulled back, lingering just out of reach of another kiss. “Again you surprise me,” he murmured, his voice husky and low. “I was a little afraid you didn’t feel the same.”

“A-Are you kidding? How could I not?” Unable to bear the intensity of his emotions any longer, Oliver buried his face in Lance’s chest, breathing deep the faint scent of cumin embedded into the fabric. “I-I don’t know how I haven’t tripped over how much I l-like you.”

Lance laughed, draping his arms around him in a warm hug that Oliver wished would never end. “I’m glad I was able to win out for your affections—though how you haven’t won over the affections of the entire town, I’ll never fathom.” He held him for a time before eventually letting go. “It pains me to say, but it is getting late—and I don’t want to be the reason your farm stops running.”

Oliver’s shoulders slumped in disappointment, and a pout puffed onto his lips. “Okay…”

“You act as though I won’t be running to see that smile of yours tomorrow.” He chuckled when Oliver just pouted more. “Good night, sweetheart.”

“G’night…”

Chapter 18: Iridium Snake Milk

“Well, well, well… You made it.”

A low voice and a slow clap greeted Oliver as he staggered through the darkness towards the light of what he thought was the final floor in the skull caverns. Blood dripped from his face, the arm he clutched to stem the flow, oozed from the cuts and scrapes littering his entire body from his battles against serpents and mummies and—and he couldn’t even remember what else. He barely had the strength to stand anymore. Yet through sheer force of will, here he stood.

And in the light stood a man he’d never seen before. He wore a suit, pitch black as night, covered in stars that Oliver swore were glinting like the ones up above. He stood, back turned to the farmer, in front of some sort of monitor, bathed in a glow that gave his skin a blue hue—when he turned to face Oliver, he realized that no, his skin was an icy blue.

“Come closer, now. Don’t be shy.”

He beckoned Oliver closer, smiling warmly from behind a pair of sunglasses. Cautiously, Oliver stepped forward, his legs shaking under his own weight. He didn’t know why, but he felt… uneasy.

“I heard you were attempting a deep dive into these caverns today… I had to see for myself.”

“Who… who are you?”

“Who I am isn’t important. Who you are, though, is what interests me. You passed my test with flying colors, kid, and have impressed me in a way that few ever have.” He spread his arms wide. “You’re the real deal. You understand the importance of challenging yourself, of holding yourself to the highest standard, even if no one is watching. That’s why you’re special.”

“Special? Test? Wh-what are you talking about? What is this place?”

The man’s teeth glinted through his smile. “You must be thirsty after coming such a long way. Go on,” he gestured to a purple glass on the table between them, “help yourself. It’ll perk you right back up. Consider it a reward for making it this far.”

The fact that he refused to answer any questions only added to the distrust growing in Oliver’s gut. His eyes flicked to the drink, suddenly aware of how dry his throat was, how cracked his lips were.

“It’s not poison, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“What is it, then?”

“Iridium snake milk.”

Hesitantly Oliver picked the glass up; milk wasn’t supposed to be purple… then again, people weren’t supposed to be blue, either. Against his better judgment, he downed the drink in one go—and immediately wished he hadn’t. The taste was worse than anything he’d ever experienced, bitter and sour and oddly fizzy, with a yogurt-like texture that coated his entire mouth and slid slowly down his throat. His stomach tried to reject it; he just barely managed to keep it down.

A strange warmth spread from his gut, spreading out to every part of his body, chasing some of his fatigue away; he didn’t feel fully rested, but more like he’d just woken up from a power nap. And more than that. Something had… changed in him. But at the very least, he didn’t feel like collapsing at any moment anymore.

“I’ll be watching you, kid.”

He looked up from the empty glass; the strange man, his monitor, the decorations adorning the cavernous space—all gone, as though they’d never been there to begin with. He was alone, left to wonder just who the man was… and what exactly it was he just drank.

 

 

A few days passed, and he made his weekly trip to Ginger Island, carrying with him a basket of cooked foods and fresh produce from the farm and good tidings from the mainland.

“You needn’t keep doing this, child.” Birdie didn’t even need to turn around to hear him coming, and to know the reason for the visit this time. “Surely there are better uses for your time than bringing food to an old woman.”

“I’m not just doing that.” Oliver set the basket beside her. “Leo’s doing well in school. His teacher said he gave a fantastic report on different types of birds.” He smiled. “She thinks he might have a future as an ornithologist.”

“… I’m glad.” Birdie kept looking out towards the ocean, but Oliver could hear the smile on in her voice. “It does this old heart good to hear him doing so well.”

He stayed to chat for a bit longer; he knew she could provide for herself just fine, as she had been doing for decades. The baskets of food were just a little extra to make sure she was well taken care of, a reminder that even with Leo gone, she wasn’t alone.

Something in the corner of his eye caught his attention as he turned to leave. A door, built into the steep cliffs not far north of Birdie’s house. He furrowed his brow.

“That… that wasn’t there before…”

Chapter 19: The Rest of Your Life

“Why did you think releasing a new species into the ecosystem was a good idea?”

Oliver hadn’t expected to hear Lance’s voice on his way to Shearwater bridge; he stopped, fishing rod in hand, peering down the cobblestone walkway. Lance stood looking out at the river flowing down below—beside him stood a woman he’d never seen before, garbed in dark robes not dissimilar to Magnus’. They seemed to be in a rather animated conversation.

“Oh no no no~” she chided in a playful tone. “I don’t think so, young man. You’re not getting out of this that easily.”

Young man? Did that mean this woman—who barely looked out of her twenties—was somehow older than Lance?

Lance grimaced. “I can never fool you, can I?” He sighed, bracing himself against the guard rail. “Where do I start?”

“At the beginning!”

“Of course… Well, obviously you remember the last time we talked about this—”

He stopped short, finally catching sight of his boyfriend standing just beyond the bridge. His face flicked between elation at the sight of him, and… panic?

“Oliver! I uh—we-we were just, uh—”

The woman peered around him, her own face lighting up with glee. “We were talking about you!”

“CAM!”

“Oh get over it, Lancey. Come over here, you!” She beckoned Oliver over. “I’ve been dying to make your acquaintance.”

He must have taken too long for her liking—in a flash she was in his face, grabbing it to study his features intently. “Hmm…”

“Cam please, go easy on him—”

“You don’t look anything like I expected you to.” She turned his face one way then the other. “I thought you’d look more like him.”

“L-Like who?”

“Wally! Your grandfather!”

Oliver’s face lit up. “You knew him too? Can you tell me about him?”

“Oh, I have many many stories I could tell. Though I don’t think he’d been too pleased about most of them.” Her face softened a bit at the sparkle in Oliver’s eyes. “You have his eyes, at least.” Finally she released his face, much to his relief—he really did not enjoy being inspected like a piece of produce at the store. “You know, he used to chirp and chime all the time about you when you were a baby. I’d never seen him so proud of anything, not even that farm of his.”

A meek blush spread across Oliver’s cheeks as he hunched his shoulders. “Really?”

“Gods, yes. You were all he talked about for ages. Anyway~” she returned to Lance’s other side with another flash, giving the farmer space to properly join them. “We were just talking about how Lancey here is following the current mage trends.”

Lance balked in outrage; this might have been the first time Oliver saw him even remotely angry. “I—do not call my feelings a trend!”

“Oh, look who’s all high and mighty~ I still remember this boy making fun of his colleagues some fifty years back for marrying the mundane!”

“Camilla—”

She ignored the warning tone in his voice and carried on. “Now, tell me about you.” She leaned against the railing, her attention fully fixated on Oliver once more. “Your grandfather may have prattled on and on about you, but I still only got snippets from him, and Lancey for some reason won’t discuss you in detail—”

“Because I knew you’d be like this!”

“Lance,” Oliver touched Lance’s arm; the mage exhaled sharply through his nose and relaxed slightly, “it’s okay. Um… I don’t know where to start.”

Camilla grinned. “At the beginning!”

An hour passed as they chatted about parts of Oliver’s life—though he avoided mention of his mother’s passing. The subject still upset him, and he didn’t want to start crying in front of either of them. But he was happy to chat about growing up, the visits to the farm, his misadventures in the woods. Camilla listened intently, and of course Lance did too; most of this was new information to him as well. The conversation shifted to his grandfather’s funeral, and he described how upbeat it had been, with his favorite honky-tonk country song on repeat, as had been the old man’s request; it wasn’t so much a ceremony to mourn his passing, but to celebrate the vibrant life he’d led.

Camilla smiled. “That’s so sweet… and so much like him. I’m truly sorry we couldn’t attend it with you all.”

“Oh, it’s okay—I’m sure he knew how much he meant to you both. He wouldn’t hold it against either of you.”

“I certainly hope so. Well, Lancey,” she straightened up and clapped Lance on the shoulder, “I’d say this one is a keeper. But I’m still going to give my concerns.”

Lance raised a brow. “Concerns about what?”

“Well, you know~” Camilla’s expression turned somber. “Mundane lifespans are… short, and… ours aren’t exactly relative.”

Her words were like a punch to Oliver’s gut. That’s right; mages lived much longer than normal humans like him. It was too easy for him to forget Lance had well over a century on him, perhaps almost two. He would have to watch him grow old and ugly, and eventually say good-bye to him like he must have done to so many others. His eyes started glistening, his heart breaking at the thought of Lance mourning another friend and lover lost.

Lance brushed aside her concern. “I know very well what that entails, Cam.”

“Do you, though? I remember how heartbroken you were when he passed—”

“Camilla, please.” His tone all but begged her to stop. “I feel I’ve matured enough to understand my own feelings. I know I can handle myself when the time comes.”

“Welllllll, if all else fails, you could just do a soul bon—”

“A soul bond is too dangerous!”

Oliver flinched at the sudden sharpness in his boyfriend’s voice; Lance must have noticed, because he took another steadying breath to calm himself.

“… Besides,” he continued, his tone much more measured, “it’s… invasive.”

Camilla just studied her charge for a long minute. “… Well, whatever comes may come,” she finally said. “Just remember to tell me what you decide, alright?”

“Cam—” Lance sighed in exasperation, managing a half smile as he ran his fingers through his hair. “Yes, yes, I’ll be sure to keep you constantly updated.”

“Oh, I’m sooo~ happy to have such an accommodating son~”

“I swear, your sarcasm never ceases to amaze.”

“It’s been good to finally meet you, Oliver.” Camilla blew a doting kiss in his direction. “I hope you two enjoy your time together.”

Like a whirlwind, she vanished, leaving them alone on the bridge. Lance sighed again, finally fully relaxing.

“Forgive her, sweetheart. She can be a bit overbearing—” He finally noticed the tears glistening in Oliver’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I…” Oliver could barely speak above a whisper for fear of his voice breaking. “I-Is… is it really okay… for us to be together…?”

“Wh—of course it is. Whatever makes you think it isn’t?”

“I-I’m going to die before you…” He bit his lip, his chin quivering ever so slightly. “I-I don’t want you to be sad… b-because of me… I-I don’t want you to hurt b-because o-of me…”

Despite his best efforts to stem the flow of tears, they burst forth, his shoulders heaving in silent sobs. Lance quickly took hold of his arms, gently turning him so they were face to face.

“Oliver, look at me.” He cupped his lover’s face, his thumb brushing away a few tears. “I meant it when I said I know what being with a mundane—a mortal entails. I’ve prepared myself for it.”

“B-But…!”

“It’s my decision to make, Oliver.” He pulled him into a tight embrace.  “And I chose to be with you. So please, don’t cry for me. Don’t worry about an uncertain future. Focus on living in the here and now, with me.”

Oliver clutched at the fabric of his shirt, his sobs muffled by Lance’s chest, a great wave of relief washing over him. Even if it was selfish, he didn’t want to stop being with Lance. So he would try to live, in the here and now, and not focus so much on what may come.

“S-Sorry,” he hiccupped, lifting his face up once the tears had slowed. “I-I got your shirt all wet…”

Lance laughed softly. “You’re too precious.” With a wave of his hand, the fabric dried instantly. “Come. I’ll walk you home.”

“A-Actually… can we just… stay here for awhile? I-I was coming here to fish…”

“Of course. Whatever you want.”

It wasn’t exactly what he’d expected that afternoon, but even with a dull headache from crying so much, spending the rest of it perched on the railing together, fishing rod in one hand and Lance’s in his other… it was absolutely better than what he’d originally planned.

Chapter 20: Swaying In The Wind

“A hopeless romantic all my life… surrounded by couples all the time… I guess I should take it as a sign~ Dammit Lance, quit getting songs stuck in my head!”

Yet again infected by Lance’s earworms, Oliver couldn’t help but sing under his breath as he lugged a bag full of fished up garbage up to the recycling dumpster near the train station. The amount of Joja-branded trash he’d managed to collect over the course of a few days bordered on the absurd—soda and beer cans, broken CDs and bottles, coupon books, receipts. All this just from the river in town.

‘There has to be a better way to deal with this…’ he thought, grunting with effort as he heaved the heavy sack into the dumpster. Just carrying it left him winded, his shoulders and arms burning from the effort. A brief wave of dizziness struck as the lid clanged closed, and he had to lean against the metal exterior, eyes closed as he waited for it to pass.

A few moments passed, and his head stopped spinning. The spells were nothing new, he was used to them—a result of pushing himself too far without eating or drinking enough, Harvey said.

‘Guess I should get some lunch... Oh, I can bring some to Lance too.’

The thought lifted his spirits again, and he hummed the same tune under his breath as he crossed the train tracks.

“Well, someone’s in a good mood.”

Susan waved at him from her garden; his face lit up, forgetting all about getting lunch to traipse over to her fence.

“I guess I am, yeah,” he agreed, leaning against the wood with a wide smile. “Long time no see! How’ve you been?”

“Oh, you know,” she gestured to the spread of crops in her garden, “busy. How about you?”

“Busy.”  

“I’d imagine so, with that big farm to manage.” She beckoned him closer, leaning against her pitchfork with a knowing smile. “A little birdie told me you’ve been gallivanting around town with a certain someone lately.”

“Oh—” Oliver dug the tip of his boot into the dirt with a bashful smile, “yeah, maybe just a little…”

“Just a little, hm?”

“… Okay, maybe more than just a little.”

“That’s better.” Her smile widened. “So, who is it?”

“His name’s Lance. He’s—well, I guess the closest thing to describe it is a mercenary?” It wasn’t close, but he couldn’t very well just flat out say he was a battle mage. Susan would probably think he’d lost his marbles. “He’s been helping Marlon and Magnus.”

“Magnus… That old man in the tower in Cindersap?”

“Yeah.”

“Odd company to keep, but he must be alright if he caught your eye. Still,” she leaned forward with a playful wink, “I think I’ll have to meet him just to make sure he’s good enough for you.”

“Heh, I can bring him around sometime and introduce him to you. I think you’ll get along really well. He’s funny, and witty, and—”

Another rush of dizziness swept over him, draining the color from his face in the blink of an eye.

“Oliver?” Susan dropped the pitchfork and rushed forward to steady him as he swayed on his feet, the world very nearly going black for an instant before fuzzily fading back to color.

“M’okay…”

“You are not okay, you’re white as a sheet.”

“N-No really, it’s just—”

With the firmness of a concerned mother she guided him over to the side of the house, pulling over a wooden stool for him to sit on as he leaned against the exterior.

“You stay right there. I’ll get you some water.”

Her tone left no room for arguments, and so he just sat meekly while she went inside the house.

‘Ugh, I need to pull myself together…’ He rubbed his face with a sigh. He was disappointed in himself for not doing better with Harvey’s diet—it wasn’t that he wasn’t trying, he really was. But trying to keep track of so many things—the farm, monster slaying, Magnus’ lessons, errands, the junimos in the community center— just meant that some inevitably fell to the wayside.  

The door swung open, and Susan emerged with a glass of water and a plate with some bread and jam. “Here you go, sweetie. Hopefully this perks you back up a bit.”

“Thank you… I’m sorry for the trouble.”

“Honey, don’t worry about it.” Her brow creased with concern. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah, of course. I just forgot to eat lunch… again.”

“You’re not struggling to buy food, are you?”

“Oh—no, no! That’s not the problem. I just get so caught up in what I’m doing that I lose track of time.” He took a bite of the bread. “It’s something I’m working on, I promise.”

“Okay… don’t be afraid to ask for help if you need it.” She patted his shoulder. “You take your time eating that, alright?”

“I will. Thank you again.”

“Anytime, sweetie.”

She picked up her pitchfork and got back to work, leaving him to quietly nibble his way through the bread. He did feel a lot better after finishing it and the water, though maybe bringing lunch to share with Lance would still be a good idea…

Chapter 21: Through The Looking Glass

The sheer level of noise, hustle and bustle at the Stardew Valley fair wasn’t something Oliver expected—so many people crammed into the town square, packed together so tightly it barely left any room for navigating around the various stalls that had cropped up seemingly overnight. And the noise—gods, the noise was deafening. So many voices overlapping, the gong of the bell at the strength test, children laughing, vendors hawking their wares, coins changing hands. It reminded him how miserable he had been living in Zuzu City.

“U-Um—excuse me—pardon me—if I could just squeeze past—”

Somehow wading through the chaos, he managed to reach the empty case that was to be his grange display. A heavy, relieved sigh blew past his lips as he unpacked the box held in his arms. He was under no misapprehension about his odds of actually winning with his meager entries—some jams and honey, a few jars of pickles, truffle oil, pretty shells gathered on the beach. Especially compared to just the contestants on either side of him, Pierre and Marnie, his selections were mediocre at best. Even Andy had a better display going than him—he shook the thought away, ashamed to even have it in the first place. Andy wasn’t any less of a farmer than him.

“That’s that, then.”

The empty box tucked away under the display, he made a beeline towards the river, where fewer people and kiosks congregated and the noise lessened to a dull hum in the background. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, settling back into his own skin—the familiarity eased the stress of the day.

“Ahh. I know you.”

A strange, soft voice spoke from the lone kiosk behind him, startling him an inch or two off of the ground.

“M-Me?”

“Yes, young one.” A robed figure sat behind a table, gazing into an obscenely large crystal ball that obscured their face. “I foresaw your arrival… Mostly from Lance excitedly telling me.”

The mention of his boyfriend drew Oliver closer. “Lance was here?”

“He was. But no longer. Where he went, I know not—but I do know that look in your eye.” Weathered hands skimmed over the crystal’s surface. “You wish answers to questions yet unasked.”

Well, he didn’t before—but he certainly did now.

“Could you do that? T-Tell my fortune, I mean.”

The figure chuckled quietly. “I do not tell fortunes. I glimpse into the future. And yours…” The crystal almost seemed to glow, smokey colors swirling inside of it. “Ah… I see… I see…!”

Oliver waited with bated breath, hands clasped together in mounting excitement; it was nothing but a performance act, but it served its purpose well.  

“Ooh… it… is dark, and I see you and a certain dashing man… My, but he is very eager to please… and in a cave, of all things. How shameless…”

Oliver’s face took on a crimson hue. ‘Please don’t see it, please don’t see it,’ he silently begged, praying that this person wouldn’t see just how shameless he had been with a recent purchase…

“Now I see… you’re against the sands of a beach.  Ahh, is that Joleyne? Tell her I said hello if you happen to cross paths.” The crystal’s glow intensified. “Now… you’re together on a crimson battlefield. He is desperate, so very desperate to protect you. Ah, his fire burns through the crystal.” The figure physically recoiled from it, and its light faded. “…The crystal has gone dim. Perhaps for the best…”

“A-Are you alright?”

“Yes. A hazard of peering into the future of one with so many timelines. I’m sure Lance will be eager to hear the results.” Oliver reached into his pocket to pull out his coin purse. “Payment has already been arranged.”

He stopped in the middle of counting out change, confused. “It has?”

The figure chuckled, folding their hands together. “You may tell him that I consider our debt settled.”

“Oh… okay… Then,” he set a large handful of dollar coins on their table, “consider this a tip.”

Another chuckle. “As you wish. The spirits thank you for your generosity. By the way, you won third place.”

“Oh!” Oliver hadn’t even realized the judging had taken place. “That’s… better than I thought.”

‘I wonder what they meant by timelines,’ he thought to himself as he made his way back through the crowd. He vaguely recalled Magnus mentioning something about them, but he thought it was all just esoteric theory… ‘I really need to start paying more attention to his lectures.’

After minutes of searching, he finally spied a head of fiery hair peeking up above the rest of the crowd. “Lance!” he called, struggling to make his voice heard above the noise and trying to squeeze past several clusters of festival goers. Lance’s head turned in his direction but didn’t see him, with him being much shorter than those around him. “Over here!” He held his hand up and waved.

“Ah, there you are.” The crowd almost seemed to part for Lance with the ease he made his way through them. “I was wondering if I’d see you today.”

“W-Well,” Oliver blushed as the mage planted a kiss on his cheek, “I-I wasn’t going to miss out on the Fair again. Um, do you know the person telling fortunes?”

“Welwick? Oh yes, they and I go way back.”

“Ohhh, that makes sense. They said they looked into my… our future.”

“Did they?” Lance’s brows raised in interest. “What did they see?”

“W-Well…” He started recounting the different visions, working his way backwards from the last. “… And, uh—one was of us in a cave. I think their words were ‘eager to please’ and ‘shameless’.”

Lance coughed and cleared his throat awkwardly. “Ah. Well—peering into the future isn’t an exact science, I’ve been told. Don’t take the predictions to heart.”

Shyly Oliver took his hand. “I-I don’t mind if they come true,” he said quietly. He didn’t quite have the courage to say he wished the cave one did.

“Is that so?” Lance lanced their fingers together and leaned close. “Then,” he murmured, “I look forward to seeing if they do.”

Their lips brushed together as he spoke, a shiver running down Oliver’s spine each time. Lance could work him up so easily, it was becoming a real problem. So much so that he forgot to tell him about Welwick's settled debt.

Chapter 22: An Endless Cycle

His spirit hadn’t felt this light in years.

Clutching what was to be his final payment on the debt that had hung over him for the better part of two years, Oliver practically sprinted through town towards the Joja Mart. He’d done it. He’d really done it. All the blood, sweat and tears would be worth it once this sack of gollars was in Morris’s grubby hands. He wouldn’t have to worry about losing the farm anymore. He could start saving, build himself a cushion to fall back on during the winter that was only a few weeks away.

‘First thing I’m doing is taking Lance to dinner. A nice one.’ He’d rent out Gus’ back room, pay for his good booze, the fancy stuff with labels he couldn’t pronounce—the ones Olivia always drank—and they could just have the whole evening for themselves. Maybe even end it back at the farm house, if he was lucky…

Not even the tinned jingles playing over the speakers inside the mart could dampen his spirits. He waved to Claire at the register—she half-waved back, stifling a yawn—and to Shane, who was stocking shelves and looked mildly concerned for his well-being with how excited he was—before beelining it for Morris’s office.

“Ah, Mr. Sheffield. Come in, come in.” As always, Morris greeted him warmly, knowing full well the reason for his visit. “You’ve been very prompt the last few weeks. The farm must be doing well.”

The gollars clinked and clattered together as the sack landed on his desk. “It’s doing fantastic, actually.”

“I’m truly glad to hear it. Let’s see now…”

Slowly, methodically, as if intentionally dragging it out, he emptied the sack into the golden coin counter displayed on his desk. Oliver watched the total tick up with bated breath. He knew exactly how much should be there. It stopped at 45,372, the remaining outstanding balance.

“Very good, very good.” Morris turned to his computer and typed the numbers in. “And with that, your remaining balance is 747,928 gollars. Joja Co. appreciates your continued cooperation.”

Oliver’s heart stopped. “Wh-what? No, no—it should be paid off!”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Sheffield.” Morris turned back to face him, folding his hands atop his desk with the fakest, slimiest smile.

“B-But you SAID if I paid 46,000 a month—!”

“I said 46,000 was the minimum you had to pay per month on the principle balance. That doesn’t account for the interest rate of 45% per month.” His eyes glinted maliciously, sucking the breath out of Oliver’s lungs. “I do apologize for the misunderstanding, but I’m afraid you’ll simply have to continue making those payments for the foreseeable future. If that’s all, I really must be getting back to work. Some of us can’t afford to slack off, you see.”

It felt like the floor had been ripped out from underneath him. Fighting back tears, Oliver left, slamming the door behind him as he all but sprinted for the exit.

This had to be some kind of joke. A sick, twisted joke.

His feet carried him to his nexus, but not even his sanctuary could bring him comfort. They made for the warp to the crimson badlands, taking the steps up to the Galdoran outpost two at a time. He could barely hold himself together by the time he pushed the door open.

“Hm?” Lance glanced up from his paperwork. “Ah, hello my dear—” He stopped at the look on his boyfriend’s face, rising up from his chair in alarm. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I…!” Oliver ran forward into his arms, unable to stop the devastated wails he’d been holding back. His legs gave out from the weight of his grief; together they sank down onto the floor, with Lance holding him tight.

“Oliver, tell me what happened.”

He just shook his head. He couldn’t speak. He just needed to let it out, to cry, to curse the fate thrust upon him so that he could pick himself back up tomorrow.

What else could he do but start again?

Chapter 23: From Fear, Courage

Once more Oliver stood at the edge of the deeper Cindersap. He hadn’t been back since that time with Lance—gods, that felt like a lifetime ago. A strong wind tore through the trees, whipping his cloak around him violently and almost pushing him to go inside. The little boy still frightened by wolves inside of him screamed at him to instead turn back.

But he wasn’t that frightened little boy anymore. He wasn’t the scared farmer who needed Lance to protect him anymore. He had his sword. He had his staff. He had the lessons and knowledge imparted to him by Magnus, even if he didn’t always pay attention.

If he could overcome this fear, he could overcome anything.

With a deep breath, he pressed forward. Once more, the woods swallowed him into its depths, the harsh pitter-patter of the rain dulled slightly by the canopies of its trees. Lanterns like the ones at the Highlands and Galdoran outposts staggered the path he walked, granting him a sense of safety and relief; for the moment he didn’t have to watch for eyes looking back at him.

Further in, the already weak light filtering in through the gaps between leaves dimmed even further; deciding this would be a good time to test a new minor spell he’d learned, Oliver chanted under his breath with a circular wave of his staff—a small, gently glowing orb burst into existence in the air beside him, radiating light and a bit of much needed warmth. A somewhat proud half-smile crossed his lips. On the first try, no less. Magnus did say he had a talent for magic not often seen in the mundane… though he would never reach the levels of him or Lance or Camilla.

The forest stretched on endlessly, planting seeds of doubt in him; at least this time if he got lost, he had a warp totem to take him back home—

The darkness parted in the distance, a building emerging from its confines—drawing closer, it revealed itself to be some sort of farmhouse, long abandoned and reclaimed by nature. Much more so than grandpa’s farm had been, with the yard overrun with trees and weeds and ivies of all kinds creeping up the walls of its exterior.

‘Was this here the whole time?’ he asked himself, stopping just at the fenced border of the yard; a weathered sign bore faded letters: Aurora Vineyard. It felt like he’d been so much deeper when he’d gotten lost, but now he doubted it that had just been the imaginings of a frightened child.

The wind carried a sense of melancholy as he stepped through the front door—its rusty hinges put up some resistance initially before yielding with ear grating creaks. The interior hadn’t fared any better; the planks of wooden flooring were pushed apart in places by the indomitable will of the plants growing out of the gaps, and in some places missing entirely. Still other parts were overgrown with moss, giving the air a musty but not unpleasant scent.

A few framed pictures still hung lopsided on the walls, offering a brief glimpse into the lives of the home’s previous owners. A happy couple, proud of the home they had built. A painful twinge ached Oliver’s heart; he wondered if they’d be saddened to see what had become of it. What events led up to its abandonment.

‘I hope they’re okay, wherever they are. That they’re happy.’  Everyone deserved happiness, after all…

In the very back, tucked away almost out of sight, laid a scroll like the ones at the community center. His breath caught in his throat. Junimos, here. Could one of them be Apples? He crouched down to read it, quickly furrowing his brow—most of it was just nonsense. He could only make out a few partial words, not enough to make any sense.

“That can’t be right…”

He rubbed his face with a sigh; maybe he was just too tired to decipher the text properly. Perhaps after a proper good night’s rest he’d be able to.

The rain had let up somewhat by the time he stepped back outside, with barely any trickling down to the forest floor. A much needed reprieve, though too late for his soaking clothes and the cloak that weighed him down. He looked forward to taking a hot shower when he got home—

A shrill shriek pierced the air and sent fresh chills down his spine. Before he’d realized it, he was racing back down the path he’d came towards where it had come from. There had been terror in that shriek. The same terror he’d felt.

Jas’ tiny form quivered on the ground, the wails that had been Oliver’s guide to her petering off to whimpers and sniffs. His sprint slowed to a jog, and then a walk, until he crouched down beside her.

“What are you doing in here, Jas?”

She lifted her tear-filled face to look at him. “I-I got lost…”

For a moment, he was looking back at the child he used to be. The revelation brought a lump to his throat; he swallowed it and smiled.

“That must have been scary. C’mon, I’ll take you back home.” He stood and offered her a hand. “Don’t let go, okay?”

“I-I won’t.”

With her little hand tightly clutching his, they made their way out—the trees almost seemed to part for them this time, granting them a clear path back. He’d considered the idea of warping there, but he’d never tried to do it with another person—and the horror stories Magnus had told him about inexperienced mages arriving at their destination with half of their companion dissuaded it entirely.

He delivered her back to the ranch, into the relieved arms of Marnie who was beside herself with worry. Even though he hadn’t found Apples, he was glad he braved his fears.

‘A word, Oliver.’ Magnus’ voice echoed in his head before he had a chance to start back home. ‘Come see me immediately.’

Oliver’s heart sank. That tone did not bode well. Wondering just what he did to deserve a scolding this time, he reluctantly turned on his heel to make the short trip to the wizard’s tower.

“Y-Yes?” he asked timidly, peeking his head through the door. Magnus beckoned him further in.

“Intense magic is surrounding you. What have you done?”

“U-Um—well, I—” He withered a bit beneath Magnus’ intense gaze. “I-I was in west cindersap, a-and I found this old house, and it had a junimo scroll in it that I couldn’t read.”

“Junimo activity, and at the old vineyard no less…” Magnus rubbed his beard in contemplation. “And what of the object you’re carrying with you?”

“Object?”

Something weighed his pocket down—something that definitely hadn’t been there before. The scroll he couldn’t read. Confusion knit his brows together.

“May I?”

Magnus unraveled the scroll, his eyes skimming the text. Once, then twice, then three times.

“Well? What does it say?”

“I… can’t tell. The text is so faded that it’s almost illegible, and my translation skills are… rusty.”

Oliver’s shoulders slumped in disappointment.

“I will call a good friend to decipher it for us. A moment, please.” He closed his eyes briefly. “… She’ll be arriving momentarily.”

The wonders of magical communication. “Who did you call?”

“The witch of—”

“Raaaaaazzy!”

A bright flash of light preceded Camilla’s ever dramatic entrance. Magnus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Camilla, I’ve asked you not to call me that…”

“Call you what~? Oh, and who do I see before my very eyes but my darling Lancey’s little love bug?”  

Oliver raised a hand in greeting. “It’s good to—”

She squished his cheeks together in delight. “I’d been hoping for a chance to speak with you without Lancey getting in the way.” Her eyes glinted mischievously; Oliver started sweating profusely, genuinely fearing for his safety.

“Camilla.” Magnus cleared his throat to get her attention. “If we could turn to the matter that brought you here…”

“Ohhh, you’re no fun.” She pouted and let go of Oliver’s face. “What is it?”

“This scroll. What can you make of it?”

She snatched it from his outstretched hand. “…Hm. The spirit who wrote this hardly understands their own language. It’s like reading a child’s writing… they must be quite young.” She cleared her throat and tossed the rolled up scroll back to him. “All it is is them asking for a ‘bounty of stars’.”

‘A bounty of stars … starfruit?’

“You knowwww, Ollie,” Camilla draped her arm around his shoulder, interrupting his thoughts, “I could always use some help with my work~ Think of all the gossiping we can do—”

“That’s enough, Camilla. I’ll thank you not to distract my pupil.”

“Ohhh, your pupil? Since when did you start breaking the rules, Razzy?”

“Around the same time you began to care about following them.”

“Oh! A witty retort! I am shooketh! It seems like old dogs can learn new tricks, after all.” She cackled at the look on Magnus’ face. “So is that all you needed me for?”

“Yes indeed. Thank you for—”

“Ciao, then~”

In an instant she was gone. Magnus rubbed his temples.

“I need tea…”

“Um…”

“Ah. You may leave. What you do with the scroll I leave to you.”

What a bizarre turn of events. He hadn’t found Apples, and now another task had been added to his ever growing list. Just how many starfruit made up a bounty, anyway?

Chapter 24: Fragments of His Past

The hard rain continued into the next day, bringing more gusts of wind alongside it. The noise of branches hitting the roof kept Oliver awake for most of the night; by 6, he gave up on trying to get more sleep and got dressed for the day.

‘Hopefully there’s not any ice on the ground—”

He stopped halfway out the door. A familiar red haired figure stood looking towards the road to the bus stop, drenched by the downpour.

“Lance?”

The mage didn’t seem to hear him, staggering forward almost drunkenly. His voice carried on the wind.

“I miss you, you bratty bastard.”

Oliver traipsed down the steps. “Lance?” he called again, with no answer.

‘Something’s wrong. It’s—it’s almost like he’s sleepwalking.’

What was the advice everyone parroted about sleepwalkers? Don’t try to wake them up?

‘I … I should follow him to make sure he doesn’t get hurt.’

Lance’s uneven steps brought him to the town center, muttering and laughing to himself. Oliver stayed close behind him, growing more concerned with each passing moment.

“Paul, I told you rations aren’t…” His voice trailed off as he stopped, swaying slightly. “… If only I had been stronger…”

Every few steps he took, he’d speak to an imaginary figure, lost in a reality detached from this one—only to seemingly realize halfway through that the specters he saw weren’t actually there.

“I swear Nikki, if I have to tell you the magic recipe one more time I’ll… I’ll… I properly saw off your widower, just like you asked. I kept my promise.”

“Well, Luis, Avery told me that she wanted to ask you out on a—a da… date… You’d be proud of them. If only you could see them now…”

“Mary, I swear to Yoba if I find another raunchy novel about me and July I’ll… I’ll… They’re doing well, you know? ‘The Tales of The Combat Mage’. If only you… if only you’d been here to see the vigil.”

“I have no need for ‘The Nuances of Magicology’, Perigee! What use could I possibly have for such a… I still have them. Your precious library is safe in my chambers at home. And I kept my word—I burned that ‘special’ book you told me to.”

He wasn’t just speaking to imaginary people. He was speaking to the people he’d lost over the course of a century and a half. A painful lump took up residence in Oliver’s throat at the revelation, his heart breaking for the pain carried in Lance’s voice with each word.

His meanderings led them down to the docks before finally stopping.

“… Was this war even NECESSARY?!” he yelled to the wind. “What purpose did it even SERVE?! All of those lights! Extinguished because of GREED! What was I…” His fists clenched into tight balls, quivering with rage. “What was I even fighting for? Can someone, anyone TELL ME?! The bloodshed, the misery, the vigils, all of the eulogies of empty graves—for what?! A few shiny baubles on a coat, a pat on the back that I did well, that those who fought alongside me ‘fought bravely’?! Cold comfort to the dead!!!”

The shaking in his fists had taken over his entire body.

“Mother…?” His voice had become small and frightened like a child’s. “Mother, don’t leave me on this battlefield! I swear I’ll do better! Please don’t abandon me here! I—I’m scared!”

He dropped to his knees, wailing. Oliver closed the gap between them, unable to stand and watch his pain any longer.

“Lance!” He knelt down beside the sobbing man. “Lance, it’s me. It’s Oliver!”

“Oh, you bratty bastard!” Lance laughed, seeing his old friend sat beside him. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here to see…” The faraway look in his eyes frightened Oliver. “… No, you’re not… you’re not Wally…”

“That’s right.” Oliver scooted to sit behind him, pulling him back into his arms to hold him tight. “It’s me—Oliver. Your sweetheart. Remember?”

“Yes… yes, of course. The dead cannot… the dead cannot be returned to us…”

He fell silent. Oliver brushed the tears from his cheeks, gently rocking them back and forth to the sound of the waves lapping against the dock. “Are you okay…?”

“Of course you old fuddy, why wouldn’t I… no, I’m…” He tipped his head back, finally locking eyes with his lover. The distant look in his faded with recognition. “… Oliver? Where—where am I?”

“At the beach. You… you were at my farm, but you weren’t there. You were talking to yourself…”

“I-I see…” Lance rested his hand on Oliver’s arm; his fingers felt frozen. He must have been standing out in the rain long before Oliver started following him. “I… I apologize. You caught me at an inopportune moment, I’m afraid…”

“Lance.” Oliver cupped his jaw so he would keep their gaze. “It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize for anything. I’m just… glad you’re back.” His chin quivered slightly; tears brimmed in his eyes, barely contained. “I-I was so worried about you the whole way here…”

“I… I made you worry about me?” Lance closed his eyes and sighed through his nose. “It seems like my mask has finally slipped… Are you disillusioned by me now?”

“O-Of course not!” Oliver held him tighter; Lance’s frame still trembled in his arms. “Nothing could ever change the way I see you. Nothing.”

“I… I see…” Lance sounded relieved; the tension that had been keeping his muscles rigid finally eased, allowing him to relax into the embrace. “I guess I’ve lived for so long wearing this mask, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be without it…”

They were quiet for a time; Oliver idly played with a few damp locks of Lance’s hair, and the mage leaned into the touch with a chuckle and a faint smile.

“… I miss them. My comrades. My siblings. My friends…” A shuddering sigh escaped him; he was barely holding himself together. “A more rambunctious, boisterous, wonderful lot you'd never meet...”

The steady downpour slowed to a drizzle, then a trickle. A lone sunbeam peeked through the clouds, gently kissing them with its warmth and light.

“Ah…” He opened his eyes, the bags under them amplified by the pale pallor tinting his face. “The rains have ceased, and we have been graced with another beautiful day… but you are not here to see it…”

“…Here.” Oliver shifted to stand them both up. “Let’s get you to the clinic.”

“No, that… that won’t be necessary. I’m fine, truly.” Lance smiled up at him; a more blatant lie had never been told. “It’s just… the breaking of sun between the rain shakes my bravado more than anything else. As embarrassing as it is to admit… I’m grateful that you were here with me.”

“I’m always going to be here for you.” Oliver pressed a kiss to his forehead, then to his lips; Lance reached up to keep him there for a moment. “Always.”

“And I you… now if you don’t mind,” he picked himself up and offered his hand, “might I have your hand? I’ll warp us back to your farm.”

Oliver laced their fingers together. “Only if you agree to stay and warm up. I mean it.”

“Hah! And here I thought I was the commanding one.” Lance touched the hilt of his sword, and they were back on the front porch.

The warmth of the farmhouse was a welcome reprieve from the bitter cold. Oliver stepped into the bathroom to grab towels to dry off with; in the brief time he was gone, Lance had stripped most of his wet clothes and passed out on the couch. Oliver blushed at the sight and laughed quietly to himself, gently drying the sleeping man’s hair and wrapping him in the warmest blanket he had.

“Sleep tight, my love…”

Chapter 25: The Best Birthday

Notes:

there be spicy times ahead. you have been warned

The seasons turned once more, the yellows and browns of fall losing their vibrancy with the dropping temperature. Frost greeted Oliver most mornings, fogging the windows and glistening on the ground outside. No real snow had fallen yet, but it was only a matter of time—winter was nearly upon the valley. Soon everyone would break out the cheesy sweaters, hot chocolate, santa hats, and the town would be decked out in garlands and lights and wreaths and cheer.

Winter used to be his favorite season growing up, the excitement of snow days and the anticipation of presents; now, the sight of snow left him melancholic, made him want to withdraw from the world and stay in bed even more than he already did.

At least his farm chores amounted to basically nothing these days, just checking on the small collection of animals bundled up safe and warm in their coop and barn—his four strong chicken crew had grown to five with a duck, and a rabbit brought it to six, while just two Holsteins and a sheep had the whole massive barn to themselves.

“I’m sorry, guys,” he apologized to the sheep gnawing and tugging on the hem of his parka. “It’s too cold out, and there’s no grass to eat anyway.” His fingers sank into the coarse wool on its head to give it some scritches, eventually earning forgiveness and the freedom to leave.

‘It … definitely feels like I’m forgetting something.’

 

The rest of his morning he spent in south Cindersap, fishing in silence with only his thoughts and chirping birds for company. By noon, a chill had settled into his bones—the mercury had dipped all the way down to 20—yet he both did and didn’t want to leave. For all the self-imposed isolation he put himself through, he actually hated being alone. It wasn’t that he was a people person, per se; it was more that his mind had a tendency to go to dark and terrifying places when he had no one to distract him.

He would wonder what it’d be like to drown. If his mother’s life would have been better without him in it. What would happen if he stood in front of a train. The therapist called them ‘intrusive thoughts’, and expressed concern about the frequency that he had them. He’d been sent home from that first appointment with a prescription for antidepressants, like the ones Shane took; they sat untouched in his medicine cabinet. As if taking them meant he was weak.

A pair of arms wound their way around his midriff. “There you are, sweetheart,” Lance murmured in his frostbitten ear. “You can be surprisingly difficult to find, you know.”

“Lance—” It took a second for Oliver to realize it was him, adrenaline briefly shooting through him in a fight or flight response. “Y-You scared me.”  

“Ah, I’m sorry. Whatever are you doing all the way out here by yourself?”

Oliver cast his line back out to the water. “Fishin’.”

“You do realize what today is, right?”

The question puzzled him; he tipped his head back to look up at Lance in confusion. “Uh… Tuesday?”

“No—well, yes, but that’s not what I meant. Isn’t today your birthday?”

He blinked, mentally checking the calendar “… Huh. I guess it is, but—how did you know?”

“Oh, I have my sources.” Lance tipped his head back further to kiss him softly. “Happy birthday, my sweet.”

Oliver melted against his lips, savoring the moment for as long as he could. “Thank you. It’s just another day, though, same as all the rest.”

“That’s something you say when you’ve lived a hundred years. Not the few that you have. Today is a day to celebrate. So,” Lance gently took the fishing rod from his hands and pulled him to his feet, “how about we do just that and go on a bit of an adventure?”  

His eyes sparkled in growing anticipation. “What kind of adventure?”

Lance chuckled. “Not far off of Ginger Island is another that is home to dinosaurs. Have you ever been there?”

“A whole island of dino—no, no I’ve never been there.” Oliver squeezed Lance’s hands. “Can we go?”

“Of course, it’s what I had in mind.”

 

The warmth of the islands chased away the bitter chill of the valley, and he had to shed his outer layers to avoid overheating. A dinosaur, olive green and rotund, munched the leaves of a fern a short distance away—it stopped at their presence, roaring in warning. They were not to come any closer.

“The inhabitants of this island are peaceful and should pose no threat to us.” Lance pulled Oliver back a bit, still holding onto his hand as he did when he warped them. “It might be wise to avoid that one, though. It’s particularly territorial.”

“You’ve been here before?”

“I’ve explored many of the islands in the Gem Sea. This and Ginger Island are far and away my favorites.” The corners of Lance’s mouth twitched up in a smile. “But I want this to be your journey! Lead the way.”

A lush coast, the ocean stretching on for miles. Monkeys darting through the trees of the verdant jungle. Eggs nestled in a nursery tucked into the mountain. Palms weighed down with bunches of ripe bananas, with brontosauruses reaching their long necks up to pluck them for a snack. Swinging on vines to cross a ravine, just because they could. Walking hand in hand into a volcano’s heat.

“Ah… this brings back memories of when I first laid my eyes on you.”

They stopped at the edge of a lava pool.  Red haired monkeys rode past on the backs of swimming triceratops.

“Even back then, I was drawn to you. A mundane reaching Kohldur’s caldera. One with an affinity for the earth and forest. From the first, you… enchanted me.”

A blush to match the heat of the lava crept across Oliver’s cheeks. “I don’t know what makes me so different from anyone else… there’s nothing special about me.”

Lance chuckled. “Oh, how very wrong you are.” Slowly, purposefully, he twirled Oliver around by the hand, catching him by the hip as he dipped him back. A quiet yelp of surprise escaped the farmer, his fingers sought purchase on the front of Lance’s shirt from fear of falling. “Words cannot describe how special you are. You have captured my heart in a way no one else has.”

His words melted Oliver’s heart with their warmth, incomparable to the heat around them; a gentle tug pulled him down close, their lips brushing together briefly, then longer. Deeper. He was denied a third kiss, Lance lingering just out of reach, gazing down at him with eyes smokey with desire.

“If we stay any longer, I fear your skin will sear off.”

Suddenly Oliver was in his arms, bridal style, a small ‘eep’ eeking out of him as they returned to the farm. Dusk had long since fallen, and the air bit sharply at their exposed skin.

“Allow me to spoil you awhile more.”

The ease with which he commanded the kitchen boggled the mind. In no time, the table was laden with bowls of tom kha, yellow curry, tteokbokki, pad thai, bukkumi—a delicious spread, most of which Oliver had never had before.

“You’ll have to forgive me for the lack of sweets,” Lance apologized as they tucked in. “Baking is not one of my strong suits.”

“I-It’s fine, you don’t have to… this is wonderful.” Looking out at the food laid out before them, cooked just for him, just to celebrate his birthday, a swell of emotions overcame him as hot tears in his eyes. The last time he’d celebrated his birthday like this had been years ago. “Th-thank you… so much… I-I don’t deserve all this…”

“Of course you do, sweetheart.” Lance moved his chair to be beside him, pressing their foreheads together as he brushed away the tears that clung to his lashes. “You deserve so much more than this. I only wish I could give you more.”

“Th-this is more than enough…”

While a bit spicier than he was used to, all the flavors were delicious—though his favorite definitely had to be the bukkumi that finished off the meal. Lance cleared away the table while he polished off the last of the sweet dumplings, humming away at the sink.

‘I don’t deserve him at all.’

He rose up from the table, empty plate in hand, intending to simply add it to the ones already soaking in the sink—yet as he drew near, he couldn’t help but slip his arms around the man’s waist and bury his face into his back.

“Yes?” Lance chuckled in surprise. “It would be in your best interest not to overexcite me while I’m washing up.”

“But I want to overexcite you.” The fabric of Lance’s shirt muffled his voice.

Another chuckle as the water in the sink began to drain.

“You are playing a very dangerous game, my dear.” He unwound the arms around him, pulling Oliver close by the wrist to kiss him as he slowly backed them towards the bedroom.

The backs of Oliver’s legs bumped against the bed; he tumbled backwards onto the mattress, pulling Lance down with him—and gasping against his lips as the mage ground their pelvises together.

“L-Lance—”

“Yes?”

Their breaths synchronized. Oliver’s heart pulsed in his ears. Clothes ruffled as they were cast aside—Lance’s eyes drank him in, his fingers caressing the bare skin on his chest to draw another gasp, a breathy sigh from him, only to pin both of his hands on either side of his head.

“Forgive me for being impatient.”

He dipped down, pressing kisses down Oliver’s jaw, his neck, his collarbone, each one eliciting soft moans that he couldn’t stifle. His chest became a playground for Lance’s mouth to tease him mercilessly, making him squirm against the blankets beneath him.  Lance’s knee pressed his legs apart, rubbing up against the space between them—electric currents surged through him, jolted him. More moans, louder and more wanton. Embarrassment and desire flushed his face in equal measure.

“Your voice is so sweet.”

One hand released his to travel down his body, tracing its curves—“Th-that tickles!” he protested—until it joined the knee still pressing up against him.

“Does this tickle?”

His fingers rubbed against the space between Oliver’s cheeks, drawing another gasp as it slipped inside.

“So soft.” He nibbled the shell of Oliver’s ear. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’ve been playing with yourself down here.”

“Th-that’s… I…” Oliver swallowed hard, trying to slow his rapid breaths—only to cry out as Lance pressed deeper. “M-Maybe I have—a little… not that much…”

A husky chuckle. “I had better not keep you waiting any longer, then.”

He hooked his arms under Oliver’s legs, pressing close for another kiss—with one thrust, they were connected, an iron rod piercing Oliver to his core as he cried out Lance’s name once more. He was much, much bigger than a toy.

The air filled with the sounds of the creaking mattress, skin against skin, each thrust forcing another unrestrained moan from Oliver’s throat—Lance breathed heavily in his ear, kissing it and whispering praises as a heat built in the pit of his stomach. He reached his climax first, shuddering violently against the mattress as Lance’s hand milked him, his hips slowing to a stop to admire the sight of him on cloud nine.

“You are breathtaking.” His fingers smeared the mess on his stomach, bringing it to his lips to have a taste.

“D… Don’t stop,” Oliver panted, bucking against him slightly to encourage him to resume. Lance laughed softly.

“Oh, I don’t intend to.”

The hunger in his voice made Oliver swallow hard—perhaps he’d provoked the beast a bit too much. For what seemed like hours Lance ravaged him, bringing him to climax again and again, until his own finally filled him deep with warmth. His head swam as Lance held him close, their legs laced together, his fingers running through Oliver’s sweaty hair.

“Was I able to live up to your expectations?”

All Oliver could muster was a nod. He had surpassed them. Amused and just as satisfied as him, Lance pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Happy birthday, my love.”

Chapter 26: Letting Go

Notes:

remember folks, healthy communication is important

The thermometer beeped. With glazed eyes Oliver stared at the number flashing on the tiny monochrome display. 102. A tiny whine of frustration escaped his lips as he slid down in the kitchen chair. Why did he have to be sick, today of all days?

Well, to be honest he’d felt it coming on for days now. A deep ache that settled into his muscles and bones, a chill that just wouldn’t seem to go away—he chalked it up to the cold weather combined with his usual exertions. It would pass, surely. But it didn’t; he’d woken up that morning feeling worse than ever.

“Nn, what am I supposed to do now…?”

A raspy, moist cough ripped through his throat, raw already from hours of bringing up phlegm. He couldn’t go to the feast, that was for sure. The secret buddy gift he’d so carefully wrapped weeks ago taunted him from across the table.

The shivers from his fever made it hard to press the buttons on his phone. “… Mayor Lewis? It, um—i-it’s Oliver. I don’t—I don’t think I can make it to the feast today.”

“Is everything alright?”

Oliver covered another cough with his hand. “Y-Yeah, it’s just—I’m sick, and I don’t… don’t want to spread it around. If I leave my secret gift on the porch, w-would you be able to give it to Maru for me?”

“Oh—yes, of course I can.”

“Thank you… Sorry for the trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all. Would you like me to bring you some food?”

“N-No, no, that’s okay… but… d-do you think you could tell Lance for me?”

“Sure thing. I’ll be right over.”

Oliver waited by the window, wrapped tight in his thickest blanket to try and quell his shivering.  It only took a few minutes for Lewis to pick up the gift, waving sympathetically to him as he did; Oliver forced a half-smile as he waved back. Guilt gnawed at him for making Lewis trudge all the way out to the farm in over a foot of snow when he still things to do before the festival. Another fit of coughs forced him back into his seat at the table.

“… L-Looks like it’s just you and me again this year, mom…” Her portrait smiled at him; his fingers traced the well worn black border before setting it back onto the table. “Merry Feast… s-sorry I didn’t get you a present this year…”

He laid his head on his arms and closed his eyes, not bothering to wipe away the lone tear rolling down his cheek. The capacity to care just was not there. He was just tired. So, so tired…

 

No sooner had his eyes closed did they flutter back open at the sensation of a hand brushing against his forehead.  Lance’s worried face swam into view with the rest of the kitchen, the dizziness swinging everything back and forth.

“L-Lance…?” He sat up, his stiff back protesting the movement. “Wh-what are you—shouldn’t you be at the feast…?”

“And leave you to spend the day sick and alone? I think not.” The mage’s thumb brushed against his cheek; he leaned into the touch, another shiver radiating through him. “You’re burning up. I don’t think Kholdur’s caldera is this hot.”  

Another cough followed Oliver’s weak laugh. He couldn’t even bring himself to lie and say he’d be okay. “… I really wanted to go this year…”

Lance drew up another chair beside him. “Did you not last year?”

“N-No.” He turned away to cough into his hand.  “Winter is… it’s hard for me. M-My mom died around the same time the year before, and I just… didn’t want anyone to see me for awhile…”

“Is that her picture?”

“Mhm.” Oliver pulled it closer to show him; Lance smiled faintly.

“I see where your cute charm comes from.”

“O-Oh c’mon, I’m not—I’m not cute.” He smiled despite the pout on his lips, though both were quick to fade. “… Y-Y’know, I didn’t even g-get to go to her funeral. My—my boss wouldn’t let me take the time off. N-Not that I could afford much of a funeral to begin with...”

Lance’s lips pursed into a taut line. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, winding his arm around Oliver’s slender waist to pull him close.

“I-It’s okay…” Oliver leaned against him, finding comfort in the warmth of his embrace. “… I-I hope I’m up to ice fishing tomorrow… I can’t… can’t afford to not work…”

The mage’s brows knit together. “I didn’t think you were struggling that much.”

“N-No, it’s not that I’m struggling.” The fever loosened his tongue—or perhaps he just felt that comfortable in Lance’s presence. “… I-I have to make payments to Joja. F-For breaking my employment contract. Th-they put a clause into it where I’d have t-to pay a fine for quitting early. I-If I don’t pay it, they’ll… they’ll take the farm away from me…”

Lance stood abruptly, his chair tipping over and clattering to the floor. “They’ve been EXTORTING you?!” he roared, incensed beyond words—an inferno raging in his eyes as they blackened. The heat radiating from him burned like the sun.

“L-Lance, please don’t be—”

“How dare they. How dare they.” His fury shook his rising voice. “I should have torched that eyesore of a building the moment it tainted the valley—”

“Lance, please!” Oliver grabbed onto his arm, shaking in fear. “I-It’s okay, really!”

“No, no it is not okay! Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you ask for help?!”

“B-Because it was my fault! I-I didn’t read the contract! I-I’m the one who b-broke it! N-No one else—” he struggled to catch his breath, his vision growing fuzzy, “—n-no one else should have to deal with m-my mistake…”

Seeing the sight of him on the verge of passing out momentarily quelled the fires of rage consuming Lance. The mage took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring as he exhaled slowly.

“How can you tell me to rely on you, when you can’t do the same with me?” He picked his chair back up and sat down once more; his hand found Oliver’s, giving it a gentle squeeze. “We’re supposed to be partners. There can’t be secrets between us—not secrets like this.”

Lance’s words cut into Oliver’s heart, sharp daggers of truth that carved away the lies he’d been repeating all this time.

“… Y-You’re right.” His voice was small and frail. “You’re… absolutely right… I-I’m sorry for… for keeping this from you… I-I just…”

“… The contract you signed. Do you still have your copy of it?”

“Y… Yeah, in my… in my lockbox. Under the desk…”

Lance didn’t give him an opportunity to get up—not that he had the strength to. He leaned back against the chair, head tipped back, eyes closed, just focusing on breathing and staying conscious. The fuzziness faded away and back in waves; he heard papers shuffling, far away and distorted with ringing.

“… What a joke of a legal document.”

Disdain dripped heavy from Lance’s voice; Oliver opened his eyes to see the contract go up in flames in the mage’s hands.

“I-It’s… not a joke, th-that was the real—”

“A minor cannot consent to signing contracts! I know nothing about the laws of mundane and even I know that!” Lance returned to his side and took hold of his shoulders. “Those sheets of paper never had any power over you, Oliver. They couldn’t enforce it even if you never paid them a single cent.”

“… Wh… what…?”

It felt like he’d been punched in the gut, the revelation stealing the breath from his lungs. His mind didn’t want to accept it—didn’t want to accept that he’d suffered and struggled for so long for nothing.

Disbelief painted Lance’s face. “No one ever told you this?”

“N… no, I… after mom died, there… I had no one…”  

His breaths came fast and shallow, a panic swelling in his chest. His fingers numbed, the dull buzzing and ringing in his ears roaring back to deafen him.

“Oliver. Oliver, look at me.”

He couldn’t focus his eyes. TV static overwhelmed his vision, a sense of doom gripping the heart pounding fit to burst in his chest. Lance’s voice faded away. The world faded away.

 

 

“Merry feast, mom.”

Millie’s smile lit up the hospital room at the sight of her son. “Merry feast, honey.” She held out her arms for a hug; her frame felt so frail in his, the chemo having long since stolen her strength. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get you a present this year.”

“Don’t apologize for that, it’s okay! I don’t think hospitals accept FRPS shipments for patients, anyway.” Oliver pulled up a chair beside her bed and set a small wrapped gift on her lap.

“Oh sweetie, you didn’t have to…”

“I know. But I wanted to.”

Bony fingers shakily undid the wrapping paper. Nestled in a velvet lined box was an ornate snow globe, a ballerina’s performance frozen in time inside the glass; tucked beside it, a golden winding key.

“It’s beautiful.” She turned it over in her hands, admiring every hand painted detail with misty eyes. “Thank you so much…”

“You haven’t even seen the best part.” Oliver inserted the key and wound it several times. A gentle music box rendition of The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy played, the ballerinas slowly twirling amidst the falling ‘snow’. “I remembered you used to do ballet, so when I saw it in the store I had to get it.”

“How wonderful…” She closed her eyes, the music taking her back as a single tear slowly slid down her cheek.

Oliver’s heart fell. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“It doesn’t make me sad, honey.” Millie knew her son all too well. “Thank you for reminding me of those happy days…” She set the snow globe on her bedside table. “But those days are in the past, and I know I’ll never get them back.”

“That’s not true.” Oliver grasped her hand. “You can pick up ballet again after the chemo—”

“Oliver.” She smiled gently. “There is no ‘after the chemo’.”

“Wh-what are you…”

“I know I ran out of time.” She brushed her thumb over his knuckles, like she would when he was little. “I know I don’t make it out of this hospital. I’m sorry. For leaving you behind. For all the suffering you went through to take care of me. For making you feel like you had no choice.”

“N-No, this isn’t—this isn’t how it was supposed to go…” Tears glistened in his eyes. “I-It was supposed to work out… th-the chemo was supposed to make you better…”

“Sometimes, things just don’t work out how you want them to. That’s just how life is. And it’s past time you started living yours.” She pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead; the dam broke, and he started to sob. “You’ve met some wonderful people. Turned your grandpa’s farm into something to be proud of. Let the guilt go. Let the grief go. Let me go.”

The hospital room faded away, piece by piece.

“No!”

Desperately he clung to the memory of his mother.

“I’m proud of you, Oliver. And I’ll always, always love you.”

“Don’t go! Don’t leave me alone again!”

“But you’re not alone anymore. Remember?”

Her smile faded with the rest of the room. He was back home, back in his bed. The pillow beneath his head was damp with tears. The memory of her warmth brought him a strange sense of… peace. It wasn’t the good-bye he wanted… but it was a good-bye, of sorts.

Still sniffling and coughing, he propped himself up against the pillows, wondering just how long he’d been asleep.

“…is oxygen levels are worryingly low. I’m concerned about pneumonia.”

Low voices muttered from the living room; he strained his ears to make out what they were saying.

“Is there anything you can do for him?” Lance asked, concern weighing on each word.

“I’ve administered some antibiotics preemptively, but without lab cultures I can’t be sure what the best treatment is. I need to get these samples back to the clinic immediately.”

“Please do. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“Of course. I’m not going to ignore a patient just because of a holiday. If you’ll excuse me…”

The front door opened and closed.

“This is beyond the pale.” Lewis sounded angry. “I didn’t want to believe it when Shane brought the payments up to me. Surely, surely not even Joja would stoop so low.”

“Men will go to war for greed. There is no such thing as ‘too low’ where money is involved.”

“I know. I should’ve seen it coming. I’m going to reach out to Sherriff Russell and Governor Harris and have them start drafting a lawsuit. We’ll take it all the way to the Supreme Court if we have to.”

“It would be much simpler to just raze their headquarters…”

“Simpler, yes, but highly illegal!”

“What they’ve been doing has been highly illegal, and that hasn’t stopped them.”

“Do you think that’s what Oliver would want?”

Silence. “Probably not, no… but it would feel good to do.” Lance sighed. “Very well. We’ll handle it the mundane way. At least allow me to fund your efforts.”

“Ah, well… I won’t deny that it will be an expensive endeavor… Any assistance would be greatly appreciated.”

“My coffers are at your disposal.”

‘You don’t have to do this … ’

Oliver’s eyelids grew heavy. He was too tired to think anymore…

Chapter 27: Moving On

Notes:

just some cute fluff vuv

“Say ‘ahh’.”

The red of the fever blended with the blush that sprung up on Oliver’s face.

“A-Ahh…”

Lance tipped the spoonful of soup into his mouth. Tom kha to chase away the cold.

“Y-You don’t have to feed me, you know…”

“I do know.”

The spoon brought more soup to his lips; he didn’t need to be prompted to open them this time. When the bowl had been emptied and set aside, Lance twisted the cap off of his medicine bottle. He took out one of the pills inside, placed it onto his own tongue, and took a swig of water.

“Wh-what are you—”

Lance’s lips against his own silenced him, the mage’s tongue gently pushing the medicine and water into his mouth. “Swallow,” he murmured; Oliver complied. “Good boy.”

The praise sent a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the chill from his fever; his fingers curled around a handful of Lance’s shirt to keep him from pulling away as he fell back against the pillows. Lance laughed softly.

“Feeling a bit more energetic today, are we?” He propped himself up on one elbow and teased a few strands of Oliver’s hair. “You’ve been letting your hair grow out.”

Oliver closed his eyes; the sensation of his hair being played with always comforted him. “Been too lazy to cut it… should I?”

“It’s your hair, you make the call. But if you’re asking my opinion,” Lance’s breath was hot against his ear, “you look ravishing with it long like this.”

 Was Lance trying to drive him crazy?

“Maybe.”

Oliver’s eyes went wide. Could Lance suddenly read his mind?

“Haha, no, I can’t read your mind. I just know what that look in your eyes means.”

“Y-You…!” Oliver lightly smacked his chest; Lance caught his wrist, grinning in amusement as he pulled him in for another kiss. He absolutely, absolutely was trying to work him up. And Oliver didn’t care one bit.

 

 

Freshly fallen snow crunched beneath their feet. They walked hand in hand, slowly—exertion still knocked the wind out of Oliver—through the Zuzu City Graveyard, the only living souls around. Everyone else was busy celebrating the new year in the city square.

“Do we need to stop?” Lance asked, catching Oliver’s breathlessness.

“No, I-I’m okay. It’s not much further.”

They came to stop at a small, plain headstone.

Millie Sheffield. 19xx-20xx. May she dance among the stars forevermore.

“Hey, mom. Sorry it’s been so long since I visited.” He let go of Lance’s hand and crouched down, setting the bouquet he’d been carrying on the grave. “I wanted you to meet the guy I’ve been seeing… C’mon, introduce yourself to her.”

“Ah—” Lance knelt down beside him and bowed his head in reverence. “Lancelot. I wish we could have met under better circumstances.”

“… Your full name is Lancelot?” Oliver giggled. Lance bristled, but only slightly—he knew it was in good fun. “You know, she would have loved you.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Her favorite people were the ones who could make the room laugh. The ones who always had a smart ass answer or witty retort.”

Lance chuckled. “Guilty as charged.”

“Plus, she loved spicy food.”

“Ah! A kindred spirit. A shame that love didn’t seem to pass down.”

“Yeah, I dunno where it went. I guess all the love she had for me took up all the room.” Oliver stifled a lingering cough and closed his eyes; Lance fixed the loosened scarf around his neck to better ward off the cold. “… I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to be okay. I have people to rely on, people who care about me. Who’ll make sure I don’t push myself so hard anymore. So, don’t worry. You can rest easy with grandpa, wherever you are.”

They stayed for awhile longer; eventually the dropping temperature and Oliver’s rising fever beckoned them to return home. A hot bath chased the chill away; a warm bed and the sensation of Lance brushing his hair saw him off to the first real sleep he’d had in weeks.

Life would never be easy—maybe it never should be—but it would at least get easier, day by day. And he knew that if he stumbled, Lance would be there to catch him.  

Chapter 28: A Community Restored

Gifts of the forest to fix a room for creations.

Gifts of the earth to return life to a place of nourishment.

Gifts of the sea and river to build a monument to both.

Gifts of man to give him a place to govern.

Gifts of the mountain to bring fire to mold its bounty.

Gifts of the heart to heal a broken community.

 

Visions of Junimos appeared in Oliver’s dreams. They danced around him, their joy so exuberant it filled him too, made him want to join in their merriment. But his body refused to move.

So many wonderful gifts!

We thought humans would always forget, but you didn’t! This time you remembered!

We can return home!

Thank you, thank you!

He tried to speak; his voice made no sound. Their magic bound him. Silenced him.  Suffocated him. Crushed him with its jubilation. As if they didn’t care if it swept him up in its maelstrom. Was this the true power of the Junimos?

The scent of pine and flowers filled his senses, a warm wind brushing past him as the magic overwhelming him began to fade.  

We left a present for you, too!

A clock’s bell rang out, sharp, clear, brassy.

Gud bai! Gud bai!

 

 

He labored to believe what his eyes told him.

Once claimed by the spirits of the forest, the community center stood proud and tall once more—as if it had never fallen into disrepair. Chipped paint brought back to life. Cracks in glass filled to be flawless. Flowers he’d never seen before bloomed in the planter boxes. The clock ticked with life.

“A sight to rouse the spirit, is it not?”

Lance’s arms wound around his waist.

“It’s—it’s just like I remembered.” The sight brought a lump to his throat. “It’s beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you.” A chaste kiss pressed against his temple. “But a close second. Now, we shouldn’t keep the others waiting any longer.”

‘Waiting?’

Clinking glasses punctuated the sounds of laughter and chatter—the whole town had packed inside, celebrating. A merry fire crackled away in the fireplace. The children pressed their hands up against the fish tank to marvel at the dazzling fish swimming lazily around it. Delicious smells wafted from the kitchen. The crafts room buzzed with the hum of the sewing machine and saw bringing life to new creations.

Lewis beckoned them inside. “I don’t know how you did it, Oliver. But you did.”

“How are you sure it was me?”

“I’m no fool. No one else could have done it.”

“That’s not true…”

Lance’s hand squeezed his shoulder.

“… It wasn’t just me. Everyone who helped me up to this point had a part in it. Even if they didn’t realize it. ” A shy smile brightened his face and hunched his shoulders, his eyes seeking solace in the floorboards. “This is our community center.”

“That it is. And we’ll never let it fall into disrepair again. On my honor as Mayor, you have my word.”

Oliver knew his grandpa and mother were smiling down on them. For the first time in a long time, he felt… proud. Proud of what he’d done.

A low grumble brought the celebratory mood down, the doors slamming open—a hush fell over them at the sight of Morris steaming in the entrance. Oliver shifted to hide behind Lance, anxiety simmering in his stomach.

“So this is where my customers have gone.”

“That’s right, Morris.” Pierre rose up from his chair to oppose him. Retribution a long time in the making. “How does it feel?”

“Pah! You think fixing this dinky little building will change anything? All I have to do is run a few sales, and everyone will come crawling back eventually.”

“Do you think we’re that stupid?” Pierre’s hand curled into a shaking fist.

Morris’s teeth glinted through his slimy, condescending smile. “It happened once before. It can happen again.”

“Like hell it will—!”

Pierre drew his fist back; Oliver darted towards him to grab his arm before he could throw it.

“Don’t! Violence isn’t the answer!”

The sound of Morris’s howling laughter made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “Look at that! Even your ‘beloved’ farmer defends me!”

“… You're right. Violence isn’t the answer to this.” His arm relaxed; Oliver let go and took a step back, keeping his gaze down at his feet so as to avoid looking at Morris. “Everyone, gather ‘round!”

Confusion battled with the cockiness on Morris’s face as the town piled into the room around them.

 “When I first moved to Pelican Town, this building was active. Vibrant. A pillar of the community.” Pierre’s voice carried a confidence it hadn’t before as he addressed the crowd. “Every day we worked to make the town a better place. There was a real sense of community. George!”

The old man sat up straighter in his wheelchair.

“You used to always do crossword puzzles back then. Always in the same chair. Always with a cup of coffee. Remember?”

“… Aye. Those were the good ol’ days.”  

“And Emily, you wove that custom banner for the Fair. It took you years of sitting at that sewing machine because it had to be just right.”

A melancholic smile pursed her lips. “It… It was a lot of fun.”

“Willy!”

“Me?”

“Remember your little crab experiment getting out of hand?”

“Heh… That I do. Showed up one mornin’ to find the place crawlin’ with ‘em.”

“And Gus saved the day with the best crab boil the valley’s ever seen.”

“I still dream of that garlic butter…”

“Don’t you see, everyone? Our community is what makes this town special. Not some token franchise supermarket. And when we let them set up shop in town, we lost sight of that. But now we have a second chance. Let’s show Joja that we don’t need them here! Who’s with me?!”  

The enthusiastic declarations from the townsfolk around them sent Oliver’s heart soaring. Everyone had come together in that moment, disparate groups finding common ground in their hatred of the corporation that tried to destroy their town.

Even from feet away he could hear Morris grinding his teeth in anger. “This changes nothing,” he hissed, before trying to compose himself again. “Celebrate all you want. Joja Co. has a valid lease here in Pelican Town for the next ten years, and short of committing a federal crime—”

“Like extorting one of our farmers?” Lewis stepped forward; the manager’s beady eyes snapped to him. A bead of sweat ran down his neck as whispers of outrage filled the tense silence. Oliver shrank behind Lance once more, wishing that he could sink through the floorboards.

 “I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about.”  

“Joja Co. entered into an illegal employment contract with Oliver when he was a minor.” Lewis tossed the contract at Morris’ feet—the very same one Lance had burnt to a crisp. If not for the feelings of shame and embarrassment taking up all his mental space, Oliver would have wondered how he got it back. “With a stipulation that a fine would be owed for early termination of said contract. For the last two years you’ve been wringing him dry, knowing full well that you had no legal ground to stand on. You preyed on his ignorance. No longer. Either you leave and Joja repays everything it stole from him, or Pelican Town files a lawsuit. One that you have no chance of winning.”

For the first time, Morris stammered over his words.

“Face it, Morris. You lost. Now get lost.”

Lance stepped forward, the green of his eyes shifting to a burning obsidian as they locked onto the suited man. With a terrified yelp Morris all but tripped over himself trying to get out the door.

“… A pity. I almost hoped he had the guts to stay.”

Chapter 29: Heightened Senses

Notes:

THE SPICE MUST FLOW
LAST TIME WAS A HABANERO
THIS ONE IS A CAROLINA REAPER
YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

“A moment, Oliver. If you’re free tonight, would you care to join me at the bathhouse for a bit of fun?”

Fun. The anticipation dried Oliver’s throat as he trod the path up the mountain once darkness had fallen. What kind of fun could they get up to in a public building? And why did the ideas swirling in his head excite him?

‘I’m probably reading too much into it.’

Lance waited for him patiently outside the bathhouse, toying with a bottle filled with a shimmering green liquid while leaning against the building exterior. His eyes snapped up from the bottle at the sound of crunching snow.

“Come here, babe.”

Babe. A shiver ran down Oliver’s spine. His favorite pet name. There was definitely something up Lance’s sleeve.

“What is that?”

A mirthful smile graced his lips. “A simple potion. Here, this is your half.”

The bottle gently sloshed in Oliver’s hand. “And… what does it do?”

Lance’s smile turned smokey as it reached his eyes. “It will allow our senses to be extremely heightened to touch… and pleasure.”

Smoldering green gemstones stared at Oliver, hungry like a ravenous beast. He gulped quietly and brought the bottle to his lips.

“Oh that’s no fun. We have to at least make a show of it!” Lance hooked his arm under Oliver’s and downed his half in one swig; blushing ear to ear, Oliver did the same.

A sudden pang of pain shot from his temple down to the tips of his fingers. His insides burned red hot, an inferno spreading to every inch.

“L-Lance—”

Lance gazed down at him, a glazed sheen coating his eyes. “I feel like I’m going to burst into flames just looking at you.” He licked his lips as he pulled Oliver close; just that touch alone sent shuddering pleasure surging from between his legs. “Let me just have a quick taste before the main course.”

“A-Ah—” A faint gasp rose from Oliver’s lips as Lance’s grazed against his neck, a shudder chasing the current jolting down his spine. He bit back another gasp, all too aware of Emerald Farm’s proximity to them.

“Ah, don’t hide from me,” Lance whispered in his ear. “I love all of your sounds.” His hand gripped Oliver’s hip to grind against him. “I want to see all of you.”

The door swung shut behind them; Oliver clung to Lance’s neck as he was carried bridal style through it. Panting. Whimpering. Quivering. On the verge of begging. And they hadn’t even started yet.

“You are truly going to drive me insane, making those sounds like that.” Lance’s breath was hot against his ear.  “Grant me the pleasure of ravaging you. Let me drown in your heat.”

It felt like he was the one drowning.

His clothes fell to the floor, exposing him to all and sundry. The thrill overcame his embarrassment—heightened by it. Lance drank in the sight of him, licking his lips again as he lifted his own shirt up over his head to discard it.

‘I want him so badly.’

Teasingly Lance wiggled his hips as he unbuttoned his pants. They slipped halfway down his hips; the fire burned hotter. Without even being touched, Oliver was hard. His eyes followed the mage as he crossed to the nearest bench, where he took a seat, one leg crossed over the other.

“Crawl.”

It took a second for his sex-stupid brain to register the command. “Huh?”

Lance tilted his head with a sly smirk. “My love, we’re on the outskirts of town, having fun in a secluded building. Let’s heighten the experience, shall we?” He pointed towards the floor; Oliver swallowed the spit in his mouth and got onto all fours, unable to disobey. “Crawl.”  

The tiles chilled the palms of his hands and his knees, his rear unwittingly swaying side to side as he crawled towards the bench.

“Now, I feel like I should get a reward for coming up with such a brilliant idea.”

He unfolded his legs. Being looked down on like this was almost enough to bring Oliver to the edge. A gentle tug on his hair pulled him closer, until he was nuzzling the bulge pressed up against Lance’s boxers.

“Suck.”

Quivering with desire, Oliver guided him through the slit in the underwear—swallowing him all the way to the base in his eagerness. A groan of approval encouraged him, his mouth gliding up and down the throbbing length filling it—lightly grazing his teeth along the sensitive throbbing skin. Lance sucked in a sharp breath; his grip on Oliver’s hair tightened, holding his head in place as he started thrusting.

‘He’s using me like a toy.’

The thought made his own member throb painfully between his legs, weeping shamelessly onto the tiles. Watering eyes flicked up to Lance’s face. Smoldering. He could set Oliver ablaze with that look alone. A pathetic whimper eeked its way out around the appendage fucking his mouth. The hunger in Lance's eyes intensified at the sound.

“You. Are. Perfection.”

Words of praise peppered between grunts of effort. One hand trailed down to Oliver’s jaw, then to his neck, as if to feel his length thrusting down into it; goosebumps erupted where his fingers touched.

“Good boy.”

Another gentle tug pulled Oliver’s head back, allowing him to begin catching his breath. Lance’s thumb brushed away the saliva trailing from the corner of his mouth, his chest rising and falling rapidly to catch his own breath.

“I need you.”

“I-I’m yours,” he panted, slowly grinding himself against the floor. “T-Take me.”

In the span of one moment he’d been pressed down  onto his stomach on the bench, their clothes hastily draped over the cold plastic like makeshift blankets. He could clearly see the door from here; anyone walking in would see him fully exposed, completely at his lover’s mercy. His entrance twitched in excitement at the thought.

“Does the thought of being caught excite you?” Lance’s fingers brushed against the quivering spot, drawing a sharp gasp that he muffled by burying his face in the fabric below. “How cute. You needn’t worry.” The digit slipped inside easily, making him melt against the bench. “I put up a security barrier before you got here. All the privacy in the world to make you scream.”

A security barrier. Magic potions. Just how long had Lance been planning this?

Before long the finger withdrew, and Lance peppered his shoulder with kisses as his tip pressed against him. A quick flick of his hips drove him deep; Oliver bit down on the clothes clutched in his hands to muffle his cries, the insertion alone driving him to release all over the bench.

“Ahhh…” Lance’s hands planted on either side of him as he exhaled a trail of steam, chuckling. “Simply divine. I truly feel as though I’m burning up from the inside.”

“Y-You—a-ah—did breath smoke…”

He chuckled huskily. “With our combined heat, I’m surprised I haven’t been set aflame.”

So was he. The inferno surged with each thrust, building, rising, becoming almost intolerable, forcing little whimpers out of him each time.

“None of that.” Lance’s hand slid under his chin and tipped it up towards him. “Let me hear.” Harder thrusts. “Let me feel.”

Oliver’s voice rang out unrestrained; the hand slid down to his neck, fingers applying a gentle pressure to it—just enough to slightly restrict the air he was frantically sucking in to fuel his moans. He glanced up once more to Lance’s face, their eyes locking. Pitch black. He was prey in a predator’s claws. Fight or flight tensed all of his muscles at once, drawing another sharp breath from the beast above.

“Are you playing with me?” He buried his face in the back of Oliver’s neck, biting at the skin hard enough to bruise. “Because you’re squirming so much I can’t tell if you’ve come again or not.”

Honestly, he couldn’t tell either. Pain and pleasure swirled together, intoxicating him.

Lance suckled on the mark he’d left behind.  “I want to hear how it feels.” A deeper thrust to grind up against his core. “To be ravaged.” Pulling out almost all the way, then driving back in to the hilt. “To be so utterly helpless against the pleasure.”

“I-It—” Oliver’s mouth hung open, barely able to form words; Lance dragged his tongue up his jaw to catch the saliva running from the corner. “I-It ffffeels—ahh~—like I’m caught i-in—haaah—a maelstrom…”

“A maelstrom?” Lance’s hips stilled. “Is that the strongest you think I can go?”

A split second of fear, vastly overwhelmed with excitement.

Lance’s hands gripped his hips just tight enough to hurt, hitching his ass up higher and driving back into him like a beast in heat. Deeper. Stronger. Skin slapping against skin, hard enough to sting. It hurt so good. The only things grounding him the chill of the air, the cool of the bench as his cheek rested against it.

Then suddenly he was weightless. Lifted into the air, legs spread wide to the room.

“Lance!”

He all but screamed his lover’s name.

“Louder.”  

He complied, his voice reverberating against the walls. Was that what he really sounded like?

“Good boy.” Lance’s breath burned his neck. “Are you ready for your treat?”

Fumbling hands searched over his shoulder for some part of Lance to clutch onto, a searing heat pouring into the deepest parts of him in sporadic spurts that matched the ones he left on the floor in front of them. His lover’s teeth found his neck once more, biting onto a new spot to leave another proof of ownership, and he mewled softly at the sensation.

“You are perfect, every time.” Lance released the skin in his mouth, turning him around to kiss him slowly, deeply, lazily. He barely had the strength to kiss him back. Could barely even feel his legs anymore. “Now,” his hands adjusted their grip on his rear as he started towards the changing rooms, “let’s have that bath, shall we?”

“I-I can walk on my own…”

A quick buck of Lance’s hips silenced the lie immediately; all Oliver could do was bury his face in his lover’s neck and let himself be carried, until they sank into the blissfully warm waters of the men’s bath. Lance sighed and tipped his head back against the tiled edge.

“Nothing like exercise and a hot bath.”

Finally releasing his hold on the man’s neck, Oliver shifted to get comfortable on his lap—accidentally grinding against the semi-erect member still buried happily inside of him. “A-Ahh—h-how are you still hard after all that?”

“Are we really going to worry about that right now?” Another thrust pulled a high pitched moan out of him against his will. “You did so well with rewarding me. Allow me to pamper you in return.”

“W-Well—” Oliver shuddered at the kisses peppered along his marked neck, “—I-I’m not going to say no.” A shiver ran down his spine as Lance’s hands ran up and down his back, the kisses punctuated with more bites and nibbles.

‘I’m definitely going to have to wear a turtleneck for awhile…’ Not that he minded.

A thought crossed his mind that made him giggle uncontrollably; Lance lifted his head to give him a quizzical look.

“What’s so funny?”

“N-Nothing, just… I never thought dating a mage would be so… exciting.”

“Oh no no, you don’t lump me in with that fuddy Magnus.” More thrusts crested his admonishments; Oliver clung to his neck once more.

“I-I’m sorry!” he cried out.  

“Has my kitten learned his lesson?”

“Yes! Mercy, mercy please!”

Lance ignored him, nibbling down past his collarbone to suckle and bite at his chest.

“L-Lance, I don’t—don’t want to get the bathwater dirty…!”

“They change it daily, it’s fine.”

“Nng—y-you’re the worst…!”

Lance gazed up at him with those smoldering eyes once more. “If that’s true, I really have no reason to stop, now do I?”

‘I’ve made a monster.’

Hours passed by the time they finally started back towards the farm, the light of the moon and twinkling stars guiding them. Oliver’s legs were still numb; how he didn’t trip over himself, he had no idea. He did know one thing for sure, though: he was going to sleep very, very well that night.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 30: The Mysterious Mr. Qi

He should have waited for Alesia and Isaac.  

Chugging through his stock of life elixirs like they were water. The glint of his sword in crimson sun as it cut through the hoard chasing him through the badlands. Every one he struck down replaced by two more, three more, four more.

‘I hate this.’

He didn’t enjoy fighting monsters in the mines and skull caverns—it was a necessary evil, the cost of protecting the people he cared about. If there was another way, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

But this?

His blade sliced through fallen adventurers risen not of their own accord. People who once fought the same battles as him. Who stood shoulder to shoulder with people he knew. Puppets of an invisible master.

‘I’m so sorry.’

Their eyes pierced him. Lifeless. Soulless. Bloodthirsty. Etched permanently into his memories.

‘I don’t want to fight anymore.’

 

A hidden cave granted him sanctuary. His fumbling hands hastily erected a weak barrier to seal the entrance—he could hear Camilla laughing at how pathetic it was. But for the moment it held, and that was good enough for now. His legs struggled to keep him standing.

He had to think. Think, and rest, and just—breathe.

 “Lusis hitmel thtesn.”

The only dwarven phrase Lance had taught him uttered in sheer disbelief.

A dozen chests of treasure tucked against the far wall—missed in his panic to seal the door. Glittering with gold. Packed with rainbows of gemstones. A treasure hoard to make a dragon jealous.

“Is… is this real…?”

His footsteps bounced against the damp walls. Fingers that he fully expected to just pass through what he thought was an illusion instead painfully struck against solid metal.

“Ow!”

It was no illusion. Assuming they weren’t packed with fool’s gold, at least.

“You may just be the one.”

His cloak whipped violently as he turned on his heel in search of the voice’s source.

“Who’s there?!”

A quiet chuckle.

“I told you I’d be watching. Go on… Take your prize. Consider it a reward for continuing to impress me.”

His dry throat made it hard to swallow, even more wary of the bounty now. Why did that voice sound familiar?

“Oliver!”

The sounds on the other side of the barrier hit a crescendo, then fell into silence. He vaguely made out Alesia’s face searching for him through it—and Isaac’s behind her, incandescent with rage. All thoughts of the voice and treasure were chased away in an instant as the barrier dissolved.

He was about to get an earful.

 

 

Castle Village laid claim to the treasure—it had been found within its territory , and Oliver didn’t bother to fight it. Though as he sat through the ride to Calico Desert, he couldn’t help but wonder if he should have.

‘I could have donated it.’

He and Robin had been secretly discussing plans to build Penny and Pam a proper house so they weren’t stuck in that run down trailer. The materials weren’t the problem—the money was. And a proposal to build a schoolhouse had been on the town docket for years, always pushed aside for the same reason.

He drummed his fingers atop his jostling knee, gnawing on his bottom lip in frustration. Yes, he should have argued to keep what he found. Even if he didn’t trust it, that much money could have done so much good.

‘ … Well , no use thinking about it now.’

He’d just have to come up with the money the old fashioned way. At least he wasn’t making those ridiculous payments to Joja anymore.

It still didn’t quite feel real. Joja Mart had been shuttered for weeks now. He didn’t have to stress about money for the first time since—well, since he was little. Growing up there was always worry about asking for things. Guilt for needing new shoes or a new coat. Not wanting to ask for anything for his birthdays because he saw how hard his mom worked just to feed him.

But now he could just buy whatever he needed whenever he needed it. It was taking getting used to, and he was still frugal, but the change was… nice.

The air brakes hissed loudly as the bus slowed to a stop, and he disembarked—the heat of the desert akin to walking into an oven, driving him swiftly into the shade of the Oasis.

“Hello, sweetie!”

Sandy waved at him from behind her counter.

“I thought you forgot all about little old me~ It’s been so long since you’ve come to say hello.”

“Things have been hectic lately.” He set a bouquet of valley flowers down in front of her. “From Emily. She sends her love and many much smooches.”

“You came aaaaall this way out just to bring these to me for her? You’re both too sweet~ Thank you so much.” She nuzzled the flowers with a smile. “I really should make plans to visit soon, but the weather there is so cold this time of year.”

“I’m sure Emily wouldn’t mind keeping you warm.”

“Oh, that is true… Hm. Decisions, decisions.”

She turned to put the flowers into a vase.

“I just realized, you’ve never been up to the casino, have you?”

“Ah, no… I never really had the free time to check it out.” Or the money to waste, really, but he kept that to himself.

“Tell you what.” She slid a card across the counter to him. “Since you’ve been such a good friend to Emily and I, your first visit is on me. Go on, go have fun!”

Her enthusiasm made it impossible to say no.

The cold plastic of the club card in his palm filled him with a sense of unease as he crossed over to the casino entrance. A tall and imposing figure blocked the stairs, staring down at him from behind a pair of sunglasses. Yet as he drew near, a flash of light blinded him—and when it faded, the man was gone.

“Wh—where’d the bouncer go?”

He looked back at Sandy in confusion.

“Sweetie, we never had a bouncer.”

 

 

Low lighting. Pounding club music. Slot machines whirring and ringing. Coins clattering against metal. Cigarette smoke, thick and choking. Amid the crowd, a lone blue figure stood apart. Watching. Waiting for him with a smile.  

“Welcome to my casino. Come, enjoy yourself. Have a drink on the house. No snake milk this time, I promise.”

The hairs on the back of Oliver’s neck stood on end.

“After all…" Pearly white teeth glinted through the dark. A shark's grin. "You’ve earned it.”

 He turned on his heel and booked it back down the stairs.

“S-Sorry Sandy, I don’t—I don’t feel well. I’ll come back another time.”

His body shook the whole ride back home.

Why?

Why was he so afraid of Mr. Qi?

Chapter 31: Sudden Windfalls

Notes:

not me throwing in the Sandrock references--

The sudden summons to Magnus’ tower did not bode well.

“We need to speak in person. At your earliest convenience.”

Meaning as soon as possible.

‘Is he going to lay into me for what happened in the badlands?’

The dread of being admonished weighed Oliver’s steps as he took the farm warp to his nexus.

‘Maybe he found out about the light show I put on for the kids.’

Towards the warp to the tower.

‘Does it have anything to do with the may-pul seerup bear?’ He hoped not—he quite liked that bear.

“I-I’m here, sir,” he called nervously as he emerged from the downstairs nexus.

“Good. Come.”

The wizard beckoned him to his meditation circle. He seemed… pensive.

“… I’m sorry,” Oliver apologized preemptively. Magnus raised a brow.

“You’re not in trouble. But now I wonder what you’ve done that made you feel so guilty.”

‘Shit.’

Magnus walked over to his cauldron and gazed at its bubbling contents. “… I received a letter from the Ministry this morning. Your application for apprenticeship was denied.”

The news was crushing. “Did they say why…?”

“Someone else was selected. A ‘more worthy’ pupil with a far stronger natural affinity for magic. I’ve been informed they’ll be arriving next week.”

“Oh…” His shoulders slumped.

“I’m sorry, Oliver. Truly. This wasn’t the outcome I was hoping for, either.” He sighed and rubbed his beard. “To deem you worthy of observation but not instruction is… unfortunately not unexpected. The Ministry has always favored those with established magical lineages.”

Observation? Oliver’s brow knit together.

“What do you mean ‘observation’?”

“Ah—” The wizard froze. Apparently he should not have said that.

“Magnus, why is the Ministry watching me?”

Silence.

“Answer me.”

“...I cannot.”

“Why?!”

“I am quite literally bound from speaking in detail with the mundane on Ministry affairs .” He tapped his throat. Oliver could faintly feel the presence of a powerful seal. “If I could tell you, I would. But I simply cannot.”

“How long have they been watching me?”

“… Since your mishap in the forest. When you first cast magic.”

His mind reeled.

 

 

 

“… She didn’t.”

“She did.”

“She wouldn’t!”

“She would.”

“I thought she was a nun!”

“She was.”

Leah and Haley’s gossiping went right over Oliver’s head as he stared up at the few fluffy clouds meandering across the sky. They’d set up shop back behind the house to enjoy the nice weather and do each other’s hair and chat, though Oliver wasn’t doing much of that. Too busy thinking while Leah’s fingers weaved his hair into a braid.

‘I’m being watched by the Ministry. There’s something about me that they think is worth keeping an eye on. But apparently I’m not special enough to officially tutor under a wizard. It doesn't make sense.’

His lips puffed into a frustrated pout. It had been his request to officially put in for apprenticeship—he’d wanted to start practicing more advanced magic—and Magnus had taken a lot of heat for teaching him so much without Ministry approval. To find out that it had been for nothing was… upsetting.

 “Hello? Earth to Ollie?”

“Huh?” He blinked as Haley placed a flower crown on his head to match the ones they were wearing.

“You were zoning out.” Leah finished the braid and tied it off with a purple ribbon. “Everything okay? You’ve been really quiet the whole time.”

“Uh—yeah, everything’s fine. I was just daydreaming. What were you talking about?”

“Alex and Elliot’s wedding.” Haley started winding more flowers into bracelets. “I still can’t believe they decided to just elope instead of having a big ceremony.”

Leah laughed. “I can. I bet Alex was afraid of people seeing him cry.”

“Probably. Which is stupid, you know? Guys are allowed to have emotions.”

Oliver idly played with the end of his braid. “Tell that to the rest of the world. Did they say how long their honeymoon would be?”

“I think a week? I guess Elliot booked them a cruise with the money he made from his book.”

The news brought a smile to his face. “I’m glad it’s doing well. I know he was really stressing out over getting it finished.”

“He sure was.” Leah scooted out from behind him to start doing Haley’s hair instead. “Sooooo.”

“So… what?”

“When are you going to pop the question?”

His cheeks erupted in crimson.

Haley snorted. “Are you kidding? Lance has to be the one to do it.”

“Says who?”

“Everyone! The masc half is always the one to propose.”

“Not always.” Leah nuzzled their foreheads together. “Does that mean I’m going to have to start looking for the Mariner soon?” she teased.

“I mean, if we’re being serious…”

“Do I need to leave you two alone?” Oliver jokingly covered his eyes, and they all laughed. But as they went back to gossiping, he fell silent once more.

‘Marriage, huh?’

He’d never really thought about it before. Romance had been one of those things that had always seemed permanently out of his reach—something he just accepted he’d never have. And now here he was, over half a year into a relationship with the most wonderful, thoughtful, smart ass man he’d ever known.

A man who had utterly and completely captured his heart.

A man that he so easily could imagine spending the rest of his life with.

His life.

Because Lance would always outlive him.

He closed his eyes and shook the thought away.

 

 

Come lunchtime Leah and Haley headed back home, leaving Oliver to take his out on the front porch. The orange cat he’d recently adopted wound around his legs as they dangled over the edge, purring up a storm in hopes of a treat.

“Chalula, I don’t think cats can eat salad.”

“Mrow~”

Chalula’s head bumped affectionately against his shin.

“… Alright, fine. I’ll go get some tuna.” He set the salad aside and hopped to his feet to stretch. Chalula’s upright tail quivered as she excitedly wound around his legs, making it a challenge not to trip over her as he set down the road towards town. Crossing paths with Lewis halfway past the bus.

“Ah, Oliver. Perfect timing.”

The mayor reached into the sack he was carrying and produced several letters.

“Sorry I haven’t been able to drop these off the last few days. What with having to officiate, and preparing for the Egg festival…”

“It’s okay! I know this is a busy time of year for you.”

“Busy is… a way to describe it, yes. I’m forever grateful for that shipping portal of yours. Not having to carry all of that produce across town has done wonders for my back.”

Oliver smiled sympathetically. “You should thank Magnus for that. He’s the one who set it up. I guess Lance wouldn’t stop pestering him about making my life easier.”

“Magnus, yes… I still can’t wrap my head around him being an actual wizard; always thought he was just an eccentric old man.”

“You never suspected it?”

“Well of course the thought crossed my mind once or twice, but then again, I also always thought that magic didn’t exist, so… Anyway, I need to deliver the rest of this mail.”

“We really need to invest in a post office.”

“We need to invest in many things.” Lewis’s smile was strained as he headed back towards town.

‘The town’s finances must be tighter than he’s letting on.’

Oliver flicked through the envelopes. Junk, junk, advertisement—

His heart stopped at the Joja label on the last one.

Important in big red lettering. First class postage on the corner.

‘Please, no …’

His hands shook as he opened it.

This letter is to inform you of Joja Co.’s offer of settlement in regards to our miscommunication regarding your employment contract. Joja Co. has closed all matters relating to said contract, and no further payments are required on your behalf. Attached is compensation for monies paid during the time period of 20XX-20XX, amounting to 1,753,993 gollars. By accepting, you agree to release Joja Co. from all pending and future litigations.

He flipped the letter over. On the back was a check written out to him.

“They actually… gave it all back…”

 

 

Lewis’s desk nearly broke under the weight of the sack that Oliver dropped on top of it.

“I want to make a donation to the town.”

“A dona—”

Lewis nearly fell out of his chair.

“Oliver, I—I sincerely appreciate the gesture, but I can’t rightly accept this. It’s your money—”

“Exactly. And I want to donate it. I don’t need this much.”

They stared each other down.

“… Lewis, if you don’t take this damn money I’m just going to donate it anonymously.”

The mayor sighed and rubbed his face. “… How much is in there?”

“Around one million.”

This time he fell flat on his back. “One—one mill—surely you could use some of it—”

“I already did. Please, Lewis.” Oliver helped him to his feet. “I love this town. I love everyone in it. And I want to help make it a better place for all of them.”

“You know you already have just by fixing the community center… but I can’t deny that funding has been tighter than usual…” He looked at the sack currently making his desk bend in the middle. “… Oh, very well. On behalf of Pelican Town, I accept your… most generous donation.”

Oliver’s smile could light up the night.  “Can I make a request of what to put it towards first?”

“You can have complete control over where the money goes. What did you have in mind?”

“A school.”

Robin was going to have a very busy next few months.

Chapter 32: Belief of Love

Notes:

buckle up friendos it's a long one. super spicy warning, and also mention of mpreg I guess if that bothers you

“Say you like my eyes~ And you like to make them roll~ I’ll be honest~ Lookin’ at you got me thinkin’ nonsense~”

Oliver had finally succumbed to Lance’s musical influence. Unashamedly he sang and along to one of the many tunes earwormed to him via his boyfriend while he tidied up the house.  Admittedly, it was a bit late for spring cleaning, considering it was almost summer, but better late than never.

The kitchen got a full scrub down, the washer was washed, the dryer cleaned out, and fresh laundry waited to be folded on the table. A scent of fresh lemon hung in the air, citrusy, refreshing, energizing. Normally he didn’t enjoy cleaning, but a deep cleanse like this felt good.

Shimmying his hips as he moved to sort and fold the clothes, he didn’t hear the knock on the door; only when the current song ended did he hear the increasingly loud rapping of knuckle against wood.

“Oh—sorry, one second!”

Hastily he turned the music off and traipsed over to the front door. Lance stood waiting on the other side, looking uncharacteristically nervous.

“Oh! Ollie! Fancy seeing you here—” Slight agitation replaced the nervousness as he turned around and muttered, “Well no shit, dumbass, he lives here…”

Oliver cocked his head to the side in confusion. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, yes everything’s fine.” Turning back around, he cleared his throat and bowed dramatically. “Let me start again. I wanted to extend a greeting to the lovely Oliver.”

“Pfft—” Oliver covered his mouth with a smile. Seeing that seemed to ease some of Lance’s nerves.

“If you would be so kind, could I have some of your time today?”

“What kind of a question is that? Of course you can.” He stepped back inside to slip on his shoes. “Ready when you are.”

“Great! Er… How did I do this before…”

There was something endlessly endearing about how flustered Lance was; Oliver had to wonder if this was how Lance felt when they were just getting to know each other. If memory served, he was a fumbling mess back then as well.

“Ah, right. May I have your hand? I plan to take us somewhere private.”

Gladly Oliver offered it. Smiling excitedly, Lance laced their fingers together and warped them to a familiar beach.

“Ginger Island?”

“Yes. Will you walk with me? There’s… something I need to say.”

Slowly they left a trail of footprints in the damp sand, meandering along the coast hand-in-hand.

“Do you remember that time when you found me muttering nonsensically to people I’ve lost?”

Oliver nodded; he doubted he’d ever forget that day. They stopped to let the waves wash over their feet before continuing  their leisurely stroll.

“Words can’t describe how much it meant to me that you were there. You saw me at my lowest. And you didn’t run. You stayed. You held me and told me that I’d never be alone again. You… cared, in a way that few ever have.”

His smile both warmed and broke Oliver’s heart. So much love and so much pain all at once. A cavalcade of conflicting emotions fighting for dominance—yet Lance remained composed, squeezing his hand and bringing it to his lips to kiss his knuckles.

 “I think often about that day. And I’ve come to realize that you… are incredibly special to me. Incredibly, indescribably precious.”

The crashing of waves faded as they made their way inland, towards the volcano. A few chittering monkeys swung by, clutching prizes of fresh bananas and sending nesting gembirds angrily into the sky.  

“This… this doesn’t come easy to someone like me.”

Oliver drew closer, sensing his discomfort and uncertainty. “What doesn’t…?”

“Speaking so openly. ‘From the heart’, you might say. You make it seem so easy.” He chuckled, though the smile was quick to fade. “We both know that mages are… long lived. I’ve already prepared myself mentally for spending the rest of your life with you.”

His heart skipped a beat in his chest. They’d come to stand before Kohldur. A heart of flowers had been painstakingly arranged on the sand, all baby blues and yellows—his favorite colors.

“Oliver.” Lance turned to face him. “You are the kindest, most caring, most tenacious person I’ve ever met. Every day I spend with you is a gift, and I can no longer envision a future without you in it.”

He took a breath and reached into his pocket.

Oliver finally understood what was happening, a rush of joyful tears welling in his eyes as he bit back a sob. Lance got down on one knee before him.

“I have just one question for you, my love.”

The deep blue of a mermaid pendant shone brightly in his hand.

“Will you marry me?”

It was all he could do to nod his head. “Y-Yes…!” he choked out. “O-Of course I will…!”

“Oh—!”

Lance swept him into his arms and spun him around, kissing him deeply as he held him close. “I was so afraid you would say no,” he murmured. Oliver cupped his face with a tearful smile.

“I-I could never say no to you.”

“That’s supposed to be my line.” He laughed and set Oliver back down, though he didn’t let go quite yet. “Camilla is never going to let me hear the end of it, but I don’t care. A lifetime with you is worth an eternity of mocking.”

“Y-You’re so dramatic…” Oliver pulled him down for another kiss. “… Um… so… what happens next?”

“Well, first things first… we ought to tell that old fuddy Magnus.”

“Not Camilla?”

“I’m not mentally prepared for her reaction yet.”

Oliver giggled. “You’ll have to tell her at some point.”

“I’m well aware. Just—give me some time. So, shall we?”

He nodded, once more taking hold of Lance’s hand—he knew the warping drill by now.

‘I still need to learn how to warp more than just myself,’ he thought in the nanosecond of travel between Ginger Island and Magnus’ tower. Lance didn’t bother knocking before throwing the door open.

“Maaaaaaag! You in?”

A disgruntled Magnus emerged from downstairs. “Must you always announce your presence so obnoxiously?”

“Well how else am I supposed to do it? You don’t have a bell to ring.” The massive giddy grin on Lance’s face sure dropped in a hurry at the sight of Camilla coming up the stairs behind Magnus.

“I thought I heard my Lancey up here~ Oh, and Ollie too! Well this is just a meeting of the mages, isn’t it?”

“Ah—Cam, I-I didn’t know you were visiting too.”

Oliver gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Do you want me to tell them?” he asked quietly.

“Tell us what?” She looked back and forth between them expectantly, until she noticed the pendant hanging around Oliver’s neck—and just about fainted at the sight.

“Camilla—” Magnus caught her with a sigh. “Please spare us the theatrics—”

“MY BABY’S GETTING MARRIEEEEEEEED!!!”

The waterworks were cranked all the way up to eleven. By the time they finally got away from the tower with assurances that Camilla would handle all the preparations, Lance’s clothes were drenched with tears.

“If she was like that just from the engagement, I shudder to think of how she’ll handle the wedding…”

Oliver smiled sympathetically. “She’s just happy for you.”

“For us. You forget how fond she is of you.”

 

 

Fortunately, Lewis’s reaction to the news was much less over the top, though no less joyful. The walk back to the farm had Oliver floating on cloud nine. Only when they reached the front door did he realize Lance had been staring at him the whole time.

“What?”

“You are… simply stunning.”

His fingers traced along Oliver’s jaw. Goosebumps erupted across his skin from the touch.

“Y-You always say that.”

“And I mean it, every time. But right now, you’re…”

Oliver knew that look in his eyes. Hungry. Smoldering.

“I’m… what?” he prompted in a low voice, reaching up to grab hold of Lance’s collar.

“… Forgive me.”

Abruptly Oliver found himself hefted up over Lance’s shoulder, the door swinging shut behind them before he even registered being picked up—next thing he knew, his back was against the bed, with Lance hovering over him like a ravenous beast.

“I’m not sure I can hold myself back tonight.”

His shirt tugged halfway over his head, blinding and restraining him as Lance kissed and bit the skin on his neck, his collarbone, his chest.

“A-Ahh—”

His moan crested into a higher pitch as his nipples were licked and sucked—Lance seemed determined to mark every inch  while disrobing him.

“Th-this isn’t fa—haaaaair…!”

“Hm hm.” Lance hummed against his skin. It was a struggle to get his shirt up and over his head completely with how fixated Lance was on him. A frustrated whine rose from his throat as he tried to pry his mouth away.

“I-it’s always you doing stuff to me,” he pouted. “I want to do stuff too, you know.”

Lance just stared at him for a minute—then busted out laughing.

“Wh-what? What’s so funny?!”

“Ahh, nothing, nothing. You are just adorable.” He leaned up to nuzzle their noses together. “What did I ever do to deserve such perfection?”  

“Hmph.” Oliver continued to pout.

“Do you have that gift I sent you?”

“The one you told me not to open? Yeah, it’s on the dresser.”

“Excellent.”

Lance fetched the grey box and returned to the bed.

“You may open it now.”

“Now? Just what is… it…”

In the box was strand of purple beads tucked neatly into velvet cushioning. A furious blush erupted across his cheeks; Lance just sat there with a shit eating, enthusiastic grin.

“You seemed to enjoy that one toy of yours so much, I thought you might like another.”

“Y-You—!” Oliver chucked the empty box at his head, which he dodged with ease. “I-I said that I wanted to do stuff to you!” he protested, as Lance pinned him back down against the bed.

“This is doing something for me.”

A gentle pressure against his entrance.

“Y-You’re lucky I love you so much.”

Lance chuckled. “I love you too. Breathe with me.”

The first bead popped inside, making him jolt violently.

“Good boy,” he praised huskily into his ear. “One.”

“Nng—”

The second popped in behind it, easier than the first.

“Two. You’re doing so well.”

A third pushed the first two deep.

“L-Lance—!”

“Almost done,” he breathed into his ear. “One more.”

The fourth tucked in behind the rest, leaving the ring hanging from his quivering entrance. His breaths came quick and shallow; how did a set of beads feel so good?

“Good boy. Come get your reward.”

Lance laid back against the pillows, beckoning him closer. Crawling only jostled and shifted them around, making every movement pure ecstasy.

“Th-this isn’t supposed to be for me.”

“Of course, my mistake.”

He knew Lance was just humoring him, but didn’t care. His hands slipped the belt from around Lance’s waist and tied his hands to the headboard with it. Now it was his turn to nuzzle, to kiss and bite, to leave his own mark on his lover’s skin.

“Mmh.” Lance groaned softly. “I could get used to this.”

“Y-You should. We’re going to be doing it more.”

“I’m already looking forward to it.”

Always the smart ass remarks. He loved and hated it in equal measure.

Kissing and biting his way down, from neck, to chest, to stomach, his hands working to push his slacks out of the way. Nuzzling the bulge hidden beneath fabric. Lance’s sighs encouraged him. Tugging his member free to tease it with his tongue, first the tip, then up and down the entire length.

“Ahh—I get the feeling you’re trying to tease me.”

“Maybe.” Oliver tried to hide his smile. Taking it into his mouth he started bobbing up and down, listening with great pleasure to the moans coming out of him—finally he got a taste of his own medicine.

“Yoba, you’re—nn—too good at this.”

His hips bucked upward slightly, and Oliver hummed around him as he increased his pace. The squirming beneath him told him Lance was close; he pushed down to the base, feeling the tip against the back of his throat, and swallowed to push him over the edge. The wanton moans of his name were reward enough.

“Mm~”

He straddled Lance’s lap, making a show of licking his lips and opening his mouth to show him that he swallowed every last drop.

“It seems like you enjoyed that more than I did,” Lance panted with a low groan. “Which is… saying something. I do believe that may be a new record…”

“Now you know how it feels.” His finger twirled some of the coarse hair smattering Lance’s chest.

“Consider my lesson learned… Now, we have just one small problem.”

He bucked up against Oliver, reminding him of the beads still nestled comfortably inside of him.

“My hands are preoccupied, so you’ll have to pull them out yourself.”

Oliver had never untied something faster. Lance cracked up at his haste, and at how he hid his face in his chest with an impatient whine.

“Such a spoiled prince,” he murmured into his ear, hands gently kneading his rear.

“Nn… wh-who’s the one who always spoils me?”

“Guilty as charged.”

His finger hooked into the ring and tugged slowly. With each one that popped free, Oliver jolted, whimpering against Lance’s chest as he climaxed. One time, two times, three times. With the fourth, the beads dangled freely from Lance’s finger, and he was a panting, shuddering mess.

“Four times in a row. I’m impressed.”

The beads clattered to the floor as his hands gripped Oliver’s wrists, thrusting up while pulling him down flush onto his lap.

Stars danced in his vision. Every buck reached the top of his head and radiated out to the tips of his fingers and toes. Unrestrained cries mixed with the creaking of the bed frame and the smacking of skin on skin.

“L-Lance…! Lance—Lance—!”

Lance’s tongue licked his lips as he rewarded each cry of his name with harder thrusts. The merciless assault quickly drove Oliver to orgasm once again, with Lance soon following—but he wasn’t finished yet.

“Again.”

Suddenly face first against the pillows, his hips in a tight vice grip.

“W-Wait—!”

Feverish, almost frantic pounding. Breathy sighs and low grunts in his ear, barely audible over his own borderline screams.

“A-Are—y-you—trying to—haaah—g-get me—nn—pregnant—or something—?”

Another climax, and he was pressed up against the wall, clinging for dear life.

“Would you?” Lance breathed against his lips. “If you could? Would you carry my child?”

His insides slowly being reshaped to perfectly fit the member ravaging him.

“Y—Yes—I-I would—I-I’m yours—!”

He didn’t even care what he was saying at this point.

One last hard thrust brought them to a final climax together.

 

 

“Is there a spell to do that?”

Oliver’s finger traced circles on Lance’s chest as they cuddled under the sheets.

Lance yawned. His fingers idly toyed with his lover’s hair. “A spell to do what?”

“To, um… to get pregnant.”

“Oh, I’m sure someone has made it happen.” He regarded Oliver with half-lidded eyes. “I didn’t realize you were being serious.”

“W-Were you… not…?”

“I wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.” He pulled him in for a kiss. “I can look into it sometime. But for now,” his thumb brushed against Oliver’s bottom lip, “I want to enjoy having you all to myself.”

Oliver’s embarrassment was chased away by a flutter of soft kisses to his face. At least he knew where they stood on the idea of having children.

Chapter 33: Love for Love by Love of Love

The First Slash guild was a flurry of activity—well, moreso than usual. Preparations for the wedding had begun in earnest, spearheaded by Camilla, who insisted on handling absolutely everything obscenely ahead of time.

“Cam, you do know it’s not for another three months, right?” Lance asked in exasperation as every inch of him and Oliver were quite invasively measured for their outfits.

“Do I know? Do I know?!” She rocked up to her adoptive son and threateningly wagged her finger in his face. “Do you know how much needs to be done in those three months?”

“No, because you won’t let us help.”

“Of course I won’t! It’s your special day!”

Bristling anger became overwhelming pride and melancholy with frightening speed as she hugged him.

“Ohhh I can’t believe my little Lancey’s getting married! My! Little! Lancelot!”

A weary sigh blew past his lips as he gave up the circular argument they’d been having for the last hour. Oliver gave him a sympathetic smile; in truth, all of the noise and activity and being maneuvered and positioned like an anatomy doll was beginning to overwhelm him.

‘Just grin and bear it, grin and bear it, everyone’s just trying to help, they don’t know you’re about to have a panic attack.’

He and Lance would have been perfectly happy with a small ceremony. But Camilla just wouldn’t hear it—“You two deserve the biggest, most beautiful wedding, and I’m going to make sure you get it!”, she’d insisted. Neither one of them had the heart to tell her no.

After having what felt like his billionth measurement taken, the tailor rolled up their measuring tape and smiled. “Alright sweetie, that’s you done.”

“Why don’t you go and get some fresh air?” Lance suggested. “I’ll come find you when they’re done with me.”

“Are you sure?”

“My love, I’m perfectly capable of managing on my own for at least a few minutes… I think.”

Oliver managed to giggle through the stress. “Okay. I believe you.”

The salty sea breeze felt good after being cooped up in the guild hall for so long. He found a patch of the beach far away from the planning party and sat at the water’s edge, letting the waves tickle his feet and just breathing. Just existing.

‘If I’m feeling this stressed out, I can’t imagine how Camilla must be feeling.’

A slight pain twinged in his heart. His mother would have loved to help Camilla with the arrangements. The thought of them fussing over every little detail together brought a small smile to his face.

‘I wish you could be here for it. But I know you’ll be watching.’

An exasperated sigh announced Lance’s arrival some few minutes later. “I thought they’d never let me go,” he grunted as he sank down onto the sand beside his fiancé. “I’ve been told that we’re free from obligations for the rest of the day.”

“Thank Yoba…” Oliver leaned against his shoulder and nuzzled it affectionately. “… It still doesn’t feel real.”

“What doesn’t?”

“We’re getting married. Us. Married.” Lance’s arm muffled the shy giggle that followed.

“Is it really so hard to believe?”

“Kind of. I never thought I’d find love like this. I always thought, well… I wasn’t worth loving.” He sat up straight and watched the seagulls floating on the waves. “… I never told you about my weight problems, did I?”

“You don’t have to, if it’s something you don’t want to talk about.”

Oliver shook his head. “No secrets between us, remember? Besides, it’s not really that big of a deal anymore. I was just... really overweight growing up. And then I ended up on the opposite end of the spectrum after mom got sick and died. But I still thought of myself like I was the chunky kid that everyone made fun of. That nobody liked or wanted to be around unless they could get something from me.”

“Have you spoken with anyone about those feelings?”

“Mhm. Harvey’s been helping me, and… well, I’m supposed to be seeing a therapist in Zuzu, but that one’s been harder to stick to. B-But um, the point is… Thank you. For loving me and all my flaws.”

“How could I not love you?” Lance pulled him into his lap and nuzzled his neck. “You’ve loved me and all my flaws as well.”

“Heheh…”

The sunset had never looked so beautiful as it did now, with him nestled comfortably in his fiancé’s lap, dreaming of their future together.

Chapter 34: Odds and Ends

“Cheers!”

A dozen wine glasses all clinked together at once, with some being downed in one gulp immediately after. Normally a bachelor party would be just ‘the boys’, but for Oliver, he’d invited just about all of the friends he’d made since moving to the valley. Which meant that the house was absolutely packed.

“Did you cook all of these dishes yourself?” Shane asked, choosing to sip on sparkling water instead.  

“Mhm! They’re all recipes from either Lance or my mom’s old cookbook. Uh, be careful with those ones,” he warned as everyone dug in. “Those ones over there are pretty spicy. These ones are on the milder side, and the ones over here aren’t spicy at all.”

“Fascinating.” Maru hovered around the table to get a good look at all the offerings. “I’ve never seen most of these before. Is it okay if I bring some leftovers home to mom and dad? I bet they’d love to try some.”

“You’re assuming there’s going to be anything left,” Sebastian pointed out as he took his plate to sit with Sam and Abbigail.

“There’s a lot of food here.”

“There’s a lot of people here.”

Yes, yes there was. But for once, Oliver didn’t mind it so much. It was all good company, after all.

The conversation lulled, with everyone content to enjoy the meal that Oliver admittedly was quite proud of. Lots of practice and lots of taste testing by his soon to be husband had definitely paid off. One thing weighed on his mind as he watched them all dig in.

“…I’m really sorry that you guys can’t come to the ceremony.”

The fact of the matter was that trying to transport such a large number of magically disinclined people across such a vast distance was simply not feasible—Magnus had made that very clear. So while the entirety of the First Slash clan would be in attendance, only the wizard and Lewis would be there to represent his family in Pelican Town. He’d just about cried when he’d gotten the news.

“My friend,” Elliot pointed his glass in his direction, “have we not already told you that we understand? You needn’t torture yourself over it.”

“Yeah, but…”

“J-Just make sure to take lots of pictures for us, okay?” Sophia smiled shyly at him, and he managed to return it with a nod of his head. “I-I’m excited to see what your wedding outfits look like.”

“Oh, me too!” Emily clapped her hands in excitement. “You said that Lance would be wearing traditional wedding clothes from his culture, right?”

“Mhm. I haven’t actually seen what they look like. His mom was really insistent about that.”

“Ahh, the classic old wives’ tale.” Victor laughed. “The bride and groom—well, groom and groom in this case—can’t see each other in their regalia until right before their vows. Alex, did you and Elliot adhere to that tradition?”

“Tradition? Uhhh… No? We just walked up to the altar and did the thing.” Alex’s response garnered a few laughs from the group. “… What? What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, dearest.” Elliot wrapped an arm around his waist and held a forkful of steak up to his mouth. “You simply must try this—it’s cooked to utter perfection.”

The distraction worked—it was wagyu filet mignon, after all.  

Abbi rose from her spot and plopped down beside Oliver. “Soooo, how you feelin’? You nervous?”

“Me? Nervous?” He shuffled his feet anxiously. “… Yeah. I mean, I’m excited too. Really excited! But also, I keep thinking –what if I trip coming down the aisle? What if I mess up the vows? What if I pass out from nerves?! The whole wedding would be ruined and I want it to be perfect because Lance and Camilla deserve it and—”

“And you don’t?”

“W-Well…”

“Ollie, relax. It’s gonna be fine and you’re gonna do great. You just need to have confidence in yourself .Y’know, fake it til you make it—like Haley.”

She smirked across the room at Haley, who reciprocated with a murderous glare.

“Abbi.” Sam warned. “Don’t go starting shit today.”

“Whaaaaat? I was just saying that he should learn from an expert! Truly, Haley is a master at the art of bullshitting her way through life.”

 “Listen here, you little—”

If not for Leah holding her back, Haley would have gone for Abbi’s throat.

“Babe, c’mon. Don’t let her goad you into starting a fight.”

“Oh I don’t start fights. I finish them.”  

A loud whistle from Shane cut through the tension before it reached boiling point.

“Can you two not right now? Seriously, no one cares what bullshit grudges you have with each other. But at least pretend to get along for a couple of hours. Don’t you think Oliver deserves at least that much?”

They glanced in Oliver's direction; he did his best not to let them see how panicked their near fight had made him.

“… Yeah…”

Both women settled down, choosing to instead ignore each other’s presence; Oliver mouthed a grateful ‘thank you’ to Shane and made sure to slip him some extra leftovers when the party wrapped up.

The butterflies in his stomach fluttered up a storm as he laid in bed that night. In just a few days time, he’d be walking down the aisle to a new chapter in his life.

Chapter 35: End of Solitude

Notes:

ugh I tried but this was really hard to write and convey everything that I wanted to. but fuck it, we ball. If anyone wants to know what their wedding outfits are based off, here you go: https://imgur.com/a/tU9yZSy

Oliver was almost afraid to look at his reflection in the mirror.

“D-Do I look okay?”

Jolyne laughed and squeezed his shoulders reassuringly.

“See for yourself.”

He peeked one eye open. The pale yellow fabric flowed comfortably, adorned with delicate golden trim and a single blue rose on the lapel. Sleeves that puffed near the shoulders ended flush against his wrists. The waist tucked in with a belt, from which hung a sash, and from the back flowed long tailcoats that more resembled the train on a wedding dress.

“W-Wow…”

He leaned a bit closer to the mirror, blinking—he wasn’t used to wearing mascara, nor eyeliner, so to see both on his eyes felt strange. Another blue rose to match the one on his suit perched on his perfectly styled hair.  

“This… is me, right?”

“It sure is, kiddo.”

The brassy chime of a bell called to them from outside.

“That’s your cue.”

She pressed a bouquet of summer blooms into his shaking hands and turned him towards the guild doors.

The sun shone brightly as he stepped out onto the sands to a round of applause. All of the First Slash lined the red petal strewn aisle as he walked down it towards the wedding arch, the cheers and whistles and words of congratulations making his cheeks match the petals beneath his feet.

Lance stood waiting for him at the arch with Lewis and Camilla, positively beaming at the sight of him—clad in royal blues and gold to perfectly match and contrast Oliver. He leaned close as the farmer came to stand beside him.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured into his ear.

“S-So do you.”

Lewis raised a hand to quiet the crowd. “Honored friends and guests,” he said, as everyone took their seats, “it is my great honor to unite Oliver and Lance in the bonds of marriage.” He smiled at the grooms with slightly misty eyes. “As it is your intention to enter binding matrimony, join your right hands, and declare your consent before Camilla and myself.”

They grasped hands as Camilla tried to compose herself.

“Repeat after me.” Her voice shook as she spoke. “Do you, Oliver, take Lance to be your lawfully wedded husband, i-in good times and in bad, i-in s-sickness and in health, t-to love a-and to cherish, u-until death d-do you… d-do y-you…”

The words turned into wails and sobs as she descended into a tearful mess. Lewis cleared his throat as the crowd laughed quietly.

“Yes, well—until death do you part.”

Oliver’s voice trembled slightly. “I-I, Oliver, take you, Lance, to be my husband. I promise to be faithful to you, in good times and bad, in sickness and in health, to love you and cherish you, until death do us part.” Relieved didn’t describe how he felt that he didn’t stumble over his words.

Lance gave his hand a gentle squeeze and a smile. “I, Lancelot, take you, Oliver, to be my husband. I promise to be faithful to you, in good times and bad, in sickness and in health, to love you and cherish you, until death do us part.”

His heart swelled in his chest.

“Oliver, Lance.” Lewis closed the book in his hands. “As the mayor of Pelican Town, and regional bearer of the matrimonial seal, I now pronounce you husband and—well, husband. You may now seal your vows with a kiss.”

Not one to disappoint, Lance swept Oliver off of his feet and spun him around as they did just that and Camilla cast the binding contract, to raucous cheers, laughter and whooping.

Party favors popped as they sliced the wedding cake—chocolate with strawberry filling—and they locked arms to drink a glass of champagne to cap it all off. A truly perfect wedding.

 

 

The reception lasted well into sunset, eventually fading into the afterparty. Camilla had not stopped crying since they took their vows, and she didn’t seem to have any intention of stopping now.

 “My baby boy, my little hellion—married! I don’t know what to do with myseeeeeeelf!”

She clung to Lance for the umpteenth time; lightly he patted her back, smiling in exasperation.

“Yes, yes, I know, you put your blood, sweat and tears into making sure I had a childhood. C’mon, no more tears. You’re going to dehydrate yourself.”

She blew her nose on her handkerchief and sniffled with a tearful smile. “My sweet hellion. The one who burned all of my shoes thrice over.”

“Wh—” He started laughing. “I thought you forgave me for those!”

The tears welled anew in her eyes as she laughed and tried to wipe them away. “You know, Oliver, Lance once told me that he doesn’t feel like a wanderer in his own skin, and I—I don’t think you understand the depth of that phrase.”

With one hand she swatted her son away. “Go on, go enjoy your last day of singularity. I want to talk to Oliver without you.”

Oliver started giggling as First Slash members whisked Lance away.

“HEY!” he yelled over their heads. “Don’t tell him about that one thing! YOU KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT—”

“Ignore him, ignore him~”

Camilla led Oliver by the hand away from the noise and the crowd. They stopped near a tide pool and watched a few crabs scuttling about it. The peace and calm was a welcome reprieve.

“… I mean it, when I say Lance is my baby boy.”

Her voice carried notes of melancholy and sorrow.

“I’m unable to have children of my own. Not that I was ever inclined to be a mother, mind you. Being responsible for another’s life… it weighs on you. So Lance has been, and always will be, the exception. And I always tried to instill the idea that he needed to find something to ground him. Someone to ground him.”

Stars started peeking through the deep orange sky above. Twinkling. Matching the tears in her eyes.

“I always felt like I was making mistakes with the way I raised him. Our roles in the war were so vastly different that I could never be there for him when he needed it most. Hellions like him burn bright, and fast, and I…”

Her voice broke.

“I was afraid that someone whose soul shined so bright would be a lone wanderer his whole life.”

Oliver cast his eyes down to the sand beneath their feet. He didn’t know what to say. Lance had never spoken of his past in detail.

“Don’t go thinking you’re not worthy of him. That’s not what I mean by telling you this.” Her hand grasped his; he glanced up to see her smiling through her tears. A warm smile. A mother’s smile.

“I’m really glad he has you.”

A lump pricked at the back of his throat. The tears he’d fought back all day finally broke through the dam to stream down his face.

“Come here.”

She pulled him into a tight hug, gently stroking his hair as he clung to her and sobbed into her shoulder.

“It’s alright. I know, I know. You’ve had to be so strong for so long. It must have been so lonely…”

Loneliness.

That’s what it was.

He would wake to an empty bed, in an empty farmhouse. The animals he tended to so lovingly were a comfort, but speaking to them about mundane, daily things couldn’t fill the hole in his heart.

Waking in the same bed as Lance, to his face being caressed and sweet nothings whispered in his ear, knowing that he pined for no one else—all the reasons why he chased him like a lost puppy.

It felt nice to be the one person in the world to receive his affections.

The realization sat as heavy guilt in his stomach. What petty, vain reasons to seek a partner.

“You’re allowed to feel lonely.”

It was as if Camilla read his mind—or the tempestuous aura radiating from him.

“The Ministry warned me of your maelstrom when you moved into town. They told me to keep an eye on you like a hawk. Your fate is stronger than anything they’ve ever seen before.”

“S-So—th-that’s why—”

She nodded, brushing the tears from his eyes with her thumbs as she cupped his face. “I do not have foresight like Razzy or Welwick. But I don’t need to divine the future to feel the pull of your fate. And believe me when I say that as much as Lance needs you, you will need him. So don’t you dare hesitate to lean on him from now on. Understand?”

“Y-Yes ma’am.” He managed a tearful laugh. The warnings were... slightly concerning, but he brushed them aside as the worries of an anxious mother.

With a smile she chanted a spell and blessed his forehead with a gentle kiss.

 “And don’t be afraid to rely on me and Razzy, either. We’re here for the both of you. Now, you go and enjoy your party. Leave a mother to her thoughts.”

She waved him away, refusing to hear a word of argument. When he returned to Lance’s side, the sight of his red eyes earned a tight hug.

“Are you alright?”

“Mhm.” He nuzzled Lance’s chest. “Never been better.”

With a smile Lance took his hand and kissed the ring now adorning his finger. “Forsaking all others, til death do us part.” He laughed at the blush that crept across Oliver’s cheeks. “You can always reach for me if you’re feeling lonely. I will always listen.”

Yes. He didn’t have to pretend any longer.

Tomorrow, he would wake to another’s warmth.

Chapter 36: Wars Neverending

Notes:

it should be noted that Oliver is NOT strong. He's agile and quick thinking, those are his strengths lol

The birds had only just started chirping when Oliver dragged himself out of Lance’s vice grip to start on breakfast—no easy task when his husband clung to him like ivy every morning, but he managed somehow. He hummed a cheery tune, frying up bacon and slices of French toast in the apron Evelyn had sent as a wedding gift; the smell eventually pulled the near-catatonic redhead from the warmth of the bed, only for him to seek the warmth of his lover instead.

“Good morning, sweetie.” Oliver pressed a kiss to Lance’s temple as his face buried into his shoulder.

“Mmrng.”

“How many pieces do you want?”

Two fingers held up.

“I’ll make it three. You need to keep your strength up out there.”

More unintelligible mumbling as Lance went to pour himself a cup of coffee. He was decidedly not a morning person—and Oliver found it adorable.

By the time they tucked in, he was much more lucid, and practically inhaled everything on his plate.

“My compliments to the chef.”

Oliver giggled. “There’s plenty left over if you want more.”

“Don’t mind if I do, then.”

A second helping scarfed down before Oliver had finished his first. His plate practically clattered into the sink, a kiss hastily pressed against his husband’s syrupy lips as he passed by to get to the bedroom. The same routine as the last few days.

They’d been married a bit over two months before Lance received a support request from the Galdoran Outpost. Ever since then, mornings had been a frantic rush—eat, get changed, warp to the battlefield. Gone all day, barely awake during dinner, sporting fresh wounds that Oliver tended to as he fell asleep.

It frightened him, though he didn’t let it show. The fear of something happening to Lance was always in the back of his mind.

He was sopping up the last of the syrup and whipped cream on his plate with the final bite of toast when Lance’s arms wrapped around his waist.

“I’m sorry I have to keep rushing out like this.” His words carried a hint of guilt as they murmured into Oliver’s ear.

“It’s okay, you can’t help it.” Oliver turned his head to nuzzle their noses together. “… It’s still bad out there, then?”

“Unfortunately. Something out there has everything all riled up, and we just can’t figure it out.”

He sighed, and for a long minute just held him tight in his arms. It seemed like he needed the hug more than Oliver did.

“… Promise me you’ll come home safe, okay?”

A half-smile curled Lance’s lips. “I always will.”

The door snapped shut in his haste, leaving Oliver to clean up.

‘There must be something I can do to help.’

The thought crossed his mind as he rinsed the dishes in the sink. He wasn’t cut for the frontlines, but maybe there was another way…

 

 

 

“This spell will only obscure you for a short time. Please, my love, be careful. And do not to stray too deep.”

Striding past the monsters in the badlands without them so much as looking in his direction was deeply unsettling. It felt like he was a ghost, a phantom of the battlefield. A monster himself.

‘Don’t focus on that. You don’t have time.’

Lance had impressed upon him the limit of the spell—he had, at most, ten minutes before he became visible to the creatures surrounding him. The pocket watch clutched in his hand served as a reminder of the time he had to try and find the source of the monster onslaught.

The sounds of fighting faded the further in he went. A crimson fog descended, obscuring his vision even more than the perpetual sandstorm already did; he tugged his scarf up over the lower part of his face just to be able to breathe.

Five minutes.

The outline of a massive skeleton formed in the distance.

Three minutes.

His feet carried him faster. Eyes scanning for anything abnormal.

Nothing.

One minute left.

He had to ready the warp.

‘Not yet, I can still—’

Serpentine movement in the corner of his eye. His blood ran cold.

Scales black as the void winding around the bones of the skeleton towering over him. A long body beyond measure. Red eyes staring. Seeking.

Time was up.

The eyes snapped to him.

Oppressive fear.

Indiscernible voices chanting in his head.

The weight of thousands of years crushing him.

‘What … is that thing …?’

A keening screech as it lunged.

Rows of teeth staring back at him.

The rush of wind as he narrowly avoided being swallowed whole by them.

‘Don’t panic.’

Sand in his eyes.

His hand clutched his staff.

A wall of earth raised before him, crumbling to bits as the creature crashed through it with ease—so close to his head it knocked the hood right off of him.

‘Look for a weakness.’

Using the gusting wind around them to knock it to the side as it careened towards him again. His other hand gripped the hilt of his sword as it swung around to charge once more.

The blade glanced off of its scales without leaving so much as a scratch. He tumbled backwards—the serpent soared just overhead, another near miss. And then he saw it.

A shard, out of place among the scales. Pulsing with tainted essence that he could practically taste. A feeling so wrong it made his skin crawl.

His heartbeat thrummed in his ears.

The next time it came for him he ducked down again, his hands shooting out to grab onto the spikes protruding from its sides.

Another ear-splitting screech as it took to the skies with him dangling, clinging on for dear life.

‘Don’t look down. Don't look down. Whatever you do, DO NOT LOOK DOWN.’

His other hand reached out to the shard embedded in its body.

The serpent’s thrashing nearly dislodged him.

‘I promised Lance I’d make it back.’

And he was not going to break that promise.

His fingers closed around the shard as the creature soared down low, barrel rolling as it came parallel with the earth.

Aiming right for the skeleton’s bones.

The hand clinging to its body slipped. Ripping the shard out as he sailed through the air like a ragdoll.

The ground shook with a scream that almost made his ears bleed as he landed back on it, the momentum rolling him several dozen feet until he lay prostrate on the earth.

The serpent collided with the skeleton with a thunderous boom.

Bones shattered into dust.

Its body violently writhed, kicking up even more sand as it crumbled into pieces carried away on the wind like errant embers.

Leaving only him to catch his breath.

The shard burned in his hand. Seared his very soul as he sat up to look at it. Jagged edges that radiated with that terrible aura.

Droning minions summoned by the serpent’s calls reminded him that he wasn’t out of danger. Clutching his prize close to his chest, he chanted the warp spell back to the outpost.

Chapter 37: Shards of the Void

Notes:

tîi rák = my love in thai (in this mod, Lance is of Thai/Korean heritage)

Adrenaline gave way to the near-paralyzing realization of just how close Oliver had come to dying. The second his feet touched the ground at the Outpost he sank to his knees, shaking like a leaf—terrified, but alive.

“Oliver!”

Alesia was the first to greet him.

“There you are, we were just about to send out a search party—”

A red whirlwind shot right past her—the next thing Oliver knew he was in the tightest bear hug he’d ever felt before.

“Thank Yoba. I thought something happened to you.” Lance’s arms trembled around him, his voice quivering ever so slightly in his ear. “Please, my love, never… never do this to me again.”

A lump formed in the back of Oliver’s throat as he hugged him back. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I-I didn’t mean to worry anyone… b-but look.”

He presented the shard still tightly clutched in his hand, and everyone visibly recoiled.

“What is that thing?” Alesia took a step back. “Should you be holding it in your bare hand like that?”

“I-I don’t know. It was stuck in this…” He took a deep breath, trying to find the words to describe what he saw. “This—monster. It was long, and covered in black scales, and it felt wrong. The same way this does.”

“Let go of it, Oliver.”

Lance’s tone left him in no doubt of the danger of what he was holding, and he promptly dropped it.

“Whatever it is,” Lance cast a ward around the shard, “it’s dangerous. Look what it did to your hand.”

“Huh?”

Scorch marks seared into his skin. Faint wisps of corruption trailing from them.

“We need to get you—and it—to Magnus, immediately.”  

The fear returned anew.

Just what on earth had he found?

 

 

All of the color drained from Magnus’ face the instant he laid eyes on Oliver and the warded shard—he’d never seen the magus move with such speed and haste as he placed more wards around it.

“Whatever it is you’ve brought into my home, it’s corruption has seeped into you.”

“I-Is—is that bad?”

“It will be if we don’t cleanse it immediately. Lance, some assistance.”

Lance took his unburned hand. “Do you remember how to circulate mana through your circuits?”

“I… think so?”

“Take that process, and use it to send your mana into mine.”

Alarm bells rang in his head. “B-But—won’t that just corrupt you instead?”

He laughed softly. “You needn’t worry. I have the capacity to withstand and cleanse corruption—to a degree, at least, but enough for this situation. Now,” he pressed their foreheads together, “synchronize your breathing with mine.”

Doing so was easier said than done—their initial reactions belayed how serious the situation was, and that only amplified his fear and anxiety.

“It’s alright. You’ll be fine.”

His voice was low, soft, soothing. Steadily their breaths became one; a gentle warmth flowed through Oliver, eating away the unease that had been feeding his fear.

“… Magnus.”

“I know.” The magus studied the shard intently. “The corruption is growing much faster than we’d thought.” He waited until they’d finished circulating mana before speaking again. “Oliver, what happened to the creature you retrieved this shard from?”

“Um—it just kind of… fell apart? Or disintegrated?”

Lance rubbed his jaw in thought. “I wonder if that coincided with the horde backing off and becoming docile again… well, as docile as they usually are. Because by the time you returned, they’d completely abandoned their attack.”

“This bears further investigation, in any case.” Magnus turned to them. “I shall reach out to colleagues who are more versed in matters of the void. The Ministry will want to examine this shard as well.”

“In that case, we’ll take our leave.” Lance hoisted Oliver into a bridal carry. “I daresay the both of us could use some rest.”

“I’m inclined to agree. Do take care of yourselves.”  

Oliver clung to Lance as they warped back to the farmhouse. A hot bath and some reheated leftovers later, they were relaxing under the bedsheets.

“… I’m sorry,” he mumbled, as Lance idly played with his hair.

“For what, tîi rák?”

“For scaring you. And for getting corrupted. And…”

“You’re safe now. That’s all that matters to me.” He nuzzled into Oliver’s neck. “… I… would rather if you didn’t go to the Outpost anymore, though. The thought of something happening to you is more than I can bear.”

“… Okay.”

He wasn’t particularly keen to return to the badlands anytime soon, anyway.

Chapter 38: Hello, How Are You

Notes:

fun fact, the description of how Oliver's magic appears is based on kintsugi, which is a Japanese method of repairing cracked pottery with metals such as gold or silver

A bounty of stars.

Oliver certainly had cultivated that over the summer—a labor of love and hope that he carried in baskets through the deep woods to the abandoned vineyard, hoping it was enough. Hoping that the little junimo asking for them was still there, waiting.

The vineyard was unchanged from his last visit, maybe a touch more overgrown. His feet stepped in time with the beat of his heart as they carried him through the house, to the back room where he’d found the scroll.

“I brought the stars you asked for…”

His voice echoed through the empty house, with no answer. Anticipation of reunion stilled his breath—anticipation built over years and years, ready to spill over as joy or sorrow.

“… Please… come back to me, Apples…”

A tiny squeak. His heart skipped a beat.

“Apples?”

He turned around to see a familiar, tiny green Junimo.

“Apples-friend?” they squeaked.

A sob rose up from his throat as he dropped to his knees to hug them. “I-I finally found you…!”

“Apples-friend remember Apples?”

“O-Of course I do! I-I’ve been looking for you for years!”

Apples bounced up and down in his arms. “Apples sleep! Just woke up! Apples find empty home, now it Apples’ home. “

“Wh-why did you ask for starfruit?”

“Meep! Hungry!”

Oliver started laughing through the happy tears. “I-I hope I brought enough, then.”

More happy squeaks and meeps as he set Apples down so they could dig in. The starfruit were just about as big as they were.

“… You kept the name I gave you.”

“Meep! Apples good name!”

Happy munching.

“… Apples-friend look different. Bigger, but smaller too.”

“Oh—yeah, I… guess I do look different. I’m glad you recognized me.”

“Apples-friend soul is the same. Easy to recognize! Easy to remember!”

‘Junimos can see souls? None of the books I’ve read on them mentioned that … maybe I can ask Magnus …’

The elation in his heart tempered with a realization brought on by the thought.

‘Right … I have to return those books to him …’

The Ministry’s decision on his apprenticeship had effectively brought an end to Magnus’ instruction—since his attention now had to be given to his proper pupil, Morgan. Keeping those books was just taking away from their studies at this point, but he’d excused it up until now because he hadn’t finished reading them. Now that he had, though…

“Meep?”

Apples bounced up and down in front of him.

“Apples-friend sad?”

“O-Oh—no, not really. Just thinking about something.”

Excitable squeaks.

“Apples have idea! Idea to cheer up Apples-friend! Follow Apples! Meep!”

Down into the basement they went. The dim lighting and warmth from the lingering summer heat made Oliver sleepy just by being down there; it seemed like such a nice place to hide and nap.

“Apples help Apples-friend make shortcut here! Then Apples-friend can come and play every day!”

“A shortcut? You mean—like a nexus warp?”

“Meep!”

“How do you—”

“Apples-friend soul has magic! Like cracks filled with silver! Come, come! Make shortcut!”

Now Oliver was really curious about how Junimos perceived the world around them…

 

His feet dragged on the way to the tower. Collecting the books to return them had genuinely almost made him cry; sure, he might have nodded off during a few lectures here and there, and he was by no means a magical prodigy like Morgan, but he really, genuinely enjoyed studying under Magnus.

It felt like having a father, in a way. And that wasn’t something he’d ever really had before.

“Knock knock.”

His knuckles rapped on the door out of courtesy, before he let himself in—Magnus had told him doing so was fine, as he often would not be able to hear the door.

“Magnus? I’m bringing those books back.”

He stepped inside, half-expecting the first floor to be empty—only to find himself face to face with Morgan for the first time since their initial introduction, their face buried in a musty tome.

“Oh—sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your studies…”

Large hazel eyes stared back at him. “Do you… always just let yourself into people’s houses?”

“N-No, of course not! I just—Magnus just told me it was okay… S-So,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “how has it been learning under him?”

“It’s been fun! Look what I just learned to do!”

They set the book aside and closed their eyes. Multicolored lights filled the room like fireflies, little glowing pockets of the rainbow.

“Neat, huh?”

“Very. And very pretty, too.” Oliver reached out to touch one; it felt a bit like sinking his fingers into a cloud. “The ones I can make are only one color.”

“You can do magic too?”

“A little bit. Not like you’re able to, though.”

“Can you do this?”

They raised their hand up towards the ceiling.

A flash—though not from them—followed by the sound of a warp.

“Morgan.”

 The child withered beneath Magnus’ disapproving gaze.

“S-Sorry… I just wanted to show Oliver the cool stuff I learned…”

“There are rules. I expect you to follow them.”

“Yes, sir…”

Oliver stepped forward. “U-Um—Actually, I was the one who asked them to show me in the first place. It’s not their fault.”

Their head snapped up in confusion as Magnus’ eyes moved from them, to Oliver, then back.

“… Morgan, go and study chapter 2 of the ‘Ancient Fruit Almanac’ in your room. We’ll be brewing potions tomorrow.”

“Okay…”

Their head hung as they walked to their room. Magnus waited until the door snapped shut before he sighed and rubbed his forehead.

“You shouldn’t make excuses for their behavior, well-intentioned though you may be. They must learn consequences and restraint, just as you did.”

“Did I ever really learn those, though?”

A faint smile. “A semblance of them. I see you’ve finally decided to return the books you borrowed months ago.”

“Yeah. I finally finished them, and…” He ran his fingers across the spine of one of the leathery tomes. “I guess I won’t be able to borrow books anymore, huh?”

“Hm? Why wouldn’t you?”

“Well… I’m not your student anymore, and Morgan will need the books more than me…”

“You may not be my formal student, but nothing in the Ministry’s guidelines prohibit you from attending their lessons as a ‘witness’. If you just so happen to learn something from the lesson, well…” Another smile—Oliver swore he saw a mischievous glint in his eyes for a brief moment. “And I would never revoke your access to my library. The pursuit of knowledge should ever be nurtured and encouraged, not discouraged simply because of an administration’s decision.”

Oliver’s heart soared despite himself. “Won’t you get in trouble if they find out, though?”

“Then I’ll accept whatever punishment they impose upon me. Do you remember where those volumes belong?”

“Y-Yeah. Can I borrow a few more?”

“Of course. I assume you don’t need to be reminded to wear gloves when handling the older tomes.”

Footsteps once leaden now traipsed light as air as they took the stairs down two at a time. Every day the people in his life reminded him just how very lucky he was to have them.

“Let’s see what other books he has on Junimos…”

Chapter 39: Fates Entwined

Notes:

what do you mean Oliver's the only one who can see the hard mode shrine huehuehue

The lull in attacks on the outpost finally afforded them an opportunity for something they hadn’t had in weeks: a date. So naturally that meant delving deep into the mines to monitor the local monster population there—a favor to Marlon, and a chance to get out of the house and have some time for themselves. Three birds with one stone.

“Is it me, or did the monsters seem more aggressive than usual?”

Oliver’s voice echoed off the walls of the mines as they reached the bottom.

“No, they most certainly were. Marlon was right to be concerned.”

“Well… at least we helped to reduce the population. Come to think of it, have you ever been down here before?”

“Hah! Who do you think helped Marlon map out the mines?”

“Oh—that was you?”

“Well, Magnus may have helped out a touch here and there, but that’s another thing.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to imagine you two cooperating. You always give each other such a hard time.”

“Well, when you put two of the strongest mages of the era in the same room clashes are bound to happen.” He exhaled a heavy breath. “Do you mind if we sit and rest for awhile? Maintaining a barrier around you and your burgeoning magic is more draining than I expected.”

“Of course.”

They sat up against one of the cave walls, with Oliver gesturing for Lance to rest his head in his lap.

“… He used to call me a fiery warmonger,” he spoke again, after they both had gotten comfortable—well, as comfortable as could be on hard stone and dirt. “Neither of us asked to be put on the front lines of the Elemental War, so I know I shouldn’t hold the name against him. But people are so quick to sing his praises while decrying mine simply because my magic is more martially inclined. That doesn’t make us any less equal as mages.”

“Of course not.” Oliver slowly ran his fingers through Lance’s hair, and he leaned into the touch, simmering anger cooled by his soothing presence.

 “Of course, the Ministry thinks he’s above just about everyone else—planes practitioners are much rarer than someone whose fate is so strongly wound like yours.”

“Strongly wound? What do you mean?”

His fingers toyed with the wedding ring on Oliver’s hand. “You’re aware of how closely the Ministry monitors you, correct?”

“Unfortunately…”

“They do it for good reason.”

“Are you bound from speaking about it like Magnus is?”

Lance laughed. “The Ministry’s been trying to leash me for decades at this point. I’m not about to let them collar me now. It’s more… I don’t want to burden you with the answer.”

“But I want to know, Lance. I’m tired of everyone bringing up things like timelines and fates and then dancing around explaining it.”  Oliver couldn’t keep the exasperation out of his voice. “I’m not some child that can’t handle the truth.”

“No, of course not. But you do have a habit of nodding off during Magnus’s lectures… How can I be sure you won’t do the same to me?”

The comment earned a light smack on the chest.

“Ah, mercy, mercy! Twas only a jest!”

“Hmph.” His lips puffed into a pout.

“Sometimes I forget that I don’t need to protect you from everything.” Lance cupped his chin, gazing up into his face with a mixture of sadness and adoration. “The instinct to shield you from anything that might bring you harm is… difficult for me to ignore. But you’re right. You deserve to know.”

With a quiet grunt he sat up and shifted to Oliver’s side.

“In order to explain it properly, allow me to ask a seemingly unrelated question. Have you noticed sometimes when we’re in the throes of passion I seem to breathe smoke?”

“Yeah. I think I asked about it at one point, but you never really said why it happened.”

“Put simply, it’s a consequence of trying to reorganize your meridians. Your body doesn’t take kindly to me intruding in such a manner—you are your own person, and I mine. And while it understands that chaos requires structure, it still puts up a bit of a fight, much like you enjoy doing—and that fight causes an immense amount of heat and energy to pour from you into me.”

Oliver put his hand on Lance’s arm. “Th-that’s not dangerous, is it?” he asked anxiously.

“No no, not at all.” Lance laughed softly and squeezed his hand in reassurance. “Trust me, with how frequently I’m doing it, you would have noticed if it were even slightly harmful to me.”

A relieved sigh blew past his lips. “Okay… but why reorganize them at all?”

“To ensure that the Ministry won’t cause any problems when you’re set free.”

Set free. Oliver let go of Lance’s hand.

“What do you mean, set free?”

“Ah—” Lance saw the change in his demeanor. “It’s nothing sinister or nefarious, I promise.”

“How could it not be?! It sounds like I’m being held captive by them!”

“Tîi rák. Oliver.” Lance took hold of his hands again. “Do you honestly believe I would let them do that?”

Momentary contemplation as he realized he was probably getting worked up for nothing. “… No,” he admitted quietly.

“I understand your distrust of the Ministry. Truly, I do. But even they some manner of moral code they abide by.” He pressed their foreheads together, waiting until Oliver had taken a few deep breaths to calm down. “The Ministry simply put a century long ‘hold’, for lack of a better word, on you, due to the sheer strength and force of your fate. They told me about it when I applied for our marriage license.”

A century.

“Why a century? Mundanes don’t usually live that long.”

He paused to contemplate the answer, seeming to struggle with what words to say. “Well… again, without delving too deep into the wheres and wherefores, it’s because all of your fate lines are connected to the townspeople here. The Ministry assumes the entire town will be entirely repopulated by the turn of a century. It is the strength of your fate, your links to the townspeople, and your unpredictable—and, quite honestly, dangerous—magic that concerns the Ministry enough to keep such a close watch on you. ”

Oliver struggled to make sense of the explanation.

“I don’t…”

“It’s alright if you don’t understand. It can be difficult for someone raised outside of magical influence to grasp. Especially,” he lightly poked Oliver’s nose, “when that certain someone likes to turn lessons on magical theory into nap time.”

“You—! I’ve been doing better about that and you know it!”

He laughed as he dodged another smack. “Yes, I do—but it’s too much fun to tease you about it. Especially when you react like this.”

With a huff Oliver turned his back to him to resume his pouting. His ‘anger’ was quick to melt away as Lance’s arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him close.

“You’re too cute, you know that?”

His fingers played with the wedding ring again.

“Sometimes I find myself wondering… in another timeline, in another life… were we supposed to be together?”

The teasing tone in his voice took on a melancholy note, pain seeming to tinge each word as he spoke them. Oliver rested his head against Lance’s chest and looked up at his face; he almost looked on the verge of tears.

“Of course I’m happy we are in this timeline—I wouldn’t trade that for anything. But a part of me sees how strong Magnus is, and his close proximity to you, and your own strength, and I just…”

His voice trailed off as he swallowed. Gently Oliver cupped his face and pulled him down into a kiss.

“In this timeline, I wanted you,” he murmured against his lips. “In this timeline, I chose you. That’s the whole reason why I married you. And if the other ‘me’s in these timelines are anything like me, I’m sure they’d feel the same. I don't need to understand parallel timeline theory to know that much.”

A deep crimson shot across Lance’s cheeks; he held the kiss for a long moment before pulling back and casting his gaze away.

“It means more than you can possibly know to hear you say that with such conviction.  It just—I can’t help but feel as though I stole something out from under someone’s nose. When I think about you, how we met… how I was…”

“What do you mean?”

He laughed, half soft, half bitter. “Well I wasn’t exactly someone who seemed stable, was I?”

“I mean… you seemed pretty well put together when we first met.”

“When we first… You know, I don’t know how I managed to pull that off. From the very first moment I laid eyes on you, I knew. I knew that I wanted you, even if I didn’t yet know exactly why.”

“Is it because of our timelines?”

“It’s very possible. Though of course, it was my decision in the end, just as it was yours.”

Oliver giggled as a flurry of kisses peppered his face. “I’m glad you went after me so strongly.”

“Me? You were the one who helped fix Marlon’s boat just to see me, who kept bringing me care packages and tended to my wounds despite my assurances that I would be just fine.”

“Oh… yeah, I guess I did do that, huh?”

They both laughed; a peaceful quiet fell over them for a time, with them content to just sit and enjoy one another’s warmth and presence. Oliver’s gaze wandered around the cavernous space as he listened to Lance’s humming—and he noticed something conspicuously missing.

“That’s weird… the shrine is gone.”

“Shrine?” The humming stopped. “What shrine?”

“You know,” Oliver gestured to where it usually sat, “the one that’s usually right there.”

Confusion writ itself across Lance’s face. “Since when?”

“Are you—” Oliver twisted around to look at him. “Are you kidding?”

“Why would I joke about a strange object at the bottom of the mines?”

Déjà vu settled heavy and unnerving in the pit of his stomach as his blood ran cold.

Chapter 40: Afraid

Something was very, very wrong.

“In all your times coming down here, you’ve never seen a shrine down here? Never? Not once?”

His voice rose in pitch and volume with every word. Matching the panic clawing its way up his throat.

The walnut door on Ginger Island.

The bouncer.

And now the shrine.

Why was he the only one who saw these things?

“Love, I don’t know what’s got you so freaked out.” Lance took hold of his hands to try and soothe him. “But no, I have never once seen any sort of shrine down here.”

The feeling of wrongness extended to being touched, and Oliver pulled his hands away. “W-We need to leave,” he insisted, scrambling to his feet. “We need to leave right now.”

“Breathe, Oliver. Are you sure you’re not just misremembering—?”

A shadow fell over Oliver. Before he even knew what was happening, Lance had grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him to the side—a split second later a baby void serpent shot past where he had just been.

“Wh-what the—”

He stumbled backwards and hit the ground hard. Scrambling back to his feet he saw Lance pinning the writhing creature down with the blade of his sword.

“Stay back!” he yelled as Oliver started towards him. The urgency in his voice only compounded the sense of wrongness draping over the farmer.

“What’s—”

“Your return scepter!” He stabbed the blade further into the serpent as its thrashing grew more violent. “Use it! Now!”

“What about you?!”

“Whatever this thing is, it’s bound me to this spot.” He grunted with the effort of restraining the creature. “My anti-enmity spell can’t reach you over there. I need you to get help.”

Oliver’s mind raced. “A-Are you hurt?”

“Please, Oliver. I can’t keep this up for long.”

A dread fear overshadowed the unease and sent his heart racing in his ears.

‘This isn’t right. He shouldn’t be struggling so much with such a tiny monster.’

His fingers wrapped around the scepter hanging from his waist.

 “I-I’ll be back as fast as I can!”

The last thing he heard over the rush of wind in his ears was Lance’s fading chuckles.

 

 

‘There’s no time.’

His feet pounded against the ground as they raced towards his farm warp.

‘No time. No time.’

The mantra repeated in his head, his nexus blurring in his haste to reach the warp to Magnus. The only place he could think of to get help fast enough.

“MAGNUS!”

He took the stairs two at a time, nearly tripping on the last ones at the top. His panicked scream for help startled the magus and his apprentice, interrupting their lesson in the most alarming way possible.

“What on earth has you so worked up—”

“Lance! Needs help! Bottom of the mines! Serpent! Can’t move!”

Magnus strode to his side and put a hand on his shoulder. “Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Oliver shoved his hand away. “My husband is in danger!”

“And I cannot help if you cannot tell me exactly what is going on.”

“I JUST DID!”

A yell of frustration rose in his throat before he forced himself to take a deep breath. “We were in the mines. A baby void serpent came out of nowhere. He has it pinned down but he can’t move, and something is wrong because he should be able to kill it easily and he can’t and he told me to run and get help and please for the love of Yoba help him!”  

Magnus’s demeanor changed in an instant. “Morgan, contact Camilla and inform her at once.”

“M-Me?” the child asked in a tiny voice.

“Now.”

“O-Okay!”

Tears of fear and panic brimmed in Oliver’s eyes as Magnus took his hand.

“I’m going to warp us to him. It is of utmost importance that you remain calm when we get there. Am I understood?”

“I-I—”

“Am I understood?”

Oliver swallowed hard and tried to quell his shaking. “Y-Yes.”

No sooner had the word left his mouth than they were back at the bottom of the mines. Lance hadn’t moved an inch, but sat hunched over the still writhing creature, which hadn’t seemed to lose any of its vigor.

“Lance!”

His heart in his throat, Oliver raced to his side—his outstretched hands smacking into an invisible barrier surrounding his husband.

“You mustn’t be reckless,” Magnus said, hand outstretched from erecting the ward. “I’m sorry, but you cannot touch him.”

“Why not?!”

A faint chuckle from within the barrier. “Don’t… worry about me… this thing… just feels like it’s… eating my energy…”

“Yoba, please no…!”

Oliver grabbed his staff off his back, trying to recall a spell, any spell that could destroy the obstacle keeping them apart.  

‘I can’t lose him.’

A rush of energy knocked the staff from his hand and clear across the room, far out of reach.

 “Do not interfere.”

 “You don’t understand!” Oliver’s voice shook as the magus reached them. “That thing is sucking up his energy! It’s killing him!”

“What did I say about remaining calm?”  

The sight of him so calmly assessing the situation made Oliver want to scream. But a voice in the back of his mind whispered in his ear, reminding him that if things were truly so dire, it would show through Magnus.

Another deep breath pushed the fear and panic back down into his chest.

He had to put his trust in him.

“C-Calm. Right…”

“Hm.” Magnus’s hand stroked his beard in thought. “I can’t tell what rate your energies are being drained. Can you describe it?”

His other hand pressed against the barrier; an aura radiated from his fingers out across its invisible surface.

Shallow breaths punctuated Lance’s words. “It feels like… the time we were trapped in that magical net… by those bandits…”

“Curious; I was under the assumption the Ministry had confiscated that for studying. I wonder if someone managed to abscond with it…”

Their conversation was as dull buzzing in Oliver’s ears as he pressed his hands against the barrier. Every cell in his body screamed to break through it and get to Lance.

“Young one, I must ask that you refrain from disturbing my ward.”

His request was met by the deadliest death glare Oliver could muster.

“If looks could kill…” He cleared his throat. “I do not mean to suggest that Lance is a weak mage; far from it. But you touching the barrier adds interference that is severely distracting.”

 “T-Tîi rák… would you… let me look at you…?”

He dropped to his knees in front of Lance. “I-I’m right here.”

Lance managed to smile. “Ah…. That adorable face… Truly, you are… my greatest source of strength…”

“I-I wish I could do more than just sit here.”

“You are doing… much more than you realize…”

He heard Magnus quietly chanting; strange runic energy started swirling around Lance, who finally started to breathe a little easier—though his eyes stayed closed for much longer than Oliver was comfortable with.

“Lance…?”

“Hm…?” His head picked up a little. “Ah… sorry, sorry, I’m… I’m still here. Magnus, I’m feeling around… thirty percent.”

Oliver’s heart sank. Magnus’s chanting stopped.

“Thirty is quite fast. Are you sure you’re not losing your touch?”

A frighteningly faint chuckle. “I appreciate the banter… but I’m not sure Oliver does.”

No, he did not, and he gave Magnus another murderous glare to make sure he knew it.

“Y’know Mag… you could just release the barrier and let my little firecracker fill my energy back up.”

Oliver nodded furiously in agreement. “I’m fine with that.”

“I’m not. We don’t know what will happen to that thing in your hands if we feed even more energy into it.”

Somehow, the serpent still writhed and squirmed, actively feeding off of Lance’s fading energy reserves to sustain itself.

“Please, Magnus!” he begged. “If there’s something I can do, anything, let me do it!”

The magus sighed in exasperation. “It would help greatly if the both of you stopped distracting me so I could focus. Consider that your contribution.”

 A frustrated whine escaped Oliver as he looked back to Lance again. His normally warm tinted skin had taken on an ashen hue.

“Roughly… fifteen now, Mag…”

He went limp, and Oliver’s heart stopped dead in his chest.

“Lance?!”

His hands banged on the barrier in desperation. “Magnus, you have to release the barrier! Right now!”

“I cannot.”

“I am not going to just sit here while my husband dies! Do something, or I will.”

“Oliver.”

A tone Magnus had never used on him before silenced him and his rising anger in an instant. Barely masked fury tempered only by the urgency of the task at hand.

“Do you truly believe I am doing nothing? That I would let my own family perish before my eyes? You are frightened and upset, I understand, but do not insult me by insinuating that I do not care. Either you calm down, or I send you back to the farm. Make your choice.”

Tears full of anger and terror brimmed in Oliver’s eyes as he glared up at Magnus—through sheer force of will, he bit his tongue and stayed quiet.

“Good. I promise you, he will not die from this. If you had controlled yourself from the first—like I explicitly told you to— you would have been able to feel his life force. Take a deep breath, focus, and see for yourself.”

‘Trust in Magnus.’

Deep breath.

Fidgeting with the ring on his finger, he closed his eyes; Lance’s motionless form stood clear in his mind.

Focus.

Veins of mana and energy, still but pulsing dimly with life. It looked like he was in some sort of stasis.

‘He’s not dead.’

Tentative relief flooded every inch of him.

‘He’s alive.’

Opening his eyes once more, he saw the wriggling monster slowly losing its fight. With its dying breath it screeched, a keening shriek that bounced off the walls and knocked a few rocks loose around them. Thrashing became death throes, before it finally laid still.

The barrier dropped, and Oliver caught Lance as he slumped forward.

“Lance.”

No answer. The fear returned anew as he frantically started circulating mana into him.

“Lance!”

He shook Lance’s shoulders in a desperate attempt to rouse him.

No answer.

He wasn’t breathing.

“No, no nono…!”

Magnus promised.

He couldn’t lose anyone else.

Laying Lance on his back he started chest compressions.

“Don’t—don’t do this—to me—please—”

The strain of focusing on CPR and mana circulation quickly took its toll. Magnus eased the burden with his own healing magic.

Seconds felt like hours.

“Whatever—god—is out there—please—don’t take—him away—from me—!”

Unchecked tears fell onto Lance’s cheek as he finally gasped.

“C… cut it… a little… close there, Mag…”

“Lance…!”

Oliver all but collapsed on top of him. His entire body shook with silent sobs, so heavy that he couldn’t even draw his own breath.

“Pardon me.”

Magnus gently but firmly pulled Oliver back up to sit. He placed his hand on Lance’s chest; a great burst of energy whirred from his palm as Lance yelled out in pain.

“There. The beast’s residual energy is gone. Now, let us quit this place.”

A blink later and they were at the farmhouse. Oliver cradled Lance tight against his chest, still sobbing uncontrollably.  

“Th-thank you Magnus,” he managed to choke out. “I-I’m s-sorry for what I—”

“There’s no need. Your reactions were understandable. I merely had to ensure my duty was fulfilled above all else. Will you be able to take him inside on your own?”

“Y-Yes—”

Eager to do at least something, Oliver managed to get them both to their feet, bearing most of Lance’s weight on his still heaving shoulders.

“In that case, I will leave you both to rest. If anything happens, don’t hesitate to call.”

The journey inside and to the bed took an age. Somehow he’d managed to pull himself together by the time he’d laid Lance down and undressed him, checking for any signs of injuries—only to find none. The damage seemed restricted to the incorporeal, which was almost worse; there wasn’t much he could do to heal wounds like that.

“Oh, Lance…”

His hand caressed Lance’s cheek as he fought back more tears. A pale pallor still tinged his skin, though it had more color in it than it did a few minutes ago. Every breath he took was less labored than the last, and sounded like the sweetest music to Oliver’s ears.

He truly was going to be alright this time. He had to be.

The clock in the other room chimed six; the whole day had passed them by. His own lightheadedness reminded him that neither of them had eaten since breakfast that morning.

‘… I should make us something to eat for when he wakes up.’

The process of cooking did much to distract him—he settled on a plain rice porridge, something that was easy to make and even easier on the stomach. He didn’t have the mental capacity or energy for much else than that.

A part of him had hoped that when he carried the bowls back to the bedroom, Lance would be sitting up and waiting for him with that dangerously charming smile of his. But he hadn’t so much as budged, leaving Oliver to pull a chair up beside the bed and sullenly nibble on small spoonfuls. He wasn’t the least bit hungry, but he knew if Lance woke to find he hadn’t eaten it would upset him.

Sitting at the bedside like this brought back painful memories of days spent in the hospital. Watching his mother sleep. Counting every breath she took for fear it would be her last, until it finally was.

He shook the memories away.

That was then. This was now. He had to believe that Lance would wake up.

He only managed to get down less than half the bowl before he set it aside; if he tried to eat any more it would just come back up.

“… You idiot… if you hadn’t tried to protect me…”

‘No… if only I were stronger. Then he wouldn’t feel like he had to protect me.’

A frustrated sigh blew past his lips. Frustration at the situation. At himself.

“Ah… don’t sigh like that. It makes my heart heavy.”

Oliver just about hit the ceiling. Lance’s eyes were open, looking up at him with a mixture of pure love and relief.  

“Y-You—you’re awake—”

“As far as I can tell, yes.”

That cheeky smile, like nothing was wrong.

It felt like a dream.

A painful pinch told him that it wasn’t.

“A-Are you okay?”

“A little worse for wear, but it’s nothing a little R&R from my loving husband wouldn’t fix.”

Oliver practically knocked the other bowl of porridge off the nightstand in his haste to help Lance to sit up. The laugh it earned from him sent his heart soaring to the heavens.

“I-I made some porridge. Are you hungry?”

“Starving, actually.” He reached for the bowl; Oliver quickly snatched it out of the way and perched himself on the edge of the bed.

“Say ‘ahh’.” He held a spoonful up to Lance’s mouth. Laughing once more, Lance opened up to accept it.

“Mmm. So all I have to do to be hand fed is put myself in mortal danger?”

“Please, don’t—don’t even joke about that.” It took everything Oliver had not to start crying again. “I thought I lost you so many times back there.”

He dipped the spoon back into the bowl as Lance reached out and cupped his face.

“I’m sorry for making you cry.”

“Don’t be sorry—just—promise me you won’t put yourself in danger for me again.”

An apologetic smile. “That is one promise I cannot make.”

He should have known better.

“… Why was that—that thing draining your energy?” he asked after a few more spoonfuls.

“Honestly, I haven’t the foggiest idea. I’ve never seen a void serpent this far outside of Galdora.”

“And… and you’re sure that you’ve never seen a shrine at the bottom?”

“I swear it on my life.”

The implications swirling in his head brought fresh life to the anxiety and dread that he thought he’d abandoned back in the mines. His hand shook as he brought the spoon to Lance’s mouth once more.  

“Oliver,” Lance’s hand rested on his knee, “why does that shrine frighten you so much?”

“H-Have you ever visited Sandy’s shop? The one in the desert?”

“Of course. She often contracts me for mercenary work.”

“The casino in the back—have you ever gone in there?”

Lance’s brow raised slightly. “A few times here and there. Why?”

“Do you know the owner?”

“I thought Sandy was the owner.”

Fear.

Utter fear.

The bowl in his lap nearly tipped over from how violently he shook. Alarmed, Lance took the bowl and set it aside before pulling him to sit on his lap.

“Tîi rák, my dearest—tell me what has you so scared.”

Desperation clawed at Oliver’s throat.

“D-Do you know anyone named Mr.—”

His voice died in his throat before he could utter the name.

“M-Mr.—”

He couldn’t even form the name with his mouth.

Something was silencing him.

‘A seal.’

His hand grabbed his throat.

‘Like the one on Magnus.’

“Oliver?”

“Th-the western beach. Ginger Island. The door—h-have you ever gone inside?”

Lance’s brow furrowed in concern. “What door?”

Oliver’s chest started heaving with rapid breaths.

There was no word to describe what he felt.

Terror was the closest but didn’t even scrape the surface.

A raw, primal emotion steeped in fear. Crushing him in its grasp.

Once more Lance cupped his face. “You’re hyperventilating, my love. Slow your breaths.”

“I-I—c-can’t—”

“You can.”

He tried. One breath through his nose.

“Are you trying to say that there’s someone that I cannot perceive, but you can?”

Oliver nearly tweaked his neck from nodding so fervently. A sense of relief helped to temper the other emotions rampaging in him; of course Lance of all people would be able to piece together the fragments of what he was trying to convey.

“A strong force indeed, if they frighten you so.” Lance held him close; the warmth of his embrace helped to calm his panic before it rose to the level of a full-on attack. “Strong enough that not even Magnus and I can perceive them… but whatever they are, I swear to you, tîi rák: I will not let any harm befall you.”

‘But… how can you protect me from something you can’t even see…?’

 

 

 

 

Chapter 41: Through the Maelstrom

Notes:

it's a long one folks, and mostly just fluff and Lance angst in case that's not your thing (✿◡‿◡)

Oliver did his best to push thoughts of just who—or what—Mr. Qi was. Despite Lance’s insistence that he was just fine the next morning, Oliver made him promise to stay in bed and rest while he kept watch over the Highlands in his stead. But while he was out, he made a quick pitstop in the sewers.

“Krobus! Are you in?”

“As always. You ask that every time.”

Krobus’s tiny form greeted him with their shy little smile.

“Well I don’t just want to barge in unannounced, that’d be rude.” Oliver knelt down to hug them. “I’m sorry it’s been so long since I last visited. How have you been?”

“Oh, you know… the same. I almost got caught the other night by that girl with the purple hair.”

“Oh, Abbi? She must’ve been hanging out in the cemetery again. Honestly, out of all the people to nearly be seen by, she’s probably the best.”

“I’d… rather not take my chances…”

Their trepidation was understandable. The average mundane would likely panic at the sight of a shadow person, while someone versed in their presence would likely attack on sight.

“You probably haven’t had much to eat lately then, have you? I think I might have something…”

Rummaging around in his bag Oliver produced one of the strange buns they’d found during their mines expedition.

“Here. Hopefully it’s still fresh.”

The empty space where eyes normally were quivered at the sight of food, and the bun quickly disappeared; Oliver always wondered just how shadow people ate, but at the same time, it seemed like something he was better off not knowing.

“Thank you. I was starting to get quite famished.”

“I can start bringing you food more often if you want.”

Tiny feet shuffled on the floor. “… I wouldn’t… say no to that. It does tend to get lonely down here when Marlon’s too busy to come down.”  

Guilt tugged at Oliver’s heartstrings. He started pawing through his bag again.

“My husband and I went into the mines yesterday and found this.”

A glittering diamond the size of an egg rested in his palm as he showed it to Krobus.

“You like gemstones, right?”

Krobus jumped clear off the floor. “Oh! Not all gemstones, really—diamonds are special though. They have a unique connection to the earth. Is it… really alright to give this to me?”

“Of course!”

“Well, then… thank you very much.”

Somehow despite not having hands Krobus took the diamond and shuffled over to one of the pedestals up against the walls to place it.

“You know, I’d been wondering why you smelled different lately.”

Alarmed, Oliver sniffed his shirt to make sure it didn’t reek. Krobus laughed.

“No no, not that kind of smell. I meant your scent as a person. There’s another one entwined with it that hadn’t been there before. Two different kinds of magicks. It’s a very warm feeling.”

“Two different… Oh! I wonder if it’s Lance you’re smelling now.”

“Hm, the name sounds familiar… Oh, I think Marlon’s mentioned him before.” More shy foot shuffling. “W… Would I be able to meet him?”

The request caught Oliver fully off-guard; of all people, Lance would be the first to strike at a shadow person. But maybe with some foreknowledge…

“Um… I think that’d be okay. I’d have to talk to him first, though.”

“That’s fine! I’ll be here whenever you have an answer.” Krobus hummed a happy tune. “I hope he says yes. I’d love to be friends with someone you love so dearly.”

Oliver’s heart melted a little. As he went to give them another hug, a faint high pitched whine sounded from above ground.

“What is that noise?” Krobus asked. “I’ve heard it a few times before.”

“I’m… pretty sure that’s the hurricane siren.”

“Oh. I guess you should get going, then.”

“Yeah—I’ll let you know the answer as soon as I can, okay?”

By the time he’d clambered up out of the manhole, a torrential downpour had struck, drenching him in seconds as a cruel wind whipped past him.

‘It wasn’t this bad when I left.’

He glanced around to make sure no one was nearby—which of course there wasn’t, everyone was hunkering down at home—and used the return scepter to beeline it back to the farm. A flying tree branch smacked him square in the face before he had a chance to open the front door.

“Ow—”

The sheer force of the wind made it near impossible to close the door behind him—like trying to push a cow that did not want to budge.

“Oh—for the love of—c’mon—”

“Need some help?”

The door finally latched shut, and Oliver breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thank you. I’m not even gonna get on your case for being out of bed.”

Lance laughed as he draped a towel over Oliver’s head. “I’m glad you made it back safely. It sounds nasty out there.”

“Yeah… to be honest, I just used the scepter. Not like I made it to the Outpost anyway, though. I stopped to see a friend… a… shadow person friend.”

The smile on Lance’s face vanished. “A shadow person.”

“They’re friendly, I promise! Marlon introduced me to them awhile back.”

“He did? I wonder why he never thought to introduce me…”

“Well, I mean…” Oliver cleared his throat. “A-Anyway, they said they’d love to meet you.”   

“Really?” Lance rubbed the stubble on his jaw as he thought it over. “… If you trust them, my love, then I shall too.”

“You’re the best. If I wasn’t soaking wet right now I’d hug you.”

Lance laughed and pulled him into a hug anyway. “You could be covered in bees and I wouldn’t turn down a hug from you.”

“Okay, but what if I was covered in wasps?”

“We’d have bigger concerns to worry about in that case.” He lightly spanked him as he pushed him towards the bathroom. “Go get changed before you catch a chill.”

“In eighty degree heat?”

Another, slightly harder spank.

“Ah! I’m going, I’m going!”

 

 

By the time he’d finished changing Lance had busied himself putting a pot of water on the stove to boil.

“Ahem.”

He marched over and tried to push him towards the living room.

“You’re supposed to be resting today.”

“I have been. And cooking isn’t a strenuous activity. Besides, you’ve been doing the brunt of it lately and I want to take some of the burden off you.”

“Is this your way of saying my cooking sucks?”

Lance’s face paled. “No, no of course not—”

“Sweetie, I’m joking.” Oliver stood on his tiptoes to kiss him playfully. “Not so much fun on the other end, is it?” he teased. “What were you planning on making? Tom kha?”

“No, actually, I thought I’d try my hand at making that chicken noodle soup recipe you made awhile back…”

“Oh, my mom’s recipe?”

“Yes, that one. Truth be told though, I’m not overly familiar with making it in general.”

“In that case, why don’t we make it together—”

The lights flickered briefly as a particularly strong gust of wind rattled the windows.

“That’s quite the storm out there.” Lance crossed over to the nearest one and peered outside as Oliver rolled up his sleeves.

“We’d better get to making the soup before the power goes out. Let’s see…” He started pulling ingredients out of the fridge. “Can you look in the cupboards and see how much flour we have?”

It took a few minutes to gather what was needed to make everything from scratch, including the noodles. Bones and skin were separated from leftover rotisserie chicken and put into the pot to make stock along with an assortment of carrots, onion, celery and herbs.

“This is the secret that makes my mom’s recipe so good. Well, that and the noodles.”

“Did you eat this often with her?”

“Mhm. It was her go-to recipe on payday. She’d make a huge pot of it and we’d have that for dinner for a whole week. Sometimes she’d add other stuff into it too, like dumplings, just to bulk it up even more.”

“Dumplings?” Lance’s brow cocked.

“Oh—not dumpling dumplings. Just like, biscuit dough rolled into balls and dropped into the soup.”

“Okay, because I was slightly concerned for a moment there.”

Oliver started laughing. “It would be weird to have actual dumplings in, wouldn’t it?”

“Just a bit, yes.”

The stock simmered away as they chopped the chicken meat into small pieces alongside more vegetables.

“What kind of meals did your mom make when you were growing up?”

Lance’s hand paused mid-chop. “… She didn’t.”

“She didn’t?”

“No.” He resumed, with a touch more animosity behind each knife cut. “My mother wasn’t ever particularly ‘motherly’—definitely not in the way yours was. She always saw me as a project to be worked on, something to mold into her obedient little soldier. She’s the reason I was forced into fighting in the Elemental War.”

“I-I—I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“You don’t have to apologize; you had no way of knowing. There’s a reason I’m not overly fond of discussing my past. But… if you’re truly curious, I suppose I wouldn’t mind talking about it while we’re eating.”

Oliver set his knife down and put his hand on Lance’s arm. “Are you sure…? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“If it was anyone else, I wouldn’t have offered.” Lance smiled warmly at him. “But it feels only fair, since I know so much of your past and you so little of mine. Are these small enough?”

“Ah—y-yeah, those look perfect.”

The chopped veggies went into a separate pan with some butter to sauté. A delicious aroma filled the whole house as they browned with some garlic.

“Last thing is to make the noodles. Store bought works just fine, but homemade always tastes better.”

“What’s the cliché? Made with love?”

“Yeah. Something like that. There’s something special about going that extra mile for someone you care about.”

The stock was strained and returned to the pot, and everything else was added in before being left to boil for a few minutes more. As Oliver was ladling the finished soup into bowls, the lights flickered with another strong gust of wind—before plunging them into darkness as the power cut out altogether.

“Well, I don’t think we could have timed that any better.” Lance waved his hand towards the fireplace, which ignited, casting a warm glow around the living room. “Let me know if it gets too warm for you.”

“I think it’ll be okay.”

They settled on the couch to eat. The taste of the soup brought Oliver back to happier days as a child, putting a smile on his face as he sipped on a spoonful.

“What do you think?”

“Mmm.” Lance took a bite without bothering to blow on it. “I think this turned out better than the last time you made it.”

“Probably because we made it together. Are you… ready to talk?”

“Ah, yes." He swallowed what was in his mouth. "What would you like to know?”

“Well… First off, is there anything off limits that you don’t want to go into?”

“Not that I can think of. My past is painful, but not so much that I can’t bear to recall it.” Lance smiled faintly. “You’re sweet to ask, though.”

“I just… don’t want to hurt you.”

“My love, there’s very little you could do that could hurt me. Ask away.”

“I... guess my first question would be about your mother. Why would she put you through such a terrible thing?”

“Ahh. You’re looking at her through the lens of someone who’s felt a parent’s unconditional love; of course her actions must seem reprehensible.”

“That’s… one way of putting it, yeah.”

“My mother wasn’t like that. Quite frankly, she was never cut out to be a parent. She just wanted a child that she could use as a means to her own ends.”

Lance took another bite and chewed thoughtfully.

“She infiltrated a military camp and forged paperwork stating that I was of age. No one believed it, of course, but there wasn’t really a reason to deny me entry. Magic was like breathing to me—a result of her desperate search for power despite being mundane. A perfect weapon of war.”

“Why? Why would she want power so badly that she’d resort to using her own child?”

“Why does anyone seek power?” He chuckled bitterly. “It never really bothered me, to be honest. It was the only time she deigned to praise me or give me any sort of ‘love’. So all I ever wanted to do was please her. To chase after that high of her affections.”

He set his empty bowl aside.

“When she disappeared, I realized the truth. I was never anything more than a pawn to her. And I became acutely aware of the scent of war without that ‘warmth’ to cling to. My world became nothing but iron and steel, sadness and pain, and loneliness. How ironic, to have been surrounded by so many and feel so utterly alone.”

The wind howled and rattled the windows, shaking the entire house enough to make Oliver flinch. Lance pulled him close, watching the raindrops falling almost horizontally through the window for a minute before he continued.

“Thankfully, the war had nearly reached its conclusion by the time I was enlisted, which is why I’m the dashing rogue you see before you and not some old fuddy like Magnus.”

Oliver giggled a little as he ran his fingers along Lance’s jaw. “Dashing doesn’t quite do you justice. I guess being in war would age you though, huh?”

“In more ways than one, yes. That being said, I was still the youngest in the squad I was assigned, by a wide margin, and I assume that’s the reason why they always treated me as a younger brother.” His smile faded into something melancholic and sullen. “Nikki. Paul. Mary. Perigee. One by one, all lost in some way or another. Until I was the only one left to remember them.”

His arms wrapped a bit tighter around Oliver.

“Tell me about them. Your squad mates.”

Closed eyes and a slow breath as the smile returned.

“Nikki was the closest to me in terms of height despite being nearly twice my age. Her temper was a marvel to behold—she had no scruples about hurtling magic at anyone who dared call her a child. Her role was reconnaissance, and she was damn well the best in the army. Unfortunately… Unfortunately, we didn’t realize there was a spy in our midst until we found her lifeless form, posted as a ‘warning’ in front of our encampment.

“And then there was Paul, on the complete opposite end of the spectrum. He served as our vanguard, always the first to charge forward—very much a ‘shoot first, ask questions never’ type of man.”

“Wait—they used guns in the Elemental War?”

Lance laughed and poked the tip of Oliver’s nose. “If you keep distracting me like this, it’ll be midnight by the time I’m finished talking. No, they didn’t; guns are cumbersome when a fireball or bolt of lightning can do the job just as effectively. That’s not to say that magic doesn’t have its downsides, of course… Paul's death attests to that. The Ministry called it unprecedented—a ‘magic feedback loop’, I believe was the term.  A residual curse caused his own magic to overwhelm his circuits, and… I’m sure you can imagine the result. I still keep in touch with his grandchildren to this day. They love to hear stories of his triumphs. I hope they never hear the details of his passing…”

For a brief moment the lights flicked back on, only to be extinguished again.

“Damn. Looks like I’m not getting away that easily.”

Oliver leaned back against him. “You don’t have to keep going.”

“Oh, it was just a jest. To be honest, speaking about my comrades is… in a way, it feels good. To remember them like this. To share their memories with someone I love. Come to think of it, you remind me a bit of Mary. She was one of the sweetest people you could ever meet—but also one of the harshest.”

“Hey, what are you trying to say about me?”

Lance laughed again.

“I said a bit, didn’t I? And besides, you can have quite the temper when you want to, too. Mary would often smack me if my elbows ever touched the tables during dinner. She taught me manners befitting a ‘normal’ person, as opposed to the wolf in the woods I was back then. It’s thanks to her that I’m so eloquent with words, instead of communicating in grunts and screams… There isn’t any hard evidence, but we believed that the same spy who led to Nikki’s death played a role in the attack that ended Mary’s life. In the span of a single night of horrors, I lost two of my dearest friends…”

“When you were having that… episode, the one where you were talking to yourself—you mentioned a book.”

“Ah, you remember that? Yes, she was very insistent that I never read the book that she and Perigee wrote together—even placed an enchantment on it so that I couldn’t, even if I tried. Perhaps someday you can crack the code and tell me what’s inside.

“Speaking of Perigee… there was none as enthusiastic to have me in the ranks as her. She was the closest to a real mother I ever had back then, I suppose—loved to baby me, loved to read me magical research textbooks to put me to sleep. Out of everyone, her death hit the hardest… We were being rerouted after days on the run, and she deemed it her ‘last stand’ to ensure we made it. I still remember fighting the rest of the squad as she ordered us to hide in a hole in the ground, and the smile and wave good-bye as she finalized the spell that overloaded all of her circuits... The only thing left of her when we crawled back out was her pendant…”

He took a deep breath. “All of that long winded reminiscing has me parched. Do we still have any of that Blue Moon Wine from the other day?”

“I think water would help more than wine,” Oliver unwound his arms from his waist and got to his feet, “but I think so.”

Just enough remained in the bottle to half-fill two glasses.

“Has your curiosity been sated, my love?”

“Maybe; are you still okay with talking?”

A knowing smile. “If my answer were anything other than an emphatic yes, would your answer be no?”

“… Maybe.” Oliver took a sip. “… How did Camilla come to be your guardian?”

“Ahh, I was wondering if you’d ever ask that; you seemed to so easily accept that she was a mother figure to me.”

“Well, yeah. Because she is.”

“You’d be surprised how many people think it’s the other way around with us. To answer your question: she became my second guarantor alongside Magnus after the war ended. Taking a young man who knew nothing but the brutalities of war and thrusting him into employment at Castle Village resulted in lots of trouble and headaches for everyone involved. Honestly, if not for the two of them I’d probably be locked away in a padded cell to this day.

“For whatever reason, she took a liking to me the first time she saw me under Magnus’s care—we were responding to serpents swarming in the desert, and my most brilliant idea to deal with them consisted of simply torching them all with a slightly oversized fireball. Lobbed straight into the lot of them, which only served to frenzy them. Oh, the scolding I got from Magnus, the threats of punishment when they were finished, how I would be cleaning cauldrons for months—Camilla magicked me away while he was still ranting and raving.

“Oh, but don’t think that all she did was coddle me—far from it. Being employed under her in Castle Village was far more grueling than I could ever have expected.” He paused, paling ever so slightly. “If you wouldn’t mind, tîi rák, I’d rather you didn’t let her know of my complaints. She’s always looking for excuses to foist more paperwork onto me.”

“Oh no, we can’t have that! More paperwork means less time to spend with me.”

“See, I knew you would understand.”

Oliver started giggling. “I was joking.”

“Oh, I most certainly wasn’t. I don’t think you understand just how very much I enjoy being in your presence.”

“Well—I’d hope so with us being married and everything.”

“It’s more than just that, my love.” Lance took his hand, his finger gently toying with his wedding ring. “The days that I am forced to work away from you only fill my mind with thoughts of you. Of your mannerisms, your cute charms, your smile—”

“O-Okay, okay,” Oliver’s face burned hot as the sun, “I-I get it—”

“The way the sunlight hits your sleeping form before we wake, the way you look at me with such adoration, your lovely voice crying out for me as we hit our peak—”

Oliver smushed his hands over Lance’s mouth to make him stop. “Th-that’s enough, I get it!”

His fingers muffled the laughs coming out of him. “Are you sure? Because I could go on for hours.”

“I believe you, and I don’t think I could handle the embarrassment!”

“What could you have to be embarrassed about, my love? We are married.”

The lights finally flashed back on as the winds outside died down, sparing Oliver more of Lance’s relentless teasing.

“Ah, what a shame.” Lance sounded disappointed. “I must admit, though, this wasn’t a bad way to pass the time. Perhaps there’s some value in allowing myself to be vulnerable to you.”

“W-Well—” Oliver started clearing up their empty bowls and wine glasses. “You know that if you ever want to talk about stuff like that, you can, right?”

“If I didn’t before, I certainly do now.” Lance caught his wrist as he passed by on the way to the sink, pulling him down into a gentle kiss. “I do not say it often enough, but: I love you, Oliver.”

“I-I love you too.”  

Chapter 42: Unlikely Alliance

The hurricane raged throughout the night, not to the extent it had during the day but enough that sleep was fleeting—plenty of tossing and turning, waking every time a branch hit the windows or roof. At least for Oliver; Lance had no trouble snoring his way through the noise.

When at last the wind had settled, and sunlight was peaking through the clouds, he gave up on sleep and forced himself to sit—perhaps a bit too quickly, as a wave of nausea hit him for a brief moment before ebbing.

“Ugh…” He shook the feeling away. “Lance.”

He nudged Lance with his elbow.

“S’time to wake up.”

“Hmmgr…”

In response Lance rolled onto his other side and flung his arm across Oliver’s lap to keep him in place.

“Ffffvmmrnts.”

“Pfft—”

Trying not to laugh, he spent a minute just running his fingers through Lance’s hair.

“How are you the one who’s still so tired when I was the one who did all the work last night?”

Another sleepy mumble.

“I can’t make your coffee if you don’t let me up.”

Lance’s other arm wrapped around his waist in a vice grip.

“Sweetie, I really need to use the bathroom.”

“Hmmmfine.”

Finally he relented, rolling onto his stomach with his face in the pillows.

“If we’re going to go see Krobus before you have to head to work, you’ll need to start waking up here soon.”

He waved a hand half-heartedly at him to shush him, and Oliver just laughed.

The smell of coffee brewing did eventually pull him from the bed, as it always did—he was even lucid enough to steal a kiss as he passed by on the way to pour himself a cup.

“… Are you feeling alright?” he asked, peering over the edge of the mug. “You look a little pale.”

“Do I?” Oliver tried to look at his reflection in the toaster. “I feel fine. Tired, but fine.

“Well… maybe you ought to take it easy today, just in case.”

“Not a chance. Someone’s gotta clean up the mess from the hurricane.” He placed a pan on the stove. “Pancakes sound okay?”

“As long as they’re not quite as sweet as last time, yes.”

Oliver pouted. “They weren’t that bad…”

 

The damage from the hurricane wasn’t as bad as it could have been—certainly worse ones had struck the town in the few years that Oliver had been there. Plenty of fallen branches and a few of the smaller, weaker trees had been knocked over, but none of the roofs in town had been ripped up.

“At least Robin won’t have much to repair this time around,” Oliver said as they strolled through the town center. “She’s got enough on her plate as it is.”

“I’d say so, what with her having to build a house on top of a school… I wonder just who paid for all of that construction work.”

“Who knows? My money’s on the governor, personally.”

He knew that Lance knew, but he’d never admit to it.

They reached the sewer grate. Lance’s brows knit together in confusion as Oliver hauled it open and led the way down the ladder.

“Morning, Krobus!”

Krobus’s face peeked around the corner. “Good morning…” They hesitated to come forward, watching Lance dismount the ladder and match their gaze.

A flurry of emotions flickered across the mage’s face. Briefest anger gave way to slight mistrust, which faded to genuine surprise.

Krobus stepped out just slightly when he made no move to attack. “You must be Oliver’s life partner. You smell a lot like him.”

Hearing them speak both unsettled and put Lance somewhat at ease.

“Your senses are sharp, indeed.” He bowed. “My name is Lance, and it is both an honor and a pleasure to meet you.”

Silently Oliver let go of the breath he’d been holding; all of his concerns about them meeting evaporated in that moment. Krobus, too, seemed reassured by Lance’s courtesy, and so came fully forward to speak.

“I am Krobus. A merchant of unusual and intriguing goods.”

Oliver nudged Lance’s side. “They’re the one who sold me the return scepter.”

“Ah! Then I have you to thank for helping my beloved stay safe.” Lance smiled warmly. “I must admit, I didn’t fully believe it when he spoke of you. I’ve encountered many shadow people through my travels—but none as welcoming as yourself. It’s a refreshing change.”

“I could say the same to you. Most people would either flee or attack on sight. I’m grateful that you didn’t. And… I’m sorry you’ve had bad run-ins with my kind. I promise, I wouldn’t dream of hurting anyone.”

“If he vouches for you, then I wholeheartedly believe that.” Lance folded his arms and drummed his fingers against his bicep, falling silent as he studied Krobus intently. “I’ve come across a vast amount of odd ones in my time at war. But you are far and away the outlier. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a shadow person quite as small as you.”

“Oh! Yes!” Krobus’s body vibrated with delight. “I get to feast on so many juicy flies here. And humans love to leave all sorts of delicious treats in those strange metal bins outside. And that’s not to mention the goodies Oliver brings from time to time.”

“That’s no diet for a shadow person of your stature. Excuse me for a moment while I fetch something more suitable.”

In a blink, Lance warped away. Krobus continued to vibrate happily.

“He seems nice!”

A bright smile lit up Oliver’s face. “I’m glad you think so. He’s on his best behavior, after all.”

“Is that so? What’s his behavior like, normally?”

“Well, that depends on who’s around—”

The sound of a warp once more. “I’m gone five seconds and you’re already gossiping about me?” Lance playfully tsk’d in mock disapproval before presenting a plump void carrot to Krobus. “Here. I believe you’ll find this both more agreeable to your palate as well as far more nourishing than what you’ve been eating.”

Krobus stopped vibrating. “Oh! Are you sure?”

“Positively so.”

“Well… don’t mind if I do, then.”

Like all other foods, the carrot disappeared in a slightly concerning manner—and the vibrating returned in full force and then some to signal their approval, which brought more smiles to both Lance and Oliver’s faces.

They chatted for a few minutes more, before Lance had to excuse himself to head to work—but not before agreeing to visit more in the future. Oliver stayed just long enough to give Krobus a big hug before he too departed to start cleaning up the mess left on the farm.

 

 

The meeting had gone well, far better than he could have hoped. Its resounding success put a pep in his step and kept the smile on his face even through the tedium of clearing away all the debris—a task that unfortunately lasted well into the evening. It was nearly dark by the time he made his way back to the farmhouse, more than ready for a hot meal and a hot bath.

“Psst. Oliver.”

A tiny figure gestured at him through the encroaching dusk, almost blending into the shadows altogether.

“Krobus?” He stopped and wiped his hands on his shirt. “What brings you all the way out here? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, everything is fine.” They shuffled forward, taking a minute to look around at the farm. “Oh, it’s very pretty here… But that’s not why I came out. I was so excited to meet your life partner that I forgot to tell you something important. Um… Friends of mine are visiting tonight, and they… want to talk to you.”

“Me? Why me?”

“I don’t know. All I do know is that it’s something serious. Would you be willing to come and speak with them?”

“I… S-Sure. Just let me leave a note so Lance doesn’t wonder where I’ve gone.”

 

 

Under cover of darkness they returned to the sewers. There waited a group of shadow people, much larger than Krobus and much more like the ones Oliver was familiar fighting in the mines.

“This is Nyx.” Krobus came to stand beside the largest one, who wore a tribal mask where its face would be. “Don’t worry, they don’t want to hurt you. I’ll interpret for them.”

Strange, indiscernible sounds in rapid succession.

“’We want peace. We don’t wish to fight with humans any longer.’”

“That’s…” Oliver fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. Not having to fight anymore sounded… wonderful. “I would like that very much, too.”

Krobus translated  for them. The noises slowed, becoming purposeful. Hopeful.

“’With old magic… there’s a way to mend wrongs. Bring us souls of the void. Let us bring an end to centuries of war.’”

“What are souls of—”

The question went unfinished and unanswered as the shadow people filed out, one by one, leaving just him and Krobus in confusion as to their request.

“… I’m sorry for their behavior, Oliver. They’re not used to interacting with humans.”

“No, no, it’s fine…” He folded his arms, thinking hard. “Do you know what they’re talking about with ‘souls of the void’?”

“I wish I did, but no.” Krobus visibly deflated. “I’m sorry…”

“That’s alright! I’ll just have to dig into Magnus’s library and do some research… maybe Lance will have an idea of what they are. Hopefully they’re not related to that void shard…”

Muttering to himself he started towards the ladder.

“Um, Oliver?”

He stopped with one foot on the bottom rung.

“Thank you for coming. And for agreeing to help.”

A bashful smile crossed Oliver’s face. “I don’t want to fight them anymore, either. Helping to make things right is the least I can do.”

He just had to figure out what void souls were, and where to get them.

 

 

The conundrum took much of his attention as he cobbled together dinner, and left him quiet as both he and Lance ate.

“Is everything alright, my love? You’re usually much more talkative than this.”

“… Hm?” Oliver tore his eyes away from his plate to smile reassuringly at Lance. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking about something… You wouldn’t happen to know what void souls are, would you?”

Lance set his fork down. “… Why do you ask?”

“Well, it’s just… I met with some friends of Krobus today. They said the shadow people don’t want to fight us anymore, and that there was a way to mend wrongs with void souls.”

“I… see.” Lance leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, and thought hard about his next words. “… I don’t mean to cast doubt on friends of Krobus, but—are you sure they can be trusted?”

“I’m positive. I didn’t need to understand them to feel their sincerity.”

A long, silent pause.

“… Void souls are just as they sound. They are the condensed souls of denizens of the void, created at the moment of death. Why they form, no one is certain. There’s some debate that those slain by especially powerful magicks or mages are more likely to leave one behind, but not enough hard evidence to prove or disprove the theory.”

“I see…” Oliver pushed some of the food around on his plate in contemplation. “Do you know where to find them?”

“They are… most abundant in the Crimson Badlands.”

“So then all I need to do is—”

“No. Absolutely not. I will gather them in your stead.”

“Wh—why can’t I do it?”

“Did you forget what happened the last time you were there?”

“Of course not!”

“Then you know why I don’t want you going back there.”

“At least let me help! We can look for them together!”

“Tîi rák, I—” Lance sighed and rubbed his face in exasperation.

“I know you want to protect me. But this time is different. The monsters aren’t frenzying anymore, and you’ll be there with me. And I promise that I’ll be more careful.”

More heavy silence as Lance grappled with the decision.

“Please, Lance. I’m going to go no matter what; I’d rather it be with you than against you.”

Their eyes locked—Lance’s, full of anguish and worry; Oliver’s, full of fiery determination.

“… Sometimes I forget how headstrong you can be.” A pained smile crossed Lance’s face. “Alright. I give up. I have no right to tell you where you can and can’t go. Just… please promise me you won’t leave my side out there.”

Oliver rose from his seat to hug him tight. “Of course. I’m not going to do anything to make you worry.”

“Oh, I’ll most certainly be worrying regardless.”

His arms shook slightly as he hugged back, much tighter. It pained Oliver to see him so distraught and anxious. But the only way to ease it would be to prove that he had nothing to fear.

Chapter 43: Brush with Death

Notes:

medium spice warning at the end, nothing too explicit

The next morning Oliver woke to an empty bed and a queasy stomach. One or the other wouldn’t have been so bad; both just meant he was left to wallow alone, hugging Lance’s pillow for comfort instead of the man himself—but it just wasn’t the same.

‘Ugh, where are you?’

He buried his face in the pillow and whined. Last night’s dinner just was not agreeing with him for some reason.

‘The one time I want to be cuddled…’

When he felt well enough to sit up, he spotted a hastily scribbled note on the nightstand.

 

“Received word that Apophis has returned and that the monsters are in a frenzy once again. May not be back before you go to sleep tonight, so I’ll say it here: I love you, and I’ll see you when I get back.

                         P.S.: if time allows I will gather void souls for you.”

 

A cold stone settled into the pit of his uneasy stomach.

“It’s back…? How?”

He wracked his brain, trying to remember what little he knew of the void; perhaps Apophis was not just a single entity, but one of many, similar to regular void serpents.  The implications sent a dreadful chill down his spine—if there were more of it, then more could be summoned at once.

‘Don’t panic. They can handle themselves over there. They’re not weak like you…’

“Oh… be careful out there, Lance…”

The coffee maker hadn’t even been turned on, a sign that Lance had left in a rush. Anxiety simmered as he waited for it to heat up, his fingertips drumming against the countertop.

‘I know I need to eat something…’

Just the thought alone made his stomach churn; he decided it would be wiser to just skip the coffee and force down a plain piece of toast and call that good enough.

What he needed more than anything was to do something to take his mind off of things, and the best thing he knew to do (besides fooling around with Lance) was to get to work on the farm.

‘Maybe I can finally get around to setting up that garden for him… Yeah, I think I will do that.’

But first—chores. Not that there were many to do anymore; he’d automated just about everything he could, from putting feed in troughs to outfitting his sprinklers with attachments to increase their range and let them periodically lay down fertilizer. Really, all he had to do was love on his animals, and that wasn’t much of a chore at all.

The way they all came over to greet him as he hopped the fence into the pasture set his anxious heart at ease. Sometimes he worried that he wasn’t doing enough to care for them, that he was away from the farm too much—but all of the pushing and shoving trying to get pets must mean something.

“Hang on, hang on, I only have two hands—”

A tug on the hem of his shirt by one of the more ornery sheep brought him to the ground, and it was all over; for the better part of ten minutes he was licked, nudged, nibbled and affectionately pecked within an inch of his life.

“I get it—I love you guys too—can you let me up now—”

Wiping tears of laughter from his eyes he clambered back up, making sure to give each animal a good pet before they wandered off to graze.

‘I wonder if this is kind of like what having children is like...’

He made his way back towards the house, intending to grab a bag of potting soil from the shed—Chalulu ran to greet him, tail upright and carrying something in her mouth.

“Oh hey there baby girl~ I was wondering where you went.” He crouched down to give her ear scritches. “What you got there?”

“Meowwww.”

A letter dropped at his feet as she brushed up against his leg, purring loudly. One hand continued to scratch and pet as the other picked up the envelope.

“That’s weird… no address, no sender…”

With one last pet he shooed her away and opened it. Just two lines were contained inside.

 

“Come to the Badlands. Watch your husband meet his fate.”

 

Terror crushed his heart in its vice grip. The letter clutched tight against his chest, he sprinted towards his nexus, praying that it was some sort of prank or sick joke.

Deep down, he knew it wasn’t.

 

 

Ordered chaos surrounded him. People running this way and that, orders being shouted, magically amplified to be heard over the sounds of fighting. The air coursed with overwhelming levels of mana, surging with each spell cast. It was easy for Oliver to slip past in all the commotion, reaching the cliff overlooking the rest of the badlands—fearful of what he would see.

The crimson sands swarmed, a sea of void summoned creatures and puppeted fallen adventurers surging against the wall of mages and soldiers keeping them at bay. His eyes scanned through the line, seeking that familiar red—and finding it at the forefront, launching balls of fire with one hand and cutting down monsters with his sword in the other.

“Alesia! On your left!”

The sword glinted in the sun as it sliced through a skeleton who’d gotten too close.

“Isaac! Take Hirschel and Ren and cut around the side!”

‘He’s okay.’

The fear remained unabated.

‘He’s okay, so why can’t I stop shaking? Why does it still feel like something’s wrong?’  

“Oliver!!!”

Lance’s voice shouted from below. Unbridled fear pitched it higher.

“What are you—Please, stay up there where it’s safe!”

A great keening roar rang out, shaking the very earth beneath him. Hundreds of red eyes all snapped up to the cliff—to him.

Dread chills took hold, stealing the strength from his legs and freezing him in place on his knees as he sank to the ground.

The hoard started moving towards the land beneath where he sat. Hands clawed at the reddened rocks, creating a cacophony of scraping, nails on the earth’s chalkboard. In the distance, a terrifyingly familiar snaking silhouette peeked out from the sandstorm.

‘Th-those eyes…’

Flashes of the darkened forest. Of Apophis bearing down on him from on high.

Goosebumps erupted over every inch of his twitching skin.

“N-No…”

His body refused to move even as he tried to crawl back from the edge. The voices all around swirled and muddled together, muffled by the thrumming of his heart in his ears.

Down below, those fighting took swift advantage of Oliver’s accidental distraction; that looming shadow far beyond slipped away as its minions started dwindling, taking with it the ferocity that had driven those defending the outpost up against a literal wall.

Once again, all Oliver could do was sit and cower, waiting to be saved. Only when he felt Lance’s gentle hands grip his shoulders did he break from the fugue of fear that had him entranced.

“This is why I didn’t want you to come out here anymore.” His sigh of relief was tinged with exasperation and frustration. “… Are you alright?”

“Y… Yeah…” Oliver tipped his head back to look up at him. “A-Are you?”

“A few new scars in the making, but nothing noteworthy.” He brushed away the blood from a cut on his cheek. “Why did you come out here? Did you not see my note?”

“I-I did. B-But—”

The letter rustled in his shaking hand. With furrowed brows Lance took it and unfurled it, his eyes skimming over the words.

“…Strange. There’s no postage… who would—”

A quiet whistling in the distance. All the color drained from Lance's face.

“LOOK OUT!”

Something sharp grazed Oliver’s shoulder before Lance’s magic could push him out of harm’s way. Pain unlike anything he had ever felt before shot through him from the cut—pain enough to nearly blind him, steal the air from his lungs and leave him barely conscious as he fell into Lance’s arms.  

“FUCK—!”

Lance grunted, hunching over his fading form.

“O-Oliver! Oliver, can you hear me?!”

Through the haze clouding his vision, he made out the shape of an arrow, embedded deep in Lance’s side.

“Y-You’re… hurt…”

His whole body seared with fire as Lance clutched him against his chest. It felt like he was actually, properly dying..

“Jolyne! I’m getting him out of here!”

“Aye!”

“Steady now. Take a deep breath.”

A gentle warmth enveloped him as his consciousness slipped away.

 

“…ut it was strange, Cam! It came out of nowhere and I didn’t sense it!”

A stone ceiling swam into view as Oliver forced his eyes open; his foggy brain took a minute to realize that he was in Lance’s bed all the way out at the Highlands Outpost. It took another to register that Lance was borderline panicking on the other side of the room as he communicated with Camilla.

“… Yeah, we’re back at my outpost right now. Something interrupted my warp and pulled us here instead.”

Something long and slender gleamed in his hand as he examined it.

“… Okay. I’ll send it to you when I have the chance—”

The arrow clattered back onto his desk the instant he saw Oliver groggily watching him.

“I-I’ll call you back later Cam.” Swiftly he crossed the room to kneel at Oliver’s bedside. “Thank Yoba, you’re awake…”

“Doesn’t really… feel like I am… are you sure I’m not dead…?”

“Tîi rák, please—don’t joke like that.”

He grasped Oliver’s hand in his own.

“S-Sorry…”

Oliver winced slightly from moving his arm as he tried to sit up. The world pitched and swam like a boat caught in a storm out at sea.

“Easy, easy.” Lance helped ease him up against the headboard. “You’re probably experiencing vertigo from the warp.”

“Wh-what makes you think that?”

“I can see your eyes spinning in their sockets.”

“Oh… yeah, I do feel a little dizzy…” His eyes slid closed as he took a slow, deep breath. “What happened…? Warps don’t usually feel like this…”

“I, er… I may have used too much magic. Both from trying to shield you from that arrow and in trying to get you somewhere safe in a hurry.”

“… Are you… mad at me?”

Lance’s brow furrowed. “For what?”

“F-For coming to the badlands.”

“Oh—No, no not at all. If I had seen that letter, I would have done the same.”

A heavy sigh blew past his lips as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“If anything, I’m angry at myself. I should have seen that arrow coming. But I didn’t, and now you’re hurt…”

“I-It’s… just a little scratch. You got hurt worse than me.”

“Perhaps physically. But that arrow…” He glanced back at the desk. “It’s made from iridium, and from what I can tell, hexed to the hells and back. If it had done anything more than graze you, it very well could have overloaded your circuits…”

“… like Paul,” Oliver finished his sentence for him.

He sucked in a breath and nodded.

“B-But it hit you full on.”

“It did. And that’s the thing that has me concerned more than anything. I’m not an expert on hexes and curses, but it seems like the one placed on it was specifically designed to target the mundane. It felt like a train ran over me when it hit me, but I’m otherwise fighting fit…  How are you feeling, though? Even though it barely touched you, I can’t imagine it was a pleasant sensation.”

“N-No, it wasn’t… But I’m okay, I think… Just—just dizzy.”

Lance’s fingers tucked a few strands of hair behind Oliver’s ear before taking his hand; a gentle pulse of mana flowed between them, chasing away the worst of the vertigo.  

“I’m sorry… The after effects should wear off fully in a few hours.” He pressed their foreheads together. “Until then, you’ll be safe here. I’ve asked Cam to put up a barrier and reinforced my own. Nothing will be able to come anywhere near here.”

“Y-You’re not going anywhere, are you?”

“No, of course not. I’ll be right here with you.”

“O-Okay. Good…” Oliver pouted. “Because you weren’t there this morning when I wanted cuddles…”

“Ah—” For once, Lance faltered, almost stammering over his words in his haste to explain himself. “I’m sorry—the call for aid was so urgent, and it was so early I didn’t want to wake you—”

“So make up for it.” He held his arms out, pouting harder. “I want snuggles now.”

A soft laugh of relief. “That much I can do.”

He slipped under the covers with Oliver, who wasted no time in snuggling up against him with a contented sigh of his own.

“That’s better…”

“Heh. You are adorable beyond words.”

For a time, he played with Oliver’s hair, and Oliver just enjoyed being cuddled and pampered. It wasn’t long, though, before his thoughts returned to the arrow that very nearly ended his life.  If not for Lance’s presence, he would have broken down into a full blown panic attack.

“… Why would someone send that letter?” he asked in a small voice.

“I honestly don’t know.” Lance’s hand gently rubbed up and down his back. “It almost seems like premeditated coordination. The minute you showed up, all of their attention was on you. And then the arrow…”

His lips pursed into a taut line.

“… I’ll have to talk to Camilla about it later. Inquiries need to be made within and without the Ministry.”

‘The Ministry… they probably already know what happened…’

Oliver buried his face in Lance’s shoulder.

“I don’t want to think about it anymore… can you distract me with something?”

“Distract—”

Lance cleared his throat and chuckled.

“If a distraction is what you want,” he leaned in close, their lips barely a centimeter apart, “then a distraction is what I will give you.”

With each word their lips brushed together, sending chills down Oliver’s spine until he pressed into a proper kiss that chased all other thoughts away. Gentle touches, his fingers running up and down Oliver’s sides, sending goosebumps erupting across his skin.

“Please do tell me if I start being too much.”

Words breathed against his neck, followed by more gentle kisses and nibbles. A soft moan as Oliver grabbed the back of his head, wordlessly begging for more.

“Hmhm. Since you wish to be comforted, I shall treat you like the prince that you are.”

Fingers deftly unbuttoned the front of his shirt, letting it hang open as his head dipped down to lavish attention on his chest. Oliver melted back against the pillows, sighing and gasping softly with each kiss and bite. Lance’s fingers tickling his hips made him jolt and shudder slightly.

“H-hey—!”

“Hmm?”

Almost knowingly, they tickled the same spot again.

“Th-that tickles!”

“Does it? My apologies.”

He slid down until he was settled comfortably between his legs.

“What about this?”

Mischievous green eyes glinted at him from his navel.

“I await your command, my prince.”

One hand reached up to grip the pillow; the other, a handful of Lance’s hair.

“Is that your way of saying it’s been too long since you were on the receiving end?”

An impatient whine as Lance ran his tongue teasingly over his navel.

“As you wish.”

His pants were tossed unceremoniously onto the floor, his briefs pulled down and off one leg, and Lance dove in with great enthusiasm. A sharp cry escaped Oliver, biting down on the crook of his finger to silence himself—only for his hands to be swiftly pinned at his sides.

“It’s just you and me here. Let me hear that sweet voice of yours.”

He swallowed him up to the base. Oliver’s hips bucked with his climax, feverishly calling Lance’s name.

“Yes, my love?”

Lance licked his lips as he released him from his mouth and let go of his wrists. With trembling hands Oliver reached out to him, desire burning in every inch of him.

“I-I want—you—”

The mattress creaked as Lance pulled him close, resting his legs against his hips and burying deep in one swift motion. The air filled with the sounds of their breaths, their moans, the headboard rattling against the wall with each thrust.

“L-Lance—”

His hands searched desperately for Lance’s, their fingers lacing together. More nibbles and bites left dark marks behind on his neck. One final thrust brought them both over the edge, filling him with the warmth he’d become so addicted to.

A familiar feeling of fuzzy weightlessness settled into him as Lance curled up around him, letting him rest his head against his arm. He felt so tired. So weak. So warm. So safe.

So very, very loved.

Chapter 44: Peace Long Sought

A sense of wonder and anticipation colored Oliver’s steps as he and Lance descended into the depths of the mines at Krobus’s behest—to behold the ritual they had helped to bring about.

“An end to the fighting between our people.”

Lance’s voice bounced off the walls. His hand held fast to Oliver’s.

“I still struggle to believe it’s possible. After so many centuries at war…”

Loosely Oliver hugged his arm.

“I believe it is. I don’t want to fight them anymore…”

“Nor do I. The question will be if the Ministry will honor such an agreement…”

 His tone betrayed his thoughts on the matter—bleak and doubtful.

“They have to. I’ll go in front of them myself and make them see it’s the right thing to do if I have to.”

Lance chuckled. “That’s assuming they’d even let you in front of the Council to plead your case.”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“Well, given your status as a magical anomaly… they’d be more likely to lock you up for study.”

He stopped in his tracks, horrified. “They would do that?!”

“I wish I could say no. But it’s happened before. Magnus and Cam, as well as myself, have been most vocal in our support of your continued freedom.”

“… I don’t think I like the Ministry much.”

A hearty laugh. “Welcome to the club, my love.”  

They arrived at the ritual site. Countless shadow people swarmed the area; Oliver could feel Lance fighting his own instincts to draw his sword.

“Pssst. Oliver, Lance.”

Krobus beckoned to them from against the near wall.

“You made it just in time.” They studied Lance, whose every muscle was tensed. “Are… you alright?”

“Yes.” His nostrils flared with a forced exhale. “Forgive me; a hundred and some odd years of instinct is not so easily unlearned. Every part of me is screaming to follow those old habits. But I can restrain myself, you have my word on that.”

“I understand. I’m sure there are plenty of shadow people who feel the same way…”

A hush fell over the gathering as Nyx strode towards the ceremonial sigil painted in the center of the cavernous space. The void souls Lance had gathered sat waiting in ornate baskets; one of the two attendants accompanying Nyx carefully took a single one and placed it in the center of the markings.

Words whispered in their native tongue as they raised their staff. The air pulsed with ancient magicks as the markings began to glow. Oliver’s breath caught in his throat.

“You feel it too, don’t you.”

Lance’s hand gripped his tighter as he whispered.

“Yeah. It’s not like any magic I’ve ever felt before…”

“Nor I. We may be bearing witness to some of the earliest forms of it…”

A warmth surged as the void soul took a new form—a small shadow child, swept up into the arms of its parent. Oliver didn’t need to understand the magic or the ritual to understand what was being done. A rush of tears brimmed in his eyes, spurred on by both grief and joy.

‘Loved ones… returned to their families…’

“To think such a wonderful magic is possible…”

The tension had all but left Lance as they beheld the sight before them.

“Yeah…” Oliver sniffled. “And it’s thanks to you.”

“My love, I may have gathered the souls, but you were the one who earned their trust.”

One by one, each void soul was used in turn, until the vessels containing them lay bare and empty. The sight of so many families reunited and made whole would forever be etched into Oliver’s memories.

The ritual concluded; Nyx approached them, speaking to Krobus before turning to both Lance and Oliver.

“They’ve asked me to interpret for them again.”

Even if Oliver didn’t understand the words, he could feel the emotion behind them.

“’Thank you for this most precious gift. Though time may not heal all wounds caused by the rift between our peoples, we have started the process this day. Let us leave the past behind, and forge a new future, where man and shadow no longer stand in opposition.’”

Still sniffling, Oliver wiped away the tears clinging to his lashes and smiled.  “That sounds like a dream come true.”

“’One which we dared to have, and you agreed to share. Come what may, you will ever be a friend to the shadow people.’”

A chapter closed on another bloody war, and a new one opened to an uncertain, but hopeful, future.

Chapter 45: Hand in Hand, An Eternal Bond

Notes:

habanero spice warning at the end. this event as actually spread out across several weeks in game, I'm just an impatient bastard

“Ugh…”

Spending the early morning hours hugging the toilet was not how Oliver envisioned his night would go. The nausea would come and go, a few days with it and a few without it—and the worst part was that it was never quite enough to make him actually sick, so there was no relief from the churning in his stomach.

‘Maybe I need to stop having sweets before bed…’

Fatigue weighed his eyelids down as he rested his head on his arm atop the toilet seat, trying to will the queasiness away so he could go back to bed—if it wasn’t too late to do so, since he had no idea how long he’d been in there.

Just as his eyes closed, a gentle knock on the door opened them back up.

“Oliver? Are you alright in there?”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine…”

“May I come in?”

He took a deep breath. “S-Sure.”

The door creaked open as Lance stepped inside. Oliver felt so pitiful sitting there, trying not to look like he was on the verge of emptying his stomach into the bowl.

“Oh, tîi rák…”

Lance’s hand gently rubbed his back.

“I-I’m okay. Just… a little queasy…”

A minute later he finally felt well enough to sit up without leaning on the toilet. “I-I think I’ll be okay now…”

“You do have a bit more color in your face. Let’s get you back to bed.”

The sun peeked through the curtains as he crawled back under the covers; Lance set a bucket on the floor beside him just to be safe.

“I really think you need to take it easy today.”

“Yeah, I… think you’re right.”

A smile tinged with worry. “No arguing? You really must be feeling under the weather.”

Oliver pouted—he was 100% right, and he hated it. “… Is there… any chance you could stay with me today?”

“I think I can pull that off. I have some paperwork that I can work on here.”

His fingers brushed through Oliver’s hair as his eyes fluttered closed.

“I’ll be at the desk if you need anything.”

“Mmkay…”

The sound of pen scratching against paper lulled him back to sleep.

 

Just a couple extra hours of sleep and he woke up feeling much better, though he still took his time to lay there and stretch—luxuries he didn’t often afford himself. But since he’d already wasted most of the morning, a few more minutes of lazing about wouldn’t hurt.

As promised, Lance still sat at the desk, working away so intently that he didn’t notice Oliver slip out of bed and come up to hug him from behind.

“Oh—good morning, love. Are you feeling better?”

“Much.” He kissed Lance’s cheek. “Thank you for indulging me.”

“Tîi rák, if it meant you could rest easier I would gladly stand watch every time you slept.”

“You’re so sweet.”

He gave him a tight squeeze before letting go. “I know you said I should take it easy today—”

“But a farmer’s work is never done. I know, I know. All I really wanted was for you to get some more rest. If you say you’re feeling well enough to work, then that’s enough for me.”

Oliver giggled. “Who is this man and what did he do with my husband?”

“I’m not sure. I think all of this paperwork chased him away.”

“… Oh! That reminds me.”

He reached for a letter tucked into one of the many file sorters on and around the desk.

“This letter was delivered late yesterday, and I completely forgot about it until just now.”

“And it’s for me?”

Lance studied the envelope. His eyes lit up at the sender.

“Don’t let me keep you from your chores, my love.”

“… Something tells me you want me to leave before you read that.” Oliver giggled again and gave him a kiss as he went to get dressed. “I’ll see you at lunch?” he asked as he headed to the front door.

“Yes, I’ll be sure to make something that’ll be easy on your stomach.”

He blew a kiss and stepped outside.

“LANCELOT!”

Camilla’s roar nearly sent Oliver into orbit as she rocketed up the porch steps.

“Oliver! Where is he?!”

“Wh-why does everyone jump me as soon as I’m out the door—” Oliver clutched his chest, fearing for a moment that his heart had actually exploded. “U-Uh, what’s going on—”

The door swung open behind him.

“Tîi rák~ Before you go running off—”

Camilla shot past Oliver to jab her finger into her son’s face as the color drained from it.

“YOU HAVE A LOT OF EXPLAINING TO DO, YOUNG MAN.”

The adam’s apple in Lance’s throat visibly moved with his gulp.

“How could you petition the Ministry for a soul bonding without even consulting Oliver first?!”

‘Wait—soul bonding? That thing that he was so against doing?’

“A-Ah, well you see—I was just about to talk to him about it—how did you even find out, Cam?”

“The Ministry called to CONGRATULATE me on my successful child and your petition approval!”

“That’s…” Lance sighed and rubbed his forehead. “That’s what I was just about to discuss with him.”

Oliver’s heart beat a bit faster. “Approval?”

“Yes. Unfortunately,” he shot Camilla a look, “Cam ruined most of the surprise, but—it’s true. I’ve been petitioning the Ministry about a soul bonding with you.” He stepped around Camilla to take Oliver’s hand. “Magnus can explain it better than I could. Would you… be willing to hear me out?”

“Of course.” Oliver squeezed his hand with a shy smile that chased away the trepidation in Lance’s face.

“Thank you, my love.” Lance turned back to Camilla, who was still steaming on the porch. “Shall we all go together?”

“… This does not absolve you.”

He chuckled. “I understand, ‘mother’.”

 

 

“RAZZY!”

Camilla kicked down Magnus’s front door. The entire tower shook with its weight as it hit the ground with a loud thud.

“WE’RE HERE FOR GUIDANCE!”

With a sigh, Magnus slowly closed the book in his hands and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Remember to set an example,” he muttered under his breath as Morgan hid behind him, “remember to set an example…”

“Camilla,” Oliver hurried to take her hand reassuringly, “it’s okay, you don’t have to be so mad—”

“Ohh-ho, oh yes I do!”

“Calm yourself, Camilla.” Magnus ushered Morgan to their room. “What in the celestial planes is all this ruckus for?”

“Lancey here thought it wasn’t important to inform me OR Oliver about doing a soul bonding ritual!”

“Well yes, his intention was to keep it as a surprise—”

“This is NOT something you keep secret, Razzy! ESPECIALLY NOT FROM YOUR BOND PARTNER!”

“CAMILLA.”

Magnus raised his voice over hers.

“You will conduct yourself as befitting a sorceress of your station.”

“… Hmph.” She crossed her arms and fell silent, clearly still upset and angry but biting her tongue nonetheless.

“Well…” Lance awkwardly cleared his throat as Oliver hugged his arm. “Now that we’re all here and… relatively calm… Mag, would you mind giving Oliver an explanation of what a soul bond is?”

“Not at all. In the simplest terms, a soul bond is to intertwine your magic with another’s—to share your lifespan with them.”

Lance nodded, smiling nervously down at Oliver. “To be honest, I’d been playing around with the idea ever since the wedding. But certain… recent events solidified to me that this was something I absolutely wanted to do.”

“But—” Oliver looked between the three of them anxiously. “Is that even safe to do with a mundane?”

Magnus chuckled. “Mages and their relationships with the mundane are the reason soul bonding came about. And even if that wasn’t the case, as it is you blur the line between the two. For a mundane to display aptitude towards magic at such a young age, as you did, is highly uncommon—as is for said magic to be of such magnitude as yours. It is a shame you don’t seem to sense the gravity of your own potential.”

‘It sure doesn’t feel like my magic is that special…’

“But to directly answer your question: Since you both are so magically dense, a soul bond shouldn’t affect Lance’s lifespan as we initially estimated—though it still remains uncertain whether or not he will actually have to use his lifespan to supply yours.”

Oliver’s face paled. “Use up his—”

“Rest assured, I have gone over this extensively with him—”

“’Extensively’ is putting it mildly,” Lance muttered under his breath.

“—and he was most insistent on continuing on this path. Such is the depth of his affections for you.”

“Ah—so quick to throw me under the bus there, Mag. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were still bearing a grudge or two.”

Torn between feelings of fear, anxiety, guilt and adoration, Oliver looked up to Lance to gauge his reaction; smiling again, Lance cupped his face and kissed him gently to assuage his concerns.

“But he’s absolutely right. I love you more than anything in this world, and the thought of losing you at the end of a mundane’s lifespan is more than I can bear.” He laced their fingers together. “A soul bond would not just let me share mine with you. We would share a connection through it—if you were ever lost, or hurt, or sick, I would be able to find you no matter where you were.”

Tears welled in Oliver’s eyes as his chin began to quiver.

“Well, my love?” Lance smiled hopefully. “What do you say?”

All Oliver could do was hide his tearful face in one hand and nod—if he tried to say anything right now he’d just dissolve into a sobbing puddle on the floor.

Whatever the risks a soul bond carried, his greatest fear of Lance being alone after he was gone would never come to pass.

With a soft chuckle Lance pulled him into a hug. “I really wish I didn’t make you cry so often. Even if they are happy tears.”

Oliver could feel both of their hearts racing between them as he buried his face in Lance’s chest.

“Am I forgiven now, Cam?”

A bristling ‘hmph’. “… I demand those grandchildren.”

Magnus cleared his throat loudly and gestured for them to take their leave. “Now now, Camilla.”

Their voices faded as Lance guided him out the open door, though he could still make out a bit before they warped away.

“Oh come off it Razzy! There are ways that it can happen naturally—”

He was very glad to get away before hearing the rest.

 

 

Instead of returning home as he’d expected, Lance had warped them instead to the First Slash.

“I hope you’ll forgive my mounting impatience. Truth be told, my preparations have been completed for some time now; I’ve just been waiting on Ministry approval to go through with this.”

An elaborate sigil glowed on the white sand before them, pulsing with a familiar, warm magic. Oliver sniffled and tried to dry his eyes on his sleeve.

“Wh-Why here?”

“The ritual requires each half take place where our magical energies are most densely suffused. Now…”

He moved to the center of the sigil, gesturing for Oliver to stand before him as he knelt down on one knee.

“The first half is my vow. My pledge to you.” A rare blush flared across his cheeks. “Admittedly, the verses are… a little embarrassing… but a moment of weakness is worth the lifetime I can spend at your side. Here’s hoping I don’t stumble over my words…”

Grasping Oliver’s hand, he breathed out his anxieties; Oliver brushed his thumb across his knuckles, hoping to grant him a small measure of assuredness.  

A smile spread across his face as their gaze met; the sheer adoration reflected in Lance’s very nearly made Oliver melt before him.

“I, Lancelot, vow upon my creed, my pride, my principles, and my lifeblood, to bring about this bond.”

The magic within the markings pulsed energetically.

“I bind my name to my magic, my soul, my life.”

The warmth radiating from the sigil enveloped them both, its glow illuminating Lance from below.

“I give my name to Oliver, my soulmate, my love.”

Something akin to electric currents charged the air around them, tingling Oliver’s skin.

“I ask the spirits around to bless this vow.”

Magic surged between them through their held hands—overwhelming. Offering the briefest of glimpses into the rampaging maelstrom of Lance’s soul. A lump pricked the back of Oliver’s throat.

With his other hand Lance reached into his pocket.

“Would you do the honors of placing my other earring on?”

Oliver’s hands trembled slightly as they pierced Lance’s right ear; the mage let out a long breath, his eyes closed as though overwhelmed himself.

“With that… my vow is sealed.”

He rose to his feet, taking Oliver’s hand once more.

“Hahh… It is… a little difficult to control myself right now.”

His eyes smoldered as they gazed down at Oliver, who could feel the magic radiating from him.

“But control myself I must, for your part is next. Shall we?”

“Y-Yes—but where do I—”

A smile. “You already know. Where is your magic most densely bound?”

Realization. “… My nexus.”

A flash, and they were there. Surrounded with the familiar sanctity and safety. With a wave of his hand, Lance created another sigil—the scent of the forest flooded Oliver’s senses. The magic within its markings felt like… Pelican Town itself.

“Magic flows throughout the whole of the valley. Even moreso in Pelican Town.”

Together, they stood before the grand oak tree towering over them. The gentle wind that always blew there kissed their skin as it skipped through the leaves and branches.

“It is present in the lush greenery. The vibrant fauna. The hearty waters flowing through it.  But nowhere is suffused with as much magic as it is here, in your nexus. Your presence is steeped in every part of it—even the very air we breathe now.” He chuckled. “My restraint is being sorely tested…”

“Are you alright…?”

“I’m quite fine, don’t worry… It does feel like I’m being weighed down by several hundred pounds, though. Would you sit with me for a moment? I don’t think I can bear to stand for much longer.”

He sank down within the sigil, and Oliver immediately knelt before him—thoughts of the ritual chased away by concern for his seemingly deteriorating state.

“Ah… As beautiful as the day I first laid eyes on you.”

Lance’s hand caressed Oliver’s jaw as he drank in the sight of him.

“Your radiance outshines even the very magic swirling around us. A beacon in the storm overwhelming my senses.”

A furious blush erupted over Oliver’s face. “A-Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Oh yes, never better. You could say I’m simply drunk on your essence.”

Lance breathed slowly, in and out, a steady stream of steam pouring from his mouth with each exhale.

“Truly, you are intoxicating… I’m not sure you’re going to enjoy this next part,” a teasing smile crept across his face, “but it’s your turn to say the embarrassing vows.”

“O-Okay… I don’t remember all of them though…”

“That’s alright, just repeat after me.”

He grasped Oliver’s hand again. His dark skin twitched as though he were being touched by a taser.   

“Are you ready?”

Oliver swallowed nervously and nodded.

“’I, Oliver, vow upon my creed, my pride, my principles, and my lifeblood to bring about this bond.’”

“I, Oliver, vow upon my creed, my pride, my principles, and my lifeblood to bring about this bond.”

“’I bind my name to my magic, my soul, my life.’”

“I bind my name to my magic, my soul, my life.”

“’I give my name to Lance, my soulmate, my love.’”

“’I give my name to Lance,” Oliver touched his forehead to Lance’s with a shaky smile, “my soulmate, my love.”

Lance’s eyes widened slightly, before he chuckled and leaned against him in kind.

“’I ask the spirits around to bless this vow.’”

“I ask the spirits around to bless this vow.”

The magic around them surged stronger than it had at the beach—faint whispers all around, though Oliver couldn’t make out any words.

“Now, if you’ll forgive me…”

Lance produced another set of earrings and pierced Oliver’s ears with them. The momentary sting was instantly soothed by the magic coursing around them—through them. For a long minute, Lance just stared at him, seemingly at a loss for words. Oliver’s blush deepened.

“Wh-what?”

“They look… beautiful… on you…”

The magic reached a fever pitch and shuddered around them, almost unbearable—until like a fever it broke, easing into gentle warmth that enveloped them in its embrace.

“Haah…” Lance closed his eyes with a laugh. “Feel that rush? Your magic is intertwining with mine… I don’t think I can hold out for much longer.”   

The way his eyes hungered as they opened again sent shivers down Oliver’s spine, equal parts intimidating and thrilling. He didn’t need to be told to hold onto Lance before he warped them back to the farmhouse.

“I truly meant it when I said you were intoxicating. My willpower can’t keep up.”

Lance’s mouth found the back of his neck as he struggled to find his keys.  

“Unless you wish to have the crows be our audience, you’d best get that damn door open. I have no qualms about having my way with you out here.”

“A-Ahh—you’re making it hard to unlock it—”

The way Lance pressed up against his backside told him that wasn’t the only thing getting hard.

“H-How are you already—?”

“Door. Open. Now.”

The lock had barely clicked before Lance swept him off his feet and kicked the door open, carrying him bridal style over the threshold.

“Couch or bed?”

“I—”

Apparently he didn’t answer fast enough, because Lance all but threw him over the back of the couch.

“Wh-what’s gotten into you—”

The buttons on his shirt popped off as Lance ripped it open, his mouth seeking purchase all over his chest—kisses and bites quickly turned Oliver into a puddle of moans and whimpers beneath him as he furiously marked every inch of skin he could get to.

‘Th-this is a little scary…’

Not enough to want to stop, of course.

Lance’s hand slipped down the front of his shorts to massage and fondle between his legs, his mouth feverish sucking away at one of his nipples—a violent shudder ripped through Oliver with his first climax, Lance’s fingers massaging him through it as he hummed a chuckle.

“Stunning. Simply stunning.”

His pants crumpled in a heap on the floor as Lance nestled between his legs, burying his face into the mess left behind to lap it all up.

“How can I do anything but worship you?”

Oliver’s hands desperately searched for his hair to grab onto as the warmth of his tongue pressed inside. His head swam, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through him—every touch, every kiss felt elevated beyond anything he’d felt before. Over the sounds of his own breaths and moans he heard Lance’s trousers join his on the floor; when he at last came up for air, his own shirt hung open, allowing Oliver’s hands to roam all over his toned chest and earning a low purr of approval for it.

Abruptly his pelvis was pulled into Lance’s lap, giving him no time to prepare before he was impaled on that throbbing iron rod.

“A-Aaaah—! Lance—!”

Nails dug into the skin on his hips as Lance’s smacked against him, hard enough to sting.

“Yes—my—love?” he grunted between thrusts, his tongue darting across his lips.

“P-Please—a little slower—”

His pleas were silenced by a hungry kiss. He was completely at Lance’s mercy, his breaths growing more ragged as he quickly hit another crescendo with him.

“Oh, I am far from finished with you.”

As Oliver tried to crawl to freedom, Lance pulled him back, kissing his inner thighs as he hoisted his legs up to rest on his shoulders.

“Can you keep up?”

Oliver’s chest heaved for breath as he squeezed Lance’s head between his thighs.

“I-I don’t know—can you—?”

A dangerous chuckle that sent goosebumps erupting over his skin.

“You’ll regret doing that, my dear.”  

Once more he plunged deep, his hands gripping Oliver’s hips and lifting them up for better leverage.

“You may want to think twice about pushing my buttons from now on,” he warned in the breaks between gasps and moans of his name.

“I-I’m sorry—!”

Suddenly Oliver was lifted up into Lance’s arms, clinging to him for dear life as they walked towards the bedroom—each step another opportunity for Lance to buck up into him, eliciting ever-higher pitched moans.

“I-I’ll be good, I promise!”

His back was pressed against the mattress, one leg lifted once again onto Lance’s shoulder as he drilled into him with animalistic intensity.

“Have you learned your lesson?” he asked huskily. Oliver furiously nodded his head, sobbing from the pleasure being forced through him. “Good boy. Here’s your reward.”

Their breaths synchronized with their climax, a searing heat filling Oliver’s core once more as he relaxed against the bed. Surely that was it…

Lance’s hands planted on either side of his head as he gazed down at him, his hunger unabated.

“We have a whole night ahead of us, tîi rák. And I am far from satisfied.”

Oliver audibly gulped. The thought of getting any sleep was chased away as Lance plunged into him once more.

 

 

What seemed like hours passed before Lance curled up around him, pressing soft kisses to the numerous dark blotches left on his neck as he lay in a daze.

“I feel like I’m the happiest man in the world,” he chuckled against his skin. “I love you so very, very much.”

“I-I love you too…”

Another chuckle as his fingers teased a few strands of ebony hair. “… This bond that we have now… I think I’ll have to get used to it over time.”

With some difficulty Oliver rolled onto his side to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, first I’ll have to reduce the sensory sharing between us. It feels as though a waterfall is crashing down on me. And second, well…”

His voice trailed off as Oliver looked at him curiously. He cleared his throat with an apologetic smile.

“You’ll have to forgive me if I act more like a man possessed for the next few weeks.”

Oliver’s face paled slightly. “Do I need to expect more repeats of this?”

“I apologize in advance.” Lance smothered his face in kisses. “I don’t mean just me indulging in your boundless beauty. I will be… quite overwhelmingly protective.”

“… You mean even more than you already are?”

Lance laughed softly as he nuzzled the crook of his neck.

“Yes, even more than that. And I did mean it when I said to avoid pushing my buttons. I’m already trying my best not to become a beast.”

“I-I told you I’ll be good.”

“I shall take your word for it, for I have already absolved myself  of what may come. Now,” he pulled Oliver on top of himself, his arms loosely wrapped around his waist, “I don’t know about you, but I am exhausted.”

“Y-yeah, I bet…”

Lance’s chest served as a pillow for him as he got comfortable.

“Good night, my love.”

“G’night…”

The lullaby of Lance’s steady breathing and beating heart in time with his own lulled him into a deep, restful sleep.

Chapter 46: A Pair of Red Fruits

Notes:

there's gonna be mpreg for the next couple of chapters, so if that's something that bothers you, uhh... I guess don't read it? lol. If anyone is curious how this happened... it's magic okay it's magic

After several mornings of waking feeling like he had gone ten rounds in the dryer, Lance finally convinced Oliver it was time to pay a visit to Harvey—and insisted on carrying him the way there, even though by the time the clinic opened the nausea had passed.

“Right this way, you two.”

Maru held open the door to the back. Oliver hid his bright red face in his hands as Lance set him on the exam bed.

“I could’ve walked on my own…”

“I know, but I’d much rather be safe than sorry.”

After Maru had performed the perfunctory tests—with some concerning results, as his blood pressure was on the low end and his pulse on the higher—Harvey stepped in and washed his hands at the sink.

“I hear you’ve been feeling a bit under the weather lately.”

“Just a little in the mornings, sometimes…” Oliver sought comfort with Lance’s hand, idly fidgeting with his fingers as Harvey sat on his wheeled chair and scooted over.

“In the mornings, you say?”

“Yeah. I’ll wake up feeling sick to my stomach, but I don’t usually end up actually getting sick.”

“Is it alright if I examine you?”

“Oh, um—sure.”

Harvey’s gloved hands gently pressed on his abdomen.

“Let me know if any of this hurts. How long do the symptoms usually last?”

“A few hours, maybe?” He glanced at Lance, who nodded in agreement. “After that I usually feel fine.”

“I see.” Harvey scooted over to discard his gloves and put on a fresh pair. “Out of curiosity, how long has it been since you discussed your family plans with me?”

“Like… a couple… months…”

Oliver’s stomach started flip-flopping as he and Lance both shared another look.

With a faint smile, Harvey pulled a portable ultrasound machine over beside the exam table.

“Of course, I could be wrong, but we can rule out the possibility fairly easily.”

“Is it alright if I watch, Dr. Harvey?” Maru asked from the doorway.

“That’s up to Oliver.”

“I-I… yeah, that’s okay.”

Oliver’s heart raced in his chest as Harvey pressed the wand against his stomach with gentle but firm pressure, gliding it around as he searched for one thing in particular.

One heartbeat. Then two. Thrumming rhythmically through the machine. Pulsing on the screen, clear as day.

“Well, I’d say congratulations are in order. It looks as though you’ll be having twins.”

“T… Twins…?”

A storm of emotions welled within him as both he and Lance beheld the sight on the monitor. Joy. Excitement. Fear. Anxiety. Uncertainty. Doubt.  A part of him had doubted their plan would bear fruit… and yet there they were, right before his eyes. Right inside of him.

“We did it, my love. It worked.”

Lance’s arms wrapped tight around him, shaking with barely contained excitement as he smothered him in kisses.

“Fascinating!” Maru peered closely at the monitor, equal parts awe and curiosity. “Oliver, you were born male, correct?”

“Y-Yes…?”

“And you’re not intersex?”

“Maru,” Harvey warned gently.

“Sorry, sorry, I just—this shouldn’t be possible in a cisgender man! Would you be willing to tell me how you accomplished this? This could be a fantastic opportunity for same sex couples!”

Her boundless enthusiasm combined with the emotions swirling from the revelation of his pregnancy became all too much to handle; big, fat tears started welling in his eyes, which he tried to hide—but Lance was quick to notice, taking hold of his hand and brushing his knuckles with his thumb to comfort him.

“Perhaps I can tell you about it another time, Maru.”

“Yes, let’s save that particular discussion for when you’re not on the clock, alright?” Harvey wiped the lubricant off of the wand and Oliver’s stomach, gently pulling his shirt back down before scooting to discard his gloves once again. “There are more pressing things that need to be addressed at the moment.”

“Like what?” Lance’s brow furrowed with concern as Oliver dried his eyes on his sleeve.

“Well, this is unknown territory for all of us. I’ve treated transgender men through their pregnancies, but this is not that—I’d like to set up an appointment in the coming days to see what we’re working with, structurally, which unfortunately may be a bit invasive and uncomfortable…”

Oliver slid down a bit further in dismay on the table as Harvey smiled apologetically.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’d also like to set up weekly appointments to monitor your progress and fetal growth so we can intervene should the need arise. Let’s see…”

Harvey grabbed his clipboard and started writing busily on it.

“I’m going to prescribe prenatal supplements. Seeing as you’re expecting twins, the toll on your body is going to be a lot greater, and it’s already not exactly primed to support a pregnancy to begin with. And along those same lines,” he nodded to Lance, “I’m going to ask you to really make sure that he takes the time to rest and eat. Whatever he wants, and as much as he wants.”

Oliver’s hand anxiously rested on his still-flat stomach.

“I-Is it… normal for me to not have put on any weight yet…?”

A reassuring smile over the clipboard. “I’m not concerned at the moment, if that’s what you’re worried about. Many pregnant people don’t start showing until they’re further along in gestation. Now, if you fail to put on weight over the next few weeks, or start losing weight, then we’ll have something to be concerned about.”

“O-Okay…” Oliver’s chin quivered ever so slightly.

Harvey gently patted his knee. “I know everything feels overwhelming. Your hormones are all over the place right now, and what you’re feeling is completely valid. Don’t be afraid to lean on Lance and let him know when you’re having a rough time.”

“Yes, my love,” Lance nuzzled his cheek, “tell me when things become too much for you. I am here with you every step of the way. Never, ever forget that.”

“One last thing.” Harvey looked between the two of them. “I’m putting a hard limit of four hours of strenuous activity per day. Ideally it would be less, but I understand that it’s not feasible with the farm. Lance, that means that—”

“Say no more. I shall start looking for a set of overalls as soon as we get home.”

The thought of Lance dressed as a farmer got Oliver giggling through the tears.

“Ah, now there’s the smile I love so much. Is there anything else you’re concerned about, Harvey?”

“Hm… No, not that I can think of at the moment. If I do come up with something, we can address it at his next appointment.” Harvey smiled as he passed the clipboard to Maru. “Congratulations once again, you two. This is an exciting new chapter in your lives.”

 

It still didn’t quite feel real as Lance carried him back to the farmhouse.

Twins.

They were having twins.

His head spun just thinking about it.

Gently Lance set him on the couch. “How are you feeling?”

“Um…” Oliver played with his fingers. “Fine.”

“Are you, really?” Lance knelt down in front of him and took hold of his hands. The tears returned anew, pouring down his cheeks like waterfalls.

“I-I should be happy, a-and I am… b-but I’m also scared…”

A gentle kiss pressed to his forehead. “Everything will be alright, my love.”

“I-I know…” He sniffled as he wiped his eyes yet again. “J-Just being stupid…”

“You are not being stupid. It’s as Harvey said, your hormones are going haywire—you can’t berate yourself for feeling how you feel. If you need anything—if you want anything—you need only say the word and I will find a way to make sure you have it.”

“…Even kisses?”

“Especially kisses.” Lance peppered his face with them, making him giggle again. “Now, on that subject—is there anything you desire at this moment?”

“Well… something to eat sounds good…”

Before he’d even finished speaking, Lance was rolling up his sleeves in the kitchen. For the briefest moment, he spied a hint of anxiety in his husband’s face—for all his confident reassurances, Lance must have been just as nervous about it as he was. And for some reason, that realization brought a small measure of comfort;  it helped to know that he wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

Chapter 47: Not All Sunshine and Rainbows

Notes:

still mpreg, and I will not apologize for writing a realistic experience instead of an idealized one

Pregnancy was not all it was cracked up to be. Everything Oliver had seen and read said it was going to be a magical time, that he would enjoy every minute of it—yet here he was, five months along and still waiting for the magic to start as he tried to get his swollen feet into shoes that used to fit just fine while his back screamed at him for daring to bend over.

“Do you need help, tîi rák?”

“No, I can—can still manage to at least put my own shoes on—”

Lance watched him struggle for another minute before wordlessly bringing over a pair of slip ons; defeated, Oliver put those on instead and set his work shoes aside.

“… You know, Cam keeps asking when she can come visit. And I have to go to Castle Village today, so maybe…”

“Lance, I—” Oliver rubbed his face, fighting the urge to cry for what felt like the millionth time. “I’ll be fine by myself. I just… don’t think I can handle Camilla without you.”

A soft chuckle as Lance folded him into a hug. “I understand. I just worry about you.”

“I know, you’ve always worried about me. But it’s not like I’m going caving or monster hunting these days…”

Even though Oliver knew Lance had to leave, he didn’t want to let go.

“…You’ll be back tonight, right?” he asked in a small voice, clutching handfuls of Lance’s shirt to keep him from going.

“Of course. I won’t let them keep me from you any longer than they have to.”   

“Promise…?”

“I swear on our bond.”

“Okay…”

He stood out on the porch as Lance warped away, already missing him as he watched a few red tinted leaves dance on the wind. His fingers idly played with one of the earrings dangling from his ears for a minute before he took a deep breath and started making his way slowly to the chicken coop.

‘Need to bring those eggs to Evelyn and Gus today…’

The girls didn’t disappoint; he was greeted with a veritable mountain of eggs in varying shades of white and brown, which he ever so carefully placed into a padded basket.

“You girls are knocking it out of the park lately.”

Affectionate coos and bawks as they each milled about, waiting for their pets—a much needed serotonin boost for both them and Oliver.

Milking the cows was borderline agony, and it must have shown, because they each took turns licking his face as he worked. It made the job harder, but a bit more bearable.

“I don’t deserve such sweet animals.”

He made sure to give each of them a hug. Shearing the sheep was simply out of the question with how dense and heavy their coats were, so that would have to wait until Lance could get around to it.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, digging through the coarse wool to scratch at the skin below. “I know it’s uncomfortable. Just try and bear with it for a little longer.”

A light head bump against his stomach made him jump back a few feet.

“H-Hey, be careful!” His heart raced as though he’d just run a four minute mile. “Don’t do that!”

The sheer fear and terror that had coursed through him in that split second required him to sit down outside the pasture to calm down. He knew it was only a gentle tap, and that Pruna hadn’t meant to hurt him, but that didn’t stop his hands from shaking as they held his stomach.

He had yet to feel any movement from the twins he carried. Harvey had assured him many times that this was normal for a first pregnancy, that it may be a few more weeks more he felt anything, and that the babies were developing fine and seemed perfectly healthy.

Still, a part of him wished they would give some sort of sign already.

“… You two know how much we love you already, right?”

A small, timid smile crept across his face. Yes, for all the fear and anxiety still weighing him down, he loved those two little lives he was carrying with every fiber of his being. And it had become routine at night for Lance to sit and cuddle him, cuddle his stomach and tell all three of them all of the ways in which he loved and adored them.

‘It’s nice to sit and snuggle, but…’

That was all they did these days. It had been at least a month since they’d been intimate—and he knew he was mostly to blame for it. It was hard to get in the mood when he both didn’t feel like his body was his own anymore and worried that somehow it would affect the babies.

‘Maybe it’d be okay if it was just foreplay…’

A sigh blew past his lips as he slowly got to his sore feet. He needed to bring it up to Lance; surely he was feeling a bit pent up by this point as well.

He picked up the egg basket by the handle and started the long—not really, but it sure felt like it these days—trip into town.

 

 

 

“Oh, thank you so much dearie.”

Evelyn graciously accepted the pack of eggs and set them on the counter.

“You’re welcome, granny. Sorry for bothering you during lunch.”

“No no, that’s just fine. Why don’t you sit and join us? There’s plenty to go around.”

“Yeah, Ols,” Alex leaned back in his chair and grinned, “have some. You can’t beat grandma’s chicken and waffles.”

“I couldn’t possibly impose on you like that…”

“Nonsense. Come now.”

Evelyn pulled out a chair for him; the burning in his feet prompted him to tentatively take the seat.

“Thank you…”

“Of course dearie. Let me get you a plate.”

Oliver smiled meekly across the table to Elliot and Alex. “Guess it’s peak visiting hours, huh?”

“Oh, we always stop by for lunch.” Elliot sipped his drink with a smile of his own. “Alex is always worried about them getting lonely when we’re not here.”

Alex bristled. “It’s not just that! What if something happens and nobody’s here to help? What if grandma needs help opening a medicine bottle? What if—”

“Hmph.” George harrumphed from the head of the table. “We can manage just fine on our own. We’re not helpless.”

“Of course not, granddad.” Elliott lightly patted Alex on the back. “More than anything, we do so enjoy the pleasure of your company.”

Another harrumph as George eyed up Oliver.

“… Putting on weight there, aren’t you?”

“George!”/“Gramps!”/”Granddad!”  

All three looked mortified as they admonished him. Oliver cast his eyes down to his lap; he’d tried preparing himself for this to happen, as it was bound to.

“It’s alright.” He took a deep breath and did his best to smile. “Actually, Lance and I are expecting twins.”

“Oh my—congratulations, dearie!”

Evelyn shuffled around the table to hug him as both Elliott and Alex beamed.

“How marvelous. You must be so excited.”

“I didn’t even know guys could get pregnant, but that’s awesome!”

“They can’t.”

George cut the briefly blossoming jubilant mood with just two words. For the first time, Oliver saw genuine anger in his face.

“Granddad, with all due respect—”

“What is this world coming to? Back in my day, men married women and women had children, and that was it; now you have women marrying women, men getting pregnant, all this ‘pronoun’ nonsense everywhere—it ain’t right, and it ain’t natural.”

A heavy silence fell, tense and uncomfortably long.

“… Sorry, granny,” Oliver slowly rose to his feet, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to stay.”

“Oh, sweetie—”

“Thank you for the invitation, though. I hope you all enjoy the eggs.”

He only just caught the beginning of a heated argument as he rushed out the door, on the verge of tears; through sheer force of will he pushed them down to deliver the rest to Gus at the saloon, who thankfully didn’t comment on his appearance.

It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. The rejection of who he was—who Alex and Elliott were. The words ‘it ain’t right’ and ‘it ain’t natural’ cut through his heart like the sharpest of blades as they played over and over in his head.

‘There’s nothing wrong with it. With them. With us.’

His hand rested on his stomach.

‘With… me…’

 

 

The rest of his day he spent in the farmhouse, trying to distract himself with whatever light housework he could manage. Every part of him hurt through all of the laundry, the vacuuming, the dusting, making the bed, putting dinner on to cook and finally starting on the dishes.

‘It’s not as bad as I’m making it out to be. It doesn’t hurt that bad. I’m just being weak, like always.’  

A soapy plate slipped from his hands and shattered on the floor at his feet.  

“Dammit…!”

Trying to kneel down to pick up the broken pieces, only for his own back to betray him and his stomach to get in the way. It all became too much.

Sitting flat on the floor, surrounded by broken porcelain, he buried his face into his hands and started sobbing uncontrollably.

‘Maybe there is something wrong with me after all.’

What else could it be?

Eventually the sobs petered out, leaving him tired with a dull throbbing headache; piece by piece he gathered up the sharp shards into his hands so he could toss them into the garbage under the sink. It took all of his strength to pull himself up off of the floor, and he gripped onto the edge of the counter and just forced himself to breathe.

“C’mon… pull yourself together… Lance is going to be home soon. Don’t let him see you like this. It’s not a big deal.”

Somehow, he made it through the rest of the washing up without breaking anything else.

‘Okay. Everything is taken care of. Dinner’s almost done. I did a good job. I did…’

His chin started wobbling again. It felt like a lie.

‘I’m not a failure…’

The front door swung open.

“Tîi rák~ I’m hoooome~”

A quick, sharp breath as he forced himself to stand up straight and put on a smile.

“Welcome home, sweetie.”

The sight of his red eyes and tear stained cheeks stopped Lance in his tracks, only for him to beeline it towards him and fold him up into a tight hug.

“What happened, my love?”

“N-Nothing! Nothing happened! I-I just…”

Yoba, he was so sick of crying.

“I-I j-just…”

In came a fresh wave of tears as he hid his face in Lance’s chest.

“H-had a really b-bad day…!”

Lance’s hand gently rubbed his back as he held him close.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head, smearing his tears all over his shirt.

“Alright.” Lance pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Why don’t you sit down? I’ll finish dinner.”

“O-Okay…”

Sitting down did help; by the time Lance set their plates on the table, he’d managed to calm himself down once again.

“I-I’m sorry,” he apologized with a hiccup. “Can’t even manage to get dinner done…”

“My love, you must stop being so hard on yourself.”

Lance grasped his hand across the table.

“What all did you get done today?”

“U-Um… took care of the animals… brought eggs into town… cleaned the house…”

“And it’s never looked better. You could have chosen to leave all the housework to me, as I’m sure Harvey would like you to do, but you did it all anyway, while carrying our children. I don’t know how you managed to get it all done.”

“… I-I don’t know how I managed it, either.” Oliver managed a tearful laugh. “Everything just hurts so much, and I just want to cry all the time, and…”

“And you still take care of things despite all that. Please, Oliver, let yourself be proud of that.”

He took another deep breath.

“...I’ll try… so, um… how was your day?”

Listening to the goings-on in Castle Village did much to distract Oliver and lift his mood. He shouldn’t have been surprised when Lance cleared away their empty plates without giving him a chance to.

“I could’ve—”

“I know you could have. But I am perfectly happy and capable of doing them as well, so you just sit there and rest a bit longer.” He smiled over his shoulder at him. “I’m going to draw us up a nice hot bath after this; what scents would you like?”

“Oh, um…”

His fingertips tapped on the table’s surface.

“… Lavender sounds good.”

“An excellent choice.”

The dishes washed and the bath drawn and ready, Lance carried him bridal style into the bathroom and disrobed the both of them before climbing into the wonderfully warm water with him facing away on his lap.

“Ahhh, now this is bliss.” Lance tipped his head back with a relaxed sigh. “Not quite as roomy as the bathhouse, but I’ll exchange some space for privacy.”

“Privacy…” Oliver pushed around some of the bubbles floating on the water’s surface. The heat of the water helped to soothe the ache in his muscles. “… Sweetie?”

“Hm?”

“It’s… been awhile since we… y-you know what, never mind. It’s not important.”

Lance sat up a bit and wrapped his arms around his waist. “Been awhile since we what?” he asked, nuzzling the back of his neck. His tone implied he knew exactly what Oliver was trying to say.

“S-Since we… had sex…”

A gentle kiss to his skin brought out a soft moan.

“I-I was just thinking… it might be nice to…”

“If you’re feeling up to it, then so am I.”

A shudder ran down his spine as Lance’s hands teased his chest.

“J-Just maybe—not all the way? I-If that’s okay?”

“Of course it is.”

Lance’s teeth grazed and bit where he kissed, drawing more breathy moans as Oliver squirmed slightly on his lap.

“In fact…”

He lifted Oliver up slightly so he could maneuver his member between his legs.

“How’s this?”

His hand grasped both of their lengths, and Oliver gasped sharply.

“Th-that’s good—”

The other one continued to play with his nipples, one after the other, making him melt back against him as he stroked both of them at the same time.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Lance murmured in his ear. Oliver turned his head to catch his lips in a kiss.

“D-Don’t,” he begged, unable to stop his hips from bucking into his hand.

“Ahh, how I have missed that look on your face…”

Harder bites on the back and sides of his neck.

“Those sweet whimpers and moans you make with every little touch.”

He bit his lip as Lance’s thumb rubbed against the tip.

“How you throb every time I embarrass you.”

“I-I do—not—”

Another pointless lie. The heat building in him overtook the heat of the bathwater. Lance’s breath was hot against his ear, panting quietly.

“But you do. You love it when I talk like this to you.”

“Nn—”

He let his head list forward, watching the hand quickly bringing them both to climax.

“I-I hate that you’re right…!”

Lance’s teeth sunk in deep as they hit their peak together.  

Chapter 48: It's The Fear

Notes:

what is this? a chapter from Lance's pov? why yes, yes it is

Every morning it got a little harder for Lance to leave for work. Especially on the days where Oliver didn’t have the energy to pull himself out of bed by the time he had to go.

“Do you want me to ask Cam to come over?”

His fingers gently teased a few strands of obsidian hair.

“Mm-mm.”

A soft, worried chuckle as Oliver hid his face in the pillow with a mumbled ‘can take care of myself’.

“I know, I know… If you need anything—”

A knock at the front door.

“Ah. I forgot Robin was coming today.”

He pressed a kiss to Oliver’s ear—the only part of his face he could get to—and went to answer the door.

“Morning, Lance.” A sympathetic smile at the sight of him. “Another rough morning, huh?”

“Just a bit. He’s still in bed.”

“Ahh. I don’t miss those days one bit.”

She stepped inside after wiping her boots off on the welcome mat.

“Wouldn’t trade them for anything, but definitely don’t miss them.”

Construction on the second floor and nursery was proceeding well, if not a touch behind schedule—chilly fall rains and early snow made it hard to build whole expansions without getting the rest of the house soaked in the process.

“Do you think you’ll be done on time?”

Lance leaned against the frame at the top of the stairs as she unloaded her toolbox.

“Well, that depends on the little ones and when they decide to make their grand entrance.” A laugh. “You can make all the plans in the world and they don’t care one bit. But I’ll aim to have it done before… how far along is he?”

“24 weeks.”

“I’ll try and at least have everything in the nursery done by 32. Speaking of,” she tossed him a book of color swatches, “you two should start picking paint colors sometime. You’d be surprised how long it can take to settle on one.”

“Who says it has to be one?”

Lance thumbed briefly through the pages.

“No one, I guess.” She laughed again.  “So, you nervous?”

“Who, me?” He set the book on the nearby worktable. “Nervous is one way to put it, yes. But more than anything, I worry that we made the right choice. It's been so hard on him.”

“Yeah. No one ever really ever tells you how risky pregnancy can be.” She measured several lengths of wood as she spoke. “With Maru’s, I was sick as a dog the whole time. High blood pressure, gestational diabetes, lots of infections, the whoooole shebang. And of course there’s not much they can do to treat anything because it’ll get passed on to the babies. But let me tell you,” she smiled at him and tapped her knuckles on one of the wooden planks, “knock on wood, all goes well, when you get to hold them for that first time you’ll realize it was absolutely worth it.”  

“I certainly hope so. Would you mind keeping an ear out for him?”

“Of course not. Go on, go do whatever it is you do.” She shoo’d him away with a wave of her hand. “Go fight monsters or something.”

“You are a strange mother-in-law.”

It seemed like every mother in town had adopted them at this point.

 

 

First on his agenda for the day: the Adventurer’s Guild. The door creaked on its hinges as it swung open, announcing his presence before he could.

“You still haven’t fixed that?”

Marlon shrugged from behind the counter.

“A squeaky hinge doesn’t hurt anything.”

“Except for your ears.”

“Eh. Hearing’s not so good anymore, anyway.”

“Still sharp enough to hear when monsters are climbing out of the mines.”

A faint smile twitched the ends of Marlon’s mustache.

“Trying to get on my good side, eh? Out with it then. What do you want?”

“What, a man can’t simply stop by to visit an old friend?” Lance leaned against the counter with a smile that quickly faded. “Have you heard anything back?”

“Nothing useful. The same things we already knew.”

“Damn it…”

Lance’s jaw clenched in frustration.

“I shouldn’t be that surprised, but I had hoped… The last time you were down in the mines—”

“I didn’t see anything of note. Certainly not a mysterious shrine.”

“So it’s not just invisible to those magically inclined, but mundanes as well…” His fingers tapped out an agitated beat on the countertop. “It’s like something is targeting him specifically.”

The thought was enough to make the embers of his magic ignite, and he had to take a steadying breath to avoid setting the guild ablaze.

‘I promise, tîi rák—I will find the answer.’

 

 

Determination drove his steps through Magnus’s door.

“Good, you’re both here.”

Camilla paused with Morgan’s cheeks pinched between her fingers.

“Well of course we are. You did call us.”

She let the child go to instead focus her attention on her son; the child scurried away to the safety of their bedroom lest they again became the focus of Camilla's affections later.

“But first—”

Her hands gripped his shoulders like a vice.

“When. Do. I. Get. To. See. Him?”

A cold sweat hit Lance as she glared up at him murderously.

“Cam, please—I understand you’re excited, but you must understand—”

“I only want to visit for an eentsy weentsy little while! I need to see that baby bump!”

“And you will, just—not right now. Not until he’s feeling up to it.” He cleared his throat. “If we could move onto the reason I asked to speak with you both…”

Her shoulders slumped in defeat as she let him go.

“Mag, please tell me you found something.”

The magus shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

“Damn it!”

He slammed his fist against the nearest wall, leaving a scorch mark in the stonework where it struck.

“Lancey…”

“No. There has to be something out there. Did you check in the restricted archives?”

“Extensively. There was no single mention of an entity that matches what you’ve described.”

“Cam, what about—”

Her expression was answer enough.

“I’m sorry, Lancey. I reached out to everyone I could think of. Not even Jadu or Suki knew what I was asking about.”

‘Nothing in Castle Village or Gotoro.’

“… Razzy,” Camilla glanced to Magnus, “have we tried asking Welwick?”

“They cannot divine the present, only the future. The only way they could see anything would be if—”

“—if this thing comes into contact with him at some point.” Lance’s nostrils flared with fire. “It’s worth a shot.”

“Assuming we’re able to get ahold of them. It is the busy season, after all. But very well, I shall reach out.”

Magnus stepped over to his meditation circle, and Camilla rested her hand on Lance’s arm. Every muscle in his body was taut with tension.

“It’ll be okay, Lancey. We’ll figure this out somehow.”

Her gentle touch helped to soothe the raging inferno. “Damn right we will.”

She rubbed his arm slowly, like she would to calm him when he was younger.  

“… Have things been okay, otherwise?”

A steadying breath. “More or less. He’s been having more bad days than good lately, though.”

“I was more asking about you.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re my son? And you are also involved?” She laughed and flicked his forehead affectionately. “I swear, Oliver doesn’t even realize how tightly wound around his finger he has you.”

The flick stung for a moment. “I’ve been fine. Stressed, if anything.”

“About?”

“Him. The twins. This gods-damned needle in a haystack hunt. If we don’t find answers before they’re born, I…”

“We will, Lancey. Whatever it takes.”

Magnus cleared his throat to get their attention. “They’ll be here momentarily.”

The news made Lance’s heavy heart soar. “That quickly?”

“Apparently, we caught them at the right moment.”

The scent of incense on the wind preceded the oracle’s arrival into the tower.

“Magnus. Camilla. Always a pleasure.”

Their hooded gaze turned to Lance.

“Why is it that you only ever call on me when you need a favor?”

“It isn’t intentional, I promise. Next time I shall make sure to take you out for tea.”

A smile from beneath the cowl.

“I shall hold you to that. Now, what is it you require of me?”

“We need you to perform a reading.” Lance did his best to relay the situation, calmly. Welwick’s head tipped to the side as they thought.

“Hm… hmmm…”

“Please, Welwick. Can you do it?”

“Can I? Yes. Will it be useful? I cannot say. You are asking me to peer into his future not to see him, but to see the unseen. It may well be that nothing is there, the same as now.”

“But it’s worth a shot, right?”

They studied the anxiety in his features.

“… Well, I’m already here. We might as well.”

 

The crystal ball sat upon its cushion on the table, empty and dark.

“Since you are so keen to see, you may place your hand upon the crystal and gaze with me. Make sure you wash your hands first.”

They waited until Lance returned to the table with freshly cleaned hands.

“Now, let us see…”

A swirling smoke filled the orb as they held their hands just above its surface; with a nodded prompt from them, Lance hovered his hand above it as well and closed his eyes.

A rush of imagery. Timelines upon timelines blinking by too fast to make sense of.

“Always the tricky ones…”

The whirlwind of potentialities started to clear.

“… Ah. There you are.”

The crystal glowed bright and hot as Oliver’s fate came into focus—a broken stained glass collage, the pieces scattered, indecipherable.

A shadow flickered in their minds, obscured, unknowable—in that brief microcosm, a terror unlike any Lance had known crushed him beneath its weight—a thousand Elemental Wars from a thousand of his timelines condensed into a singular moment. Both he and Welwick violently recoiled from the crystal ball as it cracked and went dark.

Silence descended upon the tower as they stared at its nearly shattered form.

“Are you two alright?” Magnus asked.

“That…” Welwick clutched their chest as they trembled in fear. “In the hundreds of thousands of readings I have performed, I have never seen anything like that.”

“What was it?”

“We couldn’t see.” Lance gripped the edges of the table to steady himself; the wood rattled beneath his grasp. “No wonder he’s so terrified of it…”

Welwick’s hands lightly traced the cracks in the orb’s surface. “I can say one thing for certain. Whatever that thing is, it is beyond ancient. I doubt you will find any written record of it.”

“So…” Camilla’s shoulders slumped. “We’re back at square one.”

Magnus, meanwhile, rubbed his beard in thought. “Not necessarily. History extends far beyond written record. We simply must seek out those who keep its word alive.”

“And who would those be, Razzy?”

“… I’ll let you know when I find out.”

“So you don’t actually know.”

“Not yet.”

Lance let them talk as he watched Welwick tuck the broken looking glass back within their robe.

“Are you alright?”

“A bit shaken, but yes.” For a brief moment, their eyes locked. “Are you certain you wish to find those answers?”

“I have to. I made a promise that I would protect him.”

“… Then I shall pray for the both of you. Gods know you will need it.”

Chapter 49: Love for the Self

Notes:

spice warning, somewhere between a habanero and a reaper ig. Pretty much pure smut this chapter. A lot of reassurances for Oliver's low self-esteem since he feels extremely unattractive right now

Oliver stared blankly at the contents of the box Lance had given him. Neatly folded inside was what looked to be several pieces of string—a set of barely there lingerie, he realized as he lifted one piece up in his confusion.

“… This is supposed to help… how?”

Grinning like a sly cat, Lance sat perched on the edge of the bed, one leg crossed over the other.

“You said you didn’t feel attractive anymore.”

“And you thought this would help?”

“Just trust me on this one, tîi rák.”

Oliver squinted at him. “… You just want an excuse to see me in lingerie.”

“I mean—”

A guilty glance away without denial.

“—It wasn’t the only reason.”

“Lance, I’m not…” He set the box on the dresser and pulled the other half out. There was barely any fabric between the top and bottom piece. A sigh blew past his lips. “… You know I love you, right?”

“Of course.” Lance blew him a kiss in return.

It looked like even less fabric than he first thought as he stood naked in the bathroom, his eyes refusing to lift from the box for fear of seeing his reflection in the mirror.  

‘I can’t believe I’m doing this.’

The top piece lacked any fabric over the nipples, though maybe that was for the best with how sensitive they’d been the last few days. At least the bottoms fit comfortably enough, all silk and lace that hugged his plump rear and nestled the slightly growing bulge between his legs.

He felt so… exposed. And cold. Reluctantly, he stepped back out into the bedroom.

Lance had moved their floor length mirror from the corner where it had sat covered for the last week, putting it right at the foot of the bed where he now sat shirtless, grinning ear to ear at the sight of him.

“Stunning. Simply stunning.”

“Y-You don’t have to lie, y’know.” Oliver rubbed his arms uncomfortably.

“I’m not lying. Come here.”

He patted his lap. The chilly air nipped at all of Oliver’s exposed skin as he crossed the room to gingerly sit.

“Look.”

Oliver's eyes stayed firmly locked on his stomach.

“I don’t want to.”

Lance’s hand gently cupped his chin and tipped it up. The reflection he saw looking back at him just about made him burst into tears. Swollen legs and puffy nipples and a disproportionately large stomach. Bags under his eyes, his hair a frizzled mess with split ends everywhere.

“I’m hideous.”

“You are not.”

“Yes I am! Nobody would ever look at me and think I’m attractive anymore— ”

A gentle kiss silenced him as the tears rolled down his cheeks.

“You are beautiful, Oliver. From the very hair on your head, to the toes on your feet.” Lance’s hands rested on his stomach. “This body—your body—is even now nurturing our two precious children. How could I think you anything but the most beautiful, sexiest thing on this earth?”

Oliver hiccupped as Lance pressed light kisses all over his face and neck.

“Y… You really mean it?”

“I would never lie about something like this. All I want is for you to see yourself the way I see you.”

Hearing that lifted Oliver’s heavy spirit; all this time he’d worried for nothing.

“… Wh-which is why you p-put me in the skimpiest lingerie you could find?”

A soft chuckle as his arms wrapped around Oliver’s waist.

“Well, I didn’t think you’d want to sit here fully naked.”

“Th-that’s true…”

Another soft kiss to his lips.

“Do you feel a little better?”

“… Yeah.”

“Are you up to a little fun?”

Oliver bit his lip as Lance nuzzled his neck.

“I-I mean… we’re already here, so…”

Hot breath against his skin as Lance laughed.

“That we are. In fact,” his hand slid down between Oliver’s legs to gently massage him through the silk, “I think we should do it right here in front of the mirror.”

“H-Huh?!”

Gentle nibbles against his earlobe as the fabric grew taut.

“What better way to gain self-confidence than practicing in front of a mirror?”  

“I-I’m not giving a speeheeech—!”

Oliver’s voice crested into a high pitched cry as Lance’s finger slipped inside.

“Ah, but you do so have the voice for it.”

He couldn’t help but laugh between moans. “Wh-what does that even mean?”

“That your voice is music to my ears and I could listen to it for hours.”

His teeth took the skin on his neck between them, holding Oliver’s head in place as he pressed his finger in to the knuckle.

“Don’t look away from your reflection.”

Embarrassment and humiliation mixed with the pleasure surging through him as he stared at his mirror image—face flushed, the crimson slowly spreading to the skin on his chest as the heat built up in the pit of his stomach. Mouth agape with gasps and moans.

Lance’s other hand tugged the fabric aside to free him from its confines before skipping up his body to play with the swollen nubs on his chest.

“Ahh, you make the loveliest faces.”

“Sh-shut up…!”

His hips bucked with his climax, his head tipping back to rest against Lance’s shoulder as he gasped and whimpered through it—Lance took the opportunity to kiss his open mouth, dominating him with his tongue while his finger steadily worked him through the orgasm.

“You got some on the mirror, my love.”

All Oliver could do was sit and shudder on his lap, trying to catch his breath. A lewd expression stared half-lidded back at him in the reflection. Beneath him, Lance shifted to slip his own slacks down until he himself was free to vigorously spring up in between Oliver’s legs.

“Push your legs together for me.”

His teeth nipped at the shell of his ear as Oliver pressed his thighs tight around the pulsing appendage.

“Good boy.”

Shivers ran up his spine again as Lance’s hips bucked up against him. His fingers toyed with what they could reach, smearing the liquid leaking from the tip around as he shakily pressed into another kiss.

“Ahhh, that—” Lance moaned against his lips, “that’s it…”

“My legs feel that good?”

A breathy laugh. “Every part of you feels good.”

His hand caught the mess that came with Lance’s climax as the man’s arms wrapped tight around him, his face buried into the back of his neck and quiet groans brushing against his skin. When he lifted his face back up Oliver made a show of licking his hand clean—the sight of himself in the mirror was worth the look on Lance’s face.

“Yoba, how are you so perfect?”

He giggled. “I’m not.”

“To me, you are.”

Another kiss as he held him close. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he did feel a bit better about himself now.

Chapter 50: Quickened Seeds

The snow crunched beneath Lance’s boots as they fell in rapid succession; he carried Oliver in his arms, wrapped tight in a blanket and clutched close to his chest as he carried him bridal style swiftly towards the clinic.

“S-Slow down… you’ll slip…”

“I will not.” Lance’s hand rested against the back of his head. “We’re almost there.”

He’d just about warped straight there when Oliver had fainted in the middle of making lunch; somehow he managed to convince him that breaking one of the largest tenets ordained by the Ministry was a poor decision, even in an emergency.

“I’m sure it’s nothing…” he swallowed the nausea rising in his throat, “nothing to worry about…”

The clinic door flung open so hard it nearly struck the opposite side. Poor Maru just about fell back in her chair from fright.

“I-Is it an emergency?”

“Yes.” Lance’s chest heaved with rapid breaths. That was all she needed to hear to usher them into the back.

“Dr. Harvey!” she yelled up the stairs to his living space. “Come quick! It’s Oliver!”

“Maru, really—” A bit of red tinted Oliver’s otherwise pale cheeks as she wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm. “It’s not a big emergency, I’m just a little dizzy…”

“You collapsed in the kitchen.” Lance grasped his hand tightly; Oliver could feel him shaking. “It’s a wonder you didn’t land on the knife you were holding.”

The monitor beeped loudly as Harvey strode swiftly into the room, wiping some coffee foam from his mustache before washing his hands in the sink.

“145 over 103, pulse 150. Maru, get the nitro.”

“On it.”

She accepted the key to the cabinet where the medicines were kept, her footsteps quickly fading down the hall.

“He’s not dying, is he?”

“No, no, not at all. His blood pressure is high, but remember I warned you that this isn’t uncommon in pregnancies, especially with multiples. That being said, the sooner we bring it and his pulse back down, the better.”

Moments later Maru rushed back in, clutching a small spray container.

“I’m sorry, this is going to taste very unpleasant. Lift up your tongue, please.”

Unpleasant didn’t come close to describing it. As soon as the spray hit his mouth, Oliver gagged violently—Harvey got a sick bag into his hands just before he emptied the contents of his stomach.

“It’s alright, just let it all out.”

Lance rubbed his back and helped wipe the tears from his eyes as he spit into the bag; even out of the corner of his eye he could see that he was terrified.

“I-I’m okay, sweetie,” he insisted shakily as Harvey laid the exam bed all the way back, fighting the black fuzziness encroaching on his vision. “I-I promise.”

“Yes, he’ll be fine.” The doctor gave them both a reassuring smile as Maru discarded the used bag and handed him a small sick tray instead. “Look, the nitro is already working its magic.”

The scary red numbers on the monitor now read a yellow 130 over 95, and his heartrate had dropped down to 120. It was enough for Lance to relax a bit, the tension in his shoulders easing as he ran his fingers through Oliver’s hair.  

“I don’t think he’ll need a second spray.”

Harvey gave the medicine back to Maru.

“I do need you to grab a bag of saline and benazepril while you’re there.”

“Yes sir.”

Again she hurried down the hallway, and again Harvey gave him an apologetic smile.

“I have to apologize again, but we do need to start an IV on you.”

A quiet whine as Oliver covered his eyes with his arm.

“So sick of being poked and stabbed…”

Lance pressed a kiss to his clammy forehead.

“Consider it practice for the big day.”

“That’s a very good way to frame it. Speaking of, while you’re here, let’s take a look and see how they’re doing.”

As Harvey wheeled the ultrasound machine to the bed, Oliver felt a strange flutter he’d never felt before.

“O-Oh—”

He sat up on his elbows.

“Tîi rák? What is it?”

He fumbled to grab Lance’s hand and place it on his stomach. Another nudge made his eyes go wide.

“Th-they’re kicking.”

A flurry of wonder and joy and uncertainty clashed together on his face as they kicked again, fighting for the spotlight as his chin began to tremble.

“I-Is—Is it okay if I—?”

Oliver nodded; Lance rested his cheek against his stomach, the flurry of movement filling his normally stoic emerald eyes with tears as a quiet sob shook his shoulders.

“I daresay they’re voicing their displeasure at the situation.” Harvey was all smiles, waiting patiently for Lance to get his fill of little kicks and nudges to his face while he and Maru got the IV line started; Oliver tried to distract himself from the sharp scratch of the cannula by playing with Lance’s hair.

“H-Hello little ones,” he heard Lance whisper; his own eyes misted slightly, touched at how emotional and vulnerable his husband was letting himself be.  

“It’s a magical moment, isn’t it?” Harvey asked once Lance managed to pull himself away. “See, you had absolutely nothing to worry about.”

The gel felt cold against Oliver’s skin like the stethoscope had as the wand glided along, quickly finding the two little bodies nestled together.

“Lance, look. They’re holding hands.”

Lance just about melted into a puddle on the floor as Harvey chuckled.

“It does look like they are, doesn’t it? We can take a picture if you’d like.”

“Yes please!” They both answered simultaneously.

 With the images printing, Harvey glanced over to the other monitors.

“Ah, and look at that. Right back down to normal. A little serotonin and endorphins will do wonders. I bet you’re feeling much better right now.”

Oliver nodded meekly as Lance nuzzled his cheek. “I-I am, yeah.”

“Good, good. I want to keep you here for a few more hours for observation, but I’ll say it now,” he folded his hands in his lap, “I’m putting you on strict bed rest until your due date. No more farm work. None whatsoever.”

The words Oliver had dreaded hearing, much sooner than he’d expected to.

“B-But—”

“I’m sorry, but I’m putting my foot down on this one. You are in far too fragile a state for anything strenuous. Even light housework is going to be pushing it.”

Oliver fell silent, wordlessly staring up at the ceiling as he fought back angry tears.

“…So what am I supposed to do about the farm, then?” he finally snapped, throwing his hands up in agitation.

“Well, you have a wonderful husband who has been helping you so far, and who I’m sure would be more than happy to take over while you rest.”

“Of course I would.”

“He has his own job he has to work, too. Is he just supposed to quit out of the blue? Or do you expect him to work two jobs while taking care of my useless self?”

“Tîi rák.” Lance’s fingers brushed through his hair. He knew he was being irrational, and that only made him more agitated.

“It’s not fair!” He covered his eyes with both of his arms with a frustrated yell. “You shouldn’t have to do everything all by yourself!”

“We had this discussion already, my love. I can handle it for however long you’re out of commission.”

“And what about after they’re born?! I won’t be able to work then, either!”

“I’m fairly certain we’ll have a procession of volunteers willing to lend a hand. The whole town is as excited as we are.”

An angry huff as he turned his head to the side, blinking the tears away. “… George isn’t.”

“George is…” Harvey sighed and cleaned his glasses with the hem of his shirt. “Yes, I imagine he didn’t exactly accept the news.”

“He said it wasn’t right. That it was unnatural.”

“I’m sure that must have been upsetting to hear. Unfortunately, everyone is entitled to their opinions, no matter how hurtful they may be. But if anyone can get him to change his mind, it’d be your generation—your capacity for acceptance and understanding in the face of tremendously hostile adversity is nothing short of inspiring. And even if nothing changes his mind—remember that’s just one opinion in a sea of many kinder ones.”

He patted Oliver’s knee as he rose to his feet.

“I’ll let you two have some peace and quiet. If anything about his condition changes, just holler.”

“We will. Thank you.”

The curtain drew closed around the exam bed, and Harvey’s footsteps faded down the hall.

“I didn’t know that he said that to you.”

“I-It was awhile ago…”

The anger had fizzled out as quickly as it came on, leaving shame and embarrassment in its shadow.

“… I should’ve apologized before he left. That was all so uncalled for...”

Lance pressed a kiss to his temple. “I’m sure he didn’t take it personally. Your hormones—”

“I can’t keep blaming everything on hormones. I’m still responsible for the things I say.” He bit the inside of his lip. “It’s just… not being able to work grandpa’s farm for so long…”

“Well, look at it this way. There’s not much work to be done during winter anyway. I’m sure you can still go out and love on the animals like you always do, and I’ll just start filling the troughs every day before I head out.”

“And when spring comes?”

“I have a feeling Susan will be knocking down the door offering to plant the fields for you.”

“That’s too much work for one person—”

“How many years have you been doing it yourself at this point?”

They stared each other down as Oliver’s jaw jutted out in stubborn defiance; Lance seemed fully prepared to counter every point he raised.

“… Fine. You guys win.”

He folded his arms across his chest with a huff.

“It’ll only be for a few months.”

“A few months feels like a long time to a mundane.”

“Ah… perhaps so. But just think of the prize waiting at the end.”

Another flurry of movement, almost too perfectly timed. A dire sense of urgency propelled him to sit up.

“Yoba, I hope they don’t move this much all the time—“ He tried to swing his legs over the edge of the bed. “I need the bathroom. Now.”

“Oh—okay, uh, don’t move—Harvey!”

Lance ran like a headless chicken down the hall, asking where the bathroom was—Oliver buried his face in his hands in embarrassment over the sound of his shouts.

Surely this was the worst it would get.

Surely.

 

 

A small cluster of gifts waited on the porch when they finally returned home that evening, as did a familiar shadowy figure.

“Krobus?” Lance set Oliver down and tugged the blanket tighter around him to ward off the cold. “What brings you here?”

“Well, it’s Monday…”

His face fell.

“It is. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s my fault.” Oliver tucked the blanket over his chin as he shivered. “Sorry…”

“Oh it’s alright! I’m glad everything is okay.” Krobus smiled brightly. “Their scent is stronger on you now.”

“I-Is it?” A blush blended with the red from the cold.

They nodded, their little feet shuffling happily in the snow.

“I brought some gifts. From me, and Apples—even the dwarf sent something.”

The way Oliver’s face lit up, you’d think the Feast had come early.

Chapter 51: Honey, Not Vinegar

Notes:

(✿◡‿◡) bit of a personal chapter, as I see a lot of my own grandfather in George

Yet another cold morning bore down upon the valley, the frosty air nipping at their skin as they both tended the farm animals.

“I think they’ve gotten used to you coming in so often.”

Oliver giggled as Lance made a show of hefting a bale of hay into the feeding trough in the barn.

“I hope so. I think I’ve been bitten within an inch of my life the last few days.”

“Aw, but you don’t mind when I bite you.”

“Your bites don’t hurt like theirs do!”

One of the newborn calves bumped its head against his back.

“Wh—I’m not your mother, I don’t have anything for you.”

“You have hands to pet with, don’t you?”

Little happy ear flicks as Lance’s fingers rubbed the top of its head.

“I have to wonder, did it take them long to warm up to you?”

Oliver tapped his chin in thought. “Some of them did. Honestly, I think a few of them still just tolerate me more than anything.” He slid off of the barrel he’d been sitting on.

“To the coop, then?”

“Yup. I need to bring some more eggs to the Mullners.”

They grasped hands for the short walk to the chickens; Oliver’s other hand rested under his drooping stomach to support it.

“Harvey said it was normal to drop like that?”

“Yeah, but not usually this early… It’s supposed to happen closer to birth. Not at 7 and a half months…” He squeezed Lance’s hand gently. “Maybe they’re trying to get here in time for your birthday.”

“That certainly would be the best birthday gift I could ever hope to have…” Lance stopped and leaned down to kiss his stomach. “But I would rather them wait until they’re done baking—ow!” He pulled back. “Alright, which one of you kicked my nose?”

Oliver started giggling uncontrollably.

“Oh, you think it’s funny do you? I’ll give you something to laugh about.”

His fingers started mercilessly tickling his sides, making him laugh harder as he doubled over trying to escape.

“S-stop—y-you’re gonna make me p-pee my pants—!”

 “You’re lucky that my self-control is so strong.” Grinning, Lance chose mercy and helped him to stand up straight as he wiped the tears from his eyes. “Because that laugh of yours is so cute that I didn’t want to stop.”

“I-I appreciate you and your restraint.” He kissed Lance’s cheek, still giggling a little. “Let’s not keep the chickens waiting any longer. If they get too hungry they’ll start thinking our fingers are worms.”

“Yes, I have noticed that. Think I have a few new scars to prove it…”

 

 

The snow was starting to melt around town, making the paths much easier for Oliver to walk on—less fear of slipping and falling on his rear, although he did miss how pretty everything looked all covered in fresh powder.

“Already hard at work getting the flower beds ready, granny?”

Evelyn looked up from the flower bed, trowel in hand and a bag of potting soil at her feet.

“Oh, yes. It takes me a bit longer every year, so I have to start early.”

Her smile reached her eyes at the sight of him.

“I really should have one of the boys go and fetch the eggs from the farm. That way you wouldn’t have to walk all the way out just to bring them.”

“Oh, it’s not like it’s hard! I’ll take any excuse to get out and about these days.”

“Going a little stir crazy?”

“Just a bit. Yesterday I sat and counted beans for two hours straight.”

She laughed softly.

“You poor thing.  This is the longest you’ve had to go without running around, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Not too much longer now, though.”

“The last couple months will fly by before you know it. Would you mind taking those into the house for me while I get this soil down?”

“Of course not. I could help—”

“No no, I’ve still got enough spunk left to handle it. Go on now. Help yourself to some of the cookies on the table while you’re there.”  

Being shoo’d away by a little 85 year old woman didn’t feel great, but he tried not to ruminate on it as he let himself in through the door

“Dagnabbit—”

He heard George swearing loudly from the living room. Peeking in he saw the old man trying to reach for the TV remote that had fallen down at his feet.

“Um… Do you need help?”

George turned his nose up at him with an offended harrumph.

“Do I look that frail and helpless that I can’t even pick up something off the floor?”

“No, I wasn’t trying to say that… Sorry.”

At least he hadn’t fallen or gotten hurt. Quietly Oliver sighed as he set the basket of eggs on the counter by the fridge.

“… Young man?”

An almost meek call from the living room.

“I would… appreciate it if you could pick it up for me.”

“Oh—of course!”

He traipsed back to the living room; his stomach made crouching down a hassle.

“C’mon—it’s right there—”

His fingers searched blindly as he held onto the TV stand for support. He could feel George’s eyes on him as he fumbled around for it.

“Sorry, I almost have it…”

A quiet grunt. “… We’re a sorry pair, aren’t we?” he asked, just as Oliver managed to grab hold of the remote. “An old cripple and pregnant man.”

“Yeah, I… I guess we are.” Oliver set the device on George’s lap and took a breath before using the stand to pull himself back to his feet. “There you go.”

“Thank you.”

Bony fingers grasped the remote in a shaky hold.

“Can’t seem to keep a grip on anything these days with how much my damn hands shake. The family might as well put me out to pasture for all the good I am around here.”

“You know they would never do that."

“Well they oughta. Nothing but a burden to them anymore.”

“Don’t—don’t talk like that.”

It was like hearing his own internalized thoughts out loud. Except for him, it was temporary; eventually he would be able to work and do things for himself again. George didn’t have that luxury, and the realization filled his eyes with tears.

“E-Even if you can’t do the things you want to, you still have so much that you can do. Y-You have so much wisdom, a-and so many stories you can tell—s-so many things you could teach someone like me.”

George stared at him with that impassive, unreadable look of his.

“… You really think an old man like me could teach a whippersnapper like you anything?”

“I-I really do.” He dried his eyes on his sleeve and sniffled.

“… Hmph.”

It might have been just Oliver’s imagination, but it seemed like his face softened just a little.

“Did I ever tell you how I ended up in this chair?”

“N-No, I don’t think so.”

George wheeled himself towards the bookcase in the corner of the living room.

“Think you can grab that photo album up there?”

With just a bit of stretching, they were able to open the album up on the desk nearby. George turned the pages slowly, eventually stopping on one filled with pictures of miners in their hard hats. A similar face scowled at them from each one.

“You used to be a miner?”

“Aye. Your grandpappy and I worked for the same minin’ company. How else do you think he could afford that big parcel of land for the farm?”

“I guess I never stopped to think about it.”

The page turned. Pictures taken down in the depths of familiar looking mines.

“You had a good swinging form.”

A snort that could be mistaken for a laugh.

“Best damn miner the company had, I’ll tell you what.”

“So what happened?”

A long moment of silence, followed by a heavy sigh.

“… It was thirty years ago. We were near the end of our shift, but there was one last seam that needed to be broken up. Being the cocky overachiever I was back then, I got it in my head that I could take care of it with a good ol’ stick of dynamite before we had to clock out for the day.”

A cold stone settled in the pit of Oliver’s stomach. “Oh no…”

“Aye. Didn’t pay attention to my footing, and ended up slipping into a crack and dropping the dynamite. It exploded on impact. Next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital to doctors telling me I’d never walk again.” He closed the album. “There you have it. Bet you thought I was too old to walk, eh?”

“George, I… I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

“Eh, nothing to do about it now. So you can save those tears for an occasion that calls for ‘em.” His eyes glanced down. “… Like meetin’ those whippersnappers you’re cooking in there.”

“S-Sorry.” Oliver dried his eyes again; he hadn’t even realized they’d gone misty.

“… And I’m sorry, too. For the things I said before. Family read me the riot act after you left; got the cold shoulder from my grandsons for days after.” He sighed, his head hanging low. “Times are changing faster than I can keep up with. Keeps feeling like I’m being left behind. All I know is what I see on TV.”

It finally clicked. George wasn’t a crotchety, mean old curmudgeon—just a lonely old man, lost and adrift in a strange world.

“Maybe you could start going out and visiting places with Alex. I’m sure he’d like that.”

“Feh. You think he’d want to waste time with his old fart of a grandpa instead of his husband or friends?”

“Of course he would! He thinks the world of you!”

Brief contemplation flickered across his worn face.

“… I guess it might be nice to go on vacation with him. Maybe take the missus and Elliott too. Make it a family trip, when the weather warms up.”

“That’s a wonderful idea, dear.”

Evelyn stood in the archway, her smile all but lighting up the room.

“We could visit Canmerry again, like we did for our twentieth anniversary.”

“Aye… That sounds pretty good to me.”

The smile shared between them melted Oliver’s heart. For a moment of time they looked like a young couple in love again.

“Oliver, dearie, did you have any cookies yet?”

“Oh—no, I haven’t. May I?”

“Of course! They’re not going to eat themselves.”

She went back into the kitchen, and Oliver started to follow.

“Oliver.”

He stopped and looked back at George curiously.

“Thank you. For takin’ the time to always be kind to an old man who wasn’t always kind to you. Really means a lot to me, being reminded that people care about me like that.” He hesitated. “… Would it… be possible for me to meet them youngins sometime?”

Instead of giving an answer through words, Oliver strode back to where he sat and hugged him tight.

“Of course. They can never have too much extended family.”

Perhaps it was his imagination, but he could have sworn he heard a soft sob.  

Chapter 52: Two Becomes Four

Notes:

friendly reminder that the experiences we see in the media are not always indicative of real lived experiences. pregnancy and labor are more dangerous than most people realize, especially for people of color, and many do struggle with postpartum depression which makes them feel like failures for not being happy at the birth of their children. support the pregnant people in your lives but don't reinforce harmful narratives, they're already dealing with enough crap as it is

Agony.

Sheer agony.

A pain unlike any Oliver had felt ripped him from his sleep, so powerful that he could only lay staring at the darkened ceiling trying to breathe.

It came in waves, an intense burning searing through his muscles in his abdomen as they contracted, barely easing as they relaxed, only to surge back even stronger than the last.

“L… La…nce…?”

He couldn’t even raise his voice above the faintest of whispers.

No strength to reach out to wake him. Barely enough to twitch his fingers against the wet mattress.

Wet.

Drenched.

“H-Honey…?”

 His heart raced so fast the beats blurred together in his ears.

‘I’m scared.’

The mattress creaked as Lance rolled over onto his side, facing him. His snores lulled with a soft snort as his eyes opened part way—if it was just coincidence or some sort of sixth sense that roused him, Oliver didn’t know, and he didn’t care—he was just so glad that he had. The instant their eyes met, he was wide awake.  

“What’s wrong?”

“I-It hurts…”

The covers thrown to the foot of the bed. His pajamas and everything under him was soaked through like he’d just come fresh from the river.

Another surge of agony; all he could do was whimper, tears streaming down his cheeks into his ears as Lance rushed to the phone. He thought the pain he’d felt after that arrow grazed him was the worst it could get.

This was easily ten times worse.

‘Is this what dying feels like?’

“Harvey.”

Oliver could barely hear Lance speaking into the phone.

“Something’s wrong. He’s in a lot of pain and—” A pause. “Yes, there’s water everywhere.” Another, slightly shorter pause. “O-Okay. We’ll start heading that way.”

The phone clattered back onto the receiver as Lance rushed to throw on clothes and grab spare blankets from the closet.

“It’s going to be okay, tîi rák.”

His voice was soothing in Oliver’s ear as the blanket swaddled him, but he could hear it shaking with each word.

Even just being lifted into Lance’s arms brought on fresh waves of fire—he couldn’t even breathe through them at this point. His fingers weakly clutched the front of Lance’s shirt as they warped outside the clinic, where Harvey was waiting for them at the door.

“Y-You… can’t… th-the Ministry…”

“To hell with the Ministry.”

Harvey held the door open for them. “Maru’s on her way,” he said as he led them swiftly to the back.  “Let’s have a look at you.”

“S-Sorry…”

All the color was gone from his skin as Lance laid him on the bed, his eyes closed to block the blinding lights shining from the ceiling.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Oliver. Lance, can you get him out of those clothes and into a gown?”

“Of course.”

The curtains drew closed around the bed. Despite Lance’s best efforts to be gentle, every little movement to get him out of his wet clothes brought with it whimpers and tears.

“I’m sorry, tîi rák. I know it hurts.” For the first time, Lance sounded helpless.

The gown felt like it barely covered anything; he felt even more vulnerable and cold as Harvey drew back the curtains and covered him in a thin blanket.

“This isn’t ideal,” he said, raising the bed up several inches and maneuvering Oliver’s legs into stirrups, “but I’m thinking the twins have decided they’re tired of waiting.”

“But it’s only been—”

“Not quite eight months. I know. I’m sorry, Oliver, but I have to see what’s going on down here.”

“D-Do whatever…y-you have to…”

Lance’s hand felt so warm as it grasped his own.

“Dr. Harvey!”

Maru’s voice called from the hallway.

“In here. Get washed up. I’m going to need your help.” He tugged the blanket back down to cover Oliver’s lower half. “Well, given the rather obvious contractions—”

A strong one nearly made Oliver sit up with how hard it pulled on his muscles.

“—I’d say we’ll be meeting the little ones within the next couple of hours.”

For once, his calm confidence seemed a bit shaken.

“Is something wrong?” Lance gripped Oliver’s hand tighter as his other one slowly ran through his hair to comfort him.

“I admit, I’m… torn on this one. As a doctor, my job is to make sure that my patients receive the best care possible, even if that means it’s not from me. He should at Zuzu General; their Obstetrics and Gynecology department is the best in the Republic. But there’s a part of me that worries how they’ll treat him, given that he’s not a typical obstetrics patient.”

“You don’t trust them?”

“… Not as much as I’d like to.”

Oliver tried to slow his rapid breaths. “I-I want… t-to stay… here… I-I trust… you… Harvey…”

Through the haze of pain he could see surprise, then a smile, fading into quiet determination.

“That means a lot to me, Oliver. I promise, I’m going to do everything I can to make this as seamless as possible.”

When Maru had scrubbed up and joined them, they hooked Oliver up to every machine in the clinic.

“Blood pressure 150/105. Pulse 200. Should I get the nitroglycerin, doctor?”

“Dalteparin and nitrous oxide as well. I’ll get a line started.”

He didn’t even feel the sting of it being inserted this time. A drop in a hurricane.

“Just focus on taking nice deep breaths. Maru’s bringing something to help with the pain.”

Lance’s thumb brushed across his knuckles.

“Squeeze my hand as much as you need to.”

“I-I don’t… want to hurt you…”

“Don’t worry about me. Whatever makes this easier for you.”

His grip on Lance’s hand tightened just a little. It was all he could muster.

Another dose of that awful spray, another sick bag filled, an oxygen mask placed over his mouth and nose—he tried to push back the claustrophobia trying to claw its way to the forefront.

“Do you think you could do an epidural, doctor? I’m not sure nitrous will do much for labor pains.”

“With how strong his contractions are, I don’t think it’s safe.”

Cold hands touching him made him jolt.

“I’m sorry, I know they’re cold.”

Maru turned up the heater a few degrees and placed another blanket over him.

“I’m not seeing anything yet.”

Each second felt like an hour. Slowly, the sharp pains dulled to almost bearable levels.

“L-Lance…?”

A kiss brushed against his forehead. “Yes, my love?”

“Y-You should… tell Cam… they’re on the way…”

Lance’s face paled a bit to match his.

“Are you sure?”

He managed a single nod. “M-Magnus too…”

“… Alright. I’ll be right back.”

His footsteps faded down the hall towards reception.

“How’s the pain now, Oliver? On a scale from 1-10.”

A shaky breath, his brain trying to come up with an answer. “… A-A 6? M-Maybe a 7?”

“An honest answer, please. There is no prize for being tough.”

“… C-Closer to an 8.”

“Not great, but as long as it’s better than it was.”

A commotion in the hallway interrupted the half-doze he’d started falling into.

“Cam, you can’t go back there—”

“I want to see them!”

“They’re not even here yet! No, absolutely not—”

“Lancelot, you step aside right this second—”

“Oh, dear.” Harvey half-laughed. “Maru, do you think you could go and lend a hand?”

“No problem.” She pretended to roll up her sleeves. “I’ve got plenty of practice with pushy relatives.”

It was enough to make Oliver giggle a little as she marched towards reception.

“Sh-she’s a good assistant…”

“That she is. I’m very thankful to her for all the work she does.”

“I-I’m not sure she can handle Camilla though… L-Lance can barely handle her most of the time...”

“I’m not too concerned.”

A few seconds later, a disgruntled Lance returned to his bedside.

“At least she didn’t warp directly in here.”

“Sh-she’s just excitED—”

The strongest contraction yet. Surging adrenaline gave him the strength to cry out this time as he grabbed hold of Lance’s hand and squeezed hard.

“Breathe, Oliver.” Harvey lifted the blanket again to check. “… Aaaaalright, looks like it’s showtime.” He stepped into the hallway to call Maru back.

“L-Lance—”

Rapid breaths. Hyperventilation. Dizziness.

“I’m right here.”

A crushing grip—he might have broken something this time. Lance inhaled sharply.

“S-Sorry—”

“You’re fine. I can handle it.”

The good doctor and Maru returned, pushing two little carts with plastic bassinets on the top.

“I’m surprised Cam let you go.”

“That old guy from the tower showed up and took over. He’s kind of scary, isn’t he?”

Lance laughed a little. “He can be.”

“Alright. Things are going to move fast, now.”

Harvey took his spot at the foot of the bed once again.

“I’m sorry, it’s going to be uncomfortable and it’s going to hurt a bit. But when you feel a contraction, you need to push as hard as you can. And if you need to yell, you yell.”   

“O-Okay…”

Lance’s fingers brushed through his hair. Gentle affirmations whispered in his ear.

“You are so strong, tîi rák. You can do this.”

A contraction. Oliver bore down as hard as he could, his voice rising into a scream as it felt like he was being torn apart from the inside.

“Good, good!” Harvey smiled at him over the blanket. “That’s perfect. Keep going.”

Contraction. Push. Contraction. Push.

Sweat beading his skin. His throat rubbed raw.

“I can see a head. You’re nearly there.”

Maru gently dried the sweat and tears on his face.

Contraction.

“Push.” Harvey grabbed a towel as Oliver pushed with all his might. “Keep going, keep going—”

A tiny cry at the end of his own scream. Lance nuzzled Oliver’s clammy cheek.

“You did it, tîi rák.”

It didn’t feel good.

“Fantastic, Oliver.” Harvey was all smiles as he dried the wailing infant with the towel. “We have a little girl. Lance, would you like to cut the cord?”

“Y-Yes—”

Lance’s hands shook as they held the scissors, and even more as Harvey passed him the swaddled babe.

“L-Look, tîi rák.”

Oliver’s head turned listlessly as Lance brought her to his side, his eyes brimming with tears of joy. She was so tiny. So much smaller than he thought she’d be. Her little hand grasped Lance’s pinky finger. A faint smile through the pain.

It didn’t feel good, but… it would be okay.  

Another contraction reminded him it wasn’t over yet. His body pushed on its own this time, his hoarse scream petering off into sobs.

“Just a little bit more, Oliver. You’re almost done.”

“I-I can’t…!”

Lance passed their daughter to Maru so he could take hold of Oliver’s hand again.

“You can. You absolutely can.”

Each wave was weaker than the last. He was exhausted.

“I know you’re tired, Oliver. You need to dig deep. One last good push.”

It truly felt as though his guts were pulled out with the baby as another tiny wail filled the room. The horrible pain and pressure in his stomach finally eased.

“And we have a boy.”

Lance left his side once again to cut the cord, cradling their son as he brought him over. Just as small. Just as frail looking.

“You are incredible, tîi rák.”

He leaned close and pressed light kisses all over his face, his own drenched in happy tears. Exhausted beyond belief, Oliver caught sight of the clock on the wall. Ten minutes past midnight.

“… H-Happy birthday, sweetie…”

A quiet sob as Lance did his best to hug him with one arm.

“Th-the most beautiful gifts I could ever ask for…”

Oliver managed to smile as his eyes slid closed. He was so, so tired…

“… I-I can’t… do this again…”

“N-No, I would never ask you to—”

A shrill beeping from the monitors. The celebratory mood quickly turned.

“He’s crashing. Maru, grab a bag of saline, two of O-negative, adrenaline and morphine.”

Harvey’s voice sounded far away.

“Harvey? What’s going on?”

Fear in Lance’s. Underwater. Muffled.

“He’s lost a lot of blood.”

His hand felt numb as Lance grasped it with both of his.

“Tîi rák. Tîi rák, look at me.”

Weights hung from his eyelids as he tried to open them.

“M’so tired…”

“I know, I know. Just—keep talking, alright?” Each word shook. “D-Do you remember the names we decided on?”

His head lolled to the side.

“… B… Bailey Wallace… and… Linden Millie…”

Vaguely he heard shuffling feet and crinkling plastic.

“You had some bleeding during delivery, Oliver, which is normal.”

Did Harvey’s voice always sound so tinny?

“I’m going to put a few stitches in and cauterize the rest, but I promise you won’t feel a thing. We’re going to give you the strongest painkillers we can.”

A foul taste in his mouth and nose. The pain started ebbing, a funny floaty feeling settling into his tired muscles as he sighed.

“You may start feeling a little bit nauseous, so just let us know if you feel like you’re going to be sick.”

“M’okay… just… wanna sleep…”

“I promise you can soon.”

Maru wheeled both of the babies over to the side of the bed and placed both of them on Oliver’s chest. He tried to focus his eyes on them. Little heads, one covered in black fuzz, the other in red. Slightly lighter skin than Lance.

“… Th-they’re… so small…”

“Twins already tend to be on the smaller side. And they are almost a month premature.”

Harvey stepped up with his stethoscope, the cold of the metal earning cries from both of them as it touched their skin.

“Shhhh…”

Lance’s finger gently stroked the tops of their heads, soothing them.

“Well, they’ve got surprisingly robust lungs.”

Looking down at the two little beans, Oliver knew he felt happy—but not as much as he thought he would. Or should.

“… Wh-when… when does the magic happen…?”

“Hm?” Harvey placed the stethoscope back around his neck. “What do you mean?”

“Th-the magic… I’m supposed to feel like… everything’s okay, a-and wonderful…”

A sympathetic smile. “You’ve just supported two extra lives for eight months straight, gone through an incredibly traumatic delivery and are in shock. I don’t think anyone in your position would be feeling particularly euphoric right now, either. It’s perfectly normal to not feel that bond right away.”

Another cart wheeled over.

“I’m really sorry, you guys,” Maru apologized preemptively, “but we’re going to have to do some tests that’ll probably make them cry a lot.”

The sounds of their sobs nearly made Oliver sit up—driven by an overwhelming drive to protect and make it all okay.

“I knowww, I’m sorry little ones!”

Maru gently rocked them back and forth as Harvey took blood from the soles of their feet. They were inconsolable; the moment she passed them back to Oliver and Lance, the crying stopped.

“Yoba, that’s always the worst part. I hate making them cry like that…”

“I know.” Harvey looked at the monitors as Oliver settled back against the bed. “Your numbers are heading in the right direction, and that’s good. But you won’t be cleared to go home for at least a few days.”

“A-A few days…?”

Oliver’s heart sank as he rubbed Bailey’s back. All he wanted to do right now was be at home with his family.

“I’m afraid so. We need to monitor you to make sure the bleeding has stopped and there are no lasting complications, and we need to monitor them to make sure their oxygenation is good and steady. Premature neonates have underdeveloped lungs.”

Intense guilt gripped his heart. It felt like it was his fault they were born too early. Like he’d failed them somehow.

“Let’s see if they’re willing to eat anything.” Maru passed a bottle to each of them and brought up a chair beside the bed so Lance could finally sit down. “Make sure you support the head and neck, and hold the bottle at a 45-degree angle.”

“L-Like this?” Lance anxiously looked to her for reassurance as he cradled Linden in his arms.

“Tip it up a little bit more and you’re good.”

A shaky sigh as he turned his attention to Oliver and smiled; somehow, Oliver managed to smile back, the sight of their beautiful children nursing bringing a sense of calm to him.

“… I-I think… I think it’s okay to let Cam and Magnus see them after they’re done eating…”

“Are you sure?”

Oliver took a deep breath and nodded. “… Just… I just don’t want them to see me…”

He didn’t need to look in a mirror to know that he was a mess. Sick as a dog. Hormonal, feeling vulnerable, exposed, almost violated in a way. Not in any condition to deal with any other people.

“I understand.” Lance kissed him softly. “If that’s what you want, then I’m alright with it too.”

“B-Besides, I don’t… don’t think Camilla’s going to wait much longer…”

He laughed. “No, probably not.”

The twins fed, Oliver kissed the top of their heads and watched as Maru and Lance carted them away—almost immediately wishing that he hadn’t let them go. It was so strange; he didn’t feel that ‘rush’ of pure love and joy that every resource he looked up said he would, but there absolutely was something there.

A loud racket—he could hear Camilla wailing all the way from reception. Something about ‘beautiful grandbabies’. It made him smile just a little. Then, rapid footsteps.

“Miss Camilla, you can’t go back there—he doesn’t want any visitors—”

The curtains around his bed were thrown back with such force it nearly ripped them from the railing—suddenly he was being smothered in the tightest of bear hugs.

“Y-You poor thing.”

Camilla’s hand gently stroked his hair.

“Th-thank you so much for giving me such beautiful grandchildren.”

A lump formed in Oliver’s throat as he weakly hugged her back.

“It must have been so painful. But you were strong, and you did it.”

A mirror image of their conversation on the beach after the wedding.

After a long minute she helped him to lie back down and wiped the tears from her eyes.

“Lance and I will watch them. You just rest, alright?” She smoothed the hair on the top of his head. “You’ve more than earned it.”

As if her very words carried soothing magic, his eyelids grew heavy once more.

Yes, rest was what he needed now, more than anything else.  

Chapter 53: A New Normal

Notes:

this is being broken up into a two part chapter because I didn't realize how lengthy it was getting, oops

Oliver had never been so happy to be home. He’d only had to stay for three days before Harvey was okay with him leaving (not happy, per se, but okay) and it had been borderline unbearable with his hormones raging and screaming, demanding that he nest with their littles when there was nothing he could do about it.

“Easy does it. Take it slow.”

Lance held his hand as he took the steps up the porch one at a time; each of them cradled a little bundle in one arm.  His lower body was extremely weak—nerve damage, Harvey had said, most likely from swelling and trauma—though it wasn’t likely to be permanent.

Even just the three steps up to the door exhausted him, and he struggled a little to turn the knob—but they’d made it.

“Do you want me to take Bailey so you can go lay down?”

“Y-yeah, if that’s okay with you…”

His arms shook as he passed their son to him, pressing a soft kiss to both of their heads and Lance’s lips before he limped towards the bedroom. He could hear Lance crooning “welcome home, little ones”, and couldn’t help but smile—not even a week and he was the definition of a doting daddy. In a way, he was jealous of how easily Lance’s affection came to him; he wanted to love and dote on them just the same, but it always felt like he was forcing it…

A heavy sigh blew past his lips as he changed into his favorite pair of pajamas—he required maximum comfy right now—and crawled into bed. The pain killers were wearing off, and with each passing second he became more and more aware of the dull burning in his nether region.

‘I’m so, so sick of feeling sick…’

He hugged his pillow and closed his eyes.

‘When am I supposed to start feeling better?’

Gentle fingers running through his hair.

“I’m going to run and pick up your prescription.”

“Mmkay… be safe…”

“I always am.” Lance’s lips brushed against his cheek. “The monitor’s all set up; hopefully they’ll stay snoozing until I get back.”

“Thank you… I promise I’ll start helping as soon as I can…”

“My love, you are to take as much time as you need to recover, and not a second less. Am I understood?”

His lips puffed out into a frustrated pout. “Fine.”

“Good boy.” Lance took the opportunity to kiss him while they were so readily available.

He hadn’t been gone more than thirty seconds before a feeling of panic settled into Oliver’s stomach. He was so tired, but every little noise that came through the baby monitor made him want to jump out of bed to check on them.

‘What if they spit up and start choking? Will I be able to get there fast enough?’

A cold sweat started beading his skin at the thought.

‘Should I even be trying to sleep right now?’

He tossed the covers off and gingerly set his feet on the floor.

‘How can I when I’m the only one here?’

Each limping step towards the nursery he had to bite back a whimper of pain.  

The nursery was quiet and still, the twins sleeping soundly—Oliver exhaled some of the anxiety that had built up as he leaned over the changing table, trying to take some weight off of his shaking legs.

This was the first time he was even really seeing the nursery all done and decorated; Robin had just finished the last coat of paint the day before he’d gone into labor.

‘She and Lance must have brought the furniture in while I was in the clinic…’

Pastels in every color, everywhere he looked. Animal decals climbing up the walls, and so many toys they wouldn’t be able to play with until they were older. Every piece of furniture, from the bassinets they slept in to the table he was leaning on now—all crafted by Robin’s hands.

A faint smile as he tried to stand up straight. They did a wonderful job.

Quiet fussing from Linden’s bassinet had him hobbling over as fast as he could.

“Shhhh, it’s okay. It’s okay…”

Fresh anxiety as he rubbed her back, trying to soothe her. How was he supposed to know what she needed—if she was hungry, or cold, or needed a fresh diaper?

No, she was still clean and dry.

She rejected the bottle outright, turning her little face away every time he tried to put it in her mouth. All the while she continued to cry, and Oliver’s anxiousness swelled.

“I-I don’t know what you need…”

Completely at a loss he set her back in her bassinet and kept rubbing her back, fighting the urge to cry himself; they hadn’t even been home an hour and already he was a failure of a father.

‘What did Mom do when I was upset?’

Memories of a lullaby. Warm. Comforting. No harm in trying. He took a deep breath.

“You are my sunshine… my only sunshine… you make me happy, when skies are grey…”

His voice quivered, the melody was all over the place and it sounded nothing like it did when his mother sang it—but Linden’s fussing mellowed out all the same. A wobbly and relieved smile replaced the tears.

“You’ll never know, dears, how much I love you…”

He rested his cheek against the side as she fell back asleep.

“… Please don’t take, my sunshine away…”

The lullaby ended with a shaky exhale.

‘Thank Yoba…’

A gentle hand on his shoulder.

“That was a lovely lullaby,” Lance murmured in his ear; his presence offset the brief surge of adrenaline from being surprised. “Is that what your mother sang to you?”

“Y-Yeah…” He stood upright and dried his eyes. “That was faster than I thought it’d be.”

“Harvey called ahead of time to make sure it was ready.” Lance cupped his face and used his thumb to help brush the remaining tears away. “What has you so worried, my love?”

“I-I just…” He leaned into his hand, desperate for comfort and reassurance. “I don’t know how to be a good parent.”

“Neither do I.” Lance pressed a kiss to his forehead. “But I’d say you know more about it than I do. I look forward to learning from you.

“Wh—”

How could he say that when the whole ‘parenting’ thing seemed to come so naturally to him?

Lance’s arm snaked around his waist as he chuckled.

“We’ll figure it out.”

“I-I’m glad you have enough confidence for the both of us…”

He let himself be guided back to bed where he took his medicine; this time when he laid down, Lance was there beside him, curled up protectively around him and holding him close against his chest. The security and warmth of his body was all it took for Oliver to fall into the rest he so desperately needed.

 

 

The next few days, Oliver had so many extra hands helping him that it was actually overwhelming. All the town moms took turns coming over to do the housework and offer advice, and true to Lance’s predictions, Susan was out in the fields getting them ready for planting—as was Leah, and Andy, and Sophia, while Shane and Jas took care of the animals.

And then there was Camilla, fawning and doting over her grandchildren the whole time, half of which she spent blubbering in utter joy at their existence.

“Gods, I just want to pinch their little cheeks so much!”

“Um—please don’t do that.” His anxiety was through the roof as she hovered over them yet again; it wasn’t great that they were being exposed to so many people already, and being touched would just make it more likely they would catch something.

“I won’t, but UGH it’s so tempting.”

Jodi gently tapped her on the shoulder.

“It might be a good idea to squeal in the other room, honey. He did just put them down for a nap.”

“Y-Yes, let’s do that.”

A sigh of relief as Camilla took him by the hand and dragged him towards the living room.

“Honey? Honey? Does she not know how old I am?! I could be her grandmother!”

“I-I’m sure it’s just because you look so young.”

Her mood whiplashed from seething to flattered.

“I mean, I do look good for my age.”

She made him sit down on the couch and plopped down beside him.

“How are you feeling today?”

“Better.” He shifted slightly to get more comfortable. “Still sore, but better.”

“Have you tried taking a dip in that bathhouse? I’m sure the heat would help a lot.”

“Oh—Harvey expressly said to not do that. Something about risk of infection. I wish I could, though.”

“Hmm…” Camilla tapped her chin in thought. “… I have an idea. Be right back~”

And just like that, she was gone, and he was alone on the couch, listening to Caroline hum as she washed the dishes from lunch.

It was getting very, very hard for him not to ask everyone to leave. So many people being around was making it feel like it wasn’t his house—his nest—even though he knew they were helping out of the kindness of their hearts. He didn’t have it in his to send them away.

‘I just wish Lance could come home and it could be just us for awhile.’  

His finger idly traced the stitching on the couch cushion before picking up the TV remote. He already knew there was nothing good to watch—he’d checked not half an hour ago. But nobody would let him so much as lift a finger to do anything outside of caring for the twins, and they didn’t need anything at the moment.

Flipping through the channels, his eyelids started growing heavy.

‘Why am I still so tired? All I do is sit around and sleep…’

His head dipped forward each time he started to doze off.

‘… Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to rest my eyes for a few minutes.’

Laying down on his stomach helped to take pressure off of his tender rear. The remote eventually slipped from his dangling hand halfway through a rerun of Silver Gals as he succumbed to the dastardly force of napping.

Chapter 54: His Nexus

Notes:

more lore dumping yay (this is lore that isn't directly included in LE but it IS canon)

Peaceful quiet and the feeling of fingers running through his hair when he woke, no longer splayed across the couch but laying with his head in Lance’s lap.

“Hello sleepyhead.”

Lance smiled at him and set aside the book he’d been reading.

“Hi…” Oliver tried to rub the sleep from his eyes as he yawned. “Welcome home…”

A soft chuckle. “I’ve been home for about an hour now. But thank you.”

Oops. He hadn’t meant to sleep for that long.

“Guess I should get started on dinner… assuming you didn’t already take care of it?”

“Oh no, I didn’t. Caroline did.”

Oliver sighed, trying not to let his frustration show; of course she did.

“What’s on your mind, my love?”

“Nothing…”

Fingers started tickling his side.

“H-Hey—stop that—”

“Hm? What was that?” Lance’s grin spread ear to ear as Oliver dissolved into a fit of giggles. “I can’t hear you over those adorable laughs of yours.”

“S-Stoooop! Y-You know—how ticklish—I am—”

Trying to squirm off his lap only ended up with him hanging halfway off the couch, still being tickled within an inch of his life. Eventually Lance pulled him back up to sit, kissing him as he tried to catch his breath.

“Now, tell me what’s really bothering you.”

The last vestiges of giggles faded as Oliver idly traced circles on Lance’s chest.

“… Just doesn’t feel like our house when so many people are over all the time and doing everything for us. I know they’re just excited for us, and they’re just trying to make things easier, but…”

Another kiss, softer than the last, his hand gently massaging the small of his back. “I understand how you feel. I wish I didn’t have to leave at all; the strain of being constantly on alert for you is starting to affect my performance a bit.”

“…? What do you mean being on alert?”

“Well… when we found out you were pregnant, I asked Magnus to teach me more about our soul bond. If I concentrate hard enough, I can feel your every movement and emotions. I would ‘check’ on you quite frequently back then, but now I can’t help but always feel for how you’re doing.”

“I-Isn’t that a bit exhausting? To feel two people at once?”

A knowing smile that reached eyes filled with pure adoration. “My love, who was it that carried our children for the better part of a year? I can always dial it to simply listen for your emotions should it become too taxing for me.”

“… As long as it doesn’t start getting you into trouble at work. I’ll have to punish you if you get written up.”

“Oh? Do go on.”

“No, I think I’ll leave it to your imagination.” He laughed mischievously. “… Does it work even if you’re asleep, then?”

 The smile left Lance’s face as he looked away.

“… I don’t exactly ‘sleep’ anymore.”

Confusion and concern.

“What do you mean you don’t sleep? I hear you snoring every night.”

“I’m not ‘sleeping’ in the regular sense.” Lance chewed on the inside of his cheek as he chose his next words carefully. “… You have a nexus that is deeply rooted throughout this entire valley, correct?”

“Yes…?”

“And we are soul bonded, through magic.”

“Yes?”

“What do you think your Nexus is made of?”

The gears in Oliver’s brain worked double time, trying to process what he was implying. A cold pit formed in his stomach.

“Are you… are you saying you’re rooted to my Nexus?”

“That’s… not exactly the term I’m looking for.” Lance wrapped his arms loosely around his waist. “It’s more... that I have become a branch of your Nexus. Rather than my ‘self’ being tethered to it, it has absorbed me.”

The cold spread to every inch of him, so biting in its sting that it stole the air from his lungs. All this time, the Lance before him hadn’t ‘existed’ as his own person. Just an extension of him.

“Oh, gods…” He started shaking as he buried his face in his hands. “I’m a monster…”  

“Ah—my love, that’s not what I was trying to say—”

“But it’s the truth, isn’t it?”

A heavy silence that spoke volumes.

“… I would never use that word to describe you.” Lance pulled him into a hug. “But you realize now why the three of us are always so hesitant around you, yes?”

Oh, he understood loud and clear now.

“I-I’ll start taking lessons seriously from now on, I-I swear.” His voice shook to match the rest of him as Lance rubbed his back to comfort him.

 “That’s the reason why I had to fight Magnus so hard to get his blessing for our bond. He knew that I would become a part of you and lose my sense of self.”

A quiet sob muffled by the fabric of his shirt as Oliver hid his face in it.

“That’s not a bad thing, tîi rák. I still feel like ‘me’—I just don’t feel lost.” Lance cupped his cheek so he would look at him. “I finally feel grounded, here, in your embrace. As if this was where I was always meant to be.”

Big, fat tears streamed down his face as he put his hand over Lance’s. The mana circulating between them soothed the storming tempest in his heart with its warmth and love.

“He would never admit it, of course, but Magnus doesn’t see it that way; he thinks it’s a tragedy that a warmonger like myself doesn’t devote my body to research.” He chuckled. “We’re definitely an oddity in the Ministry’s eyes.”

Oliver didn’t want to imagine just how the Ministry saw either of them.

“… S-So, I’m guessing my nexus isn’t a usual one? What are they supposed to be like?”

“Well, you understand Magnus’s nexus is made for travel, yes?”

A moment of silence as Oliver cast his gaze away.

“… I… might have slept through that lesson…”

Lance’s laugh was half amused, half exasperated.

“I understand that his lectures are boring, but that one was rather important.” He poked the tip of Oliver’s nose. “Perhaps you should ask for a refresher on it.”

“I-I will…”

“Good boy. For now, I will give you the short version. Do try to pay attention this time.”

“I-I will!” he huffed with a pout. Lance just chuckled.

“Nexi can be three types: modular, immobile, and city-wide.”

His jaw dropped. “C-City wide?”

“Indeed. Perhaps when the Ministry drops your ban, we’ll visit the main city together. Just the two of us.”

The thought of it set Oliver’s imagination ablaze; he couldn’t imagine what a nexus that big could possibly look like.

“You know, yours would have been a city-wide if you were a planes practitioner like Magnus. They’re quite a coveted commodity.”

“Why?”

“A city-wide can connect to anything, anywhere, anytime.”

The dots connected in his head as it started spinning.

‘Anything, anywhere, anytime.’

‘My nexus was supposed to be a city-wide.’

‘And… I am a monster…’

“…I… I turned you into a warp point?” he asked in a tiny voice.

“Correct.”

It took everything he had not to burst into tears again. His beloved husband, a warp point.

“I-Is that why you can warp without much chanting?”

“Ah. I didn’t think you’d noticed that—but yes. I merely have to ‘feel’ the valley through you, and I can maneuver however I wish. Really, it’s quite convenient.”

“B-But I still need to use my nexus and warp totems and the return scepter.”

“Well, you were born in the mundane.” He nuzzled his neck affectionately. “If you apply yourself in your lessons from now on, it won’t be long before you’re able to feel the earth itself breathe. Though, I’m sure that my inclination towards planes magic helps to some degree, even if I was never inclined to sell my soul to the void.”

“Th-the void, right…” Oliver fidgeted with his fingers. “Um… What exactly… is a planes practitioner, again? I kind of forgot…”

Lance stared at him in disbelief as he started laughing.

“That was quite literally the first lesson! How could you forget something so important?”

“I-It’s not like I did it on purpose!”

He sat and pouted as Lance fell to the side in a fit of belly laughs.

“It’s not that funny…”

“Ohhh but it is!” Lance clutched his stomach with tears in his eyes. “The old man is going to be hell to deal with; I do not envy you one little bit.”

His laughter eventually petered off, and he was able to sit back up.

“Ahhh… I love you, Oliver. Never change.” He wiped the tears from his eye with a lingering chuckle. “To answer your question: planes practitioners borrow their magic from other ‘planes’ of existence. Your magic draws upon the earth itself, whereas mine is self-centered by nature, as it is a martial art. But ours still both stem from the same foundation—namely, our very souls. And my meridian is my way of reaching through the other planes to supplement myself—I quite literally borrow from my other ‘selves’.”

“So… does that mean you can actually see into your other timelines?”

“Hm…” He thought about it for a moment. “Sort of? If you think of it as a simultaneous existence, then I suppose it would be similar to parallel timelines. For me, though, it’s more akin to borrowing power from a younger version of myself.”

“What about other timelines in general?”

A playful smile.

“I wasn’t aware this had turned into a game of 20 Questions. Where is this enthusiasm and thirst for knowledge during your lessons?”

“Would you—” he lightly smacked Lance’s chest, “—lay off of the lessons stuff?! I said I’d start paying more attention!”

“But it’s just so fun to poke the bear with you. It makes you feisty. No, I don’t have foresight like Welwick or Magnus.”

“But… you can still borrow from them?”

“Exactly. I can feel their emotions and ‘borrow’ their strength, but I cannot see how they lived their lives.”

“Ah, okay. I think I understand now…”

He hadn’t forgotten Lance’s words to him that day in the mines—when Lance expressed his doubt of his worthiness to be with him, and how it might have turned out in other timelines. In a way, he was relieved that he wasn’t able to torture himself with the knowledge of his other selves’ lives.

“I’m glad that you do. Now, do you have any more questions, or are you ready to tuck into that dinner?”

Oliver didn’t hear him, still lost in his thoughts.

“Tîi rák?”

Lance’s call brought him back to the present as he tucked a few strands of his hair behind his ear.

“Hm? Oh, um—yeah, that’s fine with me.”

“You didn’t even hear what I said, did you?” He chuckled. “I asked if you wanted to have dinner. There’s a little surprise waiting for you after we eat.”

“A surprise… for me?”

 

The surprise turned out to be a little mini spa set up in the bathroom; flower petals and scented candles, sliced cucumbers, face masks and scrubs, lotions and essential oils, and two big fluffy robes waiting for them.

“Cam set it up while you were asleep.” Lance laughed at the way Oliver's eyes sparkled. “Initially she wanted to wake you up so she could be the one to pamper you, but she decided it was better to let you rest.”

“You mean Jodi and Caroline talked her out of it?”

“No, actually—she came to that decision on her own. She does have her moments, after all.” He squeezed Oliver’s shoulders. “So, shall we have ourselves a spa day?”

“Y… Yeah. That sounds really, really nice…”

Chapter 55: Re:Birthday

Notes:

ULTRA MEGA GIGA REAPER SPICE WARNING AT THE END. BDSM AHOY. We're heading into the final story beat, and this is most likely going to be the last spicy time, so I had fun with it. Also this chapter is almost 5k words because I couldn't be bothered to split it up this time, so uh... good fucking luck ig

Oh, how time flew. That traumatic delivery was a distant memory; Oliver’s body had healed, albeit with some new marks, and he was back doing what he loved—just with a little more responsibility weighing him down. Literally.

“Can you say, ‘bawk bawk’?”

Shane did his best chicken imitation, trying to get the toddlers strapped to Oliver’s front and back to copy him.

“C’mon, say ‘bawk bawk’.”

 Two pairs of amethyst eyes stared back at him.

“… Yoba, it’s like trying to teach Jas all over again—”

“Baak?” Linden opened and closed her hand curiously.

“Yeah! ‘Bawk’!” He flapped his arms like a chicken, and they both started giggling, as did Oliver.

“I never thought I’d see the day you did the chicken dance just to make my kids laugh.”

“Oh, you should’ve seen the things I used to do to try and get Jas to laugh. Marnie’s got blackmail material on me for the rest of my life.” He affectionately ruffled both Bailey and Linden’s hair. “Can’t believe it’s been a year already.”

“I know. Feels like just yesterday we brought them home. I really appreciate all the help you guys gave us back then.”

“Well, it’s what you do for family, right?”

A shy smile. “Right.”

As he watched Shane play peek-a-boo with the twins, his mind wandered to a question that had sat in the back of his head for a long time.

“… You know… I never thought to ask until now, but… back when I was ‘in debt’ to Joja—how did you find out?”

“Well, I got suspicious with how many times you were going into Morris’s office. Took me a couple tries at eavesdropping before I got the gist of the situation. Honestly, I was kinda surprised you didn’t see me when you ran out that last time.”

“I don’t think I really saw anything…”

What was once the lowest point of his life, he now looked back on with—well, not fondness, but clarity and hindsight.

“Yoba, I was so stupid back then.”

“Hey, you’re not nearly old enough to start talking like that—and especially not about something that was barely a few years ago. Besides, your twenties are all about being stupid and figuring shit out.”

“I guess you’re right… How have you been doing with therapy and stuff?”

“Eh.” A noncommittal shrug. “The same. Got good days and bad ones. More good than bad, though.”

“You know you can always come and hang out on the farm if you need someone to talk to.”

“Nah. You have enough shit on your plate, and you’ve already dealt with enough of mine for a lifetime. I appreciate the offer, though.”

“Well—it’s staying on the table if you ever change your mind.” Oliver adjusted the straps on the carriers. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to work. Bibi, Linlin, say bye bye to Uncle Shane~”

Shane laughed at the chorus of ‘bai’s and little enthusiastic handwaves and blown kisses. “Bye bye, you little stinkers. Be a good boy and good girl for your daddies, now. Oh—almost forgot. Tell Lance I said happy birthday, will you?”

A smile and a nod as he waved and started back towards the farm, with the twins still calling out their goodbyes and blowing kisses. Technically, the twins’ birthday had been the day before—they had been born just before midnight—but Lance insisted on celebrating his and theirs together.

“Aaaaalley-oop!”

Making airplane noises he hefted the twins into their playpen in the living room—quite literally a 40-lb weight off his shoulders.

“Daddy has to start making the cakes, okay?” He set some of their more interactive toys in with them and made sure they were fully absorbed with them before he set about doing just that.

‘Cam should be here any minute. She’ll want to decorate them, I’m sure… if she doesn’t get caught up playing with them again, anyway.’

 Right on cue, the front door swung open.

“I’m heeeeere, my sweet grandbabies!”

He laughed as she beelined it for their playpen to shower them in kisses. “What, no hello for me?”

“Sorry, sorry~ I couldn’t help myself. Hello to you too. Ohhhh, I can’t believe you two are already a year old!” She scooped them both up into her arms and spun in circles as they laughed. “You’re not allowed to grow up so fast!”

Three cakes went into the oven—german chocolate for Lance, vanilla for the twins.

“Are you going to want to decorate?” he asked as he washed the mixer bowls in the sink.

“Oooooh, yes yes yes~ I know exactly what I want to do for Lancey’s.”

“Is it going to embarrass him?”

“No! I would never do anything to embarrass my son on his special day.” The mischievous glint in her eyes said otherwise.  

“… Maybe you could just decorate the twins’ cakes.”

“Oh—I was kidding, just kidding!”

He shook his head with a smile. “Do you know when Magnus and Morgan are coming over?”

“Relatively soonish, I think. Are we going to do the ‘surprise’ thing when Lance comes home?”

“Um—that might not be a good idea. If he came home to an empty dark house he’d probably start panicking.”

“Oh… good point.” She clicked her tongue in disappointment. “Drat.”

“Dat!” Linden repeated.

“Oooh, so close! Try again.” She crouched down and put Linden’s hand over her mouth as she repeated the word so the toddler could learn how to form it. “Draaat. Draaaat.”

“Daaaaat!”

“Stop trying to teach them to swear!”

“Drat isn’t a swear!”

He pointed the soapy mixing spoon in her direction. “It’s a slippery slope.”

“You’re no fun.” She plopped onto the floor with a pout. “Neither is Lancey. He's gotten so stuffy and serious." A melancholic sigh. "I never thought I’d see the day when my little hellion willingly agreed to work for the Ministry.”

One of the mixing bowls clattered to the floor, dropped in shock.

“Wh—since when did he start working for them?!”

“… Uh oh.”

A nervous laugh as she cast her eyes anywhere but his direction.

“Did I say work for the ministry? I mean, uh… Ohhhhh no, I think one of the twins needs changing, let me just go take care of that—”

“Camilla. Explain.”

“Ahhh, scary~” She cowered from his murderous glare behind the playpen. “It’s not that big a deal, I promise.”

“You have five seconds.” His staff flew into his hand from its place by the door. “Four. Three—”

The staff was unceremoniously pried from his grasp before he could get to ‘two’.

“Is it really worth destroying half of your house and ruining your family’s birthdays?” Magnus stared down at him from beneath the brim of his hat.

“You talk then.” Oliver twisted around to glare up at him instead. “Because I know for damn sure that you’re in on it too.”

“I am. And I will not. It’s something you should hear directly from Lance himself. Again, I ask you—is this worth ruining your family’s birthdays for?”

His seething fury settled to a rolling simmer as he took a breath—undoubtedly Lance would have felt the surge of anger, and he didn’t want to make him worry more.

“… No. It isn’t.”

“Then let it go for now.”

‘Let it go’, he said, as if it were so simple. But he would not do anything to disrupt their special day. With a quiet sigh he leaned against the counter and folded his arms, watching as Magnus went to pick up and greet each toddler in turn.

“… Did Morgan not want to come?”

“No. They seem to have caught whatever illness is currently floating around town.”

“Probably picked it up from the other kids… which means Jas probably has it… which means Shane probably has it…” He sighed again—he would have to keep an eye on himself and them for the next few days to make sure none of them came down with it, too. “Poor Morgan. I’ll send some extra cake home with you so they can have some.”

“I’m sure they will appreciate that—”

Linden’s tiny fingers grabbed onto a handful of his beard and pulled hard.

“—little one, I would appreciate it if you did not do that—”

“Linlin, no.”

Oliver crossed over to them and helped pry the wiry hairs from her grasp.

“We don’t pull hair.” He crouched down to look at her. “That hurts people. Say you’re sorry to grandpa.”

“Aaaaa!” She just screeched and bounced up and down in Magnus’s arms.

“Sorry; she’s going through a phase right now.” He knelt down to pick up and cuddle Bailey. “And poor Bailey is so quiet that he ends up getting less attention. Makes me wish I could be in two places at once.” He hugged his son a bit tighter, smiling a little at the way Bailey snuggled against him; sometimes he really did feel like he was failing them.

“She’ll grow out of it soon enough, I’m sure.”

“Oh yes,” Camilla cackled, “just in time for the terrible twos.”

Just the phrase ‘terrible twos’ was enough to make him break out in a cold sweat. The horror stories he’d heard…

An hour later, the cakes were cooling on the counter while he and Camilla whipped up batches of frosting, chatting and gossiping away as though nothing had happened while Magnus entertained the littles with a magical puppet show.

“I thought it was against Ministry doctrine to do magic around mundanes,” he teased.

“I highly doubt that they are mundane, given their parents’ magical inclinations. Therefore, I am breaking no rules.”  

“If they did inherit it from us, when would it start to show?”

“Right around now. You may want to start keeping an eye out for errant embers and broken furniture. Infant magic is even more unpredictable than yours by virtue of their lack of control.”  

“… Huh. I wonder if that’s why Lance started reinforcing everything…”

A glance to the clock as the cakes were frosted. Ten to six. Assuming Lance wasn’t held up… wherever he was working that day, he’d warp home at six on the nose.

“I’m going to go and start bringing out their presents. Cam, I’m trusting you not to touch Lance’s cake.”

“I wooooon’t, I prooooomise~”

He squinted at her as she smiled innocently.

“… For some reason I don’t believe you.”  

Dozens of wrapped presents filled the living room; most were, predictably, for the twins, wrapped in bright and colorful paper, whereas Lance’s were wrapped in silvers and emeralds.

“… You know, I don’t think we got enough gifts for them,” he joked meekly as Camilla snickered.

It seemed Lance agreed, too, for when he came through the door at six on the dot his arms were filled with bags of even more presents.

“I’m hoooome~”

“Dadaaaa!”

Furious shuffling as the twins crawled at breakneck speed to be swept up into hugs and kisses.

“Hello my lovelies~ Were you good for daddy today?”

“More or less,” Oliver answered, walking over to greet him with a kiss of his own. “Happy birthday, honey.”

“Yes yes, happy birthday Lancey~!”

“Mm. Happy birthday.”  

“Thank you, and thank you, and thank you.” Lance laughed awkwardly. “I don’t know that I’ll ever get used to such a fuss being made over me.”

“Oh, but you’re more than happy to make a fuss over my birthday.” Oliver started picking up the bags that had been quickly dropped to scoop up the twins. “Oof—good lord honey, how many toys did you pick up this time?!”

“Uh—about a few?”

He just shook his head with a laugh. “Go on and sit down. I’ll get these wrapped up, and then we can have some cake and ice cream.”

“I don’t deserve you, you know that?”

Another kiss, with a bit too much heat for current company—Oliver had to smush his hand into Lance’s face to push him away.

“No no, I don’t think so.” He leaned in to whisper in Lance’s ear, “Those gifts are for after everyone’s gone and the twins are in bed.”

A low purr of approval before Lance took off like an airplane towards the couch. Oliver could hear the twins screaming and laughing all the way in the bedroom as he wrapped at least another twenty toys.

“You know,” he said as he set them with the rest, “we’re going to have to go through and donate some of their old ones at some point. At this rate we’re going to be swimming in toys before they even start school.”

A meek grin from Lance. “I know, I know, I just—I can’t help it.”

“Look at you, the doting father~” Camilla ruffled his hair affectionately.

A chaotic birthday celebration; the twins ended up with more cake on their faces and hands than in their stomachs, and they’d definitely be finding bits of wrapping paper laying around for days. So much noise—so much laughter, talking, teasing, joking, heated denials of childhood mishaps (mostly from Lance) and fond reminiscing. All in good fun, but it would be a lie to say that Oliver wasn’t secretly relieved when their guests took their leave some two and a half hours later.

“Honey~?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Do you think you could get the twins washed and in bed? I still have a few more... presents I need to get ready for you.”

Lance perked up, scooping up the cake-encrusted toddlers and speeding towards the bathroom. Their giggles and splashes reached clear to the living room as Oliver slipped out of his clothes and into the lingerie that Lance had gotten him all those months ago.

It was funny; as he peered into the mirror, applying eyeliner and mascara, he wasn’t nearly so self-conscious as he was back then. Not even of the stretch marks on his stomach, the only lingering proof that he had carried their children.

‘I guess if you hear something enough times, you start to believe it.’ He leaned closer to study his reflection. ‘… Not bad. Not as god as Jolyne did at the wedding, but not bad.’

A curling iron teased his hair into loose spirals. He’d purposely let it grow out  to past his shoulders in preparation for this night, since Lance was ever so fond of it when it was long. It’d probably get in the way, but oh well. All that mattered was that he liked it.

Several ‘special’ presents had been stashed away in the back of the closet, where he knew Lance wouldn’t look; carefully he laid them out on the bed, smirking to himself at the assortment he’d selected. His husband had become quite the bad influence on him.

Now all that was left was to wait.

He perched on the edge of the bed with one leg crossed, just as he heard Lance’s rapid footsteps drawing near. The mental image of him sprinting full speed just about made him laugh.

“Did they put up a fight?” he called.

“No, they were out as soon as I put them down—”

Lance all but skidded into the room, breathless in his haste; that breath caught in his throat as his eyes took in the sight of Oliver waiting for him.

“Good. That means we have the whole night to enjoy ourselves.”

“I…” Lance ran his fingers through his hair, flustered beyond belief.

A quiet giggle as Oliver beckoned him forward with his finger. “Yes?”

“I’m not quite sure what I did to earn such a wonderful present.”

Oliver’s fingers curled around a handful of Lance’s shirt as he drew near.

“Do you want me to list the reasons, or would you rather we skip straight to you getting the rest of them?”

 “Uh—the latter. Definitely the latter.”

“I thought so.” His fingers moved up until they cupped his face to pull him down into a kiss. “Since it’s your birthday, and you’ve been such a good boy, you get to choose. Are you in charge tonight,” his voice adopted the same sultry tone that Lance had used on him so many times, “or am I?”

The adam’s apple on Lance’s throat visibly moved with his swallow.

“Choose quickly, Lancelot.” He popped a few of the buttons on Lance’s shirt so he could run his hand all over his bare chest. “I’m impatient.”

Lance’s eyes closed as he exhaled through his nose with a shudder.

“You,” he finally breathed.

“Get on the bed.”

The mattress creaked as he crawled onto it.

“On your back.”

Obediently he laid against the pillows.

“Pick a safe word.”

Lance’s tongue darted across his lips.

“Spider lily.”

A pair of fuzzy handcuffs snapped around each wrist, restraining them to the headboard. He tugged against them, testing their resistance.

“I like the direction this is going already—”

His words were cut off and muffled by the bit gag pressed into his mouth.

“Are you sure about that?” Oliver asked with a smirk as he secured it around his head.

“Mmh.”

An enthusiastic nod.

“Good.”

Being in charge sent shivers down Oliver’s spine. No wonder Lance was always so into it.

The remaining buttons on his shirt went flying as he ripped it open the rest of the way.

“Good thing you got a new shirt today, hm?”

Oliver’s hand rubbed up and down Lance’s chest, relishing in the way it rose and fell with anticipatory breaths. In the way that he jolted as his thumbs brushed against his nipples. The way that goosebumps erupted across his skin as he moaned around the gag.

What was the word he was so fond of using? Intoxicating? Yes, that seemed apt.

His lips brushed along Lance’s jaw to the corner of his mouth, listening to those delicious sounds escaping him.

 “Still enjoying yourself?” He asked, dipping his head down to his neck to nibble and bite.

In answer Lance let his head list to the side, giving him all the room he could ask for to mark up. He lavished attention over each centimeter, until the splotches started blending together, and a large tent stood between Lance’s legs.

“Plea’sh.”

The word sloppily worked out around the gag.

Oliver kissed a trail down to his chest.

“Please what?”

“Plea’sh le’ me co’e.”

“Hm…”

His hand slid down to massage the bulge. Lance bucked his hips with a louder moan.

“Well, it is your birthday…”

The zipper tugged down with practiced ease.

“I suppose I should let you.”

Ever so slowly he disrobed Lance from the waist down, his fingers ghosting over the heated member standing at full attention.

“But it wouldn’t be much fun at all to just do it the normal way.”

The shackles of a spreader bar snapped around Lance’s ankles, leaving his legs wide open. He made sure Lance was watching as he selected their next toy—a plain, simple vibrator.

“I thought that since you’ve never been on the bottom before,” the tip circled between Lance’s legs, “you might like to feel what it’s like.”

Faster exhales through Lance’s nose. Oliver waited, listening for the safe word as he applied a generous amount of lubricant to the toy; only when he was sure Lance had no intention of using it did he press it inside to the base.

“Mmh—!”

“Shhh.”

Oliver kissed his inner thighs as he writhed against the bed. He’d purposely picked a small and thin one for Lance’s comfort and enjoyment.

“Relax.”

His fingers massaged where he’d kissed, waiting until Lance settled back against the mattress.

“How does it feel?”

Half lidded eyes stared back at him through sweaty bangs.

“Wei’rh. Ish hish wha’ i’ fee’sh i’e fo’r you?”

A seductive giggle as his finger traced along Lance’s stomach.

“No, not quite.”

His thumb flicked the switch on the base.

“This is.”

Lance’s back arched clear off the mattress again, his moans filling the room and drowning out the buzz from the toy as he swiftly reached his peak.

“Ooh, I didn’t even have to touch you.”

His fingers smeared the mess on Lance’s abdomen as he settled between his legs.

“If I didn’t know any better,” he licked his fingers clean, keeping eye contact the entire time, “I’d say you’re enjoying it.”

Furious nodding. Oliver’s mouth hovered over his member, his breath hot against the tip; impatient twitches of his hips were just a bit short of reaching the cavern it so desperately sought.

“Come on, you can do better than that.”

Oliver gazed up at him teasingly as he tucked his hair behind his ear.

“Or has the great Lancelot already hit his limit?”

Lance’s nostrils flared as he bucked harder.

“Aww, so close.” Oliver’s tongue lapped up the liquid oozing from it without touching it directly. “Beg.”

“Hu—”

“Beg, and I’ll give you what you want.”

Lance struggled to swallow the spit in his mouth. “Plea’sh, ‘y lo’e.”

His lips wrapped around the tip.

“More.”

“Plea’sh—!”

His hands pressed Lance’s hips down against the mattress to keep them still as he swallowed down to the base.

“Mmm…”

Still keeping Lance’s gaze, he hummed, bobbing up and down his length. The mages hands clenched and unclenched as he fought weakly against the cuffs, the muscles in his stomach contracting and relaxing in rapid succession.

Gods, the look he was giving him right now was almost enough to take him over the edge himself. The begging in his eyes made up for the begging he couldn’t do with his mouth.

Lance’s breaths started coming quick and shallow. Right before he hit his peak, Oliver released him from his mouth just to hear him whine before taking him back in to finish him properly.

“Mmh—O’i’er—!”

The sound of his name choked out around the gag made him moan around the heated appendage in his mouth, the vibrations finally giving Lance the release he so desperate wanted. Every last drop was swallowed before he straddled his waist, hovering over him with his mouth open to show him that it was all gone.

“Fu’…”

His chest heaved as Oliver lapped up the trail of saliva running from his open mouth.

“You’ve still got some energy left in you, don’t you?”

A buck of Lance’s hips was his reply.

“Good~” He rubbed his rear against Lance’s member. “Because I still haven’t had my turn.”

He pressed his fingers around the gag into Lance’s mouth.

“Lick.”

The sensation of his tongue rubbing against the digits made him shudder.

“Good boy.”

His preparation was quick, the fabric clothing his lower half pulled to the side so he could press himself against that waiting excitement.

“What’s the magic word?”

“Plea’sh!”

He pressed down until he was flush against Lance’s lap, their moans overlapping over the creak of the mattress as he settled into a swift rhythm.

“Gods, you feel so good~”

His hands rested on Lance’s chest, teasing his nipples as he rode him. Helpless eyes smoldering with desire gazed back at him—he licked his lips and leaned down to kiss the corners of his mouth.

“You’re really feeling it now, aren’t you?” he breathed into it.

More nods and enthusiastic bucks up into his sweet spot, his own voice rising in pitch with each one. His own body cried out for release, denied by the ring sat snugly at his base.

“O-Oh no you don’t.”

He settled firmly back against Lance’s lap, planting his hands on either side of his head as he stared him down.

“None of that.”

An impatient huff. Only when his hips were still and relaxed did Oliver resume his pace, pressing his fingers into Lance’s mouth once again.

“Good boy.”

A shuddering moan at the praise and fingers violating his mouth.

It felt like the whole house shook with how hard he was riding him, the effort of it starting to drain him.

“I’m going to count from five.”

His saliva-covered fingers teased Lance’s chest.

“And when I get to one, you’re going to come. Understand?”

Desperate nods that left his hair a mess from the friction and sweat.

“Five.”

He ground hard against his lap with a moan of his own.

“Four.”

His hands rested against Lance’s knees for leverage.

“Three.”

The muscles in Lance’s legs tensed from his restraint.

“Two.”

Once more he leaned forward over him, his lips hovering just beyond a kiss’s reach.

“You can move your hips,” he breathed. “One.”

Frantic breaths and moans and an intense heat flooding into him as Lance’s hips bucked with wild abandon, bringing him finally to his own long-denied climax as he kissed him through the gag.

“Mmn…”

Lance all but melted against the mattress, panting rapidly through his nose with his eyes closed as Oliver sat up straight once again to admire the sight of him so satisfied. After a minute, Lance gazed up at him.

“Ca’ you ta’e i’ ou’ ‘ow?”

A breathless laugh as he unfastened the strap.

“N-Not that. The vibrator.”

“Oh—”

Quickly he switched it off and pulled it out as Lance shuddered.

“Thank you. Holy shit…” He tipped his head back with a shaky exhale. “Is that how it always feels for you?”

“Mmm…” Oliver’s fingers idly toyed with some of his chest hairs. “I mean, it certainly doesn’t compare to the real thing.”

“I… I think I would actually lose my mind.”

Oliver laughed again as he freed him from the cuffs and spreader bar.

“Did you enjoy it, at least?” he asked, petting Lance’s chest with one hand and his hair with the other as he curled around him.

“I didn’t not enjoy it, clearly.”

The mess left behind certainly attested to that. A mess that could be addressed later; he was far too busy lavishing gentle attention onto him at the moment.

“But I don’t think I can say it was my favorite part.”

“What was your favorite part, then?”

“You, of course. Being completely at your mercy…” He leaned into the hand that was stroking his hair. “I wouldn’t say no to doing that again.”

Oliver smiled and nuzzled his cheek. “I’m happy to do that.”

A contented quiet fell over them as Oliver continued to pamper him—a continuation of the refreshing role reversal they’d so thoroughly enjoyed. But a nagging thought lingered in the back of his mind. One that needed to be addressed.

“… Is it alright if we talk about something?”

Eyes that had started drooping opened wide and alert.

“Of course. You know you don’t have to ask.”

“Well, I do this time since it’s your birthday, and I don’t want to ruin in…”

His brows knitted together. “What could possibly ruin it?”

“… Camilla said you work for the Ministry.”

“… Oh.” Lance shifted to sit up and ran his fingers through his hair with a sigh. “Dammit, Cam…”

“We’re not supposed to keep secrets, Lance. Not big ones like that.”

“I know. I wasn’t intentionally keeping it from you, I just… wasn’t intentionally discussing it with you, either.”

“Because you knew it would upset me.”

A gaze cast towards the shadows on the other side of the room.

“… Yeah.” A quick glance back at him. “… You’re angry with me. I can feel it.

“I’m not—I’m not angry. Just frustrated. You said you’d never let the Ministry shackle you.”

“I did. Things were different back then.” His hand sought Oliver’s, their fingers lacing together. “… It was one of the conditions for them to approve our soul bond. I’ve been their obedient dog ever since.”

“Lance…” He cupped Lance’s face, trying to keep his heart from breaking.

“I don’t regret it. I do regret keeping you in the dark about it.”

He leaned into Oliver’s touch as his eyes closed with a quiet sigh; through their bond, he could tell that Lance was being truthful.

“… What were the other conditions?”

“Becoming Magnus’s contract supplier for the next century, and Camilla’s dedicated paper pusher.”

“… I think the last one is almost worse.”

A quiet chuckle as his eyes opened again. “You have no idea. Running around doing the Ministry’s bidding at least keeps me awake… though they were kind enough to throw their new dog a bone, as it were.”

“What’s that?”

“They loosened the vice grip of your learnings.”

His jaw dropped.

“Is that why—”

“Magnus and I began fervently instructing you, yes. Helping you contain and control that magic of yours became our highest priority. And I’m pleased that you did start taking those lessons seriously.”

A quiet pout. “I said I would.”

“You did, and you have.” A kiss pressed to his forehead. “I’m sorry for not being honest with you.”

“Well—I can’t exactly be mad at you for it now, can I?”

A meek grin. “What’s the saying—better to ask for forgiveness than permission?”

“No, not that.” He pulled him into a tight hug. “You shackled yourself just to be bonded with me. I couldn’t ever be angry with you for that.”

“…” Another quiet chuckle as Lance’s arms draped around his waist in return. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

‘That should be my line.’

Oliver stayed awake long after Lance had fallen asleep, idly playing with his hair and listening to his quiet snores. He really, truly didn’t deserve this wonderful man curled up against him—but he damn well was going to try and become worthy of him.

Chapter 56: A Monster's True Face

Notes:

CONTENT WARNING CONTENT WARNING CONTENT WARNING, BIG FUCKING RED LETTERS: torture, branding, bone breaking, everything along those lines. Seriously, if you get squeamish easily, don't read the next few chapters. It's gonna be DARK. Buckle up motherfuckers, you've been warned

Another chilly morning woken by the pitter-patter of little feet and rustle of blankets as the twins somehow managed to yet again escape their cribs to crawl into bed with them instead.

“Mmh…” Sleepily Lance wrapped his arms around both them and Oliver, still out like a light as their little fingers tugged at his face to try and wake him.

“Nono, let daddy sleep a little longer.”

Oliver’s voice was soft and gentle as he pulled their hands back and cuddled close to Lance with them.

Those mornings where the twins came to snuggle with them were his favorites; he couldn’t even be mad at the little escape artists—if anything, he was impressed at their mobility.

“Daddy?” Bailey’s hands lightly petted Lance’s head. “Daddy up?”

“Not yet honey. Daddy’s very tired. But those are nice touches. Very good job.”

A concept they had been working hard to teach them, ‘nice touches’; Bailey had a good grasp on it already, whereas Linden… well, she still liked to hit things. A bit more stubborn than her brother. It seemed like her hair wasn’t the only thing she inherited from Lance’s side.

He rolled onto his back and pulled the two of them onto either side of his chest.

“Are you excited to go see grandma today?” he asked them in a whisper. The bed shook with their energetic bounces. “You gonna be good for her?”

“Yeah!”

“Shhhh.” He pressed his finger to his lips, and they mimicked him. “Quiet voices.”

“No, it’s fine… I’m already awake.”

Lance sat up groggily, and the twins were swarming his lap in an instant.

“You little—you’re lucky you’re both so stinking cute.”

His fingers tickled their sides, filling the room with the sounds of shrieking laughter.

 

 

The snow crunched beneath their boots as they came to stand before the mass of graves just beyond the train station. A bitter breeze bit at every bit of exposed skin; the sun shining weakly overhead did nothing to warm them. And still they stood, hand in hand, offering silent prayers to those brave fallen souls. A trek they had started to make every few months.

“… Sometimes, I can’t help but wonder.”

Lance’s breath crystallized in the air, carried away on the wind.

“In other timelines, am I just like one of them?”

A flame conjured in the palm of his hand.

“A short lived dream,” he crushed it, “snuffed out before my time?”

They watched the smoke trail disappear in silence as the hand fell back to his side. Lance often became introspective when they came here; sometimes, he wanted reassurances, other times, to just speak and be heard.

“… Would they be jealous of me? When they peer into my power, will they feel envious of my world?”

His grip on Oliver’s hand tightened slightly.

“Would they… attempt to join me?”

A stream of fog as he sighed, and Oliver’s thumb brushed against his knuckles in silent comfort.

“Sorry. Planes practitioners are often plagued with those kinds of thoughts. It’s the reason why so many harm themselves.”

“… You don’t feel that way, do you?”

“No, no.” He smiled. “Rest assured, the only harm I wish inflicted on me is whatever punishments you deign to administer to me in bed.”

Oliver giggled as he rubbed their frostbitten noses together.

“… When your other selves do join you… do their experiences affect you?”

“Thankfully, no. It’s sort of like getting a new brain cell?” His brows knit together in thought. “If that even makes sense. Like a silent backseat driver.”

“It… kind of makes sense?” The tip of Oliver’s boot traced a pattern in the snow. “Like... finding a puzzle piece you didn’t know was missing.”

“… Yes. That’s a good way to put it.”  

Another gentle squeeze.

“Thank you for always coming with me out here. If not for your soothing presence, I may well lose myself in such macabre musings.”

“Of course. You know that I’m always here for you.”

It was a wonder their lips didn’t stick together with how cold they were.

“That I do.” He lingered on Oliver’s for just a moment. “… As much as I don’t want to leave your side, the Ministry beckons.”

Oliver’s hand cupped his cheek with a warm smile.

“I understand… Be careful, alright?”

“I always am.”

A cold rush of wind, and he was alone, looking back at the graves once again.

‘… I hope they can all rest easy.’

Not just those before him, but every Lance that ever existed.

“… Best not to keep Marlon waiting.”  

His feet carried him along the familiar path down the mountain and along the river towards the guild. Technically he could have just used his nexus to get there faster, but… a part of him enjoyed the walk. The feel of the wind through his hair, the sun on his skin, the water lapping at the riverbank as it flowed towards town. The smell of the forest and earth, wrapping him in a familiar blanket of warmth and comfort.

As the guild came into view in the distance, his vision started to blur, a shadow falling over him.

“There you are.”

A split second of fear as the familiar whir of a warp filled his ears.

Then, nothingness.

 

 

He woke to the sound of water dripping.

'Huh…?'

His head lifting to look at unfamiliar surroundings.

A dank cave. The only source of light a fire burning in a pit in the ground.

Bound to a chair so tightly that he could hardly breathe.

Fear clawed at his throat as his eyes searched for an explanation. They fell on a familiar blue-tinted figure emerging from the dark. Staring back at him from behind shaded glasses.

“The hero of the valley. The unassailable adventurer. The champion of Galdora. Beloved by all. Yet here you sit, alone. Helpless. No one to come to your aid this time.”

Qi stood before him, towered over him as he fought against the ties that bound him. The pearly white grin he so often wore was nowhere to be found—just a cold, calculating stare.

‘No. No no no—’

He struggled harder. The ropes dug into his skin, feeling like they pulled even tighter the more he fought. No spells came to his panicked mind, muddled and addled by ancient magicks.

“I never expected those fools from Castle Village to best my minions. So imagine my surprise when a lowly mortal managed to destroy my beloved Apophis.”

A swift backhand across Oliver’s cheek, hard enough to make him see stars as he cried out in pain.

“I had thought my warnings to you in the caverns and my casino would have sufficed—but I seem to have underestimated the strength of your fate and the depths of your stupidity.”   

The chair rattled with tremors as he rapidly blinked the tears away. That seal that prevented him from speaking Qi’s name now wrapped tight around his vocal chords, choking all of his words.

‘Why… is this happening…’

“You don’t need to worry about why.”

Slowly Qi circled around him, a shark toying with its prey; the intensity of his gaze only made him shake even more.

“How is it, to know that only you can perceive me? That I allow only you to perceive me? Ah, but I forget—you can’t speak.”

A quiet, unsettling chuckle as he came to stand before him once more.

“Those mages and their paltry weavings mean little to me, but you… you fascinate me.”

‘Lance… please… help me…!’

The faintest of frowns.

“… Ahh. You’ve soul bonded with the fiery one. The weakest of the three.”

A laugh as he leaned down, right in Oliver’s face—close enough to let him peer behind the sunglasses.

Pitch black, endless voids.

Rows of teeth where irises and pupils should be.

Incomprehensible horrors beyond the maws.

Whispering voices, speaking words he couldn’t understand.

A glimpse into planes no mortal should ever behold.

His terrified scream echoed off the walls as Qi just smiled.

“Whatever is the matter? Don’t tell me the brave hero is afraid.”

Their eye contact broke, and Oliver slumped forward, sobbing in fear.

“There, there. A few days with me, and you’ll learn that there’s nothing to be scared of.”

He stepped over to the fire pit, picking up the branding iron that had been heating in its flames.

"You'll see."

The blood in Oliver’s veins was cold as ice as he fought with all his might to break free.

“Enough.”

His body no longer obeyed him as the command brought him to heel.

‘What… what is he?’

Was he even a human?

A mage?

A god?

“Whatever I may be is not your concern. But, since I am so fond of you…”

Slowly he stepped back towards him, brandishing the iron.

“Your kind has taken to calling anyone with a lick of magical aptitude a ‘wizard’. I am what that name used to mean, before the age of man.”

His face split open with that shark-tooth grin.

“It’s a shame. If that old tome in the dusty tower hadn’t abandoned the power of the void, he may have been able to save you. But now…”

The heat of the iron seared against Oliver’s leg as he shrieked his throat raw.

“Nothing can save you.”

Through the haze of pain, he finally understood how Qi had managed to be everywhere at once.

“Y-You… sold your soul to the void…”

Uncontrollable laughter as the most ancient of planes practitioners tapped his other leg lightly with the shaft of the iron.

“Is that what that fire hellion said this power was?”

A swift strike connected metal with bone, a sickening crack ripping another agonized scream before he slumped forward in whimpering silence, barely clinging to consciousness.

“My dear, I can see more timelines than your little mortal mind can possibly comprehend.”

His fingers grabbed a handful of Oliver’s hair to yank his head back up.

“I see all sorts of timelines where the hellion isn’t your mate. But more than that—in each and every one, I see you. Playing the tune of people’s lives as it suits you.”

‘No… No, that’s not… I wouldn't…’

“You do.”

He let Oliver’s head hang forward again.

“Molding the town to your whims. Shaping outcomes to match your desires. Those so called friends and family nothing but pawns, the means to an end as fickle as mankind itself.”

The metal tapped his leg again.

“You think you can play god. Allow me to show you what a god’s power really is.”

Another sickening crack as the world went dark once again.

Chapter 57: What Demon Wakes Me

Notes:

SAME CONTENT WARNINGS AS BEFORE, DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE NOT PREPARED FOR DARK SHIT. very short but punchy chapter. you get a cookie if you get the title reference

“Wake.”

Oliver’s eyes forced open, an invisible force dragging him back to consciousness—the searing agony of his broken leg tore another scream from his raw throat, the chair rattling as he tried to kick and flail.

“Still so feisty, even after a full day. I’m impressed.”

‘A… a day… I’ve been here a day…?’

“Indeed.”

Fingers cold as death traced along Oliver’s jaw, forcing him to look up. His nostrils flared with rapid breaths, eyes flicking between crippling fear and burning hatred. Another shark-like grin split Qi’s face.

“Oh, I was so very right to choose you. But before I can mold you to be my successor…”

The sharp sting of another slap across his face as he bit back a cry.

“That fiery spirit of yours must be broken.”

He picked up the branding iron once more.

A strike to his arm.

Crack.

One to his side.

Crack.

It hurt to breathe.

He refused to scream.

“Playing tough will avail you not, my dear.”

 

Another day.

Qi kicked his chair backwards onto the ground.

His face covered, icy water soaking it—drowning him as he sputtered and tried to breathe.

"Still determined to spite me."

The clang of a bucket hitting the floor.

"That's just fine with me, my dear."

A steady stream of water raining onto his forehead as Qi's footsteps faded away.

“We have all the time in the world.”

Each passing minute steadily eating away at his sanity.

 

The fourth.

His head yanked up by his hair.

“Eat.”

Innards of a half-manifested void summon shoved into his mouth.

“Swallow.”

He could feel it twitching as it slithered down his throat, and then came right back up. Qi clicked his tongue derisively, picking up the writhing mass from the pool of sick at his feet.

“It’s not good to waste food, you know.”

Tears in his eyes as it was pushed back into the mouth he couldn’t close.

“Swallow. Keep it down this time.”

 

The fifth.

Total isolation.

His eyes covered, surrounded in pitch black.

The only sounds his own breath and quiet sobs.

‘He’ll find me… I know he will…’

Weakly straining broken bones against bindings that cut deep into his skin, his blood staining the ropes.

‘He promised he would protect me.’

The belief in the strength of their bond was all that kept him sane.

‘Bailey… Linden…’

Their children’s smiling faces.

Tears soaked through the blindfold.

‘I… I promise I’ll be home soon…’

Chapter 58: Scorched Earth

Notes:

(✿◡‿◡) this entire chapter comes courtesy of aviroen (they had intended to include it in the mod but never got around to it). many thanks to them, especially since without their mod this fic wouldn't be possible. This takes place within the first 24 hours of Oliver's disappearance. If you'd like to read a full version of the event from Lance's perspective: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63186706

One day.

Just for one day, Lance had to be away.

Long enough for it all to come crashing down around him.

A sudden disconnect, a sharp pain stopping him short as he walked through the office.

“No.”

A gripping fear.

Reconnection drove him down to his knees, the weight of a thousand waterfalls crushing him. Mages looked on in disgust and disapproval as he gasped and clutched the sides of his head.

“There’s… there’s no reason for it to drop like that…”

His chest heaved. His mind raced.

“Something’s—”

Lance’s legs pushed him to stand and carried him to the door without finishing the train of thought.

“Lancelot,” the chancellor derided angrily, “this conduct is unfitting of someone under probationary status—”

“Shove it up your ass. I’m leaving for the day.”

Hands slammed against the desk as they rose to their feet in anger.

“Do you think you have the freedom to do as you wish? Lest you forget, we are no longer embroiled in the fires of war. Your kind is only useful for extermination requests or study; you’d do well to remember your place.”

Venom bit at his throat as it coated his words.

“With all due respect, chancellor: I. Am. Leaving. If you so wish, you can take up your complaints to Magnus Rasmodius.”

His warp carried him away before the chancellor could retort.

 

 

Bitter cold air and snow stung his face as he sprinted to the tower—bursting in through the door with no fanfare or announcement, knocking the door off its hinges with adrenaline fueled strength.

“Mag—something’s wrong—”

An exasperated sigh as Magnus rubbed his forehead.

“Yes, I’m already mired in the consequences of your contempt. What did you do this time—”

“Have you heard from Oliver?”

A bushy brow cocked.

“Was he not working the farm?”

The negative affirmations of Lance’s shaking head drained the color from Magnus’s face.

“What of Marlon?”

“First place I went. He hasn’t heard anything either.”

“Your bond?”

“A millisecond of disconnection.”

“A millisecond? Boy, you might have started with that!”

“What do you mean by—”

Magical shackles raised from the ground, binding him and dragging him down to his hands and knees.

“You—“ He grunted with the effort of fighting his restraints, “—old bastard—what are you—”

“Silence.”

“Why are you—imprisoning me—”

“Because you will not be consolable. You know the rules. And you know what I’m about to do.”

Unbearable fire seared him through the bonds holding him down.

“Sea—rch… with void—you—”

“There is no other way.”

A probing into his very soul.

“It isn’t possible to simply ‘disconnect’ a bond of such making.”

Gritted teeth, his muscles straining against the shackles.

Another surge of agony, the fire scorching through his veins, his scream rattling the potion bottles on the table.

The void.

The very same power that caught him as a babe amidst the flames of war.

Focusing his thoughts kept him lucid through the pain.

Magnus was more versed in the void than he chose to let on. The shackles holding him down meant that someone on the other side also wielded that same magic.

Crippling, inconsolable fear manifested as screamed expletives directed at the magus, his meridians pried apart in search of traces of their bond. The deeper he had to look, the more Magnus’s brows furrowed together.

A sharp gasp.

“Son of a—”

An invisible force physically knocked Magnus back several feet, his eyes wide from what he saw.

“Lance. You recall that shard he found?”

A nod through glaring eyes blinking sweat away.

“This has the same traces.”

Fear.

Anger.

Rage.

The same rage that kept him alive in the war. That fueled the hottest of his fires.

“Let me go—this instant, you bastard—”

The chains redoubled their hold on him as flames wrapped around him like tendrils of ivy.  

“Calm yourself, boy.”

Magnus’s hands rested over Lance’s temples, paying no heed to the flames licking at his robes.

“Concentrate. Focus that unbridled rage fueling your fires to the Nexus—do not let them consume it.”

Completely cast aside in the chaos, Morgan cowered in the corner, their hat tugged down over frightened eyes as their mind called out to Camilla for help.

“A-Auntie… p-please come t-to Master’s house—”

They could barely speak the words through the fear.

“I-It’s—it’s an emergency…”

With speed to rival that of light itself, Camilla answered their call.

“What gives you the right to scare a poor chi—”

The sight of her son drenched in fire and clad in void-encrusted chains nearly drove her into a rage of her own.

“Rasmodius, how dare you –”

The tower shook with each step she took towards them.

“Something severed their bond.”

The fury shattered, stopping her in her tracks.

“For how long?”

“A millisecond.”

Too long.

Her hand shook as it covered her mouth, her eyes seeking reason and answers in the wood grain beneath their feet.

It shouldn’t have been possible.

 Two grand magi helped create that bond.

Their soul compatibility was unmatched.

A near-city-wide Nexus bound them together.

Nothing could break it. Nothing except—

“Who else has used the void?”

“You know damn well that if I knew the answer, we’d have been at their door already.”

Magnus’s voice thundered as Morgan clung to Camilla’s dress.

“I certainly wouldn’t be wasting time searching through Lance’s circuits for a whisper on the wind to point us in the right direction.”

Words failed her, reason escaped her.

“I could—I could use my influence in Castle Village to get them to let me search through the akashic record.”

“Do it. I’ll pull my connections with the Ministry as well.”

Lance’s heaving breaths punctuated his words as they broke the tense debate.

“When—will you—unshackle me, you asshole—”  

“Not until I have assessed your mental stability. I will not risk you razing everything to the ground.”

“I’m—perfectly—sane—”

“Not with those eyes, you aren’t, hellion.”

Magnus’s gaze was cold as they stared into the pitch black inferno raging in Lance’s, his words curt and blunt—he could not afford to risk letting his own emotions tip the precariously balanced scales.

“You really think me a senile old man, blind to the danger you still pose? You may have gained substantial power and control through the bond—”

The chains tightened once again, pulling Lance down until he was flat against the floor.

“—but I remember your past. I remember you.”

Chapter 59: The Bird And The Worm

Notes:

CONTENT FUCKING WARNING. NAIL AND EYE SHIT. READER BEWARE

The dawn of the seventh.

Still blinded by the mask.

“Your resilience is commendable. I must admit, I underestimated you.”

His unbroken arm strapped to something metallic and cold. Muscles tensing in preparation for the unknown.

“Mortal minds are usually much more fragile. Though I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised.”

A faint pressure pressing up on the tip of the nail on his index finger.

“Stay.”

Rapid, shallow breaths through his nose as fear clutched him in its grasp again. The power behind the command compelled his body to remain still.

“After all.”

The thud of fist against metal. His nail ripped off of his finger.

Agony.

Surging adrenaline, teeth gritting together as he barely held back the scream.

“You’ve already stared into the void once without losing your sanity.”

The second nail hurt just as much as the first. Blood seeped from exposed nail beds down onto the device torturing him.

“I have to wonder, though.”

A third and fourth nail, reducing him to quiet sobs. Qi leaned in close to his ear.

“Just how much longer do you think you can keep this up?”

‘I… will never… give in… to you…’

A chuckle that sent a cold shiver down his spine.

“We shall see about that.”

 

The nails on every finger, torn away.

Slumped forward, his muscles twitching in agony.

Tears mixed with sweat, dripping from his face down into his lap.

Drifting somewhere between consciousness and not.

Somehow, he hadn’t given Qi the satisfaction of hearing him scream again.

The mouth of a glass bottle pressed into his mouth.

“Drink.”

That foul tasting snake milk from their first meeting slid down his throat against his will.

“It won’t do to have you die on me.”

Crunching and cracking as his bones started knitting back together. His chest heaved with pained breaths.

The mask fell from his eyes, the dim lighting enough to blind him after so long of it obscuring his sight.

“The more you resist me, the more you reinforce to me that I was right in my decision.”

Qi stood before a table, his fingers picking up a needle-like instrument.

“The brand makes you obey my commands without question.”

Oliver’s eyes stayed locked on the thin metal as Qi drew near.

“But I do not put all my eggs into one basket.”

Straps wrapped around Oliver’s head to keep it in place. Calipers forced his left eye open.

“Since I cannot be sure that you will find a way to break the brand…”

The tip of the instrument stared back at him. His heart’s thrumming in his ears nearly deafened him. There was nothing he could do to prepare himself as it pierced him.

“I’ll need another way to keep an ‘eye’ on you.”

Pushing. Stabbing. Digging. Scraping.

Silent screams.

His brain did everything it could to dissociate him from what was happening.

Blood poured down his cheek as his eye fell to the floor with a wet squish. His shoulders quivered with sobs.

“There’s no need to cry, my dear.”

Qi crushed it beneath his boot.

“I don’t intend to leave you half-blind.”

A replica of his eye stared back at him from Qi’s hand. Even through the pain, he could sense the magicks swirling around it—radiating from it.

‘No... Don’t… keep that away from me…!’

“What? You would rather stay sightless in that eye?”

Qi ignored his pleas.

Sickening squelches as the eye took its place in the empty socket.

Searing tendrils reached out from it, painfully repairing severed connections to his brain as sight returned to that side.

“There. You wouldn’t even know it’s not the original.”

The restrains loosened, and his head hung down once again.

‘Why…?’

“To see what you see.”

Those sharp teeth bared at him once more.

“Now, there’s nowhere you can run that I cannot—”

A half-dozen lights on the far wall illuminated the room in cool blue hues.

“What?!”

Through unfocused eyes Oliver watched him swiftly stride towards the lights—monitors, each one displaying a different part of town.

“Impossible—the hellion, of all people?!”

Qi’s voice shook with rage as the image of Lance chanting in his nexus appeared on each screen.

“No, he shouldn’t be able to—”

As if he knew where to look, Lance’s eyes reached out to Oliver’s from across the room.

“I found you.”

Chapter 60: Shattered

A thunderous crack shook the room and flooded it with light; as Oliver’s consciousness started slipping, the bindings around him came loose, and a pair of strong arms grasped his shoulders.

“Oliver! Oliver!”

Through darkening TV static Lance’s face faded in and out of view—panic, terror, worry, all fighting for dominance as he tried to rouse him.

With the little strength he still had Oliver reached a shaking hand out to him, relief flooding his battered and bruised body at the feeling of Lance grasping it tight in his own.

“I’m here, tîi rák.”

His warmth started chasing away the cold in his  nail-less fingers.

This wasn’t a dream.

The nightmare was over.

He slumped into Lance’s embrace.

“I’m… so… rry…”

“Shh. Don’t try to talk.”

A gentle hand against his head as Lance’s attention turned to the seething man before them.

“So you’re the thing he was so afraid of in the mines.”

The ground trembled slightly beneath them as the walls began to crack with Qi’s laughter, revealing fragments of a fractured reality.

“The strongest soul bond I’ve ever seen! No wonder you managed to slither your way here like the worm you are.”

The void aura radiating from him seared like the hottest flames as Lance shielded Oliver from the worst of it.

“To think the Ministry let the war fiend intertwine with the most unstable magical force in a millennia. Fools, the lot of them.”

More heat radiating from Lance as the inferno of his rage ignited.

“War fiend. War monger. Warlord. Call me whatever you like. But you will pay for what you’ve done to him.”

“Hah! And what could you, of all people, do to me? Just one word and,” a snap of his fingers, “you would be wiped from existence. In fact, you don’t even EXIST in most timelines!”

‘No… that isn’t… true…’

“Oh, but it is, my dear.”  

Lance’s hand gripped his sword. He didn’t need to hear Oliver’s thoughts to know his mind.

“It doesn’t matter. Even if I don’t exist in those timelines, I exist in this one. And I have finally found the place where I belong.”

Gentle jostling as he was lifted into Lance’s arms. A portal unlike any he had seen before opened behind them, a rush of wind gusting in through it.

The familiar scent of the valley.

“MAG! CAM! I LEAVE HIM TO YOU!”

“L…a…nce…?”

A loving smile and a kiss to his forehead. Eyes resigned to whatever fate awaited him.

“I’ll be back. I promise.”

His heart in his throat.

Darkness consuming him as he was cast asunder through the waiting portal.

“Remember that I’ll always love you.”

One last smile as it closed before his eyes.

‘No… you can’t… leave me…!’

 

 

Falling.

An endless abyss.

Stained glass shards flying past him.

Reflections of himself.

‘Are… these… my timelines…?’

Voices all around him. His own. Others. Familiar. Unfamiliar.

“You can save him.”

Lance’s smiling face reflected in passing glass.

“We can help you.”

Playful voices giggling. The hymn of the earth.

“You need only ask.”

No hesitation.

'Help me dammit—help HIM!’

“Concentrate and channel your magic to him.”

‘Concentrate…’

Opening his meridians and circuits. Reaching out through the dark. Grasping onto whatever slivers he could.

‘Please…!’

 “…er! Oliver!”

A light peeking through the darkness.

The sensation of being dragged down by an invisible hand.

All consuming light shattered into the inside of Magnus’s tower.  

His senses came alive all at once—blinded, gasping for breath, shaking with fear and pain.

“Stay with me, young one!”

Desperately Oliver tried to reach out to the faces hovering over him.

“M… ag… La…nce… is… still…!”

“He is… beyond our reach now.”

A dead cold in his veins.

His wails reverberated against the high ceiling.

“No…!”

Camilla’s fingers smoothed his hair in a vain attempt to console him.

“Razzy… what is that branding?”

“I do not know.”

Their words faded into the background, his circuits and meridians forced as far open as he could stand—then even further, the consequences be damned.

‘They’re wrong…'

Teeth gritted through the pain.

'I refuse… to give up… on you…!’

The portal that had closed started fizzling back into existence.

His spirit screamed from the strain. Cracking like tempered glass under the weight of it.  

“Rasmodius, do something! He’s trying to reopen the portal!”

“Enough!”

Magnus’s magic forced his channels closed as blood began to seep from his mouth and nose.  

“If you die then all of this will have been for nothing!”

His chest heaved with silent sobs, the blood mixing with the tears.

A shuddering sigh as Magnus regained his composure.

“…He needs the hospital.”

Painted nails caught his hand as it dropped to his side in defeat.

“I’ll… I’ll ready the warp.”

The pain followed him into the darkness this time.

 

 

Quiet beeping from monitors.

Oxygen blowing through a mask.

IV lines in his arm.

Light filtering in around the drawn curtain.

His spirit still cried out.

Pulses of magic flowing into him from outside sources.

Familiarity.

A tenuous connection. Fragile.

Labored breaths. One at a time.

“…is condition has stabilized.”

Hushed voices beyond the veil.

“But there’s not much more we can do at this point. Whatever is draining his energy is magical, not medical. The most we can do is treat his dehydration and manage his comfort.”

“I see…”

Magnus sounded as drained as he felt.

“His magic is unstable. He’s supplementing Lance with it even now. And for the life of me, I cannot stop him, and I cannot decipher where it’s going.” A weary half laugh devoid of humor. “Determined to spite me even on the brink of death, the both of them.”

‘Is that why I’m so tired…?’

Leaden weights tried to drag his hand down as he touched the fake eye embedded in his skull.

‘Am I keeping Lance tethered to this reality…?’

Tears slid down into his ears.

‘I promise I won’t let you go. So… don’t give up…’

A deep breath as he tried to sit up.

The monitors beeped in alarm, and the curtains flew open.

“What are you doing, you fool?!”

Magnus’s hand on his chest shoved him back down against the pillows.

“Razzy, please—!”

Camilla grasped his hand again as Harvey pulled Magnus away, seething at his manhandling of his patient.

“You have to rest.”

Gentle fingers stroked his hair.

“Please.  You have to recover, for Lance’s sake…”

A disgruntled clearing of Magnus’s throat.

“She’s right. Even now, we’re channeling magic into you to sustain him—”

Fire searing his veins as the brand glowed red hot. The monitors beeped in alarm as he writhed on the bed, biting back screams.

“By the gods—”

More magic flooded into him, smothering the flames.

“You must concentrate.”

Magnus’s voice was strained from the effort; sweat beaded Camilla’s face, her eyes closed in focus. Seeing them both struggling so much terrified him.

“We’re keeping your souls together, but Lance is still fighting. Concentrate on your bond.”

‘Concentrate…’

A shaky breath to clear his mind. To try and recall the mantras Lance had taught him.

“Good.”

Magnus’s hand gently patted his head in encouragement.

“Doctor, we leave him to you.”

“I’ll keep you updated if anything changes.”

“W-Wait—”

His hand shot out to grab hold of Magnus’s sleeve as the mages prepared their warps.

“Wh-what about Bailey and Linden?!”

“They’re in safe hands. You must focus on yourself and Lance for now.”

The fabric slipped from his hand as it fell back to his side.

"We'll be back soon."

With a blink, they were gone.

“… Are you alright?”

Harvey’s hand rested on his knee.

“… What do you think…?”

His voice barely above a whisper as it broke.

He couldn’t even pretend to be just a little bit okay.

Chapter 61: In Pieces

Restless sleep.

Nightmares of pointed teeth looming in the shadows.

Waking even more exhausted than he was.

No desire to eat.

“I-I want to see my babies.”

Hands curled into fists against his legs as he stared down at a bowl of jello.

“You need to try and eat something, first.”

Harvey’s voice was gentle but firm. He shook his head, the memories of writhing masses being forced down his throat making the bile in his empty stomach rise as he trembled.

“D-Don’t—please don’t make me…”

“I won’t make you do anything.”

The doctor pulled up his chair beside the bed and spoke softly.  

“But you haven’t eaten in almost three days. You need to keep your strength up.”

Three days.

Passage of time was impossible to judge, just like it had been in the cave.

His bandaged fingers shakily grasped the spoon.

“Just a couple bites,” Harvey encouraged.

Not even halfway to his mouth, the jello had been shaken off of the spoon from his tremors.  

“I-I can’t…”

The spoon clattered back into the bowl as he pushed it towards the foot of the bed and curled into a ball, sobbing. Harvey’s hand was warm as he rubbed his back.

“P-Please just… l-let me see th-them…!”

“… Alright. Let me go call Magnus.”

A gentle pat on his knee, and he was alone.

His fractured soul still reaching out to Lance across time and space.

The brand burned so often he was almost numb to the pain. But it was proof that Lance was giving Qi hell.

‘Keep fighting… You’re going to come home. Whatever it takes, I’ll make sure of it…’

“Daddy!”

Little pitter patters sprinting down the hall towards him forced him to take a steadying breath and dry his eyes. The sight of their children’s sweet smiling faces nearly broke him again.

“D-Daddy’s missed you…”

Shaking arms helped them clamor up onto the bed with him and pulled them into a tight hug.

“Daddy cry?”

Bailey gently touched his tearstained cheeks.

“Y-Yeah, just… just a little…”

He looked to Magnus standing in the doorway. The weary look on his face answered the question he wanted to ask.

They were no closer to finding Lance.

“I don’t mean to rush your visit… But the sooner I take them back, the sooner I can resume the search.”

“I…”

Biting back fresh sobs he clung to his children desperately.   

“Daddy?”

Linden hung off of his neck.

“Where daddy?”

“D-Daddy Lance is… i-is at work. B-But he m-misses you so so much.”

Pushing the limits of his exhausted magical channels once more.

“H he can hear you e-even if he’s f-far far away. S-So let him know h-how much you love him.”

“Daddy!”

Amethyst eyes looking around the room for him.

“Love you daddy!”

“Daddy come home!”

Kisses blown to the wind.

He closed his eyes.

‘Can you feel them…? We’re all waiting for you. I believe in you. So you better come back to us.’

A kiss pressed to the tops of each of their heads.

“… T-Take them. Please.”

Letting go of them was one of the hardest things he’d ever done.

“I-I’ll see you soon, okay?”

Eyes red from crying looked up to Magnus.

“Y-You’ll find him… won’t you…?”

A long silence.

“… We’ll keep trying.”

Chapter 62: Nothing I Won't Give

Notes:

In case it hasn't been made abundantly clear: Oliver is a magical anomaly whose magic is wild and dangerous. No wonder the Ministry is afraid of what he can do, I would be too

Time lost all sense of meaning within those four white walls.

An endless cycle of both waking and sleeping nightmares.

Tossing and turning in a bed that wasn’t his.

His stomach ached with hunger, but no appetite. The only things he could force down were meal replacement shakes, after days of Harvey desperately trying everything he could to get him to eat.

Every passing minute slowly ate away at the hope he desperately clung to.

Even Lance had his limits.

‘I have to… I have to find a way to get back to him…’

His exhausted mind fell into the deepest of slumbers.

 

 

A vision of them holding their children together. Even in his dreams, Lance’s smile brought him a sense of peace as his hand caressed his cheek.

Words spoken that he could not hear.

"What did you say?"

Another smile as his hair was tucked behind his ear. His touch was just as gentle as he remembered.

"... You... can't tell me?"

He shook his head and pointed silently towards the horizon.

A rush of agony, his blooming nexus screaming out in pain as it erupted in the distance.

The keening of the earth itself.

Driving him to his knees, his hands clamped over his ears.

Lance’s hand gently grasped his shoulder to get his attention.

Lifting his head to see the roots of his nexus spreading across the ground, in every direction. Recognition flickered in his eyes—he knew that pattern.  

"Leylines?"

A nod as this vision Lance reached his hand out to him.

Together they walked, a path of memories stretching out before them.

Their first meeting at Kohldur.

Lance’s first failure at cultivating the monster crops.

A trip around the Highlands.

The dwarf in a cage.

Stories of Camilla told against a sunset.

Lance wandering in front of the house in the pouring rain.

His first meeting with Camilla at the bridge.

Lance and Marlon talking at the guild.

The First Slash greeting him as if he was family.

Jolyne asking him to take care of Lance.

Their first night.

Their wedding.

Their first night as a married couple.

The look on Lance’s face as he held him in the badlands.

His frantic search to bind them.

Their soul bond.

The joy in Lance’s face when they found out he was pregnant.

Holding their newborn children.

Nights spent in each other’s embrace.

Hand in hand they approached the Nexus. Lance looked down at him with that warm and loving smile.

"Tell me how I can help you. Please."

A nod. Lance sat at the base of the grand tree in the center of his nexus, patting the spot next to him.

Oliver sank to his knees beside him. Even in his dreams, he was exhausted.

Was this even a dream, though?

Lance shook his head, smiling as he pressed a finger to his lips. His eyes closed as he breathed out, wordlessly chanting; without being told, Oliver followed suit.

Praying with every fiber of his being.

His ears rang with the oppressive roar of waterfalls, encapsulating him.

The weight of the world bearing down on his shoulders.

A thousand hearts beating at once.

Among them all, a single one stood out.

His husband.

His soulmate.

“Lance…!”

A surge of magic, every cell in his body pulsing with it. The strongest it had ever been.

Even so faint, there was no mistaking the color of his soul.

The floodgates of his channels opened as they reached out for the final time.

His hands clutched at the very fabric of reality.

“I… will not… lose you!”

Blood poured down his face.

His fingers ripping the barrier between planes asunder.

“You… are…”

Grasping through the other side until his hands found purchase.

“COMING HOME!”

His voice and spirit screamed as one as he heaved with all his might.

The nexus erupted with a rush of white blooms.

Shaking and gasping beneath a tapestry of stars and the boughs of the grand tree, surrounded by a meadow of ivory petals, with Lance’s battered and bruised body laying across his lap.

The real Lance.

His Lance.

It really wasn’t a dream.

Somehow he had made it to his nexus.  

“Lance…?”

The blood running down his face dripped onto Lance’s as he leaned close, listening for breathing.  

Faint, ragged, stable.

He was alive.

Tears poured down his cheeks as Lance’s shaking hand reached up to brush them away.

“I’m… home… my love…”

A sob and a tearful smile as he wiped the blood from the gash over Lance’s eye.

“W-Welcome home…”

The sound of a warp.

“YOU ABSOLUTE FOOLS!”

Magnus’s voice boomed around the blooming nexus, scattering petals and leaves everywhere with the sheer force behind it.

Not once had Oliver heard him so utterly incensed; judging from the look on his face, neither had Lance.

“NOT ONLY DID YOU DRAG YOURSELVES INTO SUCH A DANGEROUS SITUATION—BUT TO NOT EVEN LET YOURSELF HEAL!”

The air crackled with unbridled raging magic.

“TO DRAG YOUR SOULS SO CLOSE TO THE BRINK THAT THEY’RE ON THE VERGE OF COLLAPSE!”

Camilla’s hand gently touched his arm.

“Razzy.”

“DID YOU EVEN ONCE THINK ABOUT HOW WE WOULD FEEL IF—”

“MAGNUS. RASMODIUS.”

The mage’s chest heaved through his tears.

“… I cannot… lose anymore family.”

“I know, Razzy.”

A gentle warmth as healing magic flowed from Camilla into the both of them, trying to keep them from teetering over the edge of unconsciousness. Lance succumbed first, going limp in Oliver’s arms as he held him tight.

“Whatever gods are out there, I beg you,” he heard Magnus begging to the heavens as darkness encroached on his vision, “let these two souls rest…”

The apology he tried to whisper died in his throat as he lost the fight to stay awake.

Chapter 63: Whereabouts of the Miracle

Notes:

The final chapter. It's been a wild ride, folks. This is the first fic I've ever finished. I gotta say, it's bittersweet. But I don't regret any of it.

How many times had he woken to find himself staring at the clinic ceiling? Too many. Far, far too many…

He’d pushed his body and soul beyond their limits. Even he knew it was a miracle that he was even still alive.

The faint breathing from the bed pushed against his reminded him that it was all worth it.

Glancing at the monitor on his other side.

90 over 60. Pulse 40.

Scarily low.  

An odd sense of peace settled over him as he grasped Lance’s hand. Mana circulated between their battered channels at a snail’s pace, weakly supplementing one another.

Hushed voices from the hallway.

Something about the magical brands they now both bore.

His thumb brushed across Lance’s knuckles.  

“Mmn…”

“Sorry, did I wake you…?”

A whispered apology as Lance’s eyes struggled open.

“No, I was half awake already…”

He squeezed Oliver’s hand back.

“Did you hear anything…?”

“Mm… Something about us being branded. Mag and Cam are researching what it could be along with the entirety of the Ferngill Ministry.”

Oliver wheezed. “Th—the entirety?”

“Well, yes.” Lance laughed softly at his reaction. “Their worst fear—you—and their sword—me—were branded. Of course they’d pour everything into researching it. There’s nothing they hate more than something they don’t understand.”

A weak cough as he breathed out with bruised lungs.

“At least the damned thing finally stopped burning. I thought it was just a regular cow branding at first, but then it started glowing and burning hot as the sun.”

“Mine did that too…”

His fingers brushed against the marks scorched into his leg.

“… Maybe it was because our souls were on the brink of shattering,” Lance mused idly. “I doubt we’ll ever really know the answer.”

“Yeah… Gods, Magnus was so mad about that.”

Lance’s laugh was like music to his ears.

“In all my years of knowing him, I have never seen him that angry. That’s how I knew we really pushed our luck.”

Soft giggles as Oliver scooted over into his bed and snuggled against his chest.

“Careful love. Harvey will get mad at us.”

“It’s fiiine. It’s mana charging.”

A snort as Lance’s arms wrapped around him.

“Ah yes, of course. I need my recharge.”

“Exactly.”

Slowly their breaths synchronized as their foreheads pressed together. The lacerations running through Lance’s meridians stood clear as day in his mind’s eye as their mana circulated; he tried to flood them with his own in an attempt to stitch them back together.

“Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“You’re far worse off than I am right now.”

“I doubt that.”

“Tîi rák, it looks like you’re being held together with strings and hope.”

“But—”

Lance’s finger pressed against his lips to silence his protest.

“Close your eyes. Feel the mana circulating between our meridians. Consider it training.”

A pout, before his tongue licked the finger.

“You—”

He pulled it away with a soft laugh.

“At least you haven’t lost any of that indomitable spirit of yours.”

Oliver stuck his tongue out with a playful smile.

Peaceful quiet, the only sounds their breathing and the beeping of machinery.

“… Lance?”

“Yes, tîi rák?”

“How long have we been out?”

“Well—you were gone for an entire week before I could find you.”

“A week—”

The passage of time had been difficult to judge in that hell; he’d roughly estimated as much, but to hear it confirmed…

“You see why I was so desperate to find you.”

“Did—did you even eat? Sleep? Drink?”

“No less than you did, I’d wager.”

Lance brushed his lips against his knuckles.

“I couldn’t stop. I could feel your soul screaming to me from a far away place. Your pain, your fear—I felt all of it. Every fiber of my being screamed back.”

 He buried his face in Lance’s chest.

“You were gone for five… I’m sorry…”

“Tîi rák, it wasn’t your fault.”

His fingers brushed through Oliver’s hair.

“None of this was your fault. Don’t you dare blame yourself for it.”

“… Too late.”

“Well, stop it. Don’t make me break out the tickles.”

“N-No, anything but that!”

He tried to scoot back to his bed, only for Lance to pull him back by his waist as they tried to stifle their laughter.

“… Almost two weeks altogether, huh…?”

His hand rested on Lance’s arms as they wrapped around his waist.

“Magnus never said who was watching the twins…”

“They’re with a few trusted colleagues from the Ministry.”

The Ministry. No wonder Magnus didn’t say. He swallowed.

“I… I hope they’re okay…”

Lance chuckled softly. “Don’t worry. Morgan sends hourly updates via communication magic.”

“Oh…” He sighed, relieved. “I… feel a lot better knowing they’re there with them.”

“They were a godsend the whole time we were looking for you.” Lance buried his face into the back of his neck and breathed deeply. “… You were right to be so afraid of that thing. If not for your fear pushing me to strengthen our connection, I don’t think I would have ever found you…”

His arms tightened around him.

“I would have lost my mind without this tether to you.”

“I don’t think I can imagine that.”

“You can’t?”

“Mm-mm. You’re like my lighthouse through the maelstrom.”

Lance’s chin rested on his shoulder.

“So you’re saying I wouldn’t have gone completely insane because my husband was missing?”

“No, not at all.” He pressed a kiss to Lance’s temple. “I’m saying I can’t imagine it because you’re always so levelheaded and grounded.”

A chuckle through his nose.

“Maybe you’re so blinded by your love for me that you can’t see my flaws?”

“You—!”

Crimson red bloomed across his pale cheeks.

“Heh. I’ll take that as a compliment. I see myself with many flaws, after all—”

Oliver rolled onto his other side and smacked him on the chest.

“Ow! I’m a patient! Have mercy!”

“Then you shut that pretty mouth before I shut it for you.”

“Oh? Well now I’m tempted to push my luck…”

Soft laughter as they snuggled close. For a time, they actually followed doctor’s orders and simply rested in peace. Peace that afforded Oliver the time to start processing all that had happened to them.

“… Who… who is Qi…?”

“That thing that abducted you?”

“Yeah—”

 His eyes went wide in realization. He could say the name out loud.

“—Y-Yeah,” he repeated. “C-Could you see him?”  

“I could.”

Lance’s finger tapped his forehead above his fake eye.

“Through whatever this thing that’s made of void shards is and a loan on your magic—against Magnus’s express warnings, of course.”

“H-How did you—”

“I felt everything, remember? On the bright side,” he tapped the eyepatch covering his own injured eye, “we match now.”

“A-And the loan on my magic?”

“Oh, don't worry about that. I’ll pay it back with installments over the next 100 business years.”   

“… Pfft… You couldn’t have come up with a more romantic explanation?”

They had to really fight to keep their laughter down so they wouldn’t be caught. He hadn’t realized until just now how much he missed this.

Missed him.

“I…”

Tears started brimming in his eyes as his heart swelled in his chest.

“I-I’m so glad you’re back…”

“Ah—” A worried look as Lance folded him into his arms. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

His eyes glanced furtively up at him.

“I-If you’re really sorry, th-then prove it.”

“You—you are going to give me whiplash one of these days, my love.” A soft laugh of disbelief and amusement. “Very well. How shall I start…”

His hand cupped Oliver’s cheek as he kissed him softly.

“Mmh…” A soft sigh against his lips. “All is forgiven.”

For awhile, they both dozed, stirring only when Maru came in to check on them.

“Back in your own bed, Oliver.”

He whined with a pout. As soon as she was out of the room he was back to cuddling Lance.

“Hey… What did Qi look like to you?”

A tired yawn. “My love, must I relive the battle right this moment? I was so thoroughly enjoying myself in your embrace.”

“Oh… Sorry. Nevermind then…”

His finger traced light circles on Lance’s chest.

“I was joking, tîi rák. Well, half joking…” He cleared his throat. “But if you’re truly so enthralled with my story, I might as well continue.”

Loosely his arms hooked around Oliver’s waist.

“He had a mostly human form to my eyes. But he was enveloped in a mass of the void itself—it looked similar to Apophis. His ‘true’ form, if I had to wager a guess.”

“Did Magnus ever figure out what void shards are…?”

“Yes, and no. Apparently, they’re a material similar to chitin. The whole room were we in was made of them, and we were covered in them head to toe.”

“Wh—how? I couldn’t see any…”

“I suspect they weren’t meant to be seen. It was as if he was trying to feed off our mana to burn our meridians.”

A chilling thought. He’d thought Qi’s goal was to ‘mold’ him into a successor—what was his real end game?

“Y-You understood what he was saying, right?”

“Up until I threw you into the portal. After that, his speech was utterly incoherent.”

The memory of that moment sent his heart rate through the roof.

“Hey, hey—”

Lance held him close as he started hyperventilating over the beeping of his monitors.

“You’re safe, tîi rák. You don’t have to be afraid anymore. He won’t bother us again.”

“H-How do you know…?”

“I seem to have left a mortal wound.”

His mind reeled.

“H-How strong are you now, exactly?”

“Hmmm…”

Lance’s hand gently rubbed his back as he thought.

“I could probably cast a barrier just like Camilla.”

“Is… is it… permanent?”

“Considering Magnus and Camilla can’t place the inhibitor back on our soul bond, I think so.”

‘Our soul bond had an inhibitor?’ He chewed on his lip in thought. ‘Just… just how strong was it? Is it still that strong?’

“You remember how my magic works, correct? How I can ‘borrow’ power from my other ‘selves’?”

“Y-Yeah?”

“Because our souls were on the brink of collapse, I was able to reach out and grasp many of them all at once. A ‘trick’ I don’t think I’ll be able to repeat…”

His voice trailed off as he fought to keep his eyes open. Talking so much had worn him down. Oliver swallowed, running his fingers through his hair.

“Th-that’s enough. You need to rest, I shouldn’t have…”

“It’s alright, my love. If your curiosity… still isn’t sated… you should try speaking to Magnus…” Lance leaned into his touch with a quiet sigh. “… There is… one thing I forgot…”

“Wh-what’s that…?”

“Through all of it… I heard your prayers… Yours and the twin’s…  It gave me the strength to carry on the fight… And when I started to falter…”

The length of time between his words grew longer with each one.

“… They came to me… Wallace… and your mother… to make sure… I came home to you…”

A cascade of silent tears.

Even across time and space, they watched over them.

 

 

Freedom, at long last.

His condition had stabilized enough that Harvey discharged him; Lance wasn’t yet so lucky, but hopefully soon…

His words still burned fresh in Oliver’s mind as he ascended the stairs from Magnus’s nexus up to the rest of the tower. Seeking knowledge. Answers.

“Magnus? Are you busy?”

“No more or less than usual.” Magnus closed the book he had been reading. “Should you really be up and running about—”

He stopped himself with a shake of his head.

“… No, I apologize. Your mental health is also something that requires tending.”

‘Did… did he really just apologize to me?’

“Don’t look so surprised. I am not above acknowledging my mistakes. Now—what brings you to me?”

“I want to know about my fate.”

Bushy brows raised in surprise.

“A weighty subject, though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, given the circumstances… I cannot tell you the exact details, but this certainly wasn’t something any of us had foreseen. Your fate is… complicated, to say the least. Is there anything in particular about it you were curious about?”

“Well…”

He fidgeted with his fingers. Recalling any of that ordeal was liable to trigger a panic attack. But he wanted to know. So he told Magnus of what he saw and heard when he was thrown through the portal. How he’d walked a path of memories with Lance on the way to his nexus. How Lance had heard his fervent prayers.

“… Interesting.”

Magnus rubbed his beard, deep in thought.

“Camilla and I had placed a ‘throttle’ on your soul bond so that your souls wouldn’t interfere. It seems as if removing the inhibitor caused the clash between your timelines.”

A blank look. “I… don’t get it.”

“You merely caught a glimpse of your infinite timelines.”

Well—yeah, he’d gathered that much.

“I understand that’s not the answer you were seeking. But there are some things we are simply better off not knowing. Consider this one of those times.”

He huffed. “Fine…”

“Is that all you wished to ask?”

“… Well…”

“Well? Out with it, young one. Neither of us are getting any younger.”

What on earth had gotten into Magnus? First apologizing to him, now joking with him?

“D-Do you think you have time for a lesson?”

The magus nearly toppled over in shock.

“Right at this moment?”

A hopeful nod. He didn’t want to risk being caught unawares ever again.

“Hah! I presume your days of falling asleep in my lectures are well and truly behind you?”

“I’ve been good for the last few!”

“That you have. Very well, I shall endeavor to keep this one interesting.”

 

 

Another day. Another trip into town to the clinic as soon as visiting hours were open. Voices greeted him as he pushed the door open.

“Lance’s condition is stabilized on the medical side.”

Harvey and Camilla stood in reception, chatting away.

“You’d have to check for his magical stability, though.”

A relieved sigh blew past Camilla’s lips. “That’s good to hear. I do wish he’d hurry up and stop worrying m—Oh! Hello Oliver.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Nono, you’re fine~”

“Is it visiting hours already?” Harvey teased. “He’s been waiting for you. I think being here is starting to really wear on him.”

“Yeah, I’d imagine so…”

“And since it won’t do to let neglect my patient’s mental well being…” Harvey’s eyes glinted with a playful spark. “I suppose I could let a certain someone take him to get some fresh air.”

Oliver’s heart soared.

“Really?!”

“He’d have to be in a wheelchair, but yes, really.”

Camilla smiled at the way his face lit up.

“What do you say, Ollie-bollie?”

“Yes, obviously!”

He was almost giddy with delight at the opportunity to spend some time with his beloved. Peeking into the recovery room, he saw Lance sitting up in the bed, arms crossed and a rather jaded look on his face.

“Hi honey~” He called as he crossed towards his bed. “How are you doing today?”

“Aside from the perpetual boredom? The bad hospital food? Missing you?” A quiet snort. “Just peachy.”

“Aww.” He folded him into a tight embrace. “I think I know something that will cheer you up.”

“Is it going home?”

“Well—no, not quite. How about you and I go for a walk?”

Shoulders that had slumped in disappointment perked right back up.

“You’re not joking, are you? Get me out of here, please.”

“Harvey’s getting the wheelchair—”

Lance groaned loudly.

“—I know, but he says you have to be in it.”

“I’m not so weak that I can’t walk on my own two feet.”

“Now, now, Lance,” Harvey pushed a collapsible wheelchair into the room, “you wouldn’t want to make Oliver worry unnecessarily, would you?”

“… That’s not fair, and you know it.” A resigned sigh. “Fine. At least let me get into the damn thing on my own.”

His sour mood evaporated the instant fresh air hit his skin.

“Soooo,” Oliver leaned over the back of the chair to kiss his cheek, “where does my lovely husband want to go first?”

“Can it be anywhere?”

“Within reason.”

“… Your reason, or Harvey’s?”

“I mean…” He grinned playfully. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

A deep belly laugh. “In that case, I want to go to the summit.”

Oliver smiled. “To the summit we shall go!”

A long trip to take by foot. They passed the time with animated conversation.

“… There is a reason why Magnus was so mad.” Lance coughed from the chilly air as they ascended up the mountain. “I was using your connection to your simultaneously endless timelines to find you.”

“Is that why he said it looked as if we were about to be shattered?”

“Well… I may have vastly underestimated just how many timelines exist within you.  I simply took it at face value, but the vastness of ‘eternity’ isn’t something any one person can understand.”

“An eternity of timelines…”

They stopped by the lake.

“You would definitely go insane were you to read every timeline, every action, every thought, of all your selves all at once. Your body and mind actively protect you. It’d be best to forget and live in the moment. I had just one glimpse and I can feel my reality shaking.”

The wheelchair trembled; Oliver wrapped his arms around his neck and hugged him gently.

“Are you going to be alright…?”

Lance’s hands reached up to hold onto him.

“...Yes. I’ve stabilized since getting back to you through your dreamlike state.”

“It really was you, then!”

“Of course,” he chuckled as they continued their trip. “It was the only real way I could escape that wordless magic of his.”

They waved to Susan as they passed the bathhouse.

“Is that really what his magic was? He would bark commands at me and I couldn’t do anything to disobey them…”

“Yes—the most ancient form of magic are words, after all. You can think of our chanting as limiters so that we don’t become like him.”

“Limiters, huh…”

The final climb up to the summit.

 “Maybe if someone had started paying attention to Magnus’s lessons earlier,” Lance’s voice was sing-songy in his teasing, “they would know how the ancients could even exert command over the seas.”

They finally reached the top, and Lance pulled him to sit in his lap as soon as the wheels were locked. Breathlessly he nuzzled into his husband’s chest, before lightly taking a jab at his abs for the teasing.

“OW! I’m still bruised, my love! Have mercy!”

“I will when you stop teasing me about that.” He kissed Lance’s jaw affectionately, feeling just a little bad about hurting him. Just a little.

“… It really is a beautiful view.” Lance’s arms held him tight as they looked out at the valley below. “I suppose a brush with death does make you appreciate life all that much more. Though dancing with the grim reaper never used to bother me as much as it did this time. The thought of never seeing you or the children again, it… terrified me.”

“… It scared me, too.” He tucked his head under Lance’s chin.   “I know you said you can’t make promises you know you won’t keep. But please… promise me that this is the last time you’ll put yourself in danger for me.”

A chuckle carried on the wind.

“That is one promise that I still cannot make.”

“I should have known… but it was worth a shot.”

The sound of a warp.

“DADDY!”

Bailey and Linden clamored to join them on Lance’s lap.

“How did you—oh, who cares. C’mere!”

He scooped them up and pretended to eat them as they shrieked with laughter.

“Om nom nom! Daddy’s hungry for sugar!”

“Oh no!” Oliver giggled as Magnus and Camilla came to stand with them; shy Morgan peeked their head out from behind their master. “Quick, give daddy lots of sugar so he doesn’t eat you!”

Slobbery toddler kisses smothered Lance’s face as he laughed hard enough to cry.

A loud sniffle as Camilla fought back tears.

“It is… so good… to see you both awake and well…”

“Now now, let’s not ruin the moment.” Magnus patted her shoulder.

“Thank you for bringing them, you two.” Oliver leaned over the back of the wheelchair with a smile. “… How’d you know we were coming here, though?”

“Lance was always fond of this spot.” Camilla laughed tearfully. “And it is the furthest point from the clinic.”

“I guess out of anyone, you’d know him the best.” He spied the pointed hat hiding just out of sight. “I see you there, Morgan. Don’t be a stranger.”

Hesitantly Morgan stepped out from Magnus’s shadow.

“Thank you so much all the help you gave them.”

“Oh—” They blushed and dug the toes of their shoe into the dirt. “I was happy I could be useful.”

“I think Magnus lucked out getting you as an apprentice.”

 “Yes,” the magus patted their head, “I’m inclined to agree.”

Their smile radiated like the sun.

His sugar cravings satisfied, Lance let the squirmy toddlers down so they could run around and explore.

“… Did you have any luck with the brands yet?” he asked, unlocking the wheelchair and maneuvering it around to face them.

“Unfortunately, no. The entire ministry is currently throwing everything they have into researching them. The only thing we know of them is that they’ve severed something.”

Oliver’s brow furrowed as he watched the twins out of the corner of his eye. “That… doesn’t sound good.”

“It isn’t, most likely.” Lance rubbed his jaw in thought. “I can still reach out to my other existences, but they cannot reach out to me anymore. Could that be it?”

“Hm…”

Camilla folded her arms, thinking hard.

“I can’t say for certain. You’ll have to tell me more about that later. Right now though, we’re just on high alert to make sure that you both are protected and safe.” She paused, eyes looking to the side as though listening intently to a voice in her ear. “… The monsters in Galdora have been frenzied ever since you came back. Luckily the outpost is holding for now, but I have to head back soon.”

“What of the rest of Ferngill?”

“Oh, they’re doing fine.” A wicked grin split across her face. “Razzy has deployed himself to aid them, after all. He said—”

The color drained from Magnus’s face.

“Camilla, that’s quite enough—”

“He said,” she raised her voice louder than his, “that his ‘newfound grandchildren’ must stay safe, of all things!”

“I seem to have been called back to the Ministry.” Magnus spoke hastily, avoiding looking at Lance specifically. “Camilla, I entrust you to return the children to their carers.”

“You can count on me. Ta ta, Razzy~”

Magnus left in such a hurry that he forgot Morgan.

“That…”

The same smile crossed both Lance and Oliver’s faces.

“That old fool…”